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Chapter 150: On the other page

FOOSH!

Heavy rain continued to fall down, drenching the lands.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

Under the relentless downpour, a small figure trudged forward, their steps barely audible against the pounding rain. The person's body, slight and delicate, appeared almost childlike in stature. Their hood, soaked through and heavy with water, clung to their head, offering little protection now. Droplets streamed down their face, tracing invisible lines beneath the fabric.

The figure's movements were slow and purposeful, each step a fight against the weight of the storm. The road ahead was blurred by the rain, a muddled pathway of glistening puddles and slick mud. Despite the harshness of the weather, the figure pressed on, determined, as if the storm was merely an inconvenience.

Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the surroundings for a brief moment. In that fleeting light, the figure's small frame became clear, but their face remained obscured, hidden beneath the shadow of the drenched hood. Their hands, pale and fragile, clutched something close to their chest, wrapped in cloth to keep it dry.

FOOSH!

Heavy rain continued to fall.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

The small figure moved forward with the same unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the sound of the storm, sharp and commanding.

"What are you waiting for? Move!"

The figure halted briefly but didn't turn to face the voice. Their head remained lowered, rainwater trickling down their hood and into their soaked clothes. The voice belonged to a man, stern and impatient. His figure loomed behind them, tall and broad, a shadow in the rain.

"You are going to complete the training." His tone was heavy with authority, though there was a strange coldness underneath. "Look, your sister has already finished it."

The words hung in the air, laden with expectation. The figure's small body stiffened at the mention of their sister. They didn't respond immediately but shifted their grip on the bundle in their arms, clutching it tighter.

The man's gaze sharpened as he took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. "Don't disappoint me," he added, his voice low, almost a growl. His piercing eyes then flicked away from the child and, strangely, met her eyes.

"Tssk."

A sharp click of the tongue broke the silence within the carriage. The girl with long, clear black hair cascading down to her waist stared out of the window, watching as the rain flowed in rivulets down the glass. The heavy downpour mirrored the memory that had resurfaced in her mind, unwelcome and unpleasant.

"What an unpleasant memory again," she muttered softly to herself, her voice carrying a hint of bitterness.

Beside her, the maid, who had been sitting quietly until now, sensed the shift in her mood. Her gaze turned towards her lady, concern evident in her eyes.

"My lady," the maid asked gently, her voice careful not to intrude too much, "did something happen?"

The girl didn't respond immediately. Her dark eyes remained fixed on the rainy landscape outside, her fingers idly brushing the folds of her dress. The rhythmic sound of the rain against the carriage roof filled the air, but inside, the tension was palpable.

After a moment, the girl finally turned her gaze towards her maid, her expression cold yet with a subtle undercurrent of something deeper—perhaps anger, perhaps pain.

"It's nothing," she replied. "Just remembered some unpleasant memories."

The girl turned her attention back to the window, her eyes tracing the lines of rain streaming down the glass. The sound of the carriage wheels splashing through puddles filled the silence for a moment.

The maid, sensing the conversation wasn't quite over, kept her tone soft and reassuring. "It won't take much longer to reach Rackenshore, my lady," she said, her eyes filled with quiet concern. She glanced at her young mistress, gauging her reaction before continuing. "But… are you certain about this? It may just be a coincidence."

The girl's fingers stilled on the folds of her dress, her jaw tightening slightly. Her eyes remained on the rainy landscape, though her mind was clearly elsewhere. After a pause, she slowly shook her head, a quiet but resolute gesture.

"There is no way it's a coincidence," she replied, her voice calm but filled with certainty. "That name… it's unique."

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with significance. The maid nodded, though the concern in her eyes deepened. She knew better than to push further. Whatever lay ahead for her lady, it wasn't something to be taken lightly.

"The disgrace who put a stain on the name of our family. Do you think you can escape?" the girl muttered, her voice low but laced with a dangerous edge.

As the words left her lips, a faint yellow glow began to pulse around her, flickering with intensity. The mana emanating from her body seemed to charge the very air, and the temperature inside the carriage rose steadily. Her maid's eyes widened though she remained composed, accustomed to her lady's abilities.

