The Author Reincarnated As An Extra
Chapter 60: • The Withered Abyss (1)

Chapter 60: • The Withered Abyss (1)

Deremiah turned to them.

The situation in this Trial was very similar to others. They needed teamwork, strategy but more important was time management.

As usual, the trope of the goal and the test continued.

"Listen," he said, glancing at the both of them. "I know how we can survive this Trial, but you both have to follow me and forget about asking questions. Just do as I say."

Cestrel quickly nodded, her agreement immediate. Deremiah’s gaze shifted to Elora.

Like he expected, she hesitated for just a moment, her eyes lingering on his before giving a curt nod as well.

Satisfied, he turned forward, his eyes locked on the swirling mist ahead.

He pointed at the fog.

"Though it looks like just any ordinary one, that fog is filled with an energy corruption gas," he explained.

"It’s going to continuously corrupt our cores until we’re too weak to fight. Once that happens, the beasts will have no trouble killing us."

Cestrel and Elora exchanged glances. The Dawn Descendant stared into the cloudlike fog, wondering if there was a way to stay clear of it.

Deremiah’s expression was also grim, watching the fog as well. "Once we step deeper into the canyon, we’ll have very limited time here because of this," he continued, "but..."

Contemplating for one last time whether or not he should do this. He came to a quick decision.

"...I can try to give us as much time as possible."

He stretched his hand forward, and from the shadows of his palm, the [Writhe of Command] slithered out, shifting and weaving in the air.

Using the image he had constructed in his mind, the purple writhe condensed into three strange objects, floating in the air.

The new constructs gleamed in the gray light. They appeared to be masks, but they had tubes poking out of both sides and a net covering its metallic body.

They were completely Elora and Cestrel.

They both stared at them, their brows furrowing.

Since Deremiah was the only one from the real world — Earth — only he recognized what they were.

"As you know by now," he said, "my Technique allows me to corrupt constructs, but I can also create them according to my imagination and design."

He gestured to the floating constructs. "These are called nose masks. When you put them on, they’ll filter the air you breathe, stopping the fog from entering your lungs."

Elora reached out and picked one up, inspecting it mindfully, while Cestrel followed suit. The material was unfamiliar, but the concept seemed straightforward.

Before she put it on, she asked, "Can we speak with it?"

Deremiah donned his mask and raised his head up, showing her his half-covered face. "You can," he stated, his voice sounding modulated but still clear.

They both put theirs on, adjusting the straps with some difficulty.

Once their masks were strapped on and ready, Deremiah felt it important that he let them know some things. Just so they wouldn’t get caught off guard once they entered the fog.

"Every construct I create uses its own amount of MP," he began. "So these will not last forever. Once their MP runs out, they’ll disappear, and we’ll be exposed to the fog. The good news is the energy replenishing process by the fog is slow, so we’ll have some time."

His eyes grew grave. "But we can’t take anything for granted."

He then laid out the strategy, detailing their formation and approach.

The first part of the strategy was establishing a path forward.

As Deremiah had said before, they need to move quickly to avoid stamina drain and toxicity buildup. He assessed the most stable bridges or structures they could use to navigate, and showed them the ones to avoid.

For combat strategy, Deremiah thought it best to give themselves separate roles. It was best to decide on how to handle the Abyssal Beasts before encountering them.

Since Elora was the strongest and most skilled, Deremiah granted her the role of the frontline fighter. She would have to handle the Marrow Fiends directly.

Deremiah, being the self acclaimed brains of the mission, had the duty of observing patterns, directing movement and coming up with back up plans in case of dire situations.

But Elora was also incredibly gifted in battle intelligence, perhaps even more than him. She quickly analyzed the plan and added her insights, pointing out weaknesses and refining their coordination.

Ending up accepting her contributions and including it in the plan, Deremiah turned to Cestrel. "Cestrel, you’ll—"

Cestrel blinked in surprise. Her brows lifted.

Deremiah noticed this and paused, also raising a single brow. "What?" he asked.

"You know my name?" she said softly, tilting her head slightly.

Deremiah was suddenly struck with realization. Shit.

She had never told him her name. Neither had Elora.

Acting as normal as he could, he shrugged. "Of course. I heard Elora call you by name back in the Fifth Trial."

Elora’s brows creased with suspicion.

Before she could speak, Deremiah quickly interjected, "By the way, I did say something about asking questions, right?"

"Oh. Sorry," Cestrel muttered, looking away.

Deremiah sighed. "It’s fine. Let us continue. You must understand that once we enter the fog, things are going to turn very grim, very quickly. Even the Inquisitor stressed on how much the Withered Abyss wants to kill us.

"We can’t run recklessly because the Grimscale Dreadmaws sense vibrations. We’ll have to be careful and nimble. And then, the Umbral Howlers. They require a formation; at all times, one person should always be watching while others move."

He thought about it for a while.

"Relics. Relics are a gamble, so we must decide whether they’re worth the risk."

However, he already knew they were. Relics were the only way they were ever going to make it out of here.

He was about to explain more when a voice suddenly shattered his thoughts and voice.

"Heyyyyyyyyyyy!!!"

Deremiah froze.

’Mhm?’ He turned his head slightly, his senses sharpening.

From a distance, a voice echoed again. It was faint, but growing closer.

Deremiah, realizing how familiar the voice sounded, turned around and glanced at the distance where the sound was coming from.

He’d seemingly heard it before the girls.

Squinting his eyes through the gray surroundings, he began to make two figures. Then, the same eyes widened.

He saw a fat round boy in brown gear striding from the distance up a cliff, the fog near to him. Beside him was a girl on tattered black clothing, and white glowing hair.

’You’re kidding me,’ Deremiah thought.

Unfortunately, he recognized the guy as Pallock from the Second Trial. The same one he’d refused to make his disciple and lead through the Trials.

How the hell was he here?

He turned back to the girls, pretending not to have seen or heard him.

Elora narrowed her eyes. "Did you hear something a moment ago?"

Deremiah shook his head, perhaps a little too quickly. "No."

Elora frowned. "That’s strange. I thought I heard something."

"I didn’t," he replied flatly.

"Me too," Cestrel added.

"You didn’t," Deremiah said firmly. "Let’s go."

Just as he turned to the left, wanting them to leave before Pallock got close, the voice rang out again, louder this time.

"Heyyyyyyyy! Mister Deremiah sire!"

Elora’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "There. I just heard your name."

She followed the sound, her sharp gaze landing on a rotund figure in brown gear, striding towards them. Beside him, she saw the same girl in tattered black clothing with long white hair moved in sync.

The boy raised his hand excitedly and waved at them. "Heyy!!"

"Hello!" Cestrel waved back enthusiastically. "It’s great that there are others in this Corridor with us!"

Deremiah let out a slow, exasperated sigh, lowering his head dejectedly. There was no escaping this now.

Feigning surprise, he turned fully, his expression shifting into one of sudden recognition.

"Do you know that boy?" Elora asked him.

"Yes," Deremiah said with a sigh. "Yes I do."

Pallock was still waving excitedly at them, his round face practically glowing with enthusiasm.

’Through the Labyrinth of Mirrors, the Ether Forest and the River of Tears.

And yet, somehow, this no-Technique participant had made it here. I got to hand it to him. He’s outperformed himself.’

Deremiah led them toward Pallock and the girl. He moved his gaze to the girl, giving her a quick study gaze.

But his breath instantly hitched.

His eyes locked onto the cloth wrapped around her eyes, realization slamming into him with a force that made his heart drop.

Oh. No wonder he’d survived that long.

That character. He knew exactly who she was.