With someone like Spoon—who actually knew where he was headed—helping out, making his way toward the Great Hall was surprisingly uncomplicated for Lacerta.
Yet from the outset, he couldn't shake a nagging question: why were the streets so empty?
He knew that in the Warrens a full throng of people would be unlikely. Still. It felt wrong.
Most of the people lived underground.It wasn't plausible that such a community could sustain itself wholly beneath the earth. They must, at some point, return above, to the non-ruined parts of Guaral, for supplies and safety. But still… they didn't.
The entrance to the subterranean domain wasn't hidden at all. It was quite literally a yawning wound in the city's shell—stone-slabbed buildings lay half-collapsed, the ground itself dropped a dozen metres compared to the surrounding streets. Nearby, a cavernous gash swallowed light and hope alike, plunging downward into darkness. At its mouth sat two guards, side by side, their silhouettes calm yet watchful.
These weren't the uniformed soldiers Lacerta was used to seeing in the city. Their armour was minimal—more casual dress than battle gear. If it weren't for the swords resting at their hips, Lacerta might have mistaken them for labourers rather than fighters.
Spoon: ["Getting in won't be easy… unless, of course, you plan to politely announce to them that you're coming."]
The masked assassin hummed softly over his shoulder, opting to make a joke in the situation whilst peering from behind a pile of rubble at the two guards.
Lacerta: ["Is that so?"]
Lacerta wasn't sure why he was treating these guards like imminent threats. Were they really that dangerous, or was he just paranoid?
Either way, the solution was obvious.
Spoon: ["Well… all we've got to do is—what are you doing…?"]
Spoon reached toward thin air, as if trying to rewind time itself. The reason: Lacerta's painfully obvious approach, each step practically screaming "Here I am, please notice me!"
He carefully stepped over the broken slabs until their eyes finally landed on him. The guards stared, silent.
The silence stretched on. And stretched. Finally, one of the guards sighed, obviously struggling to hold back laughter.
Guard One: ["…The password, genius."]
Lacerta blinked. Then, as if a lightbulb flickered to life, he gestured toward Spoon, still crouched in the rubble.
Lacerta: ["Ah—right, right. My friend has the password. Don't worry about that."]
Spoon let out a quiet sigh as he emerged, shaking his head in exasperation.
The guards exchanged sideways glances, clearly debating whether this kid was dangerous—or just a walking punchline ready to be said.
Guard Two: ["Everyone allowed in has their own password, you dumbass. Not shared. No password, no entrance… genius."]
Guard One: ["Yeah, really! Who lets friends have their passwords? You planning to borrow it too, or are you just winging it?"]
Guard Two: ["Maybe bring some tasty food around 'n we'll let you in, if not, piss off already!"]
The two high-fived in silent approval already pretending that Lacerta didn't exist.
The assassin just gave an exasperated sigh, glaring toward the purple-eyed boy with a frown beneath the mask.
Spoon: ["Can you just… you know… do your thing already?"]
Immediately, one guard crumpled to the ground, unconscious. The other froze, hand leaping toward his sword, eyes wide—but the motion was too slow, too human, too stupid.
Guard Two: ["What the—what the fu—?!"]
The blade slid free, gleaming sharply. His eyes locked on Spoon, who stood calmly with arms raised in mock surrender, wagging a single finger at the helpless guard.
Frowning, the guard tried to turn—but his body betrayed him, toppling onto the floor beside his unconscious comrade.
Confusion lingered across Lacerta's face, smoke still curling from his hand—the same hand that had just taken them down.
Lacerta: ["What… horrible guards."]
Spoon shrugged and casually hopped over the fallen pair toward the cavern entrance.
Spoon: ["Well… they're basically just decoration. Not real fighters. Everyone knows stabbing TThe Feast in the side is an instant death sentence. Which, conveniently, means you don't actually need competent guards."]
Lacerta tilted his head as he followed the masked assassin into the cave. Had it not been for the torches spaced every few meters, the darkness would have swallowed them whole.
Lacerta: ["Then why are you with me…? If it's just a death warrant, that is."]
Spoon: ["—You talk as if I had a choice in the matter."]
Lacerta shrugged, glancing toward the assassin.
Lacerta: ["You know what I mean."]
Spoon: ["Because I'm just curious… after all. There's something I want to see, even if it means there's a high chance of dying."]
Lacerta's eyes dropped, lost in thought.
Lacerta: ["You mind sharing?"]
Though the mask concealed the expression, Lacerta could almost sense the assassin smirking underneath.
Spoon: ["Heh, nope~"]
He shifted into a more serious stance, feeling the weight of what lay ahead.
Spoon: ["I can't promise the guards you run into from here on will be as easy… well… who knows? You are strong, after all."]
Lacerta nodded. It made sense—naturally, the deeper into the cave system they went, the tougher the opposition would become.
———————————————————————————————
Lacerta swiftly dispatched yet another guard with a single, precise chop to the back of the neck.
Before the body even hit the ground, he yanked it around the stone corner and set it down neatly, then turned toward Spoon who merely stood in wait, allowing Lacerta to do the 'heavy-lifting'.
If it could even be called that...
Other than guards, there hadn't been much to see—no traps, no surprises, nothing interesting. The absence of serious resistance was almost a relief. Not a single one of these guards had been anything even closely resembling a challenge anyway They were barely stronger than an average fighter with a weapon in hand.
Lacerta glanced back at his companion, suspicion flickering across his face. Could this masked assassin be trusted? How long before he decided to stab him in the back?
Lacerta: ["You've been quiet."]
Spoon's eyes stayed fixed on the ground, his posture relaxed yet unreadable.
Spoon: ["Oh, you know… just listening."]
Lacerta: ["Listening…? Listening for wha—"]
His words died on his lips. The stone beneath his foot shifted ever so slightly—a subtle incline he hadn't noticed until his weight pressed down on it.
Instinct snapped him upright. Before he could fully process it, a massive blade plunged from the cavern ceiling, slicing the air with a shriek of steel. Lacerta leaned back, the tip missing him by mere inches, embedding itself into the stone where he'd just stood.
Dust and small shards of stone sprayed into the air. He felt the rush of displaced air against his face, smelled the tang of metal of the weapon that had nearly turned his body into minced meat.
Spoon: ["Traps. For the traps."]
Lacerta: ["And you neglected to mention this because you thought it would be funny or what? Might I remind you that your life is in my hands."]
Spoon simply shrugged.
Spoon: ["And might I remind you... that I don't care. I thought I'd made that clear."]
Lacerta just sighed, his gaze sweeping over the cavern walls and ceiling, where dozens of weapons and devices lay poised in the shadows. The knowledge of their presence was useless; he had no idea what might spring which trap after all.
Then again... wasn't he just overthinking this?
He'd never tried it before, but he was certain he could cross the distance in a single leap without ever touching the ground. And even if the triggers weren't pressure-activated, he was far too fast for crude traps of wood and steel.