NOVEL NEXT Chapter 106: Claiming a Sanctum!
The name echoed in Ethan's mind, disbelief folding into a dark, sharp realization.
David, the once-proud prodigy from the academy. A noble. A dueling champion.
Now here… reduced to nothing more than a slave.
Ethan watched as David staggered slightly, the firewood slipping from the basket. A lean goblin, dressed in patchy armor and carrying a rusted whip, screeched something in its guttural tongue before swinging the whip forward with a snap.
Crack!
The sound echoed sharply through the air.
The whip lashed across David's back with brutal precision, tearing through his ragged shirt and drawing a bright, angry line of blood. David tensed but didn't cry out—he merely clenched his jaw, pain flashing across his face before disappearing under years of learned stoicism.
Then, he turned.
Their eyes met.
And for a moment, everything else faded.
David's expression twisted—not in shock, not in recognition alone—but in pity. A strange, sorrowful look passed across his bruised face, as if mourning a version of Ethan he thought he knew.
He shook his head slowly, almost imperceptibly.
David thought Ethan had been caught. That he had submitted.
That he was like the rest of them.
'So even you broke in the end...' David sighed inwardly. 'I thought you had more fight in you.'
Ethan, standing tall, clean, unchained, and without a scratch, looked too untouched by the cruelty of this place. And in David's eyes, that meant only one thing—he hadn't fought. He hadn't resisted.
He'd surrendered.
And that was the saddest part of all.
'Had he fought back out there… there might've been a chance. With his strength, maybe… But being dragged here is a death sentence. This place kills more than the body. It kills the soul.'
David dropped his gaze.
There was nothing he could do. No words he could offer. The moment Ethan passed through the gates of Grosh'ka, he had become just another broken soul in the eyes of those who'd given up.
But David didn't know the truth.
Ethan's eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze toward the Goblin Warlock, his voice firm and without room for argument. "No point beating around the bush now. Take me to the Sanctum Rune Stone."
The Goblin Warlock visibly flinched, the muscles around his jaw tightening. For the first time since their encounter, it hesitated—not out of fear, but out of deep, gnawing reluctance. Its slit pupils quivered, darting briefly to the sides as if seeking an escape, a reason, a distraction.
But none came.
It dipped its head slightly, baring its yellowed tusks as it muttered through clenched teeth. "Yes… my lord. Follow me…"
And so began the roundabout journey.
Ethan trailed behind the Warlock, silent, his every step calm but calculated. The goblin led him through winding paths between rundown structures, shadowed alleyways cluttered with crates and bone-piled storage pits. They passed slave quarters reeking of damp stone and stale despair, kitchens where weak flames simmered over slop pots, and beast pens holding feral creatures muzzled with rusted chains.
Time and again, the Warlock would pause, pointing out something or someone.
"That one—strong orc blood. Would make good servant for you, yes?"
Or—
"My lord, look here… alchemy shack. We prepare potions, poisons too. Very useful, very rare…"
But Ethan didn't slow.
His expression remained unmoved, his eyes locked forward with unwavering focus.
He wasn't here for slaves.
He wasn't here for goblin poisons.
He was here to claim what was his.
The Sanctum Rune Stone.
After what felt like half an hour of pointless detours and dead ends, Ethan's patience thinned to a razor's edge. "Enough," he said, voice low but edged in steel. "Take me to the Rune Stone. Now."
The goblin stopped, shoulders sagging under the weight of inevitability. Its claws clenched at its side, and it exhaled sharply through its nose with something between frustration and submission.
"As… as you command, my lord…"
It turned and led Ethan deeper into the sanctum. This time, there were no distractions.
Eventually, they arrived at an open courtyard at the heart of Grosh'ka, bordered by crooked stone totems and flickering torchlight. At the center stood a large stone pedestal, cracked by time but still pulsing faintly with arcane energy. Embedded into its surface was the Sanctum Rune Stone.
It looked nearly identical to the dungeon core Ethan had used earlier—only larger, more ancient. While his dungeon rune stone had pulsed with green energy like a seed ready to bloom, this one pulsed a deeper shade—an emerald flame held in hardened crystal. Etched into its surface were runes no human tongue could decipher, but Ethan could feel it… the power. The control. The connection.
The moment he stepped near it, he felt the mana shift—almost like the Sanctum itself was acknowledging his presence.
