Demonic Dragon: Harem System
Chapter 480 - 480: Door Open

The tip of the broken sword touched the surface of the door with a dry metallic clink—a small sound, but one that seemed to echo through the chamber like muffled thunder.

Nothing happened for the first two seconds.

In the third, the runes began to glow.

First one.

Then another.

And then all of them — as if an ancient web of energy had finally been reactivated, running through the inscriptions with a pale golden glow. A high-pitched hum began to vibrate in the air, thin as the sound of a crystal glass being touched by a damp finger.

Frieren's eyes widened slightly, which to anyone who knew her meant pure amazement.

"Well... either it was the sword, or the door just collapsed," she said, nibbling on the root, which fell from her mouth at the end of the sentence. "Wait... this is really working."

The overlapping layers of runes began to fall apart one by one, like parchment sheets burning backwards—returning to light, then smoke, and finally disappearing into nothingness. The door, once as solid as the mountain itself, now shook with a deep sound, like the snoring of something that had just awakened from a very, very long sleep.

"Did you hear that?" whispered Rogue. 'Was that a... sigh?'

"That was the sound of something wondering if it's worth getting out of bed," said Frieren, half serious, half amused. "And the answer, apparently, is yes."

A deep click echoed from inside the structure. A subtle crack, but one laden with meaning. The door slid back—it didn't open immediately, but receded a few inches, exposing a dark gap between it and the archway.

The group held their breath. Even Frieren's staff seemed to hesitate.

A moment later, the door began to open inward with an almost ceremonial slowness, raising a cloud of ancient dust that danced in the light of the magic torches.

Beyond the opening, a spiral staircase descended into the depths. The air inside was dry and still, as if no one had set foot in that place in hundreds of years. The wall just beyond the door was marked with different symbols: more recent, but still in an archaic style. Some had dried blood around them—old blood, blackened, almost petrified.

Frieren approached and ran her fingers over the new marks.

"This... isn't dwarf. It's not just elven either. This is... hybrid. A mixture of magical cultures. This is Artorias' work, for sure. He loved to mix everything together. A methodological disaster, but... brilliant." She sighed. 'And arrogant, of course.'

Daniela watched with a slight tremor in her chin.

"Is this safe?"

"Definitely not," replied Frieren, smiling. 'But that's exactly why we're here, isn't it?'

Strax looked at the sword still in his hands. Even without its shine, without any noticeable power, it seemed to have fulfilled its last duty. He carefully placed it back in its enchanted sheath and took his first step into the darkness of the staircase.

Strax took another step down the stairs, Artorias' broken blade resting at his waist, motionless and dull, but with the dignity of a respected relic. The soft echo of his boots against the aged stone faded into the darkness as he scanned every inch of the tunnel with trained eyes.

"Seems safe... so far. No flaming specters screaming 'mortal desecrator,' which is a good start," he said, without looking back.

Frieren, impatient, sighed heavily, the most dramatic sound ever emitted by a thousand-year-old elf. "Let's go in."

She raised her head haughtily, straightened her clothes with a sharp tug, held her staff as one would hold a royal croquet mallet... and walked straight into the passageway.

PLOC.

She stopped in midair. Literally. The invisible barrier held her so firmly that her forehead collided with a sharp and comical THUD, making a sound identical to that of a ripe fruit hitting a windowpane.

"OW!"

The aromatic root fell again. This time, straight into the collar of her cloak.

The group froze.

Samira covered her mouth. Cassandra turned her face away. Daniela's eyes widened. Rogue was shaking, trying not to laugh. Vampira turned her back, her whole body shaking silently. And Beatrice... took out a scroll and began to write.

"This will become epic poetry," she murmured.

Frieren backed away, rubbing her eyes with half-closed lids, staring toward the passageway with such contained fury that, if magical barriers had emotions, this one would be silently apologizing.

"That was... a blood exclusion rune. Restrictive. Individualized. Conditional," she growled each word as if cursing in high elven culture. 'Classic. Arrogant. Overly confident. Typical of an idiot who thinks leaving encrypted diaries with riddles is 'cute.'"

Strax reappeared at the top of the stairs with a slight smile. 'She knows Artorias well...'

"Did you hit it?"

"Oh, don't say that! Maybe the throbbing pain in my forehead is just a sign of old age!"

"That confirms it, then," muttered Daniela. 'Only Strax can enter. The sword was the passport... and maybe his magical signature is compatible with that of the seal's creator.'

Frieren crossed her arms, sulking in an almost adolescent manner.

"Oh yes, of course. What could go wrong? An idiot who screwed up so badly entrusted something to another idiot."

"Frieren..." said Rogue, trying to maintain his composure. 'Your forehead is swollen... and there's a leaf on it.'

She plucked the leaf with the dignity of someone who could incinerate five kingdoms if she wanted to, and threw it on the ground with a deadly look.

"When he dies down there, I'm not going to get him. Just so you know."

"Stop being so dramatic," Strax descended another step, shaking his head and suppressing a laugh.

"I'll explore carefully. If I find something... dangerous, I'll let you know. If I find something interesting... I'll let you know too. If I find a ghost asking me riddles, I'll probably send him to talk to you."

"Great," Frieren muttered. 'I hope he has a sense of humor and embarrassment for others.'

As Strax disappeared into the darkness, the group settled into the hall in front of the door, and Frieren sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling the root out of her collar with a sigh.

"Ten thousand years," she said, still massaging her forehead, 'and now I'm being barred by a guest list spell. Wonderful.'

Rogue finally allowed himself to laugh.

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