Hope, it seemed, had almost abandoned the detachment. Each step was taken with incredible difficulty. The fifteen survivors walked, barely moving their legs, their eyes inflamed from the sand and sun, and their consciousness constantly slipping into shifting mirages. Dehydration was at a critical level.
It was then, when their strength was nearly gone, that an oasis appeared in the distance. At first, it was just a blurry silhouette on the horizon—a dark strip interrupting the monotony of the desert. The detachment, accustomed to visual deceptions, initially thought it was another mirage, a product of their inflamed minds, another of the desert's taunts to their suffering. Hasan, his lips chapped and his voice barely audible, hoarsely muttered, "Water... I see water...". But no one believed him.
However, as the detachment, driven by the last remnants of their will, drew closer, the mirage did not disappear. It became clearer, taking shape. The outlines of palm trees appeared, then—the glint of water. This was not an illusion. It was salvation.
The warriors, upon seeing this, seemed to receive a new surge of strength. They covered the last few meters almost at a run, stumbling and falling, but immediately getting back up. Water! The source of life!.
Green, straightening up, let out a sigh of relief. Father Tuk, falling to his knees, began to pray, his words full of sincere gratitude. Hasan, crying with joy, rushed to the water first, throwing all caution to the wind.
The oasis was small but surprisingly lush in the midst of this barren wasteland. A few date palms leaned over a small, crystal-clear spring, around which green grass grew.
Upon reaching the life-saving oasis, discipline took a backseat to unbearable thirst. The warriors, Green, Father Tuk, and even Hasan, rushed to the spring. They drank greedily, filling their flasks, splashing the cool water on their sweaty faces. It was a moment of pure, animalistic relief.
A long halt was immediately organized. This was not just a brief rest, but a full recovery. The warriors shed their heavy, sweat-soaked clothes and washed in the spring, letting their skin rest from the scorching sun. Small tents were set up for protection from the daytime heat, and the meager food supplies left after the loss of the horses were distributed as efficiently as possible to restore some strength. The wounded and exhausted received first aid. This oasis became for them not just a point on the map, but a symbol of survival and hope.
When their strength began to return and their bodies stopped trembling from exhaustion, the detachment once again bent over the map. The unrolled parchment seemed to beckon with a new force. The experience of the last few days, the losses, and the relentless cruelty of the desert gave a new, deeper understanding of the path ahead. Every line, every mark on the map was now perceived not just as a pointer, but as a challenge that could cost them their lives.
The silence was broken only by the rustling of the palm trees overhead. The Lord, Green, and Father Tuk studied the next part of the journey, marked on the ancient parchment, searching for signs of the next landmark that would lead them even closer to the coveted treasures.
The Lord, Green, and Father Tuk bent over the map, tracing the path from the oasis. The next part of the route was even more convoluted and unpredictable, leading them away from any known paths. And then, finally, the Lord's gaze caught on the next, carefully drawn landmark. It was not a temple or a tower, but something much more secretive: the entrance to the caves, marked on the map as a narrow gorge leading deep into a rocky massif. Next to it were drawn strange symbols resembling ancient writings, and several small icons that could signify traps or some protective mechanisms.
Green frowned, studying the image. "Caves, my lord. This could be a shelter or a trap. Or, more likely, the path to the very heart of the cache. The entrance, judging by the scale, is quite narrow, which makes it difficult to access and well-hidden."
Father Tuk, squinting, examined the symbols. "These signs... they are unlike any dialect known to me. They are very ancient, perhaps belonging to that very forgotten civilization. They could be warnings or instructions. In any case, this place holds special significance."
Hasan, glancing at the map when the Lord unrolled it, immediately began to look around nervously. The thought of the dark, enclosed spaces of the caves undoubtedly frightened him much more than the open desert, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his anticipation of the treasures that might be hidden inside. This landmark was a clear sign that the Lord was approaching his goal. The caves could be the key to untold riches and ancient secrets, but they could also be full of dangers, both natural and man-made, left by ancient guardians.
Immediately after studying the map, the Lord ordered a council with the life-hussars. Although dismounted, they remained the best scouts, whose skills in orientation and reading the terrain were unsurpassed. Their experience in traversing difficult landscapes, even without horses, was invaluable.
