Kael took a stumbling step back, eyes locked on the headless statue.
"He… killed himself?" he whispered.
The thought wormed into his mind, refusing to let go.
Yue's expression didn't shift.
Only her sigh betrayed her—long, weary, as if this truth had lived inside her for far too long.
"He knew the consequences," she said.
"Better to anger that deity. He knew what had to be done."
Kael's voice dropped to a hush.
"So… the ritual was completed, right? What happened to the spell?"
Yue shook her head, gaze distant.
"No one knows.
The murals end there.
No records. No carvings. Nothing.
As if the temple itself chose to forget."
The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.
Kael stared at the shadows curling around the guillotine.
Then Yue pointed—toward the motionless figure in its shadow.
"I think… if you destroy that," she said softly, "you might be able to get out."
Kael's jaw clenched. "You could've led with that..."
His eyes lingered on the grotesque guardian—one arm clutching a rusted greatblade, the other still cradling its severed head like a sacred relic.
"He's… alive?" Kael asked.
Yue shook her head.
"No. Not really.
That's not a man.
It's a memory given shape.
Regret. Duty. Or something worse."
Kael swallowed hard.
His fingers flexed.
Dreamweaver pulsed in his grip—low and slow.
Like a heartbeat.
Like it knew.
Like it wanted.
Without a word, Kael shrugged off his coat, flipped it inside out, and slipped it back on—the black lining catching the faint light.
No more time. No more choices.
Only the blade.
Only forward.
Yue hovered silently beside him as chaos roared through the hall.
Students screamed, scattering in panic as skeletal warriors surged forward.
No one noticed Kael break from the group—no one had the time.
He moved like a shadow, swift and silent, weaving through the chaos until he stood before the headless statue.
Dreamweaver pulsed in his grip.
Hungry.
Kael exhaled slowly—and cast the Amplification spellat full force.
Mana surged through him, flooding his limbs, hardening muscle and bone, wrapping his frame in power.
Then, with a roarless fury, he raised the crimson blade high—and brought it down.
T H U U D.
The sound shook the temple.
For a heartbeat, the world held still.
Bones stopped clattering.
Flames faltered in their sconces.
Even the air itself paused, thick with dread.
One by one, the students turned—drawn by the unnatural silence behind them.
Selene turned last.
Her breath caught.
She stared.
The headless statue was moving.
But it wasn't falling.
It was blocking.
Something had attacked it—something fast.
And that something now stood before the statue, blade locked against stone.
A figure in a long black coat.
Face hidden behind a crimson demonic mask.
He looked like a creature ripped from a nightmare—faceless, silent, wrapped in shadow and steel.
Inhuman.
Deadly.
The skeletons stopped moving.
Not shattered. Not slain.
Just frozen—locked in place, as if in silent reverence.
Every gaze turned to the center of the hall.
To the clash between the headless guardian and the masked intruder.
The air was thick with disbelief.
A voice trembled, "W-Who is that?"
Another, quieter: "No… what is he?"
"Is he with us?" someone muttered—unsure if the answer should bring relief or dread.
Yes.
The figure in the black coat, the one trading blows with the temple's guardian—
Was Kael.
He had taken the Skull's mask without hesitation, slipping it on like a second skin.
Without shame.
As if it had always belonged to him.
The cold metal hugged his face, but it did more than that.
It sank in.
Not just onto flesh—but into him.
The screams, the panic, the firelight—all fell away, muffled like echoes underwater.
Then, a flicker.
A notification, quiet and absolute.
***
[Congratulations]
[You have obtained a Rank 8 Relic.]
[Nerathis Mask: Conceals the user's identity completely—physically and metaphysically. Shields against all forms of divination.]
***
Dreamweaver clashed against rusted steel.
The sound rang sharp and final across the still hall.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
If not for the Amplification spell, he realized, that blow would've broken my arm.
The headless figure pressed forward—each step deliberate, heavy with ancient purpose.
In one hand, a corroded greatsword.
In the other, it held up its own skull like a shield.
Now unmasked, the bleached face grinned in eternal mockery—its smile frozen somewhere between agony and triumph.
The body was hollowed by time, skin stretched like parchment, joints stiff with rot.
And yet it moved—clean, precise, relentless.
Kael answered without thinking.
Something inside him stirred—an instinct that wasn't taught but remembered.
His swordsmanship talent surged forward, sharp and wild.
He dodged. Parried. Shifted weight.
Every move came faster.
Cleaner.
He was better than he had any right to be.
And still—somewhere beneath the steel and sweat—unease stirred.
He wasn't sure how to feel.
He had just received a Rank 8 relic.
No trials, no sacrifice—just taken from the Skull and claimed as his own.
Nerathis Mask.
A relic of rare power.
But all it did was hide him.
His face. His presence. His truth.
No firestorms. No divine blade.
Nothing that shattered kingdoms or silenced gods.
Just anonymity.
He didn't know if he should be grateful… or disappointed.
Yue hovered nearby, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.
"Judging by the form," she said, almost idly,
"It was likely a Rank 4 magician in life.
Talented, but not exceptional."
Her eyes narrowed with faint curiosity.
"Now? No mana. No spells. Just instinct. Pure muscle memory."
She floated closer, fascinated.
"And it's been dead for over a million years."
A pause.
"It still remembers how to fight."
Kael ducked beneath a sweeping slash.
Sweat beaded at his brow.
He exhaled sharply through gritted teeth.
And narrowed his eyes.