As the two archaeologists caught their breath, recovering from the piercing pain that had struck them, they exchanged a look of astonishment. A single word simultaneously traveled through their minds, resonating with inexplicable clarity: The Blasphemer.
The moment their eyes had grazed the mural, a mist of knowledge had invaded their minds, transcending language barriers and immersing them in a mysterious, immediate understanding of the identity of the man depicted in the painting.
Adrien, still wide-eyed with horror and wonder, murmured in a trembling voice, "How is this possible...?"
Clara, beside him, shook her head slowly, unable to formulate a coherent response. "It's as if... this painting spoke directly to us. As if it knew who we were and what we needed to know."
Captain Roland, watching them with concern, spoke firmly, "What happened? What did you see?"
Adrien, still shaken, answered slowly, "This painting... it conveyed information directly into our minds. We now know that the man depicted is called The Blasphemer. But how this knowledge reached us, that's a mystery."
Roland furrowed his brow. "The Blasphemer? What does that term mean?"
Clara, gathering her thoughts, attempted to explain. "It's difficult to explain. It's as if this entity was a being from another time, another reality. Someone who defied the norms of his time, who was punished terribly."
Adrien nodded. "And the way this information was communicated to us... it's beyond anything we know. It's a form of knowledge transfer, a method so advanced that it surpasses our understanding."
Silence fell over the group as they digested these revelations. Their minds swirled with more questions than answers, and the atmosphere in the chamber seemed to thicken with an almost palpable intensity.
Roland asked the question that weighed most heavily on his mind, "Is this transmission power common among mages?"
The Kingdom of Lionnes, their home, was a land where magic was an omnipresent reality. Governed by magicians capable of manipulating the mysterious mana that permeated their world, Lionnes was a nation where the supernatural and the mundane intertwined constantly. Alongside these magicians were the Holy Knights, elite warriors who channeled mana to defend the realm and its secrets.
Among the knights present, Roland was the only true Holy Knight, a fighter who had mastered magical arts to a level few achieved. The other five knights accompanying them were apprentices, still in training to become Holy Protectors themselves. Their dedication and potential were undeniable, but they lacked the experience and complete mastery of mana.
Adrien pondered for a moment before responding, "No, Roland, this power exceeds what we know of Lionnes mages. The transmission of knowledge with a mere glance... It's an ancient and profound magic, unlike anything we've studied or practiced. It resembles more an impartation of knowledge than a common incantation or spell."
Clara nodded. "Lionnes' magicians use grimoires, rituals, and artifacts to channel mana and deploy their magic. But what we just experienced... it was immediate, direct. As if this knowledge had been etched into our minds by an invisible force."
She paused before continuing, a reflective note in her voice. "Moreover, it's important to note that this place has been uninhabited for centuries. Even the legendary artifact of the Sun Church cannot retain its power beyond ten years without the persistence of the pope to fulfill it."
Roland furrowed his brow. "If this place has remained intact for centuries, how could this magic endure for so long?"
Adrien nodded. "That's a question that surpasses our current understanding. The persistence of this magic suggests we are dealing with forces far older and more powerful than anything we have encountered so far."
The knights, hearing this, exchanged worried glances. The idea that this place harbored such enduring and unknown magic made them uneasy. Roland, however, kept his composure, knowing he needed to inspire confidence in both his men and the archaeologists.
"We must proceed with heightened caution," he declared finally. "The secrets we uncover here could potentially change our understanding of mana and magic. Stay vigilant and pay attention to any unusual details."
Roland turned to the archaeologists, his expression grave. "This time, before you read or examine anything, let us, the knights, attempt first. We must prevent a situation like this from recurring and risking the lives of two researchers who are very important to the kingdom."
Adrien and Clara exchanged a glance, acknowledging the wisdom of this precaution. They knew their work was crucial not only for their own quest for knowledge but also for Lionnes' future. They nodded in agreement, understanding the necessity of this security measure.
Adrien stated, "These scrolls on the table are important. Let a knight set eyes on them and touch them first."
Roland stepped forward, casting a wary glance at the scrolls before cautiously touching them. Clearly not understanding what was written, he sighed with relief and turned to the two researchers. "You may interact with these objects," he said.
