Chương 82: Runesmith (3)

The air on Floor 51 was thick and damp, with a faint metallic tang that lingered on the tongue. The torches lining the cavern walls flickered weakly, casting distorted shadows that made the stone corridors feel alive. My armor clinked faintly as I walked, my shadow wolf, Kael, padding silently by my side. His black fur melded seamlessly with the darkness, his eyes glowing faintly like twin orbs of molten gold.

Floor 51 wasn't particularly challenging—yet. The monsters here were fierce but predictable, their movements telegraphed and easily countered. I'd slain half a dozen serpent-like creatures and collected their cores, storing them in a rune-inscribed pouch that hummed faintly with contained power. The grind was monotonous, but necessary.

Still, something felt... off.

Kael's ears twitched, his nose sniffing the air.

"What is it, boy?" I whispered, crouching beside him.

He didn't respond, but his tail stiffened, and he let out a low growl.

We moved cautiously, following his lead. The walls of the dungeon seemed to narrow, the torches growing sparse. Eventually, we reached a dead end—or so it seemed. My instincts screamed otherwise. I placed a gloved hand on the wall, tracing the faint carvings with my fingers.

"Runes," I muttered, my voice barely audible.

Kael huffed in agreement, his sharp eyes fixated on the patterns. I began channeling mana into the carvings, and the wall shimmered before sliding open with a deep rumble, revealing a hidden room.

"Not bad," I said, smirking. "Let's see what secrets you've been hiding."

The room was sparse, its centerpiece a pedestal with an unassuming chest atop it. The air felt different here—heavier, almost suffocating. I approached cautiously, my eyes scanning for traps, but the runes etched into the floor were subtle, almost imperceptible.

"Should've been more careful," I muttered as the ground gave way beneath me.

Kael barked, his claws scrabbling to gain purchase, but gravity claimed us both.

The descent was disorienting, a freefall through darkness that seemed to stretch forever. When I finally hit solid ground, the impact rattled through my armor, but the runes I'd inscribed into it absorbed most of the shock.

Kael landed gracefully beside me, shaking himself off.

"You alright, boy?" I asked, my voice echoing faintly.

He barked once in affirmation, but his posture was tense, his eyes scanning our surroundings.

The chamber we'd landed in was massive, its walls lined with ancient tapestries and grotesque statues. At its center was a throne—a massive, obsidian construct that seemed to drink in the faint light of the chamber. Sitting upon it was a figure draped in tattered robes, its skeletal fingers resting on the armrests. Beside it loomed a bone dragon, its empty eye sockets glowing with an eerie blue flame.

"Well, this is awkward," I muttered, tightening my grip on my sword.

The lich didn't move. It simply watched, its gaze unblinking, as if studying me. Kael growled low in his throat, his hackles raised, but I placed a hand on his head to calm him.

"No sudden moves, Kael. Let's see where this goes."

The lich didn't move, though its glowing eyes seemed to bore into me. The silence stretched, the air thick with unspoken tension.

"You are not like the others," it finally said, its voice hollow and echoing.

"Not sure if that's a compliment," I replied, keeping my tone light while my mind raced.

Its gaze remained fixed on me. "You do not attack. Why?"

"Why would I? You haven't attacked me," I said evenly.

Internally, I was on high alert. This wasn't the first lich I'd encountered—far from it. In my past life, creatures like this were either powerful allies or deadly enemies, and both outcomes depended on the first few minutes of interaction. Still, I had to act cautiously, careful not to betray the wealth of knowledge I carried.

The lich tilted its head, a gesture that might have been amusement. "Fascinating. You are the first in centuries to exercise such restraint."

"Guess I'm full of surprises," I said with a faint smile.

The lich's eyes burned brighter for a moment. "Perhaps we should converse. It has been... a long time since I spoke with a living being."

"Alright," I said, lowering my sword slightly but keeping it within reach. "Let's start with your name."

"Arthur Valdik," it said, its voice carrying an ancient weight.

The name sent a jolt through me, though I kept my expression carefully neutral. Arthur Valdik. I knew that name. He had been an apprentice of the Master Sorceress during the Void Era, a brilliant mage who'd vanished while fighting the Demon Viscount.

