NOVEL NEXT Chapter 30: The Eternal Guardian’s Gaze
The crimson-lit archway at the far end of the sarcophagus chamber pulsed with a menacing, hypnotic rhythm — a silent dare to proceed. The [Heart Tear of Nur-Hazzan], thrumming with a cool, sorrowful energy, was safely stowed in my pack. Its subtle vibrations were a strange counterpoint to the crypt's oppressive atmosphere. My current objective was clear: neutralize the Eternal Guardian that presumably lay beyond this foreboding portal. My Soul Ability, [Glimpse of a Path], was fully recharged. Its familiar hum of latent potential was a reassuring counterpoint to the crypt's oppressive, deathly silence. This was, I knew, likely the most crucial Glimpse I would undertake. The Gauntlet had escalated significantly, and going in blind against the master of this Tier 4 rated domain was a recipe for swift annihilation.
"Jeeves," I said, my voice a low murmur, barely disturbing the ancient dust, "stay alert. I'm going to see what awaits us. This one… this one feels different." Kaelen, had he been here, would have understood the routine by now; his perceptive gaze unwavering, his small body thrumming with readiness. Jeeves simply offered a subtle, affirming inclination of his head. His silver eyes were already scanning the periphery, his stance one of relaxed, almost predatory readiness, a silent sentinel.
I found a defensible niche just inside the crimson archway, a shallow alcove partially obscured by a fallen, rune-carved pillar that offered some measure of concealment. Settling in, I closed my physical eyes — the Glimpse always felt more potent, its visions clearer, when my mundane senses were muted — and focused my will, projecting my intent, my desire for foresight, towards the chamber beyond. "[Glimpse of a Path]."
The familiar, jarring displacement, a sensation like my soul being momentarily torn from my body, and then, sight.
I stood within a vast, sepulchral chamber, far larger and more ornate than any I had yet encountered in the Silent Crypts. The architecture was monumental, a symphony of decaying grandeur that spoke of a civilization long dead yet refusing to truly rest. Towering pillars, carved into the likeness of robed, skeletal figures holding aloft massive, ornate braziers that burned with an eternal, emerald-green flame, supported a vaulted ceiling lost in impenetrable shadow far above. The green fire cast long, dancing, grotesque shadows that writhed across the walls. These walls were lined with countless sealed sarcophagi, stacked tier upon tier. Each was intricately etched with glowing, sickly green runes that seemed to writhe and shift like trapped serpents if I focused my [True Sight] on them for too long. The air was frigid, heavy with the cloying scent of ancient embalming spices, dessicated linen, crushed funerary herbs, and an almost tangible aura of millennia-old despair and undying, resentful power. It was a cold that seeped into the bones, a despair that threatened to cloud the mind.
In the very center of this vast necropolis, upon a raised dais of polished, obsidian-like stone that seemed to absorb all light, sat a throne of fused bone and blackened silver. And upon that throne sat the Eternal Guardian.
It was not a beast, nor a hulking construct. It was humanoid, skeletal, yet utterly unlike the mindless, shambling warriors I had encountered earlier. This being was draped in tattered, impossibly ancient robes of a material that seemed to be woven from shadow itself. Their edges were embroidered with intricate silver and bone-colored thread depicting scenes of cosmic horror — dying stars, worlds consumed by tentacles, and forgotten, god-like entities with too many eyes. A heavy, ornate crown of what looked like blackened, twisted bone, inlaid with weeping emeralds, sat upon its bare skull. Two malevolent pinpoints of the same emerald green light burned with cold, intelligent fury within its empty eye sockets, like dying stars filled with ancient malice. In one skeletal hand, its bone yellowed and brittle-looking yet radiating immense power, it grasped a long, slender staff of the same black-veined jade as the sarcophagus from the previous chamber. Its tip was crowned with a fist-sized, pulsating orb of raw, negative energy that seemed to leech the warmth from the very air, making my visionary breath hitch. This was no mere animated corpse; this was a lich, a crypt lord, a being of immense necromantic power and timeless, bitter malice. My [True Sight] struggled to even categorize its Tier; the readings flickered erratically between High Tier 3 and a nascent, terrifying Tier 4. Its aura was a maelstrom of deathly energies, ancient, complex enchantments, and the oppressive weight of eons. [Nur-Hazzan, the Eternal Warden – Undead Lord (Apex Crypt Guardian)], the designation finally settled in my System interface, loaded with implicit, dire warnings.
