As the heavy stone door slowly closed under the force of an ancient spell, magical energy coursed along the grooves in the walls and floor, forming a sealed loop. Outside, the nightmarish world seemed completely cut off.
No longer could they hear the captain's angry shouts, the agonized cries of the wounded, or the terrifying roars of the monstrous creatures. Every sound was blocked by the solid walls of stone and iron.
Though everyone knew this barrier was only temporary, in that brief moment of peace, Rebecca couldn't help but exhale deeply. If only that hellish scene outside had just been a nightmare.
But the next second, Rebecca shook her head forcefully, ridding herself of any weak thoughts that had crept in.
Heavy stone and iron wouldn't bring true, lasting safety. If anything, they risked luring her into the illusion of security and weakening her resolve.
With that realization, the young heir of the Cecil family tightened her grip on her now-dimmed staff, hoping it would grant her a bit more courage.
The voice of Byron Kirk, a family knight, came from behind her: "My lady, the passage is sealed. Those creatures shouldn't be able to break through for a while."
Rebecca turned to look at the loyal knight. His steel armor was covered with dents and scratches, and a noticeable dent marred his chest plate. His short, gray hair was singed in places—a reminder of the narrow escape her Aunt Hetty had orchestrated by throwing a fireball to free him from the jaws of a monstrous beast. It had been a harrowing moment, with the fireball nearly exploding right against the mid-rank knight's scalp.
If not for the goddess of luck's favor, this knight, who had served the family faithfully for twenty years, might have become just another corpse.
Of course, Rebecca couldn't rule out the possibility that Aunt Hetty's infamous "never hits her target" magic trait had played a role in that outcome…
"Thank you for your efforts, Sir Byron…" Rebecca lowered her gaze, trying to hide the fatigue in her eyes. "At least we can catch our breath now."
She then turned, taking in the few remaining companions around her: three soldiers were holding torches, vigilantly watching their surroundings, while Aunt Hetty was holding a burning fireball, studying the wall at the far end of the stone hall. The little maid, Betty, who had somehow ended up here by accident, clutched the frying pan she'd carried with her the entire way, nervously hiding behind the soldiers while her wide eyes darted around in curiosity.
Counting herself and Sir Byron, these seven were likely the last survivors. Those left on the surface had no chance of making it.
After ensuring everyone's condition, Rebecca took a moment to survey the stone hall.
The place was ancient; cobwebs and thick layers of dust coated the rectangular stone hall, and piles of decayed objects lay at one end of the room. Despite their dilapidated state, the former splendor and craftsmanship of these artifacts were still evident.
The walls around the hall bore preserved murals and relief carvings. Though faded and slightly worn, they were still clear enough to be appreciated.
Hetty Cecil had been carefully studying these murals and reliefs for quite some time.
In stark contrast to the newer, frivolous styles of decoration popularized by the northern nations, the hall's decorations were dignified and austere, reflecting the unmistakable influence of the First Dynasty. The murals depicted heroic figures and local customs, while the reliefs displayed mythological scenes and abstract symbols of deities. As a learned spellcaster, Hetty excelled at gleaning valuable information from these ancient images.
As she gazed at the murals and reliefs, Hetty couldn't help but place her left hand over her heart and murmur, "May our ancestors forgive us…"
"Aunt Hetty…" Rebecca approached with her staff, a hint of tension on her young face.
Only now did it seem to dawn on her what sort of place they had entered, and a look of unease crept over her. "This place…"
"This is the resting place of the ancestors of the Cecil family," Hetty said solemnly. "Make sure to conduct yourself with the utmost respect."
Rebecca swallowed and glanced around the hall. "It looks like no one has been here for a long time…"
"Since the Marquis Grumman took the sacred relic from the ancestral tomb a hundred years ago and participated in a rebellion that nearly destroyed our family, this place has been sealed off. Every Cecil descendant knows how to enter here, but due to family decree, none dared to open it unless it was a matter of life and death."
Hetty gave Rebecca a deep look. "For a hundred years, we are the first to step into this hall."
"And now it truly is a matter of life and death…" Rebecca took a deep breath. "Our ancestors will forgive us, won't they?"
Hetty forced a stiff smile, unable to answer. She turned back to the wall and, following the clues on the murals, continued her search for the mechanism to open the inner tomb.
Hetty didn't have to search long before finding the special stone pillar. She placed her hand on top of it and pressed down lightly.
Immediately, the stone door to the inner tomb trembled, and the entire slab slowly rose with a grinding sound.
But just as the door lifted, Rebecca heard an unusual noise from the other side—a clattering of objects falling, followed by a stifled gasp.
