At the entrance of the dungeon, the air itself felt heavy.
The ground trembled from time to time, as if something deep inside the earth was breathing, slow and violent, and every pulse of that breath sent faint cracks across the stone beneath the soldiers' boots.
A line of knights stood firm before the entrance.
Their armor shone in pale gold under the dim light of the sky, their capes fluttering gently behind them, and their hands rested on the hilts of their weapons with quiet readiness.
They did not speak.
They did not move.
But the tension among them was soffucating.
Above them, a flying carriage descended slowly.
It was large and decorated with gold carvings, pulled by winged beasts that glowed faintly with holy energy, and as it came down, the wind it created pushed against the knights, making their capes snap and their armor creak.
Then, without warning, a figure leaped from it.
He landed on the ground with a soft but heavy sound.
The dust beneath his feet spread outward.
Holy King Guren stood there with his arms crossed, his long cloak settling behind him as his sharp eyes focused on the dark entrance of the dungeon.
"This dungeon…" he said quietly, his voice carrying weight even though he did not raise it.
An attendant hurried forward, bowing deeply.
"Your Majesty, this dungeon appeared recently. We did not dare to enter because the entrance is filled with monsters, and our forces were not enough to clear them safely."
Guren listened.
He did not show anger.
He simply nodded once.
"Good," he said, his tone calm, "you have done your duty well."
The attendant let out a breath he did not realize he was holding.
Before Guren could move, several knights stepped forward.
They were different from the others.
Their armor was heavier.
Their presence was stronger.
Each of them carried an aura that made the surrounding air tighten.
His Royal Knights.
"My King," one of them said as he knelt slightly, "allow us to handle this."
Guren looked at them for a second.
Then he gave a small nod.
"Alright."
The moment the order was given, the Royal Knights moved.
They stepped into the dungeon entrance.
What greeted them was chaos.
Low level monsters packed the area, their bodies crawling over one another, their eyes glowing with hunger and madness as they sensed the presence of living beings.
There were beasts with twisted limbs, creatures that dragged themselves across the ground with sharp claws, and others that hung from the walls like dark stains, waiting to strike.
The moment the knights entered, the monsters rushed forward.
A wave of flesh and claws.
A storm of noise.
But the Royal Knights did not hesitate.
One of them raised his sword.
Light burst from it.
A clean arc of holy energy cut through the front line of monsters, slicing bodies apart as if they were made of paper.
Another knight stepped forward, his shield slamming into the ground with force, creating a shockwave that pushed dozens of creatures back before crushing them under its pressure.
A third knight moved faster than the eye could follow, his blade flashing again and again, leaving behind lines of light that erased everything they touched.
The battle was intense.
Not because the monsters were strong.
But because of their number.
They kept coming.
From the walls.
From the ground.
From the shadows.
They climbed over their fallen kin, their bodies piling up, their blood staining the stone, yet they did not stop.
The Royal Knights advanced step by step.
They fought without pause.
Their armor became stained.
Their breathing grew heavier.
But their formation did not break.
One knight would step forward while another covered him.
One would strike while another blocked.
Every movement was precise.
Every action had purpose.
The sound of steel against flesh echoed again and again, mixing with the growls and shrieks of the monsters until the entire entrance became a battlefield of chaos and light.
Time passed.
Minutes felt longer than they should.
But slowly, the number of monsters began to fall.
Their bodies covered the ground.
Their movements slowed.
And then, finally, silence returned.
The last creature fell.
Its body twitched once before going still.
The Royal Knights stood among the remains, their armor scratched, their breaths steady but heavier than before.
Then, as one, they turned and knelt before Guren, who had entered behind them without making a sound.
"My King," one of them said, "we have cleared the entrance."
Guren nodded.
"Good."
But before another word could be spoken, the ground shook.
A deep rumbling sound echoed from within the dungeon, rolling through the walls like distant thunder.
The knights stiffened.
Then they saw it from the darkness ahead, something moved.
A massive shape.
A head.
A horned monster.
Its eyes burned red with anger, smoke pouring from its nostrils as it stared at them, its breath coming out in heavy bursts that shook the air.
…
Deep within the dungeon, in the chamber where the inheritance lay, the skeletal figure loomed over Cerys.
Its hollow gaze pierced into her.
"Girl," it said, its voice echoing like something from a grave, "your hatred is not enough."
Cerys trembled.
Her body refused to move.
Her mana became unstable, rising and falling in uneven waves as fear and confusion took hold of her.
"You have suffered," the skeleton continued, "but your suffering alone does not grant you the right to wield what I possess, " And then the skeleton added, "It is simply not enough."
Its presence pressed down on her, it was cold, heavy and seemed unforgiving.
"You wish to inherit my power," it said, "yet you do not understand what it means to truly lose everything."
It paused.
Then, slowly, it began to speak again.
"I was once a prince," it said, its tone changing, carrying a faint trace of something that was no longer alive, "a prince of a great magical kingdom."
Cerys could not respond.
She could only listen.
"I lived a life of comfort," it continued, "power, wealth, respect. Everything was within my reach."
Its hollow eyes seemed to look beyond her.
"I fell in love," it said, "and I believed that was enough."
Its voice grew colder.
"I thought life was simple, but I was wrong."
Cerys's breath became shallow.
"I was betrayed," the skeleton said, "framed for crimes I did not commit, stripped of everything I had."
Its voice hardened.
"And in the end… I learned the truth."
It leaned closer.
"My wife," it said, "the one I loved… was in love with another."
Cerys felt her heart tighten.
"The child she carried…" it continued, its voice dropping lower, "was not mine."
A heavy and crushing silence followed.
"After that, they hunted me…" he said. Then his aura exploded.
"So I ran," the skeleton added after a moment, "I ran from everything, and in my desperation, I created a concealment technique, something that would allow me to survive and escape their hunt."
Its tone became bitter.
"It took me a thousand years to complete it."
Cerys's eyes widened slightly.
"A thousand years," it repeated, "and by the time I finished… I was already at the end of my life."
It let out a hollow sound that might have been laughter.
"I never even used it."
The room fell silent again.
"That is my story," it said simply.
Cerys's mind was in chaos.
Her body screams inside with fear, terror and an extremely strong foreboding feeling.
Meanwhile, outside the inheritance space, Clay watched her.
He could see her body trembling.
He could feel her unstable mana.
He let out a small sigh.
"She is not the final villainess to get the inheritance," he muttered under his breath, "she might actually die in there."
He looked at the system.
"Can I help her?"
The system did not give a clear answer.
The host's mana is powerful.
The host may act freely as he wished.
Clay clicked his tongue.
"Great."
Without hesitation, he stepped forward.
His hand touched the inheritance.
"I am going in," he said.
And in the next moment, his consciousness entered.
…
Inside, the skeleton raised its hand.
"How about this," it said, its tone turning calm again, "I will allow you to master my power… if you allow me to enter your body."
Cerys's eyes widened.
Her body still would not move.
Panic filled her mind.
No.
No.
No.
She wanted to speak.
She wanted to refuse.
But nothing came out.
The skeleton tilted its head slightly.
"Ah," it said, "I forgot. You cannot resist."
It raised its bony hand slowly.
"Your hatred may not be enough," it continued, "but your experiences… they are close enough to mine."
Its fingers stretched toward her.
"I can possess you, little girl."
Cerys's heart pounded wildly.
Her thoughts screamed.
But her body remained frozen.
The skeletal hand came closer and closer and closer like a ghost pulling them together.
Just as it was about to touch her—
Another hand grabbed it.
The skeleton froze.
Cerys's eyes widened.
A familiar voice echoed through the space.
"Enough."