The council was held under the cover of night, by the light of a barely smoldering fire, so as not to attract attention. The Lord pointed to the map, to that very narrow passage leading to the caves, and asked: "Based on what you have seen, the relief, the direction of the wind, and the general topography of these lands, in which direction, in your opinion, might these caves be located? And what else can you tell me about such a terrain?"
The life-hussars, despite their fatigue, studied the map intently and compared it with what they had seen during their reconnaissance missions. Their leader, a seasoned veteran with a weather-beaten face, pointed to a section of the desert where bare rocks rose sharply from the sand dunes. "My lord," he began, "gorges like the one shown on the map are often formed as a result of ancient riverbeds or tectonic faults. In this desert, such formations are usually hidden deep within the oldest and highest rock massifs, where the wind brings less sand, and where erosion creates such passages."
Another hussar added: "Entrances to caves, especially those hidden on ancient maps, are rarely obvious. They may be camouflaged by scree, or their entrances may be narrow crevices, invisible from a distance. If there were ever settlements there, they would be inside, to protect themselves from the sun and wind." Their words confirmed that the path to the caves would be difficult and would require exceptional attentiveness. It was possible that the entrance would have to be sought not on the surface, but deep within the rocks, among narrow crevices.
The small detachment, reinforced by these tactical changes, set off in the direction indicated by the hussars—towards the rocky massif where the caves were presumed to be hidden. The movement was slow and methodical. Every hill, every crevice, every shadow was carefully examined. The life-hussars spread out, moving slightly ahead and on the flanks, their eyes continuously scanning the rock formations, using the new "sights" for a detailed study of suspicious areas. They were looking not only for large passages, but also for barely noticeable cracks, scree that could hide entrances, or unusual weathering that indicated the presence of voids inside.
The "Black Company" moved in a tight group, ready for any surprise. Green constantly checked the terrain against the map, trying to catch the slightest discrepancy or confirmation. Father Tuk gazed at the ancient stones, searching for symbols or signs that might have been left by the ancient guardians. Hasan, though frightened by the prospect of entering the dark caves, nevertheless kept his eyes fixed on the ground and rocks, as if expecting luck to once again throw him another, albeit dangerous, find.
The desert held its secrets tightly. Time dragged on, and each hour of searching increased the tension, but you knew that somewhere among these ancient rocks lay the key to treasures and secrets that had been waiting for centuries.
The life-hussars, thanks to their experience and new "sights," skillfully led the detachment to the small hills indicated on the map. These weather-beaten desert mountains were strikingly different from the majestic, forest-covered northern ranges to which your warriors were accustomed. Here reigned a naked, harsh beauty: reddish rocks, eaten away by wind and time, curved fantastically, forming natural arches, narrow canyons, and countless crevices.
For several days, the detachment tried to find anything resembling an entrance. The expedition methodically combed every nook and cranny. The life-hussars, divided into small groups, cautiously explored every hollow, every crack, using their "sights" to look for irregularities or signs of worked stone that could betray a hidden passage. The "Black Company" followed them, ready for action.
The days were exhausting. The heat and dry air continued to test the detachment's strength, but the presence of water from the oasis allowed them to continue their search. The silence of the desert was broken only by the rustle of footsteps, the creak of equipment, and the occasional signals from the scouts. Every crevice found turned out to be a dead end, every stone a natural formation. Hope mixed with growing frustration. Even Hasan, whose luck usually manifested at the most unexpected moments, had not yet been able to help in this systematic but fruitless search. The Lord, Green, and Father Tuk constantly checked the map against the terrain, trying to unravel its ancient mysteries, but the desert held its secrets tightly. Obviously, the ancient masters had worked hard to hide the entrance.
The days of fruitless searching had exhausted everyone, but especially Hasan, whose cowardice and impatience were always on edge. He was completely worn out by these endless walks under the scorching sun and the pointless staring at rocks. In the end, deciding he could no longer bear this torture, he moved away from the main detachment in search of some shelter from the sun.
Finally, finding a secluded shadow under a rock ledge, Hasan leaned with relief against one of the boulders, intending to rest. His fatigue and nervousness did their work. He slipped, or simply lost his balance, and with a dull thud, unexpectedly fell into an underground passage! A soft cry was heard, then the sound of crumbling stone and sand. The next second, Hasan was gone, only a small hole, camouflaged by a pile of stones and sand, remained where he had just been standing.
