Chapter 2 (1/2)
Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios
The heavy stone door was slowly shut under an ancient spell. Its magic traveled through the gaps between the door and wall, creating a seal that completely shut the nightmarish world outside.
They were now impervious to the shouts of the guard captain, the screams of the injured and dying and better yet, the roars and howls of the terrible, wretched monsters—all noise was silenced by the thick stone and steel separating them. Even though everyone knew that this barrier was only temporary, Rebecca still let out a long sigh of relief in this lull of the racket. It would be wonderful if only the hell outside was merely a nightmare.
However, in the next second, Rebecca shook her head vigorously, thoroughly casting off the weakness that had manifested from her mind. The hefty rock would not serve to provide safety for long, but might weaken her will as it let her indulge in a fleeting moment of security. With that thought, the young successor of the Cecil Clan could not help gripping onto her already dimmed staff, hoping that this weapon could instill more courage in her.
Her clan’s knight, Byron Kirk, said from behind, “Viscountess, the passageway has been sealed shut, and the monsters shouldn’t be able to get in anytime soon.”
Rebecca turned back to look at the loyal and devoted knight. His steel armor was scarred, his breastplate had a noticeable dent, and a burn mark was visible beneath his short grey hair. That blemish had been caused by Aunt Herti, who had thrown a huge fireball to save this middle-ranked knight from the jaws of a monster, and it had almost exploded against his scalp. If not for the God of Fortune’s blessing, this knight, who had served the clan for twenty faithful years, would have become nothing more than a corpse.
Naturally, Rebecca suspected that it was because of Aunt Herti’s magic infamously “missing its mark, as always”…
“Good work, Knight Byron.” Rebecca looked down to conceal the fatigue in her eyes. “We can take a breather now, at least.”
She then turned her head around and sized up the remaining people left by her side. Three of the soldiers had torches in their hands as they guarded the perimeter. Aunt Herti, wielding a fireball, was inspecting the wall at the end of the stone hall. And Betty, the little maid who had followed them muddle headed, was grasping a saucepan that she had grabbed along the way and cowering behind the soldiers as she surveyed the place with her large, flashing eyes.
Together with herself and Knight Byron, she was afraid that the seven of them were now the last survivors— it was impossible for the ones who had remained on the surface to survive.
After ascertaining everyone’s condition, Rebecca now turned her attention to the stone hall.
This was an ancient place. The rectangular stone hallway was webbed with spider silk and thick with dust. At one end of the hall were a number of decaying objects. Even though they were very old, their past beauty and elegance still shone through. The walls of the stone hall were decorated with intact murals and reliefs. Even though the frescoes were slightly discolored, and the reliefs had undergone some wear and tear, they were still pleasant to admire.
Herti Cecil scrutinized the murals and reliefs in earnest for a long while. Compared to the modern northern states’ frivolous but impractical aesthetics, this hall was adorned simply and solemnly, giving it “First Dynasty” airs. The murals depicted heroic figures or locals customs, and the reliefs were carvings of the symbols of mythology and the gods. As an erudite spellcaster, Herti was well-versed at interpreting useful messages from these antique artworks.
As she studied the contents of the murals and reliefs, Herti could not help but hold her left hand up to her chest. In a soft voice, she whispered, “May the ancestors forgive us…”
“Aunt Herti.” With her staff in hand, Rebecca walked over to Herti’s side. This young woman looked a little anxious, for it was only then that she realized where they were, and began to feel ill at ease. “This is…”
“This is the resting place of the Cecil Clan,” Herti Cecil said gravely. “Don’t do anything offensive.”
Rebecca swallowed. Looking around, she said, “It looks like there hasn’t been anyone here for a long time…”
“Ever since Marquis Grumman stole a sacred object from these tombs and took part in the rebellion that almost annihilated the clan, this place has been completely sealed off. We as descendants of the Cecil Clan have the knowledge to open it, but the clan rules state that no one should ever step foot in here unless they are at death’s door.” Herti Cecil cast a long look at Rebecca. “We are the first people to enter this place in a hundred years.”
“Technically, we are ‘at death’s door’ right now…” Rebecca inhaled deeply. “Will the ancestors forgive us?”
Herti smiled stiffly. She was unable to answer this question, and could only use the hints on the murals as a guide to look for the mechanism to open the burial chamber.
It did not take much effort for her to find the special pillar. She pressed a hand on top of it gently.
The stone door leading to the burial chamber vibrated slightly, before an entire slab of rock rose, rumbling as it went.
However, when the stone slab rose, Rebecca heard a strange noise from within—there was a sound of a weapon being dropped, and an unsuppressed cry of surprise.
“There’s someone inside?!” Herti responded immediately and called out in a low voice, “Byron!”
Without any further instruction, the knight had already unsheathed his sword and rushed towards the entrance of the stone slab, the three other soldiers followed closely behind. After getting over her shock, Rebecca dashed ahead as well, while at the same time shouting an order to the muddleheaded maid, “Betty! Find a place to hide!”
Just as she ran into the burial chamber, Rebecca saw Knight Byron poised with his sword, ready to swing it onto an agile, petite figure.