The girl's eyes burned with an inner fire, reflecting her rage and determination. Small flames flickered along the hem of her clothes, dancing across her sleeves, though they did not burn the fabric. The air crackled with heat as the mana swirled around her, growing more intense with each passing second.

This wasn't something just anyone could do. The ability to materialize one's intent into the physical world required immense control and power, a skill only a 4-star Awakened could possess. The flames were an extension of her will, a manifestation of the seething emotions that churned beneath her composed exterior.

The maid, though concerned, did not move. She knew her lady's strength and understood that pushing her now would only stoke the flames further.

"My lady… please, calm yourself," the maid whispered softly, her voice steady yet respectful. "The time will come soon enough."

The girl exhaled sharply, her gaze still fixed on the outside, the flames dimming as she brought her emotions under control. The yellow glow slowly faded, and the oppressive heat in the carriage eased, leaving only a faint warmth lingering in the air.

"It's not about patience," the girl said, her voice returning to its usual cold tone. "It's about restoring the lost honor of our family."

As for how that happened, one must go one half a year back.

*******

The heavy oak door slammed shut with a resounding thud, cutting off the echo of hurried footsteps. Inside the dimly lit room, a tall, stern man stood near the window, his cold, hard face illuminated by the flickering candlelight. His sharp, steel-gray eyes bore into the parchment in his hands, the ink smudged from where his grip tightened in fury.

His jaw clenched, the silence thickened around him as the fire crackled in the hearth, unable to dispel the biting chill of his presence. His broad shoulders, clad in a crisp military coat, rose and fell with restrained fury, the veins in his neck pulsing with barely contained rage.

Suddenly, the quiet shattered.

"He had deserted his post and escaped?"

The man's hand trembled as he read the words again, his fingers tightening around the parchment as though he could strangle the very letters off the page. His cold, steel-gray eyes flared with a fierce, murderous light as the insult sunk deeper into his veins.

"Escaped? That wretched bastard dared to escape?" His voice rose into a snarl, the sound low and venomous, each word dripping with disgust.

His broad shoulders squared, his military coat shifting with the rigid tension in his body. The Thorne family name, his name, stained by this worthless cur. The disgrace already hanging over their legacy like a festering wound was now deepened beyond repair.

"First, he dishonors us by assaulting the Duke's daughter, and now he flees from the battlefield like a coward!" His voice erupted, the room seeming to shrink under the weight of his wrath. He slammed the letter onto the desk, the parchment crinkling under his fist, the veins in his neck pulsing visibly.

The fire crackled louder in the hearth, almost in response to the rage in the room, but it did nothing to warm the icy fury radiating from him.

"Do you have any idea what this means? The humiliation? The shame?" His eyes darted to the empty space in the room as if expecting a ghost of the past to answer. "The Thornes will be a laughingstock—a disgrace." His teeth ground together audibly, the muscles in his jaw twitching from the effort of holding back the flood of curses that threatened to spill from his mouth.

The name Thorne had once stood for something—something noble, proud, and unyielding. Now, because of him, it was whispered in hushed tones, mocked in back rooms, associated with scandal and cowardice.

"I sent him to that battlefield to bleed for his shame. To redeem the family name!" His fist crashed down onto the desk again, this time sending the inkpot flying, black ink splattering across the wood in violent streaks. The stain spreading over the desk mirrored the dark shadow now cast over the Thorne family.

"Assaulting the Duke's daughter wasn't enough, was it?" he spat, his voice filled with bitter venom. "Now, he defies me, escapes like a rat in the night? After I gave him the one chance to prove himself, to die with at least a shred of honor!"

The thunderous roar of the fire was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. The man's breath hitched, his cold eyes narrowing as his gaze snapped toward the heavy oak barrier. For a moment, silence stretched, save for the crackling flames and the muffled hiss of ink pooling across the desk.

"Enter," he barked, his voice still seething with the remnants of his fury.