"Someone's in there?!" Hetty reacted instantly, whispering urgently, "Byron!"
Without waiting for further instructions, the knight gripped his sword tightly and charged toward the stone door, with the three soldiers close behind. Rebecca, snapping out of her shock, also rushed forward, shouting over her shoulder to the bewildered maid, "Betty! Find somewhere to hide!"
The moment Rebecca entered the tomb, she saw Sir Byron swinging his sword at a nimble, petite figure.
That figure darted around Sir Byron like the wind, skillfully evading his attacks and at times transforming into a wisp of black smoke to blend into the shadows that filled the tomb. Her shadow manipulation and agility were unlike anything Rebecca had ever seen—it wasn't every day she encountered a rogue who could hold her own against Sir Byron for this long.
But with the remaining three soldiers closing in and Hetty, her staff wreathed in flames, blocking the exit, the agile figure finally lost her escape route and collapsed onto the ground in a graceless heap.
As she came to a halt, Rebecca got a good look at the intruder—a girl around her own age, but slightly shorter, with short, ear-length hair and a delicate, if somewhat dirty, face that hinted at her beauty.
The most striking feature, however, was her ears—pointed, but not as elongated as those of an elf, marking her as a half-elf.
However, it was difficult to determine her other half's lineage. The strength of elven blood often overpowered other traits, so mixed-race children of humans or even orcs with elves tended to display similar characteristics.
As soon as the half-elf girl hit the ground, Sir Byron stepped forward, pressing his sword against her neck, while the other three soldiers closed in, their blades cutting off any chance of escape.
"Who are you? How dare you intrude upon the ancestral tomb of the Cecil family?!" Hetty stormed forward, her voice brimming with anger.
For a noble descendant like her, the desecration of the family's ancestral resting place was an outrage. If word got out, the already fragile reputation of the Cecil family would be utterly ruined.
Rebecca, too, glared at the half-elf, still slightly dazed by the sudden intrusion but incensed that an outsider had appeared in this forbidden place.
The half-elf girl, cornered by the swords and the fierce stares of Hetty and Rebecca, stammered, "W-Wait! I haven't stolen anything yet!"
Byron's sword pressed down another inch. "You've got some nerve!"
Just as the knight finished speaking, a strange rattling noise echoed from the black steel coffin at the center of the tomb, reaching everyone's ears. The group fell silent, including Rebecca, as the eerie sound resonated through the chamber.
A moment later, Rebecca was the first to react. A fist-sized fireball appeared at the tip of her staff, pointing directly at the half-kneeling half-elf. "What did you do to our ancestor?!"
The half-elf girl looked like she was about to burst into tears. "Please… don't kill me just yet! More importantly, your ancestor's coffin lid is about to burst open!"
As the half-elf's tearful voice filled the air, the rattling noise from the black steel coffin grew louder, and even the lid began to shake noticeably.
"Ancestor!" Hetty's face paled in horror, completely losing her usual aristocratic composure. The lady, known for her elegance and poise, was uncharacteristically shaken. "Please, rest in peace! Those who disturbed you will be punished…"
The half-elf girl cried out, exasperated, "What's the point of all that talk?! Hurry up and press down your ancestor's coffin lid!"
The three soldiers exchanged glances, and even Byron looked completely bewildered. But thankfully, Rebecca snapped out of it. With a swift move, she dashed onto the platform where the coffin was laid.
At that very moment, the coffin lid had already been pushed open, and a hand emerged from the gap.
Seeing this, Rebecca didn't hesitate. She raised her staff and swung it down with full force. "Ancestor, please rest in peace!"
The hand was immediately slammed back into the coffin, accompanied by a pained shout from within. "Ow! Who hit my hand?!"
Rebecca looked up in a daze, only to find her family's knight, her aunt, and the three soldiers staring at her in stunned silence.
She glanced down at her staff, her face twisting with regret. "Aunt Hetty, did I… disrespect our ancestor a bit?"
But Hetty suddenly shouted, "Rebecca! Get away from there!"
Rebecca froze. "Aunt?"
"This could be a case of undead resurrection!" Hetty's face was as pale as a ghost. "Perhaps those creatures on the surface… have corrupted our ancestor's sacred remains!"
The possibility sent a cold sweat down Rebecca's back. Just as she was about to leap off the platform and hide behind the soldiers, the heavy lid of the black steel coffin was pushed up once more—this time with full force, sending the entire lid flying off!
A man with short, light brown hair, a noble and imposing face, and dressed in ancient aristocratic garb, sat up from within the coffin.
The half-kneeling half-elf girl turned her head to witness the scene, letting out a deep sigh. "See? Your ancestor has fully risen from the grave this time."