The Slime-like, its entire body frozen white, let out a muffled scream.
Its body was roughly a third of the size it had been at the outset. This was the result of all of them—Sven's entire group—taking their time to weather its attacks and whittle it down little by little.
A scene of devastation lay spread out before the White Wolf's Den. The force field radiating from the Slime-like had toppled trees and gouged deep furrows into the ground.
But the Slime-like no longer possessed even a fraction of the agility it had shown until moments ago.
This was proof that the monster they had briefly thought was invincible was on the verge of death.
The Slime-like had not yet dropped its guard. It slowly surveyed the Hunters who had surrounded it at a distance. Its frozen body scraped against the ground with a grating sound as it turned.
Gaark, breathing heavily, leveled the tip of his massive Ice Storm Fang at the Slime-like.
"Hah… hah… Finally… it's slowed down…"
There were no visible wounds on the surface, but damage was surely accumulating in his arms beyond what the eye could see. His expression was grim, his face twisted as if he were gritting through the pain.
Still, there were precious few who could take on the Slime-like the way Gaark did. The others could deflect an attack at best—they could buy maybe enough time for Gaark to regroup and nothing more.
Most importantly, no one else could wield the Ice Storm Fang, which could deal damage to the Slime-like with nothing more than a light touch and no large wind-up.
Gaark grabbed a potion for healing physical injuries from a Hunter beside him and downed it in one gulp.
But the outcome had already been decided. Unless the Slime-like had some hidden card left to play, Sven's side would not lose.
The frozen Slime-like was an easy target for Sven's arrows now. With its entire body encased in ice, it could barely move.
Yet Sven still had not relaxed his expression. He barked orders to his companions at the top of his lungs.
"Don't let your guard down! This is the Thousand Transformations trial! Stay alert for your surroundings—two or three more of these things could show up and it wouldn't be weird at all!"
"We're already on it!"
"Y-you lot… what have you been doing this whole time…?"
The Hunters of the Beginning Footprint answered Sven's call.
True to their words, some of the Footprint members had already shifted their vigilance outward from the Slime-like, into the forest beyond where the curtain of night had fully descended.
Their practiced demeanor drew a twitching look from Gaark.
Sven offered no reply. He simply drew his arrow back in a wide arc toward the Slime-like.
Perhaps the Slime-like finally sensed the threat, because it tried to flee—but with its frozen body, it could not move well. Its speed was nothing like before.
"…This… is the end!"
No matter how much fatigue had accumulated, Sven's aim was never so poor as to miss a target only a few meters away.
He took a shallow breath, channeling every ounce of fighting spirit into a single shot. Then the arrow of pitch-black was released.
The Slime-like could barely move at all.
The pointed metal arrow pierced the center of the Slime-like with the speed of lightning and pinned it to the ground. The ground shook, a testament to the force behind the shot.
The vibrations subsided. The Slime-like, skewered through the center of its body, had cracks spreading across its frozen surface.
The crystallization had already reached deep inside. There was no sign that the formidable magical barrier it had once projected was still functioning.
The Slime-like's emotionless eyes—its only feature still intact—remained fixed on Sven, who still held his stance.
And then, without anything particularly unexpected happening, the Slime-like simply crumbled to dust and vanished, as though it had been nothing more than an illusion from the start.
§ Sven knew from hard experience that the hand of the reaper falls upon those who let their guard slip.
He quickly assessed the situation. Multiple serious injuries. One person who had lost an arm. After an hour-long, grueling battle that had taxed them to the limit, everyone was exhausted—but no one was dead.
The group that had been conducting their investigation inside the White Wolf's Den had all returned safely as well.
Gaark sank his weight onto the ground with a heavy thud and let out a deep, weary sigh. The two investigators, who had little stamina to begin with, sat down with hollow, spent expressions.
"What a nightmare. I never expected a monster like that… But we made it… Was that a Phantom?"
"Damn it. This is exactly why I hate being on escort duty. I'd rather be called incompetent—at least then I wouldn't have to deal with this."
One of the investigators spoke without any energy. That sentiment was probably shared by every person present.
The Slime-like had been powerful, no question. They had found the key to breaking through and devised a response, so they had managed—but it was the kind of Monster that could easily have claimed lives.