The door creaked open slowly, and in stepped a girl with clear black hair cascading down her back, her face shadowed but resolute. Her eyes, sharp as steel, met her father's without flinching. There was no hesitation, no fear, only a fierce determination that mirrored the storm brewing within him. She stepped forward with purpose, her footsteps light yet confident as they crossed the room.

"Father," she began, her voice steady, carrying an undercurrent of cold resolve. "Leave that to me."

The man's eyes, still alight with fury, flickered as they met hers. There was a long pause before he spoke, his voice cutting through the tense air. "What are you saying?"

"I will find him," she continued, her tone unwavering, as if the decision had already been made. "And I will take his head myself."

Chapter 151: The Vault

What is the biggest strength of being a transmigrator who has read the novel in which they are transmigrated?

There may be several answers to that question, and everyone might give a different one. Some would say it's knowing the plot, having foresight into the big events, or being able to predict major twists. But for me, the answer is clear.

It's knowing the characters.

The real advantage is understanding who they are, how they think, what drives them, and most importantly, what breaks them. I know their backstories, the hidden trauma that shapes their every decision, the subtle motivations they won't share with anyone else. Knowing what pushes them forward, what keeps them awake at night, is more valuable than any plot twist.

It's like holding the strings to their minds.

What makes them stronger? I know it. What makes them falter? I know those.

After all, we're all reading these books to see someone different, yet someone familiar. That's the heart of it. Readers are drawn to characters they can relate to—people who might have different circumstances or powers but who reflect something familiar back at them. It's that connection, that sense of recognizing a part of themselves, that keeps them turning the pages.

But here's the thing: if you can't understand the way the main character thinks, if you can't sympathize with them, meaning you can't find that spark of familiarity, you won't care. You'll put the book down and move on. The readers might say they want something unique, something exotic, but deep down, they're looking for that thread that ties them to the story.

Something they can latch onto, some emotion or experience that feels real to them.

On the other hand, people don't want to see too much of themselves in character. That's when it gets uncomfortable. A character who mirrors you too closely, who reflects your flaws and insecurities—those ugly sides of yourself you try to ignore—makes you face things you might not want to. It's like holding up a mirror, and most people don't like what they see when they look too hard.

But there's one thing that is clear: when someone reads a book, they internalize the main character—or at least the point of view of the character they're following.

It's inevitable.

"Oh? So he is acting like this? That's an interesting way to approach the problem. Maybe that's how I would handle it… or maybe not."

Whether they realize it or not, they're stepping into the character's shoes, understanding the world through their eyes. And that's where the real advantage comes in.

By reading about other characters, the reader is essentially seeing the world through someone else's eyes. They begin to understand different perspectives, and concepts that might have seemed foreign or difficult to grasp can suddenly start making sense when viewed from another angle.

It's like having someone walk you through a maze you've been stuck in, offering insights that weren't clear from your own limited viewpoint.

In a way, those characters become a kind of stepping stone on the reader's journey. Each character, with their unique experiences, strengths, and flaws, adds another layer to the reader's understanding—not just of the story but of life itself. It's not just entertainment; it's an opportunity for growth, for seeing things differently, for expanding your own thinking.

You begin to realize that even if you disagree with a character's choices or if they make you uncomfortable, there's still something to be learned.

Their thought process and their way of navigating problems can offer solutions or perspectives that you hadn't considered before. And even when they stumble or fail, that too becomes part of the learning.

'That is why it weirdly is interesting to remember the chapters about some of the male leads.'

Shattered Innocence was, at its core, a romance fantasy novel. Not exactly the most high-brow piece of literature, but still, it had its moments. It wasn't well-written—hell, far from it. There were so many inconsistencies with the characters that it became a running joke in my head.

One chapter a male lead would be steadfast, rational, and loyal, and the next, he'd be impulsive, reckless, and frankly, irrational.

I used to think those inconsistencies were just bad writing. I'd chalk it up to the author being sloppy or not understanding their own characters. But now? Now I wonder. Maybe it wasn't just the writing. Maybe those inconsistencies were a reflection of my own narrow way of looking at life.

Maybe those actions, the ones I would never do, make perfect sense to someone else.

