Amber led the group through the crypt's winding corridors, her step light but confident. Gawain, Hetty, Rebecca, and the rest followed closely, every sense on high alert as they moved through the damp, darkened tomb. The walls were lined with ancient, faded carvings, and the silence was punctuated only by their footsteps and the occasional distant tremor that reminded them of the dangers lurking above.
They arrived at an old stone door, sealed and marked with intricate, mystical symbols—evidence of some ancient barrier. Amber smirked as she examined it, her fingers dancing lightly over the symbols. She was a master of stealth, an expert in shadow manipulation, and an avid enthusiast of "alternative entry methods." To her, doors were little more than decorations.
As Amber always said, "A door is just a flimsy idea. With the right skills, even the royal treasury would only need a sprig of celery to get through." Of course, there wasn't actually any celery in this world, but to Amber, breaking into an ancient tomb didn't even require that.
With a little shadow magic, some basic knowledge of old seals, and a hint of luck, she easily disabled the Cecil tomb's barrier, revealing a hidden passage that even Hetty and Rebecca hadn't known existed.
The group followed Amber through the newly opened passage. The stone walls of the crypt were lined with soul-stone bricks, the faintly glowing stones guiding their way. The corridor was surprisingly wide, allowing even the towering forms of Gawain and Byron to walk comfortably in their heavy armor. The magic lanterns embedded along the walls had long since dimmed, but with a few spells, Hetty brought them back to life, casting the corridor in a steady, warm glow.
"I'm really just a small-time thief, you know? Just trying to scrape by," Amber said nonchalantly as they walked. "I'm a forest elf by heritage, totally respectful of ancestral spirits—I'd never dig up graves for profit."
Gawain snorted. "With skills that polished, you really expect anyone to believe you don't make a habit of this?"
Perhaps feeling more secure now that her life was spared, Amber's grin widened. "Breaking locks and disabling traps are basic skills in my line of work. Can't fault me for being thorough!"
Rebecca, walking in the middle of the group, looked over at Amber curiously. "Are you a resident of Cecil's territory?"
Amber thought for a moment, frowning. "I've been around here for a few years. I never officially applied for residency, but according to Cecil law, any long-term resident who's paid taxes for over three years counts as a citizen… so, do I count?"
Rebecca shook her head. "Without an application, no."
Amber rolled her eyes. "Then why ask?"
"Because I'm the lord of the Cecil estate," Rebecca replied seriously. "If you were my subject, it would be my duty to protect you."
Amber blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Well, you could've told me that sooner! Is it too late to reconsider?"
Rebecca's expression was solemn. "It's too late."
Gawain chuckled, glancing between the earnest Rebecca and the unapologetic Amber. Despite the chaotic situation he'd awakened to, there was something undeniably refreshing about his return to the physical world.
He glanced over at Hetty, who had been stealing glances at him throughout their journey. He'd been waiting for her to speak up, but seeing her hesitation, he decided to break the silence himself. "Hetty, if you have questions, go ahead and ask."
Hetty startled but quickly collected herself, her gaze steadying as she looked at him. "Ancestor… forgive me, but… you're truly *him*, aren't you? The Gawain Cecil—the great pioneer of seven centuries past?"
Gawain gave a small smile. "That's right, the very same. I could recount my thirty-odd years if you'd like, or perhaps regale you with tales from the early days of the Second Expansion? Though, honestly, even a historian could probably tell it better than I could. I've never been much of a storyteller." He shrugged. "But I get it; you want to confirm I'm really him, yes?"
"My apologies for doubting you," Hetty replied hurriedly. "But… this is all… quite hard to believe. Stories of spirits returning to the living world are as old as time, but seeing it with my own eyes is something else entirely. I've heard tales of paladins and silver elves entering long states of death-like sleep through holy light and elemental spells, but… humans? Especially a knight, seven hundred years dead?"
"Honestly, I don't know how it happened either," Gawain admitted, shrugging. He would have liked to come up with a convincing explanation for his reappearance, but neither his knowledge nor Gawain Cecil's memories offered any plausible theories. "Maybe it's linked to something I went through while alive. You know, I received blessings from the elements while leading settlers into the wilds. Perhaps that changed my body in some way."