Above all, the Slime-like had been completely unprecedented. A Slime wreathed in a magical barrier was unheard of.
As the older investigator had pointed out, the chance of a Slime appearing in this area in the first place was virtually zero.
Sven looked around at his fellow Clan members, exhausted and collapsed on the ground, and at the external Hunters who wore somber expressions despite having survived. He raised his voice.
He could not afford to stop thinking yet.
Always having a countermeasure ready. That was the survival know-how he had internalized again and again since joining the Beginning Footprint.
"Chances are, that Slime-like was… connected to the abnormalities in this Treasure Hall somehow. It's too well-timed to be a coincidence."
The investigation of the Treasure Hall's interior had yielded nothing in the end.
The Slime-like was the only real lead they had.
Marietta, her mana completely depleted from continuous casting of offensive magic, let out a deep, languid sigh.
"Indeed. If it were just the Phantoms having gone up a level, that'd be one thing, but this time it might be something worse."
At those words, the expressions around her darkened further. They understood how dire the situation truly was.
The exhaustion was severe. The fatigue ran deep. There were wounded. Even though they had figured out a way to fight the Slime-like, if another one showed up, things could get ugly.
But abandoning this place and retreating was an even bigger risk. That was Sven's assessment.
The only reason they had managed to defeat the Slime-like was that the people here were the elite. They were prepared, resolute, well-coordinated, and high-Level Hunters.
If the Slime-like had encountered the Third Knight Order instead—the unit that normally patrolled the capital's surroundings—the casualties would have been enormous.
The Third Knight Order trained hard and absorbed Mana Material regularly enough to maintain a high standard of power. They were by no means weak, but their adaptability was far inferior to that of Hunters who had been exposed to the countless traps inside the Treasure Hall.
The Slime-like they had encountered earlier was not an opponent you could simply overpower.
Given enough time, they would have spotted its weakness, but whether they could hold the line until then was highly questionable.
"We should at least figure out where it came from… We can still track its footprints. There shouldn't be that many of them. If there were a large number, the forest wouldn't be this quiet."
At Sven's words, Gaark grimaced and let out a low growl. He was probably thinking about the headache of dealing with the Relic Investigation Institute that awaited them.
The commission only called for an investigation of the Treasure Hall's interior. If traces were found outside, they could bring them back, but there was no obligation to plunge into a place they knew was dangerous.
Even if they returned now, their reputation might take a hit, but they wouldn't be held legally accountable.
At that moment, the brown-haired Hunter—the one who had been sitting on the ground, staring blankly at his missing arm—lifted his head.
He had suffered the worst injury of anyone this time. With that arm gone, he could no longer function as a Hunter, and it would hamper even his daily life.
The voice that emerged from his lips was hoarse.
"…By the way, do you think there are more?"
"…The odds aren't low. But the members here should be able to handle it. That Slime-like didn't have the power to wipe out a Party in one hit. Even scattered, we can handle searching for it and get away if we need to."
The Hunters exchanged glances.
Fear. Exhaustion. Among the Footprint Hunters, some wore wry smiles. In their heads, complaints about the master were surely flying back and forth.
Sven understood the difficulty of the Thousand Trials.
The Slime-like had been powerful and utterly unknown, yes—but compared to what they had been put through so far, its difficulty was actually lower.
Sending Gaark—the only one who could strike its pinpoint weakness—had been a masterstroke, no question. But needing nearly a hundred Hunters for a single encounter? That didn't seem right.
In other words, the Thousand Trials were not over yet.
If so, they needed to press forward. The choice seemed like theirs, but it was effectively not.
"You can choose to retreat, but… something nasty is waiting either way. You really want to get ambushed by another one of those on the way back?"
"…………"
"Anyone who wants to go home can go. We're… moving on."
The Slime-like's attacks were simple but devastating. If a Hunter—even one with tremendous physical endurance—took a direct hit to an unguarded spot, they would not walk away unscathed.
He waited a moment, but no one objected. The Footprint members, naturally, but the external Hunters too—no one said a word.
The Slime-like's sudden appearance had lent his words credibility.
They had personnel to spare. Splitting up by Party and combing the area methodically shouldn't take too long.
Sven looked into the depths of the forest, toward the direction the Slime-like had come from. The floating magical lights provided ample illumination, but the quiet forest wrapped in dim twilight was enough to stir an indescribable sense of dread.