The detachment reacted immediately. The life-hussars and the Black Company, with weapons at the ready, surrounded the place of the collapse. Green, with his usual composure, was the first to approach the opening, illuminating it with a lantern. Below, in a small niche, sat Hasan, his eyes wide with terror and dirt. He was safe and sound, but shaken to the core. Above him, it turned out, was a narrow, almost invisible slit that led deep into the rock. It was not a collapse, but a hidden entrance—so skillfully camouflaged that even the best scouts could not have found it without such "help." This was it. The entrance to the caves, the very one marked on your ancient map. Found, like all significant things on this campaign, thanks to Hasan's pure, absurd luck.
From the depths of the small niche, smeared with dust and sand but completely unharmed, Hasan climbs out. At first, he looked rumpled and frightened, but then, catching the general chuckle and seeing that no one was laughing at his ridiculous fall, but rather at his incredible luck, he was transformed.
Squaring his shoulders as much as his frail constitution allowed, Hasan immediately declared proudly: "I! I planned it this way! It was I who found this hidden passage! I felt it! I have a knack for such things, like my wise patron, the Lord of the North!" He began to wave his arms, trying to feign some mysterious premonition that, according to him, led him to this camouflaged entrance.
The Lord, Green, and Father Tuk just chuckled quietly, exchanging knowing glances. There was no point in destroying this legend created by Hasan himself. On the contrary, it only reinforced the myth of his "magical intuition" and the incredible luck that accompanies everything associated with the Lord. Let him consider himself a hero. It will only boost his self-esteem and perhaps make him an even more "effective" good luck charm. The warriors, witnesses of this ridiculous but successful "discovery," also struggled to contain their smiles. The story of how Hasan "fell" into the hidden passage would surely become another tale to be told around the campfires.
The discovery of the hidden entrance to the caves, albeit in such a curious manner, left no room for delay. In the face of the unknown that awaited underground, thorough preparations were required. The Lord ordered to immediately begin preparations for the descent. Since daylight did not penetrate deep into the passage, torches were essential. All available ones were checked, their wicks and resin. The few that had survived since the beginning of the expedition were supplemented with any combustible material that could be found among the detachment's meager supplies.
The remaining fresh water, carefully preserved after the oasis, was redistributed. Every flask was filled, and strict orders were given to use water extremely sparingly, as no one knew when the next source would be found.
In the narrow passages of the caves, firearms and crossbows might not be as effective, so special attention was paid to close-combat weapons. The warriors of the "Black Company" checked their bayonets and short swords, the life-hussars—their sabers. The blades were sharpened, the hilts checked, and the straps for securing the weapons were tightened.
While the warriors were busy with preparations, Green checked the route on the map one last time, trying to predict where these underground passages might lead. Father Tuk prayed quietly, asking for a blessing for the detachment in the face of the unknown. Hasan, with his sharpened sense of profit, frantically checked every pocket, carrying the smallest and most convenient torch, ready to be the first to rush after any gleam in the darkness. The air on the surface was still scorching, but at the entrance to the hole, a chill could be felt, emanating from the depths of the earth, heralding a completely different world ahead.
Having made the final preparations, your small detachment, led by torches, entered the gaping passage accidentally discovered by Hasan. The air changed instantly—the scorching desert heat was replaced by a cool, musty dampness, smelling of dust and ancient stone. It was a narrow section. No wide halls or spacious caves, just a winding corridor leading deep underground. You had to walk in single file, one after another, pressing against the rough walls. With each minute it grew darker, and only the dancing flames of the torches snatched the uneven outlines of the passage from the gloom.
Time had also taken its toll. The millennia that had passed since this path was carved had left their marks. Sometimes you had to literally squeeze through crumbled rock, where the vaults had collapsed and the walls had narrowed under the pressure of the earth. In other places, the floor was littered with stones and small gravel, turning every step into a trial. There were sections where the passage became so low that you had to crawl on all fours, or even flat on your stomach, feeling the cold stone beneath you.