"Perhaps…" Hetty murmured, though her tone was cautious. She raised her head suddenly, her attention shifting to the path ahead.
"There's a breeze," she said, her voice low. "And the flow of magic here is… different. We're nearing the end of the tomb."
Gawain nodded, his grip tightening on the Pioneer's Sword as an inexplicable sense of unease washed over him. "Stay sharp."
Beside him, Byron's face was tense. He seemed to feel it too. Drawing his steel greatsword, he ran a hand over the blade, causing it to shimmer with a faint, silvery light. "Keep alert, everyone. And you three, watch the rear," he ordered, nodding to the soldiers.
There was a low clinking as the soldiers drew their weapons, expressions grim but resolute. These were trained warriors, the last survivors of the recent battles. Their resolve was enough to help steady Amber and young Betty, who clutched her pan like a lifeline.
The tunnel eventually opened into a broader space, marked every few paces by faintly glowing soul-stone bricks, a clear indication of the tomb's boundary. Ahead lay an intersection—a crossroad that marked the transition between the tomb's limits and the ancient castle's lower levels, a hub for the secret passageways built centuries before.
Amber pointed down one of the corridors. "I snuck in from there. It connects to a dry well outside the castle. But now… I'd bet it's swarming with those creatures."
Gawain turned to Hetty. "Which way is west?"
Hetty traced a quick rune in the air, conjuring a faint, glowing ribbon that twisted and pointed to the left. "That way."
As Gawain opened his mouth to respond, a wave of dread washed over him. Instinct took over. Without thinking, he raised his sword just as a powerful force slammed against the blade with the weight of a hammer.
He stumbled back, his grip tightening as he steadied himself. The source of the attack finally emerged from the darkened corridor—three massive, grotesque figures, lurching forward with unnatural movements and accompanied by a faint, nightmarish whisper that filled the room.
These creatures were abominations, twisted nightmares pulled from the darkest corners of creation. Each one towered nearly three meters, resembling deformed giants with bodies composed of shifting, sludge-like material that constantly morphed and twisted, revealing flashes of crimson bone beneath the surface.
"Aah!" Rebecca gasped, a short, terrified cry escaping her lips. Beside her, Betty bit her lip to stifle a scream, clinging to her pan with white-knuckled hands. Hetty slammed her staff against the ground, casting a minor clarity spell that dispelled the paralyzing fear from her companions. She turned to Gawain, her voice low but urgent. "Ancestor, these are the creatures!"
The shock of seeing such horrors only lasted a moment before recognition sparked in Gawain's mind. Memories flooded back, and he muttered, "So… they're these things?"
Two of the monsters surged forward with long, loping strides, while the third raised its arm, a sphere of dark energy coalescing at its limb before firing a shadow bolt directly at Amber.
"Whoa!" Amber shrieked, disappearing into the shadows beside Byron and reappearing ten meters away in another patch of darkness. Byron's silver-lit greatsword met the nearest creature in a fierce, ringing clash as he roared and charged forward.
"Hetty, Rebecca—take down the one casting shadow bolts! Avoid arcane spells; they're nearly useless against these!" Gawain shouted. "Amber, you and the soldiers guard the casters!"
He raised his own sword and, summoning every ounce of nerve he had, charged forward.
He'd never wielded a sword in battle.
He'd never faced a creature that wasn't human.
In all the years since his rebirth, he had never actually set foot on this alien land with his own body.
So he had no idea how much he could actually accomplish with just a few lingering instincts in this body, some borrowed combat knowledge, and an ancient sword devoid of magic.
But, as fate would have it, he didn't have a choice.
Here he stood, with monsters bearing down on him, and escape cut off in all directions. He had only a seven-hundred-year-old antique sword—his shield was long gone, thanks to a careless ancestor—and the only option left was to fight.
He braced himself, gripping his sword tightly. *It's just a bunch of mutants, right?*
Seven hundred years ago, the original Gawain Cecil could take down a hundred of these on his own!
There were only three here—what could possibly go wrong?