There's a reason why different people relate to different characters. While I might have found the male leads' actions nonsensical, maybe to someone else, it was exactly what they would do in that situation.

The impulsive choices, the reckless emotions—it all had a place in a story where people thought and felt differently than I did.

Still, while I disagreed with how the male leads were written and with many of their actions, there was one thing in the book that I actually liked.

It was how the concept of genius was explained.

'The detailed way of breaking down how a person with a talent thinks.'

That was something Shattered Innocence actually did well. It wasn't easy to pull off, but the writer nailed it in certain moments. One scene that always stood out to me was about the heir of the Mage Tower.

Being a romance fantasy book, it was full of ridiculously talented male leads, all with absurd backgrounds and skills to match. But this one, the heir, was different—or at least the way his mind was portrayed was different.

There was this particular episode where he explored a cave, hunting for a rare artifact. It wasn't some dramatic showdown or romantic entanglement; it was just him, alone, meticulously unraveling the secrets of that cave.

The episode took its time, slowing down to show how his mind worked, how he observed the smallest of details that others would have missed entirely.

How he had somehow sensed the mana different from others. What made his talent different was what made him the heir of the Magic Tower.

They were all made use of.

[Is it the place?]

Vitaliara's voice echoed in my head at that moment. The reason she asked…

Well, the place we are in right now is not a usual place.

I stood in front of the cave, the very same one described in Shattered Innocence. The one where the heir of the Magic Tower made his breakthrough to the 5th star realm. It looked almost exactly as I'd pictured it—the jagged rock formations, the eerie stillness in the air, and that unmistakable pulse of mana. Faint, but undeniably there.

"Yes, that is."

I said quietly, my eyes scanning the entrance. To most, it would seem like an ordinary cave, forgotten in the depths of time. But I knew better. I knew what lay inside, and more importantly, I knew what had happened here.

[…..I sense a really strong energy from down there.]

I took a step closer, feeling the subtle hum of ancient magic coursing through the cave walls. It was faint, but unmistakable, the kind of energy that could only come from something—or someone—extraordinary.

[There's no doubt about it now. This place is more than just a cave,] Vitaliara murmured in my mind, her usual lazy tone replaced with a hint of caution. [I can feel the barrier… whoever created this didn't want it found easily.]

"That would be Arlen Morrowind's work," I whispered to myself. The archmage had been a legend, both feared and respected for his mastery of spatial and illusionary magic. He had left behind a treasure trove known as Morrowind's Vault, cleverly hidden from all but the most perceptive, and it seemed I had finally found its entrance.

The barrier was subtle, just like how it was described in the novel—a near-perfect illusion layered over reality, meant to divert attention from all but those who knew exactly what to look for.

The faint pulse of mana was the only clue.

"You won't be able to pass it like this." I held out my hand, letting my mana flow freely. The barrier flickered, rippling like the surface of disturbed water.

I extended my hand, drawing upon the mana from deep within my core, feeling the familiar warmth of starlight mana swirl through me. It pulsed, gentle yet steady, the very essence of light pulled from the heavens, refined and focused. My breathing steadied as I concentrated, visualizing the process I'd read about in Shattered Innocence.

The trick wasn't brute force; Arlen Morrowind's barriers weren't meant to be broken, they were meant to be unraveled.

'It's just like threading a needle.'

With a focused breath, I condensed my mana into a thin thread, glowing faintly with the shimmer of stars. I let it hover in the air for a moment, admiring the delicate craftsmanship of it, before sending it forward, allowing the thread to drift toward the invisible barrier.

The moment the thread touched the barrier, it flickered, reacting to the intrusion. But I knew the secret. The key wasn't to force the mana through, but to weave it, guiding it along the natural flow of the barrier itself.

I began the delicate process, weaving the thread of starlight mana along the surface of the barrier. Each movement was precise, careful, as if I were stitching two fabrics together. The thread wove in and out, following the hidden currents of the illusion, tracing the intricate design left behind by the archmage.

The barrier rippled, responding to my mana but not resisting—just as the novel described.

