The silence was unbearable.
Elias knelt in the dust. His eyes locked onto the grotesque head lying mere inches away. The creature's skin had begun to darken, curling like scorched paper. Yet it's single blue eye – cracked and dimmed – still held its gaze. It stared into him, through him, with something far worse than malice – recognition.
A tear.
A single, fragile drop escaped the ruin of its face, trailing down the twisted cheek and falling soundlessly to the ground. Elias froze. His breath caught in his throat, and for the first time, he felt his knees buckle beneath the weight of something heavy. Not fear. Grief.
He didn't know why, but something inside him recoiled and ached all at once. Like looking a dream you knew wasn't yours, but still feel the pain of losing. The voice. The eye.
He slowly sat upright, numb. The air felt colder now. As though the castle itself mourned.
Dragging himself forward, he approached the monster's broken form. Its body had begun to wither, shrinking in on itself as the last glow of corrupted sigil energy faded. And then, there it was, tucked into the folds of malformed flesh near the base of the neck.
The cloth.
Torn, frayed, still bearing the faded stitch of a yellow flower.
His hand trembled as he reached for it, plucking it free from the flesh cage. It felt warm, as if carrying a memory that refused to die. He stared for a long time before tucking it into a pouch at his side, pressing it close to his body without fully realizing why.
He stood slowly. Still no sword. Still alone.
[ You are currently unarmed. Environmental hostility remains unknown. Proceed with caution. ]
The System's voice was distant, mechanical, almost apologetic. Elias gave no reply. There was nothing to say.
He moved.
The corridor beyond felt like another word. Cold, stone-lined, and stretching impossibly far into the darkness. It was shrouded in dim mana-light pulsing from veins in the walls. Each step echoed too loudly, and the air shimmered in places as though reality had torn slightly.
Elias stopped. Something prickled at the edge of his awareness.
"System", he finally muttered. "Do you feel that?"
[ Warning: Mana inconsistencies ahead. The corridor bears a fractured mana pattern consistent with trap-type formations. Variable density implies pressure triggered responses. Proceed carefully. ]
His jaw tightened. He lowered himself and continued to walk slowly.
The floor looked ordinary at a glance – just dust, cracks, faded carpets of royalty long gone. But the shimmer betrayed it. He stepped over one, then side-stepped another.
Then –
Thwip!
A steel arrow tore past his cheek, barely grazing it with a searing sting.
He hissed and ducked, rolling against the side of the hallway. The bolt clattered against the opposite wall with a sharp twang. Blood dripped from his cheek, warm and thin.
"Close… too close."
He breathed deeply, then moved again. He zigzagged with methodical slowness. The traps lessened as he neared the final archway, and beyond it… was the court.
The great hall opened before him in solemn grandeur, a cathedral of silence and dust. His boots sank slightly into the faded red carpet, which ran the length of the chamber like a vein of old power. Wind slithered in through the shattered window above the throne, disturbing the thin layer of snow that dusted the floor.
And then, he noticed blood.
Dark, congealed stains along the edges of the carpet, and a massive splatter on the stone throne at the far end. Not just execution. It was as if someone had been hurled into the seat of power with monstrous force. The imprint left behind on the throne was almost human, splayed and broken. A squashed mosquito made of meat and bone.
Behind that throne, a sword protruded from the seat itself. It was driven in as if the to skewer the very concept of authority. It gleamed with a faint, unnatural sheen. No hilt. Just steel… and malice.
Elias exhaled slowly. The trauma clung to him, heavy and cold. His thoughts kept flickering back to that monster, to its final tear. To the feeling that something inside him knew 'her'. That feeling clung to his spine like frost.
He forced himself forward.
To the left and right of the crimson path stood twelve seats, six on each side. They were likely occupied by the king's inner circle. The first eight seats were untouched and preserved. The velvet cushions were dusty, but still intact.
But the last four were not.
Each bore evidence of direct assault. Sword gouges and split word. Burned edges. The marks weren't from behind, but from the front.
A battle. Or perhaps a purge.
At the foot of the throne, two enormous statues loomed. Soldiers cast in blackened stone. The one on the right had collapsed, broken into jagged chunks with its one arm outstretched as if still reaching to protect. The other remained upright, but its torso had been sliced diagonally, the upper half barely clinging by a thread of weathered stone.
Above, a broken window stared down like a blind eye. Shattered glass lay on the floor. Snowflakes drifted lazily inside, settling on the carnage like a mockery of peace.
Elias walked between the ruined seats. One by one, he inspected them, hoping for a clue, an insignia, a hidden drawer, anything. But they were mute. All he had was the blood-laden throne.
He approached it slowly, blood spread on the steps leading up to it. The sword embedded in the stone had no markings, no crest or blessing. Just an anonymous blade.
He lowered himself to one knee and ran his fingers along the base.
There. A small hole. Too smooth to be natural. Hidden behind the rear-left leg of the seat.
He pressed his thumb into it.
There was a faint give, like pressing an old parchment, but it held firm. As if something inside was waiting for the right shape or edge to complete the motion.
Nothing.
His frustration surged. "If only I hadn't left the dagger…"
He looked back at the embedded sword.
His only option.
He grabbed the gripless shaft, planting a boot against the throne. It refused to budge.
He strained, muscles taut, his shoulders burning with effort. The stone shrieked in protest. Dust fell.
Then –
A shudder.
It came free with a sound like tearing fabric.
He staggered back, the sword in his hands, shock rippling through his arms. It was heavier than expected, humming faintly like it had a will.
[ Weapon acquired: Proditionis Gladius. Description unavailable. ]
He tested its weight. Smooth. Balanced.
Carefully, he guided the tip into the hole.
Click.
A deep rumble echoed. Somewhere below, stone gears groaned into motion. The floor trembled as if the very foundations were shifting.
From the far side of the hall, something moved.
The shadows unraveled.
It stepped forward.
The monster.
But now, it was headless. Its wounds still fresh. The stump of its neck glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm. Its limbs twitched as it walked. The same presence. The same dread.
It remembered him.
Elias stepped back. His grip on the sword tightened. The pink cloth in his pouch seemed to ignite against his skin.
[ System alert: Corrupted Entity Re-Manifested. It is surrounded by a strange mana. Behavioral pattern unknown. Prepare for engagement. ]
His breath caught.
He wasn't ready.