Every rustle, every echo of your own breath in this gloom made your nerves tense. The warriors of the Death Squad, though fearless in battle, here faced a different kind of threat—claustrophobia and the unknown. Hasan, walking somewhere in the middle, trembled constantly, but his small torch, which he held with both hands, was aimed forward, his eyes frantically searching for any glint in the darkness. Green walked beside you, his face focused, his gaze constantly scanning the walls, trying to catch any man-made marks. Father Tuk seemed to feel the antiquity of this place, his quiet prayers sounding like an echo in the narrow passage. Every meter of progress was difficult, but every overcome obstacle only heightened the anticipation of what awaited at the end of this winding path.
The underground passage led lower and lower, descending into the bowels of the earth like a bottomless throat. With every ten meters overcome with such difficulty, the air became heavier, denser, as if pressing on the chest. Soon a new, more insidious danger emerged: a lack of oxygen.
The flames of the torches began to burn weaker, the tongues of fire grew pale, emitting more smoke than light. The breathing of every member of the detachment became ragged, heavy, with wheezing and shortness of breath. Heads spun, muscles weakened, and even the most seasoned warriors felt a growing nausea and lethargy.
Green, whose grip on the map had loosened, leaned heavily against the wall, his face pale. Father Tuk, his prayers now just a quiet, broken whisper, seemed on the verge of losing consciousness. Hasan, his eyes bulging, gasped for air, the panic in his eyes no longer from fear, but from suffocation. The Lord himself felt his mind clouding, and every movement required incredible effort. This was not just fatigue, but a mortal threat, an invisible enemy that was slowly but surely draining the detachment of its strength. To move on meant risking the life of every man. The lack of fresh air meant that somewhere ahead the passage either ended or led into a sealed, unventilated cavity.
The warriors' faces were pale, their breathing hoarse, and their consciousness clouded from lack of air. Action had to be taken immediately. Desperation mixed with resolve as the Lord made the only possible decision.
"Extinguish the torches!" his command rang out, hoarse but firm. "We need the oxygen to breathe now. We move on by touch."
It was a step into darkness. One by one, the flames went out, and absolute, impenetrable darkness reigned in the cave. This was not just night, but a primal, oppressive blackness in which it was impossible to distinguish even one's own outstretched hand. The detachment froze for a moment, seized by this sudden and complete absence of light. Claustrophobia intensified, every rustle seemed deafening, and every breath was a struggle.
Movement resumed slowly, stumbling, bumping into the walls and each other. Each warrior stretched out a hand, trying to feel the way. They moved, guided by the touch of the walls, the sound of footsteps ahead, the whispers and heavy breathing of their comrades. The sense of space completely disappeared, leaving only the feeling of an endless, oppressive tunnel.
Two more warriors fell in this oxygen trap. They simply sank to the cold, damp stone, their bodies ceasing to move. There were no groans, no final struggle—just a quiet, silent death from an invisible enemy. Every such loss was a blow, devastating not only the numbers but also the morale of the detachment. Now the detachment, which had so bravely begun this campaign, was reduced to thirteen men. Thirteen out of the twenty who had entered this cursed cave. Every death was a reminder of the ruthlessness of this ancient path and of how high the price of the goal was.
The breathing of the remaining men was ragged, dizziness intensified, but they continued to move, clinging to life and hope. Hasan, his eyes wide open, seemed to see something terrible even in the pitch darkness, but his survival instinct was stronger than his fear. Green, his face deathly pale, continued to maintain order, guiding the detachment. Father Tuk, almost without strength, barely audibly muttered curses and prayers.
The detachment was exhausted. After endless meters of struggling with darkness, suffocation, and claustrophobia, the last thirteen warriors, including the Lord, Green, and Father Tuk, were now sitting in this damned passage. Breathing was ragged, lungs burned, and consciousness was constantly slipping away. There was no strength to move on, every muscle refused to obey. Hope was dying.
It was at this moment of complete desperation that Hasan became hysterical. His voice, hoarse and cracked from thirst and fear, cut through the oppressive silence. "No! I... I'm not going to die in the dark! Not here!"
In a fit of panicked but instinctive desire for light, he frantically snatched his small, carefully guarded torch and, to everyone's astonishment, struck a flint. With a short hiss, against all expectations and the critically low oxygen level, the wick flared up. A weak, trembling flame illuminated the tiny space around Hasan. It was the last thing to do in such a situation, as the fire consumed the already scarce air, but at that moment it was a cry of despair.