Vitaliara's presence remained silent but alert, her curiosity evident as I worked. I could sense her observing every subtle movement I made, though for once she refrained from commenting, knowing this required my full focus.

Slowly, the barrier began to shift. It wasn't dramatic, no sudden crash of magic or flash of light. Instead, it was a gentle unweaving, the layers of illusion falling away one by one. The air around the entrance grew stiller, the oppressive weight of the ancient magic dissipating as the threads of the barrier unraveled.

[Impressive,] Vitaliara finally murmured, her voice barely a whisper in my mind. [I can see why they called Arlen Morrowind a genius.]

"More like obsessive," I muttered under my breath, but I couldn't help but agree. The sheer complexity of the barrier was astounding, and yet the solution had been so simple—if you knew where to look.

With one final tug of my mana thread, the barrier fell away completely, revealing the true entrance to Morrowind's Vault. What had once been a simple cave now transformed into something far more imposing.

The entrance yawned open, framed by ancient glyphs that shimmered faintly with dormant power as if daring anyone to step inside.

"Well…..Isn't it fitting of an Archmage?"

I couldn't help but smirk.

Since, at this exact moment, things started forming right in front of my face.

Chapter 152: The Vault (2)

"Well... isn't it fitting of an Archmage?" I couldn't help but smirk as the glyphs shimmered, casting faint shadows on the stone walls. But even as I took in the sight, my thoughts drifted back to how I'd ended up here.

Before leaving Rackenshore, I had been carefully planning my next move. The victory over the bandits had earned me some peace and goodwill from the Baron, but I knew my journey was far from over. While most would be satisfied with the praise and offers of comfort, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more I needed to accomplish.

The sword tournament.

That had been the key.

I remembered it clearly—two weeks from now, a prestigious sword tournament was set to take place. A tournament filled with capable fighters, all vying for the prize. The details were all there, buried in the back of my mind from the novel Shattered Innocence. The top prize? An artifact of a really good utility, a treasure that would give the victor a significant edge.

I wasn't aiming to merely attend; I planned to win. But there was a catch. I needed more power, more precision, if I was going to dominate without question. And I wasn't about to leave that to chance.

That is why I knew, if I wanted to be ready for the tournament, I had to increase my strength more.

Not just in skill but in raw mana capacity.

I started to weigh my options, sorting through everything I had learned, both from my training and from the novel. And as I stared at the map the Baron had provided me, a thought struck me.

The forest.

[Wraithshade Forest.]

It was a place brimming with history and secrets. And within its depths lay the location of Morrowind's Vault, the same dungeon left behind by the infamous Archmage, Arlen Morrowind.

'Though this place is probably the easiest dungeon left behind by him.'

Arlen Morrowind wasn't the only one. Countless archmages, swordmasters, and other powerful figures had scattered their legacies across the world, leaving behind dungeons, trials, and treasure troves for the worthy—or the foolish—to find. It was almost a rite of passage for those seeking power. They left behind their most valuable artifacts, knowledge, and skills, hidden in places few could access.

Some legacies were near-impossible to find, buried deep in forgotten realms or guarded by beasts of unimaginable power. But Arlen... his approach had always been different.

Rather than leaving one monumental legacy, he had scattered many smaller dungeons across the world. Each one housed a fragment of his knowledge or his power.

Some were incredibly dangerous—places only those at the peak of their strength could hope to survive. But this one, here in Wraithshade Forest, was the weakest of the lot.

'Not that I will complain.'

Just as the thought crossed my mind, the atmosphere around me shifted. The faint hum of magic in the air grew louder, and the glyphs on the stone walls flared with a sudden brilliance. The peaceful stillness of the dungeon shattered as I felt it—the approach of something hostile.

My instincts kicked in immediately.

'They're coming.'

I barely had time to react before shadows seemed to congeal out of the air around me. In an instant, they took form—monsters, creatures born from the very magic that permeated this place.

The creatures that emerged from the shadows were unmistakable—Arachasaes. Their bodies were sleek and segmented, a disturbing mix of arachnid and insect, with hard, chitinous exoskeletons gleaming in the dim light of the dungeon. Their legs moved with an eerie precision, skittering across the ground with barely a sound.