For several minutes of the Glimpse, Nur-Hazzan remained utterly still on its throne, a silent, brooding monarch of this lightless domain, its gaze fixed on some distant, unseen point. I used the time to meticulously scan the chamber with my [True Sight], noting potential cover, lines of retreat, and the subtle variations in the ambient necromantic energy — it seemed to be stronger, more concentrated, near the sealed sarcophagi lining the walls, as if they were batteries feeding the crypt's power. Jeeves, a silent echo beside me in the vision, was also observing, his silver eyes missing nothing, cataloging every detail with that unnerving, analytical calm of his.
Then, I moved, a deliberate, cautious step forward, testing its reaction. The instant my visionary foot crossed an invisible line some thirty feet from the dais, the emerald lights in Nur-Hazzan's eye sockets flared, locking onto me. It didn't rise. It simply lifted its free hand, skeletal fingers splayed in a gesture of command.
"Intruder," its voice echoed in my mind, not as sound, but as a chilling, telepathic whisper. Dry as autumn leaves skittering across a tombstone, cold as the grave itself. "You trespass upon the sacred silence of my vigil. Your lifeforce is an offense to this hallowed hall. Your warmth, a sacrilege against the eternal cold. You will join the honored dead."
The Glimpse then exploded into a nightmarish battle. The Eternal Warden was a master of necromancy, its every gesture commanding the forces of death. Skeletal hands, bony and grasping, erupted from the stone floor without warning, clawing at my ankles, attempting to drag me down. Spectral chains, wreathed in sickly green, soul-chilling fire, lashed out from the shadows between the pillars, attempting to bind me. Bolts of pure negative energy, impossibly swift and unerringly accurate, lanced from the orb atop its staff. Each one carried a chilling touch that seemed to drain vitality on contact, leaving patches of visionary frost where they struck. My [Mana Shield], even infused with Soulfire, shattered under the impact of a single bolt like fragile glass, the backlash stinging my visionary senses with a wave of icy pain.
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My spear, wreathed in my most potent Soulfire, found little purchase against the swirling wards of shadow and bone that Nur-Hazzan effortlessly conjured around itself with a mere flick of its wrist. My fireballs, which had been so effective against the Mourning Phantoms, seemed to sizzle and die against its personal aura of chilling dread, their heat absorbed and nullified. Even my [Soulfire Lance], my most powerful direct attack, was met by a shimmering barrier of solidified negative energy that absorbed much of its impact. It did, however, cause the Lich to recoil slightly, its emerald eyes flaring with momentary surprise before its attack redoubled in fury.
Jeeves, in the vision, was a whirlwind of silver and shadow. His stiletto deflected spectral chains with sparks of dark energy. His movements were an almost impossible ballet of evasion and precise counter-strikes. He managed to shatter several of the grasping skeletal hands with well-aimed throws of smaller, razor-edged implements — shuriken-like blades of solidified shadow — he seemed to produce from nowhere. He even scored a glancing blow on Nur-Hazzan's ribcage after a daring, [Stealth Arts]-enhanced approach that made him a mere flicker in the gloom, earning a telepathic snarl of cold, surprised fury from the Lich. But even Jeeves' Legendary stealth and Epic blade work were hard-pressed against a foe that seemed to command the very shadows and deathly energies of this crypt. Its attacks came from all directions simultaneously.
The Lich's most devastating ability, however, was yet to come. With a slow, imperious gesture of its staff, the runes on the countless sarcophagi lining the walls began to glow with an intense, sickly green light, pulsing in time with the orb on its staff. The heavy stone lids groaned, then slowly, with agonizing deliberation, slid open. From within, desiccated, armored corpses — Grave Knights, my [True Sight] supplied with a fresh wave of alarm, Tier 3 Undead Elites — began to shamble forth. Their movements were stiff but purposeful, their ancient, corroded weapons — longswords, spiked maces, tower shields — held ready. Not one or two. Dozens. An army of the dead, summoned by their silent lord, their empty sockets glowing with the same malevolent green light as their longswords.