The goblin warlock stopped a few steps behind, casting one last bitter look toward the Rune Stone. "Once you bind with it… you will be the Sanctum Lord. All here will be bound to your rule."
Ethan stepped forward, not saying a word.
But then—he frowned.
His body refused to obey him. As though a crushing weight had dropped onto his shoulders, his limbs were frozen in place.
'Hmmph,' he snorted in disdain, his eyes gleaming coldly. This pressure… it was nowhere near what he had faced back then—when he stood under the petrifying gazes of multiple Stonehide Basilisks.
Compared to that… this was laughable.
Mana surged through his body as he began circulating it, his circuits drawing in the ambient mana around him. Wisps of bluish-white energy flickered across his skin, tracing over his veins like ethereal lightning.
Bit by bit, the pressure began to recede.
And then—he moved.
A single step echoed like thunder across the sanctum's courtyard.
But before he could reach the Rune Stone, his instincts screamed. A flood of killing intent engulfed him—from both the front and the rear.
Kaeryx was the first to act. The dragon's eyes flared open, and with a savage growl, his massive tail lashed out like a whip. The Goblin Warlock, who had remained silently behind them, was flung across the courtyard like a ragdoll, crashing into a crooked stone wall with a bone-snapping crack.
'Master—danger!' Kaeryx's voice rang through their soul-link, frantic and alert.
But Ethan didn't need the warning. His sword was already in his hand, mana surging along its edge like a tidal wave barely held in check. In one swift motion, he slashed forward—not at the source of the killing intent, but at the Sanctum Rune Stone.
A gleaming arc of mana flew through the air and slammed into the stone.
As expected, the Sanctum Rune Stone didn't even crack.
But that wasn't the point.
The attack wasn't meant to destroy it.
It was meant to reveal what was hiding.
A shrill, soul-piercing wail suddenly rang out as a ghostly, translucent figure burst out from the Rune Stone, flailing like a wounded beast. It was a grotesque image—a warped goblin spirit with hollow eyes and a jagged grin, flickering like a dying ember. Its essence was unraveling, the rune slash having disrupted its fragile tether to the core.
The spirit twisted, panicked, turning to flee.
"Hmmph… A mere spirit. Where do you think you're going?" Ethan growled coldly, vanishing from his spot.
He reappeared mid-air, directly in the spirit's path. His sword pulsed with condensed mana, shining like a blade of divine judgment.
The goblin spirit shrieked in terror, but it was already too late.
With a sharp exhale, Ethan slashed downward.
Schiiing!
The sword cleaved the spirit clean in two. Its form flickered, twisted—then disintegrated into countless motes of pale-blue light, vanishing with a final wail that echoed into silence.
Ethan landed, sword at his side, eyes calm.
The silence that followed was heavy. Even the ever-chattering goblins watching from the shadows dared not breathe.
One thing was now certain—
The Sanctum was his.
The goblin warlock lay crumpled against the fractured wall, its body twitching as blood oozed from its mouth and fractured limbs. Bones were broken—perhaps even shattered—and yet that wasn't what left the creature paralyzed in terror.
It was Kaeryx.
The dragon loomed like a living nightmare, his silver scales shimmering with a dangerous gleam, his wings slightly spread, casting a long shadow across the Warlock's body. Amber-gold eyes narrowed, locked onto the broken creature. The air around him was thick with pure, suffocating killing intent. A pressure so heavy it was like the weight of a collapsing mountain.
The goblin warlock couldn't move. Not because of the pain—but because of fear.
Even whimpering was impossible.
Its instincts screamed that one wrong breath would end its life.
And then—
Ethan stepped forward, slowly and with calm precision, his blade now sheathed, footsteps echoing ominously through the silent courtyard. He approached the rune stone without a single glance back.
This time, there were no tricks.
No spirits.
No resistance.
Just an eerie silence.
He stood before the Sanctum Rune Stone—an ancient, jagged crystal structure thrumming with pale green light. The veins of energy flowing through its surface pulsed like a heartbeat, responding to his presence.
Ethan raised his hand.
A single cut. Just enough to draw a droplet of blood.
It glowed faintly as it fell, and when it touched the stone, a deep hum reverberated through the entire sanctum. The rune stone reacted immediately, drinking the blood greedily as though recognizing the arrival of a new master.
<Ding!>
A transparent blue notification materialized in front of Ethan.
[You have claimed a Sanctum…]