Their eyes glowed faintly, a venomous green, and I could see the lethal barbs protruding from their fangs, dripping with venom.

Insectoid monsters like these were rare, and Arachasaes were even rarer still—creatures known for their ability to blend into their surroundings, becoming nearly invisible until it was too late. Venomous, fast, and intelligent, they were a nightmare for any who dared face them unprepared.

'Great,' I thought, eyeing the number of them. They had me surrounded.

–HISS!

Their hiss echoed through the dungeon, a high-pitched sound that vibrated the air, heightening the tension. My grip tightened on my estoc, the familiar hum of the Flame of Equinox stirring in response. These creatures weren't to be underestimated.

Their venom was potent, enough to bring even seasoned warriors to their knees if they weren't careful.

'It can corrode my body even after I surround myself with mana.'

They were monsters of a high rank so it was obvious that they would be strong. And I had no problem with that as I already knew the monsters that would come in the first stage.

SWOOSH!

"Hisss!"

The first Arachasae lunged at me, its fangs bared, aiming straight for my chest. I sidestepped, the movement fluid as my estoc sliced through the air, meeting its segmented body.

SWOOSH! SLASH!

The black flames flickered along the blade, severing the creature in one clean stroke. Its body twitched before crumpling to the ground, but I didn't have time to celebrate.

The rest of them charged, moving as one, their venomous fangs gleaming in the low light. Their speed was frightening, but I kept my focus. My mind raced as I calculated their movements, searching for the openings in their attacks.

'Fast, but predictable.'

Another Arachasae lunged, and I met it head-on, my estoc finding the weak spot between its exoskeleton plates. My blade sliced through, and the black flames flared, disintegrating its venom before it could reach me.

But the numbers were working against me. For every one I cut down, two more seemed to take its place, their movements relentless, their fangs snapping with deadly intent.

The dungeon's atmosphere pulsed with magic, as if it were feeding these creatures. That was the thing with the dungeons. Even if they were created by humans and not naturally, they would all possess the same property.

Monsters deriving their energy from the dungeon itself…..

I couldn't afford to waste any more time.

'Time to end this.'

My estoc hummed with energy as I focused, drawing the starlight from deep within my core. The black flames that had been dancing along the blade gave way to a shimmering light, a radiant glow that pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat.

I closed my eyes for just a moment, visualizing the starlight blooming and expanding, cutting through the darkness of the dungeon.

「Void Starfall Blade. Starline.」

The words left my lips in a whisper as the blade in my hand sheered with starlight. I swung the estoc with precision, and a crescent beam of light shot forth from the blade, cutting through the air like a comet.

The beam pierced through the Arachasaes, their chitinous bodies splitting as the light tore through them.

Half of them collapsed instantly, their bodies crumbling under the force of the attack. The other half, though wounded, continued to skitter forward, their fangs snapping, venom dripping from their mouths. But I wasn't worried. The strike had done its job, leaving the remaining monsters exposed and vulnerable.

With calm precision, I drew from my core once again, feeling the starlight surge back into my body, replenishing the energy in my limbs. I lifted my estoc, feeling the familiar hum of power, and swung once more.

Another crescent of starlight shot forward, the blade glowing with radiant energy as it arced through the air. This time, there was no hesitation. The light cut cleanly through the remaining Arachasaes, their bodies disintegrating as the beam tore them apart.

The dungeon fell silent, save for the faint crackling of magic still pulsing through the stone walls. I lowered my estoc, the glow fading as the starlight receded.

'Not bad….For the starters….'

The Arachseas were peak 3-star ranked monsters, which was why it was this easy for me to cut through them like this.

[You've improved,] Vitaliara chimed in. [Your control over your mana is much more refined now.]

I gave a small nod, acknowledging her observation. "I haven't been slacking off," I replied. The truth was, while this dungeon would provide me with the edge I needed, my journey here had been anything but idle. I had made sure of that.