Overwhelmed by numbers, pinned down by bolts of negative energy that sapped my strength with every hit, and with Jeeves fighting desperately to hold back a tide of clattering, unstoppable Grave Knights, my visionary self made a fatal error. Attempting to unleash a wide-arc Soulfire blast to clear a path, to buy us a moment's respite, I left myself open for a fraction of a second. Nur-Hazzan seized the opening with terrifying speed. The orb atop its staff pulsed, and a beam of utter blackness, silent and absolute, a void given form, struck me dead center. There was no explosion, no visible impact, just an all-consuming, unutterable cold that seemed to extinguish my very soul. A profound, terrifying negation of existence itself. My Glimpse ended not with a shatter, but with a fade to absolute, chilling oblivion, a whisper of non-being.
I snapped back to my physical body, gasping. A visceral, soul-deep chill clung to me that no fire could warm. My heart hammered against my ribs, not with exertion, but with the lingering horror of that final, silent, annihilating attack. Jeeves, ever attuned to my state, was instantly at my side, his silver eyes sharp with concern, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his concealed stiletto.
"Master Eren?" he inquired, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of readiness. "The previsionary state appeared somewhat more distressing than previous iterations. Your vital signs registered a significant sympathetic shock."
"Distressing doesn't even begin to cover it, Jeeves," I managed, rubbing my arms, trying to dispel the unnatural cold that still seemed to cling to my skin, to my very essence. I recounted the vision: Nur-Hazzan's terrifying array of necromantic powers, its ability to summon an army of elite Grave Knights, and that final, soul-extinguishing beam. "We can't fight it head-on. It's a spellcaster, a commander, and incredibly powerful. That black beam… it wasn't just damage; it felt like it was trying to unravel my very existence, to unmake me."
"A Nullification Array, perhaps, or a focused Entropic Pulse," Jeeves mused, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. "Such abilities are rare, even among high-Tier undead lords, often requiring a direct conduit to negative energy planes or a profound mastery over the principles of unmaking. It would bypass conventional defenses, targeting the animating Essence or soul-construct directly. Most problematic indeed."
I nodded grimly. "The Grave Knights are the immediate problem. It can summon too many for us to fight conventionally while also dealing with its ranged attacks and personal defenses. But those sarcophagi… they were the source. My [True Sight] showed the runes glowing brightest on them when it began the summoning. If we could somehow disrupt them, stop the summons before they fully manifest, or at least significantly reduce their numbers…"
My [True Sight], in the Glimpse, had shown me the glowing runes on each sarcophagus. And the ambient necromantic energy in the chamber, strongest near them, flowing into them during the summoning. Perhaps…
"Jeeves," I said, a desperate, audacious strategy beginning to form. One born from the Lich's own tactics, from the very source of its power. "Its power comes from this crypt, from these dead. What if we turn that against it? Before we even engage Nur-Hazzan, before it can even begin to summon its army, we focus everything on those sarcophagi. My most potent, [Soulfire]-infused fireballs, targeted to shatter the stone and burn the contents. Your precise strikes aimed at those runes, disrupting the enchantments. If we can shatter enough of them quickly, disrupt the necromantic linkages, maybe we can cripple its ability to overwhelm us with numbers." The plan felt reckless, almost sacrilegious, but it was the only path I could see that didn't end in that cold, silent oblivion.
Jeeves considered this for a moment. His silver eyes were thoughtful, a flicker of something akin to appreciation in their depths. "A preemptive desecration of consecrated burial sites to neutralize a necromantic entity's primary summoning loci… Tactically sound, Master. And, if I may say so, possessing a certain grim poetic irony. It will require exceptional speed, precision, and a significant expenditure of your Mana reserves for the initial saturation bombardment. The risk of drawing the Warden's ire before we are prepared is considerable."
"It's our best shot," I said, conviction hardening my voice. The memory of that chilling, silent oblivion from the Lich's final attack was a potent motivator. "We don't give it time to build its army. We hit hard, we hit fast, and we target the source of its strength. Then, and only then, do we face Nur-Hazzan itself."
My gaze met Jeeves'. He offered a rare, almost predatory smile, a glint of silver in the dim light. "Then let us prepare to introduce a most unwelcome element of disruptive chaos to the Eternal Warden's meticulously ordered and long-undisturbed domain, Master."
With our strategy set, a desperate gambit against a foe of terrifying power, we turned back towards the crimson archway. Ready to step into the heart of Nur-Hazzan's despairing kingdom, armed not just with strength, but with the hard-won, chillingly specific wisdom of a foreseen, and hopefully averted, doom.