From Master Assassin to a Random Extra: OP in a Dating Sim -
Chapter 74: Cynthia (1)
Chapter 74: Cynthia (1)
An hour passed, the test continuing as more students forged ahead into the depths of the dungeon along their own paths—each one diverging like capillaries through a living labyrinth. Somewhere amidst the intertwining routes, the occasional scream echoed, quickly silenced, followed by faint pulses of light. Trearch, as inscrutable as ever, made his judgments without ceremony, failing students as he deemed necessary.
And Marcus and Cynthia? Well—at this point, only one of them could be said to be conscious.
Cynthia carried on, resolute and silent, while Marcus remained completely unconscious—his body drifting behind her like a broken doll held aloft by threads of magic.
...
...
One hour ago...
...
"Looks like you’re completely out of commission for now..." Cynthia murmured, kneeling beside Marcus, her voice tender as her fingers brushed across his cheek.
His face was pale, sweat clinging to his skin, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. Despite the battle’s end, the tremor of magical exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.
"Well... you definitely deserved it for doing most of the hard work," she whispered, allowing herself a small, bittersweet smile. Her palm gently came to rest on his forehead.
"But I guess it’s my turn to care for you now."
Her eyes fluttered closed as a soft blue glow sparked in her hand—a delicate, pulsing light, like moonlight caught in motion. She pressed it to Marcus’ chest, and from that point, a quiet siphon began. The transfer of mana was subtle, elegant.
"Since you’re asleep anyway... I’m sure you won’t mind if I borrow just a little mana for a while," she said softly, her voice laced with hesitant gratitude.
As the glow grew, Cynthia’s own pulse steadied, her weariness gradually melting away. She watched her wristband flicker slightly, the color stabilizing as her reserves filled. She clenched her jaw for a moment.
If it ever gets too dangerous again...
If I have no choice...
She glanced at Marcus’s still form.
Then I’ll do what he did.
She could always destroy her own wristband. That would summon Trearch again—summon him to eradicate whatever monster might stand in their way.
But something in her chest clenched at the idea.
"...But I’m sure you’d want to pass this test," she said with a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. "You were the one so hell-bent on pushing forward, weren’t you?"
She let out a soft sigh, her gaze falling to Marcus’ chest. The mana still flowed.
"You have quite an abnormal mana reserve size... honestly, it’s the level of a prodigy. But the strangest part is—it never seems to run out." Her brow furrowed.
"Were you holding back your strength the entire time...?"
The thought unsettled her more than it should’ve.
But after a pause, she shook her head, trying to shake off the fog of speculation.
"No... let’s not overthink this. It’s probably just the exhaustion playing tricks on me. I’ve made worse miscalculations when tired."
Her eyes caught the shimmer of something nearby—her wand, floating lazily beside them in the shallow water. Somehow, despite everything, it hadn’t drifted far.
"Looks like Trearch isn’t as cruel as he seems," she murmured, reaching out and retrieving the wand. "He even teleported my wand nearby. Hmph. Who knew?"
Cynthia stood slowly, stretching her arms as water rippled softly at her knees. She twirled the wand in her hand before raising the other, summoning a gentle gust of wind. Marcus’ limp body rose slowly into the air, cradled by invisible magic.
"Alright. Now then..." She glanced down both paths before her. "Left or right?"
After a moment of hesitation, she turned toward the path that had once housed the crystalline wyrm. In her reasoning, it was the safest path now. Whatever threat had existed there—was dead.
And if anything else had tried to live there?
Then the wyrm would’ve killed it long before they arrived.
As she retraced their steps, the stench hit her almost instantly—a revolting, gut-twisting odor that clawed its way up her nostrils and settled like rot in her lungs. She winced.
The mountain of fish and animal carcasses towered again before her, bloated and blackened, soaked in stagnant blood that had long since ceased to be liquid and instead clung like oil. A sickly-red fog hovered above it, and Cynthia pulled her sleeve to her nose as she walked.
The water sloshed against her thighs, murky and cold. The deeper she waded into the subterranean lake, the more oppressive the silence became.
Until—
"It’s a path!" she said aloud, eyes lighting up.
Just a few kilometers beside the mountain of death, nestled between jagged stone walls, she spotted it: a narrow path, where water cascaded gently down from above, forming a natural stairwell—stone ledges shaped by erosion, made slick by the flowing stream.
Cynthia hesitated at its edge, the current stronger here. The descent looked treacherous.
"Way too dangerous to cross it normally..."
She turned her gaze back to Marcus, floating behind her peacefully. Her hand pressed against his chest once more.
"Let me borrow more mana."
The glow returned, fainter but sufficient.
"Okay... let’s carry on."
Raising her wand, Cynthia murmured a chant, her voice firm but quiet: "Soothing Cold."
Frost climbed her legs, encasing her feet like armor. With each step she took, the water beneath her froze in place—creating stepping stones of ice that slid over the rocky stairs, allowing her to walk without slipping.
Marcus floated silently behind her, still suspended in her magic.
As they reached the bottom, Cynthia stepped into a cavern unlike anything they’d yet encountered.
A vast, echoing room stretched out before them, its walls veined with luminous crystal. Water flowed along channels carved into the floor and walls, weaving intricate patterns like veins in a glowing organism. The crystals pulsed faintly—not from light, but from memory.
The stench faded with every step she took into the chamber—replaced by a silence so complete, it felt like entering a dream.
Each step Cynthia took caused the floor to glow softly beneath her feet, like the entire structure was sensing her presence. Pillars of jade and quartz lined the chamber like ancient guardians, their surfaces engraved with stories long lost—murals of winged figures, wars, and cataclysmic magic.
"This place..." she whispered, eyes widening.
She froze. Her pupils dilated, and a faint aura shimmered around her—an unconscious resonance, as if something buried deep in her memory was being stirred awake.
Her gaze was drawn forward, to the end of the chamber.
A pedestal, carved of polished obsidian, stood alone in a pool of still water. A single glowing rune shimmered upon it, humming with dormant power. Above it, suspended as if time itself dared not touch them, floated two earrings—small, intricate, and a brilliant blue that matched Cynthia’s eyes perfectly.
As she took a cautious step forward, the entire room chimed—a soft, haunting sound like wind chimes caught in a gentle breeze.
"Was it a trap?" Cynthia muttered, instinct taking over.
She immediately slid Marcus behind her, shielding his body with her own as she raised her wand, prepared for a fight.
But there was no explosion. No attack.
Only... a feeling.
What is this...?
And why does it feel...
Nostalgic?
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