Excited, the two researchers approached the table and examined the scrolls. Clara was the first to speak, her eyes gleaming with wonder. "This is a completely unknown language, even the letters are entirely new."
Adrien nodded, his gaze fixed on the mysterious symbols. "I've never seen this language before. It's a dead language, completely unknown. It could belong to a civilization even older than we thought."
The discovery sparked a mix of excitement and apprehension among the group. The presence of this foreign language, never encountered in their studies, opened new perspectives on history and forgotten civilizations. Each symbol on the scrolls seemed to hold a mystery, a potential key to understanding the past and the forces that had shaped this place.
Roland, observing the archaeologists' reactions, understood the importance of this discovery. "Take your time to analyze these scrolls. But remember, we must remain cautious. This place still hides many secrets, and we do not know what dangers may arise."
However, the two archaeologists shook their heads, saying: "It is impossible to decipher an ancient language without certain references or points of comparison. To understand a dead language, we need multiple essential elements."
"Texts written in both the unknown language and a language we already understand, or a deep understanding of the culture, history, and practices of the civilization that used the language. This can include artifacts, historical documents, and even inscriptions on monuments or tools."
Clara continued, "Comparing the symbols and linguistic structures with other known languages. Similarities in grammatical structures or word roots can provide clues."
Adrien added, "Without these tools, we can only speculate on the meaning of these symbols. Every word, every letter is a mystery that we must painstakingly decipher. It could take years, even decades, to fully understand this language."
Clara nodded. "We must carefully document every symbol, every fragment of text, and hope to find clues that could guide us. It will be a long-term effort, but the potential discoveries could revolutionize our understanding of history."
Roland understood the magnitude of the challenge and decided, "It's better to leave these scrolls here for now while we explore other areas. Then, when we return, you can signal to the kingdom to retrieve all this and transfer it to the Royal Academy."
The two archaeologists agreed, understanding the prudence of this decision. Clara added determinedly, "We will meticulously document every detail, so nothing is lost when we return for in-depth analysis."
Adrien, looking at the scrolls one last time, nodded. "Agreed."
As they stepped through the door, Roland, intrigued, asked a question that troubled him, "Why would there be a study room here, in the middle of such a long hallway?"
Clara, reflecting for a moment, replied, "Every civilization has its own customs and practices. Perhaps this layout had a particular meaning for those who lived here in the past."
Adrien, scanning the bare walls around them, added, "Or perhaps it was the study chamber of a guardian of the place, tasked with watching over this part of the ruin. But it's strange that there's no bed or other usual amenities. Let's not waste too much time speculating. Let's continue our exploration."
All three nodded and proceeded cautiously down the dark corridor, the echo of their footsteps faintly reverberating on the stone slabs.
After walking for a good minute, the archaeologists and knights arrived at a door that stood out distinctly from the others in the dark hallway. It was adorned with strange symbols, engraved like black wings spreading on either side, giving the entrance a sinister and mysterious aura. These symbols seemed intertwined with unknown writing, forming serpentine lines and complex patterns that captivated the eye while imparting a sense of ancientness and power.
Roland, observing the symbols warily, murmured, "These black wings... They resemble those of an angel?"
Adrien replied hesitantly, "Yes... but the notion of an angel appeared in Valhend only 2000 years ago, with the rise of the church of the god of wisdom."
Clara, reflecting, added, "Perhaps this notion of an angel is much older than we thought?"
Adrien nodded, his gaze fixed on the symbols. "If that's the case, it could be a revolutionary discovery."
They exchanged a serious glance, then Roland gave a firm order to one of the knights. He took the oil lamp from the latter's hands and asked everyone to back off, anticipating possible dangers.
The knight, though clearly frightened by the sinister aura of the door, obeyed without hesitation. Trained since childhood to faithfully serve the kingdom, where his ancestors had fought and built their society, he felt a deep sense of belonging and was ready to sacrifice himself for the good of all.
As the door creaked under the push of the knight, a hoarse and rusty sound resonated in the corridor, attesting to its long sleep without being moved for decades. Darkness enveloped the tense faces of the eight people present, creating an atmosphere of palpable suspense in the air. Roland, determined, slowly stepped into the newly revealed room, his trembling oil lamp lighting the path ahead of him.
