In the pitch-black passage, a golden glow emanated from Sophia’s short sword—her Holy Light. Yet as they ventured deeper, the radiance began to dim.

Before reaching the bottom, Rein caught a whiff of something strange. It smelled exactly like the scent from the granary. His senses sharpened. He pulled a feather from his clothes and murmured an arcane incantation. Inky, tentacle-like veins instantly crawled across the feather.

Fallen Angel feathers made superb magical conduits. Research claimed they lost less than ten percent of Arcane Power during transmission—outperforming many fifth-tier staves. Unrefined, though, they were too soft and fragile to serve as proper staves. But Rein had no other choice.

The moment Rein’s boots touched level ground, the Holy Light on Sophia’s sword flickered out. Seconds later, lights flared around them. Sophia snapped into a combat stance, blade raised, expecting an ambush. But there was no enemy.

They stood in a corridor. One end led back to the stairs; the other, to a wooden door. The unsettling smell seeped from beyond it.

Sophia reached for the door—Rein stopped her. "It’s someone’s secret chamber," he warned. "Spring a nasty surprise, and you’ll be meeting the Fate Goddess sooner than you’d like."

Faint, ragged breathing echoed from behind the door—like someone exhausted from intense exertion. Beneath it, a woman’s barely audible moan.

Rein wanted to listen longer, but Sophia had waited enough. She shoved the door open.

Tentacles. Bizarre creatures, neither plant nor typical animal. Usually colonial organisms, each tentacle was an independent being. Yet solitary tentacles rarely survived. Colonies thrived in groups of dozens, even hundreds.

Their bodies were slick and supple, secreting mucus to slicken hostile terrain. Deceptively soft, their muscular cores could coil around a grown man, binding him helpless.

And damn thing was a gourmet delicacy—sold like hotcakes in Gloria.

These tentacles appeared only after the Dark Overlord’s rise. Scholars still puzzled how they survived the Demon Realm’s hellish wastes.

But what met Rein’s eyes now was a wall crawling with countless tentacles. Several naked girls were pinned against it, limbs entwined. Their ragged breaths and whimpers filled the air.

Tentacles reproduced in many ways. The most known was self-severing—each fragment regenerating into a new being. But what Rein witnessed now was far darker:

They bred using the wombs of other female species.

Sophia gasped and clamped a hand over Rein’s eyes. He pushed it away.

Several tentacles sensed movement and slithered toward them. Sophia’s blade flashed. Severed ends recoiled instantly. The fallen piece writhed toward Rein’s foot. He stomped down—reducing it to pulp.

Alone, tentacles were as fragile as jelly. Only when coiled around prey did their strength emerge.

"Swords won’t work. Leave this to me."

Rein finished his chant. A crimson shield flared around him—Flame Shield. A low-tier elemental ward, useless to most mages. But for tentacles? Perfect. Their slime offered no protection against fire. One touch, and soon they’d savor perfectly grilled tentacles.