Father Tuk, seeing the flared light and sensing his last moments, raised his gaze to the invisible ceiling. His voice was barely audible, but he began to recite what seemed to be a final prayer, resigning himself to the inevitable end.
But Hasan's torch, against all logic, continued to burn, albeit weakly. And in this faint, flickering light, right in front of the exhausted detachment, something became visible that made them forget about suffocation and fatigue.
In the absolute darkness, under the pressure of suffocation and despair, Hasan's lit torch was not just a ray of light, but the last hope. The entire exhausted detachment stared at its trembling flame. And it was not just a flame. It was a trembling flame. Its tongue did not burn steadily and languidly, as it had in the "oxygen trap," but twitched, flickered, as if under the influence of an invisible current. It was this fact, this barely perceptible detail, that instantly pierced their consciousness.
"Air!" Green exhaled hoarsely, his eyes wide even in the dim light.
"Circulation!" the Lord managed to force out.
Father Tuk, his face illuminated by the trembling light, suddenly beamed. Hasan, still in a panic, but now his panic mixed with wild hope, stared at the torch as if at a miracle.
And if the flame trembles, it means there is air circulation. This meant only one thing: the oxygen trap was over. Ahead there must be an exit to a more spacious cave, or a crevice leading to the surface, or perhaps a large underground hall with its own microclimate. It didn't matter what it was, the main thing was that there was air!
Strength seemed to return to the detachment in a wave. The suffocation did not disappear completely, but there was hope for salvation. The last thirteen warriors got to their feet again, though swaying. Everyone, as if enchanted, looked at the trembling flame of Hasan's torch, which was now not only a source of light but also a beacon to salvation.
Led by the trembling flame of Hasan's torch and an inhuman determination, they moved not with their last strength, but on their own willpower. Every step was an act of resistance to death, an overcoming of physical limits. Time in this suffocating darkness lost all meaning.
And then, after a long hundred meters that seemed to take an eternity to cross, the passage ended. The oppressive walls parted, and a spacious underground cave opened up before them. Air! It was cool, fresh, clean. Not perfect, but infinitely better than the musty, heavy air of the tunnel they had passed through. Every warrior, including the Lord, Green, and Father Tuk, took a deep, life-saving breath, feeling their lungs fill with long-awaited oxygen, and the dizziness slowly subsided.
In the light of Hasan's single torch, which now burned brighter and more confidently, a scene was revealed that was both majestic and frightening. It was a huge underground hall, its dimensions lost in the darkness. A high, vaulted ceiling was somewhere up there, invisible to our eyes. From the depths of the cave came the sounds of dripping water, and in some places, giant stalactites and stalagmites, formed over millennia, were visible.
Rescued from the oxygen trap, the detachment immediately made a long halt in the spacious underground cave. Here, they could finally breathe deeply, and the relative space allowed them to relax. The warriors shed their burdens with relief, drank the remaining water, and tried to recover their strength after the grueling journey and losses. The torches were lit again, their light dispelling the darkness, revealing the first details of this ancient world.
While the warriors rested and Green monitored the perimeter, Father Tuk did not waste time. His attention was immediately drawn to the strange, unfamiliar writings running along the walls of the cave. They had been carved into the stone millennia ago, and their patterns were different from anything he had ever seen. The priest, armed with a torch, carefully studied each symbol, trying to decipher their meaning, his lips moving silently, trying to pronounce the sounds of a forgotten language.
And at that moment, when everyone was busy with their own affairs, fate once again made a move through the most ridiculous member of the detachment. Hasan, unable to sit still, continued his eternal search for profit even during the rest. He wandered around the cave, his torch illuminating every ledge, every stone, in search of anything that might glitter. Once again, he stumbled on the uneven floor of the cave and, falling, caught his foot on a ledge. With a quiet rustle and a cloud of ancient dust that he raised, a boulder shifted, revealing ancient skeletons.
The cloud of dust raised by Hasan slowly settled, revealing a gruesome scene. Several ancient skeletons, their bones yellowed with time, lay on the cave floor. Their positions were unnatural: some were as if curled up in defensive poses, others seemed to have fallen in stride. Nearby lay the remains of ancient tools, scraps of fabric, and some crumbled artifacts, unrecognizable to the modern eye.
ns216.73.216.20da2
and then Add to home screen.