They should hurry. Following the instinct that had suddenly flickered through his mind, Sven pushed himself to his feet.
§ They moved through the forest.
The Slime-like had a nature that indiscriminately destroyed whatever it touched. Its viscous body had apparently been composed of Mana Material, because it left behind no residue or slime—but by following the shattered trees and trampled ground, tracing its path back to the source was not difficult.
Sven's group consisted of the Black Gold Cross, Gaark with his halberd, the two investigators, and the brown-haired Hunter's Party—the man who had lost his arm and could no longer fight. The other Parties had split off to search the surrounding area for additional Slime-like.
The brown-haired Hunter watched Sven move briskly ahead, his eyes fixed on him. Sven cleared the undergrowth with a short blade as he spoke.
"The appearance of the White Marble Garden was hell. Compared to that, this was nothing."
"…Even less than this time?"
Sven gave a small nod without elaborating further.
The "Cherry Blossom Incident" was still spoken of within the Clan—a case that had rewritten the common sense of every Hunter belonging to the Beginning Footprint.
He continued while carefully following the trail.
"Our enemy this time was… a Phantom, but the enemy back then was the environment itself."
The White Marble Garden was, true to its name, a Treasure Hall where countless flowers bloomed in profuse, dazzling beauty across an endless expanse.
But its true nature made the White Wolf's Den look like nothing by comparison. Even now, Sven still saw it in his nightmares from time to time.
"Pollen. It had a soporific effect. Within seconds of the Treasure Hall's manifestation, half of the Footprint had passed out."
The area had originally been a flower field.
Without warning, the Mana Material had transformed the landscape into a sea of wild, blooming blossoms. Petals and pollen rose from the depths of that ocean of flowers. True to the name "White Marble," they had a texture like chalk—and inhaling or touching them brought on a crushing wave of drowsiness.
It was potent enough to knock out even a Hunter with a finely honed spirit in a matter of seconds.
Treasure Halls came in several types beyond the divisions defined by their physical layout.
The White Marble Garden was classified as an "environmental type"—one where the environment itself constituted a formidable obstacle for Hunters.
"The changes to the Ley Line were apparently enormous. The scenery shifted suddenly. Before anyone could even grasp the situation, they lost consciousness. Besides the drowsiness, there was paralysis and poison. And of course—powerful carnivorous plants and Phantom beasts adapted to that environment. The White Marble Garden was like a trap the Treasure Hall itself laid for the Hunters."
"…Surprising anyone made it out alive."
"We were lucky."
In its earliest days after manifestation, the White Marble Garden had contained far less accumulated Mana Material, so its difficulty had not been as extreme as it would later become.
But even so, it had been an impossible opponent for Sven and his group, who were still mid-tier at the time.
If it had been just the Footprint members there, they would have become fertilizer for the plants by now.
Once you entered, you could never return. That Treasure Hall had been a prison.
What had broken the deadlock was, as he would never forget, the members of the Mourning Specter.
Without a single word, their movements were so smooth it was as though they had silently coordinated in advance.
While Sven was dazed and barely conscious, Riiz drove a dagger into her own stomach.
Luke bit through his tongue. Lucia snapped her little finger. All of it to jolt themselves awake through sheer pain.
The first thing they had done was don their signature masks.
Wind scattered the pollen. Fire swept through the flower fields.
Brilliantly burning embers drifted like petals through the air. The sight of the Laughing Skeletons—calm and unperturbed amid the inferno—was still seared into the minds of every Footprint Hunter.
There should have been almost no time to think.
Now, the members of the Mourning Specter were all known by their epithets. But back then, they had not been so different from Sven and his group. Their Levels were nearly the same, and their physical abilities were not drastically apart.
At the time, Sven had not understood how they had chosen self-inflicted injury—an option that should have been unthinkable—when confronted with an abnormality that had come without warning.
Now he understood. What had separated them was experience.
The Black Gold Cross had longer careers as Hunters, but the Mourning Specter had been through far more crucibles.
Among Hunters, the powerful command respect. From that day forward, no one within the Clan openly spoke ill of them.
The Mourning Specter's reputation was not the best because of their ferocity, but they had a fervent following among certain circles.