"You've heard of me," the lich said, noting the flicker of recognition I quickly masked.

"Barely," I replied, forcing a curious expression. "Just fragments of history. You were an apprentice to a Master-ranked sorceress, right?"

"Yes," Arthur said, his tone wistful. "And now, I am this." He gestured to his skeletal form.

"What happened?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

The lich leaned forward slightly, its flames flickering. "I chose this path willingly. To preserve the knowledge of the Void Era, I turned myself into an undead. It was the only way to endure the centuries without losing my mind—or my powers."

I nodded slowly, though my thoughts were racing. Of course. A ritual of undeath as intricate as this one would require sacrifices—massive sacrifices. I'd encountered hints of similar rituals in my past life, though none as successful as what Arthur had achieved.

"And the price?" I asked, tilting my head. "There's always a price, isn't there?"

Arthur's flames dimmed slightly. "I cannot interfere in mortal affairs for long. My strength is bound to this place, and my freedom is fleeting. The ritual ensured I retained my magic, but it also shackled me here."

"Convenient," I said lightly, masking my unease. A lich bound to its lair was dangerous, but at least it wasn't an immediate threat.

"You mock me," Arthur said, though there was no malice in his tone.

"Not at all," I replied. "I just find it ironic. A man who sought to preserve knowledge, now trapped where few can hear it."

Arthur let out a hollow laugh. "Indeed. Mortals do not come here to listen. They come with swords and fire, seeking destruction."

"And yet you haven't attacked me," I said, my tone probing.

"Because you are different," Arthur said simply. "Your aura is... unique. You carry the weight of lifetimes."

My grip tightened on my sword, though I kept my expression calm. Had he sensed my reincarnation? No, that couldn't be it. He was likely detecting the fragments of my affinities.

"So, what knowledge are you so desperate to share?" I asked, steering the conversation away from dangerous territory.

Arthur leaned back in his throne, his skeletal fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. "The Void Era. A time erased from most records, its secrets buried and forgotten. Every 320 years, a calamity befalls this world—kingdoms fall, and demons rise. The next disaster is but a decade away."

I furrowed my brow, pretending to absorb the information. I already knew this. The cycles of calamity were a recurring theme in my past life's studies, though the details had always been fragmented. Still, I couldn't let him suspect I knew more than I should.

"Ten years," I said, feigning shock. "That's... not much time."

"No, it is not," Arthur agreed. "And yet mortals remain blind, squabbling over power and wealth while the storm brews."

"What do you propose?" I asked, my tone carefully curious.

Arthur's eye flames burned brighter. "I cannot act directly. But you... you may have a role to play. Your aura, your strength—they are unlike any I have encountered."

I resisted the urge to scoff. Cryptic nonsense, as usual. Always about 'destiny' and 'roles.' Still, I had to play along. "And what makes you so sure I'm the one you're looking for?"

Arthur tilted his head. "Because you are here. Fate, perhaps. Or mere coincidence. Either way, you now bear the burden of knowledge."

"Lucky me," I muttered under my breath.

Arthur ignored my sarcasm. "Will you aid me, mortal? Together, we may yet avert disaster."

I hesitated, feigning deep thought while my mind calculated. Trusting a lich was a gamble, but the information he offered was valuable. And if he was telling the truth about his limitations, he posed no immediate threat.

"I'll think about it," I said finally.

Arthur inclined his head. "Very well. The exit lies beyond that door. Take heed—the path ahead will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine."

Kael growled softly, his gaze still fixed on the bone dragon. I glanced down at him and gave his head a reassuring pat.

"Come on, boy," I said. "Let's get out of here."

As I turned to leave, Arthur's voice echoed one last time.

"Do not squander the time you have left."

The weight of his words settled heavily on my shoulders as we walked away. Kael pressed close to my side, his presence grounding me in the suffocating darkness.

"Alright, Kael," I said, forcing a smirk. "Let's see what kind of mess we've gotten ourselves into this time."

Kael barked in agreement, his tail wagging faintly.

But even as I left the chamber, my mind remained on Arthur's words. Ten years. A calamity.

bình luận bình luận của 0

Bình chọn

GỬI QUÀ TẶNG

Load failed, please RETRY