As I traveled through the Wraithshade Forest to reach this place, I encountered a fair share of challenges. The forest was crawling with its own creatures—feral beasts, rogue elementals, and plenty of low-level monsters drawn to the natural mana of the region.

And as I fought and cultivated, I could feel the progress. Each battle sharpened my skills, each moment of meditation deepened my connection to the starlight mana.

The monsters I had killed on the way weren't particularly difficult for someone at my level, but they had been plentiful, and that had given me the chance to improve my precision and stamina. I had focused on refining my control, letting the mana circulate more naturally through my body, and it had paid off. I could feel the energy coursing through me, stronger and more stable than ever before.

Peak 3-star realm. It had been a long time coming, but I had finally reached it, and that was also why this place was much more important.

'Since it will be the place where I will be breaking through the 4th star.'

Chapter 153: The Vault (3)

After cutting through the last of the Arachasaes, the dungeon fell eerily silent. The only sound that remained was the soft crackling of residual magic within the stone walls, like the fading echoes of a once-powerful storm. I sheathed my estoc, the faint hum of starlight dissipating as the weapon rested once more at my side.

With the monsters defeated, the path forward was now clear. I pressed on, stepping deeper into the heart of Morrowind's Vault; my senses heightened as I prepared for whatever might come next. But as I ventured further, the tunnel began to widen, and the stone walls gradually gave way to an open expanse.

It was a vast, circular chamber. The ceiling arched high above, barely visible in the dim light that filtered through from an unknown source. Ancient glyphs were carved into the walls, glowing faintly with a soft blue hue, their magical presence still potent after all this time.

The floor was smooth, almost unnaturally so, as if the stone had been polished by centuries of magical currents flowing through it.

But what stood out the most was the lack of movement. No monsters. No traps. Nothing.

I stopped at the center of the chamber, my eyes scanning the room carefully.

[No creatures, no lurking dangers…] Vitaliara mused, her voice thoughtful. [But I can feel it. There's something here, something beneath the surface.]

And it was just as she had said.

'Just as it was described in the novel itself.'

I thought, my eyes narrowing as I recalled the precise details. This chamber was a place where the flow of mana from several different paths converged, an intersection where raw magical power pooled. In Shattered Innocence, it had been depicted as a place of immense potential—but also danger.

[So, what's the plan here?] Vitaliara's voice carried a note of curiosity, but there was also an underlying tension. [I feel… stuck as if this place is holding its breath.]

I couldn't help but smile at her words. "The plan?" I shook my head lightly. "It's simple."

Without hesitation, I stepped right into the center of the chamber, the smooth floor almost unnervingly still beneath my feet. The moment my foot touched the very heart of the room, something shifted. A subtle click echoed through the air, like the release of a long-held lock.

And then, the chamber came alive.

I could feel it—mana surging from all directions, as though it had been lying dormant, waiting for the right moment to awaken. My senses expanded, and in that instant, I could feel everything. The walls seemed to pulse with energy, and all around me, hidden presences began to reveal themselves.

Monsters. Dozens of them. No… more than that. Hundreds.

[What—?] Vitaliara's surprise was palpable, her voice echoing in my mind. [There's so many…]

She was right. The chamber wasn't empty after all. The monsters hadn't been visible because they hadn't been there in the physical sense. They had been hidden, their presence masked by the dungeon's magic, biding their time until the mechanism had been triggered.

Or was she?

[Hmm?]

It seemed she had also caught something up.

[This?]

Vitaliara's surprised voice came right into my head. She was surprised, rightfully. Since even if she was a mythical beast, witnessing such a sight would not be something that she would frequently do.

The grotesque monsters continued to emerge from the shadows, their twisted forms growing closer with each passing second. Their appearances were nightmarish—clawed limbs, fanged maws dripping with venom, and glowing eyes that promised a swift and painful death. But I didn't move. I stood there, my hand resting on the hilt of my estoc, but I made no attempt to draw it.

[What… are you doing?] Vitaliara's voice echoed in my mind, her confusion barely masked by her usual composure. She was right to question me, but I already knew what was happening.