Sven, too, had felt a deep unease at their otherworldly composure. It was not because their abilities were high. Their very way of being was simply beyond the pale of ordinary humans.
And he felt grateful—to belong to the same Clan.
But he could not simply rest content with his current standing. Sven had his own pride as a Hunter.
And perhaps because many others shared that same sentiment, the Beginning Footprint still maintained a large roster of members.
After following the trail for about ten minutes, Sven's group arrived at a clearing.
The signs of destruction appeared abruptly, and beyond that point there was nothing that could be called a trail.
Of the two investigators, the younger one with brown hair cautiously peered around.
"So it manifested here…?"
"No, this is outside the Treasure Hall. I find it hard to believe a Phantom like that would appear here."
The other investigator immediately denied the idea.
Gaark was examining the marks of snapped trees. The splintered, twisted pattern bore a strong resemblance to the damage left by the Slime-like.
Phantoms tended to be stronger the deeper into a Treasure Hall—closer to where Mana Material was most concentrated.
But if they were talking about "tendencies," the appearance of that bizarre Phantom in the first place was already wrong.
The first thing needed was to throw common sense out the window. And pick up only facts.
If it had truly manifested here, they had to accept that.
Sven furrowed his brow in thought. Gaark let out a half-impressed, half-exasperated groan.
"…That Klye—how does he always predict these things? Apparently he came straight to the Treasure Hall."
"Predict, predict, huh…"
Klye Andrich was an extraordinary talent. He was no god, but his ability to move people was almost divine.
This time, too, he had guided Gaark—the trump card against the Slime-like—all the way here.
Even Sven, who had known him for years, did not understand the true nature of Klye's foresight.
But this number of people had to have meaning, too.
Klye hated waste. This deployment was not designed solely to defeat the Slime-like.
At that moment, Henrik, who had been cautiously surveying the area, called out.
"Sven-san, this… was lying over there."
"Hm? What is it…?"
What was handed to him was a relatively large metal fragment. A flat, curved plate of some sort. It was not so ancient that it had rusted; it still gave off a dull gleam.
The metal was sturdy enough for armor, but it had been broken in half, twisted apart as though wrenched by force.
Other members found additional fragments and handed them over. They seemed to be scattered across the nearby area. Some of the pieces had heavy chains attached.
As the collected fragments were laid out, Gaark's expression grew increasingly severe.
They were simple shapes. Sven arranged the pieces, fitting the warped and broken edges together.
"Wait a second, this is—"
"…Handcuffs… and a collar?"
What had been assembled were five sturdy rings.
Giant handcuffs, shackles, and a collar. A few pieces were still missing, but there was no mistaking what they were.
They were far too large to restrain a human.
When the two investigators saw them, their expressions changed. The fatigue from earlier was gone, replaced by looks of sharp intensity as they touched the reconstructed pieces.
Sven felt something chilling about the scene and fell silent. The two investigators spoke in hushed voices.
"That's impossible… Handcuffs and leg irons? Something shaped like that Phantom could never be restrained by—"
"This is bad. I thought it was an unknown Phantom, but maybe—"
"We need to file a report, don't we?"
"Obviously. This is a Ten Sins offense! If we conceal it, we're the criminals. Damn it, Thousand Transformations—you've really outdone yourself this time…"
Their voices were grave. Being labeled a criminal was no small matter.
From the way they spoke, it was clear they knew something. Sven realized this situation was a far graver emergency than he had imagined.
The Ten Sins were the gravest offenses recognized under the law of the Zebuldia Empire. They included treason against the Emperor, subversion of the state, and crimes of that magnitude. Not the kind of word one heard in everyday life.
In Treasure Hunter parlance, there was the famous "Crime of Liberation"—occasionally, a transcendent being sealed in the depths of a Treasure Hall would be unsealed. But that was probably not relevant here.
A transcendent being, to put it simply, was "a being that approached the divine." The Slime-like certainly did not qualify, and if something had been unsealed, Thousand Transformations would never have failed to show up.
Eventually, the older investigator raised his head.
He did not seem inclined to explain the details. He spoke rapidly to Gaark.
"Branch Chief, the situation has changed. If someone released that Phantom—there is a possibility that it was unleashed—we need to report this urgently—"
At that moment, a sharp whistle from the depths of the forest cut through his words.