Chapter 30: Too Late for it

The group stood at the edge of the clearing, the morning sun dappling the ground through the sparse canopy above. Nancy seemed unusually fidgety, her hands clutching a small pouch of seeds and vials of potion.

“This is the place,” Nancy announced, her voice softer than usual.

Miles looked around. The clearing didn’t appear to be anything extraordinary—just a patch of grass and a few shrubs. “I don’t see what’s so special about it,” he said, voicing what everyone seemed to be thinking.

Nancy turned to face them, a spark of determination in her eyes. “This clearing grows medicinal herbs once a year, and that time is now. But the process is delicate. With the right buffs and spells, we can make them bloom today instead of waiting.”

Lancy raised an eyebrow. “And why are we just now hearing about this?”

Nancy hesitated, her usual confidence faltering. “Because... I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. If I mess this up, the herbs might not grow at all. And we won’t get another chance until next year.”

Josh stepped forward. “Nancy, you’re one of the best potion masters I’ve ever worked with. You’ve got this.”

Nancy smiled faintly but shook her head. “It’s not that simple. This spell requires precision, and I... I don’t want to fail. That’s why I need Miles’s blessing.”

Miles blinked, caught off guard. “You want me to bless your spell?”

“Yes.” Nancy’s gaze was earnest. “You’ve already proven that your luck can make the impossible happen. If you bless me, I know I can do this.”

Miles hesitated, a familiar sense of unease settling over him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the party relied on his luck more than anything else. Was that all he was to them? A tool to manipulate fate in their favor?

He glanced at Lancy, who watched the exchange in silence, her expression unreadable. Josh seemed supportive of Nancy, nodding along to her words.

Miles sighed. If he refused, the tension in the group could boil over again, and the fragile unity they’d built would shatter. He didn’t want the party to disband—not yet, at least.

“Fine,” he said, stepping forward. “I’ll do it.”

Nancy beamed, the nervous energy radiating off her replaced with relief. “Thank you, Miles. You won’t regret it.”

Miles placed a hand on Nancy’s shoulder, muttering a small prayer under his breath. The system chimed in his mind: “Blessing applied successfully. Nancy’s spell accuracy increased by 30%.”

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Nancy nodded, emboldened by the blessing, and moved to the center of the clearing. She uncorked one of her vials, pouring its shimmering contents onto the ground. With a deep breath, she began casting, her hands glowing faintly as she chanted an incantation.

The air in the clearing shifted, a faint hum resonating through the space. The ground trembled slightly, and the grass seemed to shimmer as if infused with magic.

A moment later, tiny buds began sprouting from the soil, unfurling into vibrant flowers of blue, gold, and green. Nancy gasped, tears brimming in her eyes.

“I did it...” she whispered, awe-struck.

Josh clapped her on the back. “I told you, Nancy! You’re amazing!”

Even Lancy allowed herself a small smile. “Good work.”

Miles forced a grin, trying to suppress the growing knot of resentment in his chest. Once again, his blessing had tipped the scales, and the party was celebrating Nancy’s success. But deep down, he couldn’t help but feel like his role was little more than a lucky charm.

Nancy turned to him, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you, Miles. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well... glad I could help.”

As the party gathered the herbs, Miles stood at the edge of the clearing, staring out into the trees. The unease in his chest wouldn’t fade. Something about this arrangement felt off, but for now, he kept his doubts to himself.

They had a dungeon to clear, and Miles needed this party intact—at least for a little while longer.

______

As the party reached the outskirts of the Village of Faelwen, they were greeted by an imposing sight: a tall wooden fence encircled the entire settlement, reinforced with metal spikes and ominous warning signs. It loomed over them, casting long shadows in the fading light of day.

Nancy frowned, shifting uneasily. “This is... unsettling. Why would a village need such heavy defenses?”

John shrugged but looked equally wary. “Could be a precaution against whatever’s causing the dungeon trouble. Either way, it’s not welcoming.”

Miles furrowed his brows and instinctively reached out to his system interface. Roll for safety check, he thought.

The dice spun and stopped, revealing an unsettling result. The system’s voice chimed in:

“No entry point is safe. All routes into the village are compromised.”

“What?” Miles muttered, his stomach twisting.

“What is it?” Lancy asked, noticing his discomfort.

“The system says there’s no safe way in,” Miles replied. “Something’s really wrong here.”

The party exchanged worried glances.

Before they could discuss further, the system spoke again:

“Additional notice: Dungeon level requirements have increased from Level 5 to Level 8 due to a significant rise in difficulty.”

Miles froze. “Level 8?” he echoed, the weight of the words hitting him. He had just reached Level 4, and the thought of being so outclassed was daunting.

“Why would the requirements change so suddenly?” Nancy asked, her voice tinged with fear.

“I don’t know,” Miles replied, his mind racing. Then, a pang of dread struck him, and he rolled to check on the child who had helped him and first directed him here.

The dice spun—and stopped with an ominous red glow.

“Critical failure: Cannot locate the individual. Query invalid for a person who no longer exists.”

The words hit Miles like a punch to the gut. He staggered, his hands trembling.

“No longer exists...” he whispered.

“What’s wrong?” Lancy asked, stepping closer, her tone concerned.

He barely heard her as realization sank in. The child he had promised to help—the one whose plea had driven him to this village—was gone. Not missing, not hiding. Dead.

“I was too late,” he muttered, the weight of guilt settling over him.

“Too late for what?” John pressed, his voice sharp with concern.