Suddenly, a striking scene unfolded before their amazed eyes. Incandescent torches lit up one by one along the walls, their mystical blue fire casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The room, of majestic grandeur, seemed to come alive under this strange glow, revealing sculpted reliefs and ancient motifs engraved in stone. The complex symbols seemed to glow with their own energy, capturing and reflecting the bluish light in an almost supernatural manner.
It was a stark contrast to the simplicity of the previous infrastructure.
Before archaeologists and knights could fully contemplate the details of the wall sculptures, something unexpected caught their attention in the grandiose atmosphere of the room.
At the center of the chamber, on a luxuriously adorned meditation cushion, stood a figure. The being sat with its back to the intruders, head bowed, clad in a black robe embroidered with mysterious symbols that seemed to move gently, as if imbued with a life of their own. The robe, though ancient, appeared untouched by the ravages of time.
The aura emanating from the figure was palpable, suffocating. A sensation of oppressive antiquity filled the air, as if the man on the cushion had witnessed millennia pass before his eyes. His long black hair cascaded down his back, adding a touch of mystery and majesty to his presence. They flowed in silky waves, contrasting with the darkness of the room and faintly reflecting the blue torchlight, like a curtain of shadow enveloping his being.
The archaeologists and knights, standing in the doorway, were seized by a range of intense and conflicting reactions.
Adrien, the elder of the two archaeologists, felt his mind waver between disbelief and curiosity. His heart raced, a combination of excitement from a potentially revolutionary discovery and fear of the unknown. "Who is this man? How has he remained like this, intact, through the ages?" he wondered, his thoughts swirling like a vortex of speculation.
Even without seeing the man's skin, Adrien couldn't ignore the signs before him: the long black hair draped over his back, his straight seated posture, his bowed head, and his robe free from dust. All pointed to one conclusion: the person before him was indeed alive.
Incomprehension flooded his mind. How was this possible? The most powerful mages in this world could live for a maximum of 200 years! What was this unimaginable sight before him?
Clara, younger and less experienced, felt a surge of adrenaline, her mind oscillating between shock and fear. Every fiber of her being screamed to flee, to move away from this overwhelming presence, but her training as an archaeologist rooted her in place, compelling her to observe, to understand. "This aura... it's like nothing I've ever felt," she thought, her eyes fixed on the long black hair of the figure. She could almost feel history oozing from every strand, every thread of that black robe embroidered with symbols.
Roland, the leader of the knights, felt torn between his duty to protect and a burning curiosity. His soldier's instinct urged him to draw his sword, to prepare for any potential threat. However, an inner voice, a deep intuition, whispered to him that this being was not a simple physical threat, but something far more complex. "What are you, really?" he wondered, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. He felt an instinctive respect for this figure, as if he stood in the presence of a divine entity or an ancient king.
The other five knights, meanwhile, were caught in an emotional turmoil. Their rigorous training and martial discipline dictated stoicism, to protect the archaeologists at all costs. However, they could not ignore the fear rising within them, a primal fear of the unknown. "We are the protectors of the kingdom, and yet, I have never felt such terror," thought one of the knights, his eyes fixed on the figure.
Each person in the room was immersed in their own thoughts, struggling to understand and apprehend what they saw. The silhouette on the meditation cushion represented a mystery so deep that it defied their understanding of the world. The long black hair, draped over the back of this being, added an almost mythical dimension to its presence, a silent reminder of time passed and forgotten secrets.
The room itself seemed to vibrate under the influence of this presence. The walls, adorned with ancient reliefs and motifs, seemed to come alive under the blue torchlight, as if the room itself reacted to the aura of the seated man.
In this moment of extreme tension, each person in the room felt a chill run down their spine. The unknown, the antiquity, the power of this presence... all combined to create an atmosphere of mystery and awe, tinged with primal fear. They stood at the threshold of discoveries that could change their understanding of the world, knowing that some truths are perhaps better left buried.
Thus, the scene froze in a moment of oppressive silence, each individual grappling with their own thoughts and emotions. The silhouette, still motionless on its meditation cushion, seemed to wait, patient through the ages, like a guardian of the secrets of the past, ready to reveal or devour those who dared to come too close.