The first monster, a massive beast with tusks as long as my arm, charged forward, its maw opening wide, ready to sink its teeth into me. But just as it reached me, just as I should have felt the pressure of its jaws closing around me… it passed right through.

There was no impact. No pain. It was as if the creature had never been there at all.

[I see….] Vitaliara's voice cut through the air again, slightly astonished this time. [That is why I did not sense any Vitality from their bodies.]

"Illusions," I murmured, watching as more monsters approached. Each one looked just as menacing as the last, their movements precise, their attacks relentless. But none of them touched me. They simply passed through like smoke in the wind.

One by one, the monsters continued to come, snarling and snapping, but none of them were real. Not even close. They were nothing more than phantoms, projections of fear conjured by the dungeon's magic.

[This dungeon's magic is stronger than I thought.] Vitaliara admitted, her surprise still lingering in her voice.

"I suspected as much," I replied, watching as another monstrous figure lunged at me, only to dissolve into nothing as it passed. "This is part of the trial. Arlen Morrowind's dungeons were never about brute strength. It's all about perception."

The monsters continued their assault, each more grotesque than the last, but I remained unfazed. I had read about this trial in Shattered Innocence. This part of the dungeon was designed to test not a person's ability to fight but their ability to see through deception. The illusions were meant to invoke fear, to trick the mind into reacting—but that was the trap.

If you believed in the monsters, if you let the illusions fool you, the dungeon would overwhelm you. But if you saw through them, if you realized they weren't real, you would pass the test unscathed.

Well, I would not say unscathed if you have really polished your skills.

[Lucavion.]

"I know."

Seeing through illusions was only part of the trial. In a place like this, it wasn't just about figuring out what wasn't real—it was about discerning what was. And that line between truth and deception was always razor-thin.

SCHLINK!

Without hesitation, I drew my estoc, the blade humming with the familiar pulse of my mana. The illusions swirled around me, their grotesque forms continuing their relentless assault, but I knew better than to believe all of them were fake. Somewhere within this chaos was something real—something dangerous.

My eyes narrowed, my senses sharpening as I focused.

There.

'There you are.'

Just beyond the edge of my vision, hidden amidst the phantoms, I felt it—a presence that didn't fade like the others.

SWOOSH!

In one swift motion, I slashed through the air, my estoc drawing a sharp arc in front of me. The blade met resistance and then came the unmistakable sound of flesh being torn apart. Blood splattered across the stone floor, and the creature that had been hiding within the illusions let out a guttural scream before collapsing.

The illusions wavered for a moment, the magic distorting as the real monster's body hit the ground. Its grotesque form twitched, the blood pooling around its segmented limbs.

[What a wicked method,] Vitaliara remarked, her voice carrying a mix of fascination and disgust as she observed the fallen creature.

I shook my head, wiping the blood from my blade. "This is how an illusionist mage fights," I replied calmly. "They mask the truth in layers of deception, waiting for you to let your guard down. In a life-and-death battle, there's no such thing as wickedness. Only survival."

Vitaliara hummed in agreement, though her tone remained contemplative. [Still, to mix reality with illusion so seamlessly… It's impressive in a dark way. You humans never cease to amaze me.]

"Heh…..This is how we are." I shook my head with a smile. "Impressive but predictable," I said, glancing down at the creature's corpse. "Once you know the trick, it's only a matter of time before the real threats reveal themselves."

'I seem to hear some readers saying, you knew from the book already.'

That would have been the case if I was not able to sense the life and death energy from the mana itself.

While I am not that particularly smart, the Flame of Equinox is a technique that is derived from both life and death, as well as their balance.

That is why, one way or another, I would understand that these monsters were not real, as they would not leave any death mana out when they disappeared.

I sheathed my estoc once again, my gaze turning back to the chamber. This test wasn't over yet, as there would be many waves coming again and again.

Until that monster is killed, this will continue happening.

'Heh…..Bring it on.'

I thought as I pushed my hand into the carcass of the monster.

SPURT!

Grabbing the core inside. Since this core is what I will need in the future.