Matthew's father had always told him that swordsmanship wasn't just about skill—it was about discipline, adaptability, and strategy. Under his father's relentless training, Matthew had risen to the rank of a Black Swordsman, the pinnacle of sword mastery. Few ever reached this level, and those who did were often legends.
But Matthew had never cared about fame or recognition. He had always treated swordsmanship as a tool, not a badge of honor. While others flaunted their skills in academies and tournaments, Matthew had preferred to remain an enigma, keeping his abilities hidden.
Now, standing before the massive stone doors of the Temple of Trials, he was grateful for every lesson his father had drilled into him.
The temple loomed before him, carved into the side of a jagged cliff amidst a barren desert. The journey here had been grueling, but Matthew didn't care. The Kismet Bone was inside, and nothing would stop him from claiming it.
He inspected the door carefully. Ancient runes covered its surface, their meanings long forgotten. A single button sat in the center, but Matthew's eyes caught the faint glint of a tripwire near the base of the door. He smirked.
"Nice try."
Avoiding the wire, he pressed the button. The door groaned open, but the greeting was far from friendly. A hail of arrows shot toward him, their tips glinting with venom.
With lightning-fast reflexes, Matthew unsheathed his blade. The sound of steel slicing through the air was like a symphony as he deflected every arrow, spinning and striking in a deadly dance. The barrage lasted only moments, but when it was over, not a single arrow had touched him.
"Goddamn temples," he muttered, stepping inside.
The temple's interior was a maze of tight corridors and hidden dangers. Traps were everywhere—spikes that shot up from the floor, poison gas vents, even pits of bubbling lava. Matthew's sharp instincts and honed reflexes saved him time and time again.
But as he turned a corner, he encountered something new: monsters.
Slimes oozed from cracks in the walls, zombies shambled toward him with hollow eyes, and giant spiders descended from webs above. Among them were strange, humanoid creatures—twisted, grotesque forms of what might have once been human.
Matthew didn't hesitate. His sword cut through them like a hot knife through butter, each strike precise and deadly. The male monsters attacked relentlessly, but none could match his speed or strength.
The female monsters, however, hung back. They watched him with a mix of fear and fascination, some glaring with hatred, others with unsettling curiosity.
"So," Matthew said, lowering his blade slightly, "are you going to fight, or just stand there?"
One of the female creatures, a slime-like woman with shimmering skin, spoke up. "We know we can't beat you. We'll just… watch from here."
Matthew scoffed. "Cowards."
He turned and continued down the corridor. Killing was only satisfying when his prey fought back. Anything less was beneath him.
Eventually, the claustrophobic halls opened into a vast, green chamber. It was as if a forest had grown inside the temple. Vines crawled up the stone walls, and sunlight filtered through cracks in the ceiling.
In the center of the room stood a stone knight, its sword planted firmly in the ground. Behind it was a door, barred and ominous.
Matthew approached cautiously, circling the statue. He had read about guardians like this—constructs brought to life through ancient magic.
The moment he neared the door, the bars slammed down, and the knight sprang to life. Its stone joints groaned as it pulled its sword free, swinging it in a deadly arc.
Matthew leapt backward, unsheathing his sword in one fluid motion. The knight lunged, its strikes heavy and relentless. Matthew dodged and parried, sparks flying as steel clashed against stone.
In a daring counter, Matthew spun like a whirlwind, his blade slicing through the knight's torso. The statue cracked but didn't fall. Its upper half clawed toward him, its glowing eyes burning with fury.
"Persistent bastard," Matthew muttered.
He drove his sword through the knight's back, pinning it to the wall. Then, grabbing the knight's own blade, he shoved it into the crack he had created, anchoring the construct like a trophy on display.
The room fell silent.
The bars blocking the door rose, and Matthew stepped through. The final chamber was small, lit by an eerie blue glow. On a pedestal in the center lay the Kismet Bone, its surface etched with ancient markings that pulsed faintly.
Matthew's heart raced as he approached. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the relic. The moment he lifted it, the temple began to shake.
"Of course," he growled, clutching the bone tightly.
The walls cracked, and debris rained down as the temple began to collapse. Matthew sprinted back the way he came, dodging falling stones and reactivated traps. Monsters swarmed the halls, but he didn't stop to fight. His only goal was escape.
Bursting through the temple's entrance, Matthew barely made it out before the entire structure caved in, a cloud of dust rising into the air.
Standing amidst the rubble, he held the Kismet Bone in his hand, his lips curling into a dark grin.
"I have it," he said, his voice low and triumphant. "I finally have it."
He threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing across the empty desert. For the first time in weeks, he felt a surge of hope—or perhaps something darker.
This was only the beginning.