Realm Lord
Chapter 112: To the Next

Chapter 112: To the Next

The heavy wooden door groaned shut behind them with a finality that seemed to echo through the very stones of the ancient structure. They had finally left the dungeon, leaving behind the dead within. The metallic scent of blood and death still clung to their clothes like an unwelcome companion.

Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow as they began their methodical progression through the doors of the castle. Each door they encountered seemed to mock them with its promise of progress, only to reveal yet another empty chamber or meaningless passageway.

Door after door they passed, their footsteps echoing hollowly in the silence. The anticipation was almost unbearable. They knew that somewhere in this labyrinthine structure lay the final two rooms they sought, but each wrong door only served to heighten the tension that crackled between them like electricity before a storm.

Lara’s patience began to fray with each disappointing chamber they encountered. Her jaw clenched tighter with every empty room, her knuckles whitening as her grip on her twin blades grew more desperate. Arthur could see the way her shoulders tensed, the slight tremor in her hands that spoke of barely contained rage building like pressure in a sealed vessel.

"How many more of these damn rooms are there?" she muttered through gritted teeth, her voice carrying a dangerous edge.

The group pressed on, their determination unwavering despite the mounting tension. The dust of ages swirled around their feet with each step, creating ghostly patterns in the dim light of the torches.

Until finally, mercifully, they crossed the threshold into something different.

The change was immediate and breathtaking. Clear wood flooring stretched out before them, its surface covered with a thick layer of dust that spoke of years of abandonment. But it was the room itself that drew their collective breath away. A perfect circle that spiraled upward through multiple floors, creating a magnificent column of space that seemed to reach toward the heavens themselves.

The walls were lined from floor to impossibly high ceiling with thousands upon thousands of books. Ancient tomes bound in leather and cloth, their spines creating a rainbow of faded colors that spoke of knowledge accumulated across centuries. Dust motes danced in the shafts of dim light.

They had made it. One of the two final rooms—the library.

Arthur felt a moment of awe wash over him as he took in the magnificent sight. This had once been a place of learning, of scholarship, where knowledge had been treasured and preserved. The irony of finding such a repository of wisdom in a place that had become a tomb was not lost on him.

But their moment of wonder was short-lived.

In the center of the circular room, positioned as if it were the focal point of all that accumulated knowledge, knelt a figure that made Arthur’s blood run cold. One of the last two sheepmen, its massive form hunched over with its sword planted point-first in the wooden floor before it, its black armor seeming to absorb any light as it kneeled.

It began to rise slowly, deliberately, as if it had been waiting for their arrival. The grand steel sword in its hands was massive.

A low grunt drew Arthur’s attention to his left, where Lara stood trembling with barely contained fury. Her face had flushed a deep red, her teeth grinding audibly as she fought to maintain what little control she had left. Her hands shook violently around the hilts of her twin blades, and Arthur could practically see the rage radiating from her like heat from a forge. This was the moment she had been waiting for.

To Arthur’s right, Aziel wore his characteristic smirk, though there was something more dangerous in his expression now—a manic gleam that suggested he was as eager for battle as Lara, though he channeled it differently. With fluid movements, he summoned his spear into existence, the weapon materializing in his grip as if it had always been there. Crackling lightning began to dance across his skin, coating his body in an aura of electric energy that made the air itself seem to hum with power.

Kay, practical as always, brought his massive hammer from his back with deliberate care. The weapon was so heavy that when he allowed its head to touch the ground, the impact sent cracks spider-webbing through the ancient wooden flooring. Dust and splinters flew in all directions from the point of contact, a testament to the devastating power contained within the deceptively simple tool.

Arthur looked back at the sheepman, which had now fully risen to its feet and begun its slow, measured approach.

Arthur’s hands trembled slightly as he summoned his odachi, the familiar weight of the curved blade providing some small comfort against the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged bird desperate for freedom. He forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath.

As his breathing steadied, Arthur’s attention turned inward, focusing on the shadow that stretched out beneath his feet. He hadn’t had the opportunity to use his newfound ability since his previous battle, and he could sense instinctively that he wouldn’t be able to use it to the same extent again. He wasn’t strong enough yet to unleash the full extent of what he had done before. But that didn’t mean he was helpless.

Closing his eyes, Arthur reached out with his consciousness, feeling for the connection to the darkness that pooled around him. It was there, waiting, like a loyal hound eager to serve. The sensation was strange—part of him yet separate, familiar yet alien. After a few moments of intense concentration, he felt the connection solidify, and the shadow responded to his will.

The shadow began to move, peeling itself away from the wooden floor like liquid darkness made manifest. It flowed up his body with an almost sentient grace, wrapping around him like a living thing. The rest of his companions—all except Lara, who was too consumed by her rage to notice anything else—watched in momentary astonishment as the darkness enveloped him.

The shadow twisted and morphed around Arthur’s form, shifting and changing with fluid movements that defied natural law. Gradually, it began to take on a more solid appearance, the formless darkness reshaping itself into something recognizable. The shadow hardened and defined itself until it resembled the very first robes Arthur had taken from the dead monk in the rose field—but transformed, elevated, made magnificent by the power that infused it.

The shadow armor that now adorned Arthur’s body was as strong as steel yet moved with him like a second skin. It gleamed with an inner darkness that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, creating an aura of power that was both beautiful and terrifying.

When Arthur opened his eyes, they blazed with newfound confidence. The fear was still there—he wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the danger they faced—but it was tempered now by the knowledge of his own strength. He took a measured step toward the waiting sheepman, his movement fluid and controlled.

"Let’s go," Kay chuckled, the sound carrying both amusement and anticipation. His expression quickly shifted to match the seriousness of the moment, becoming the mask of a seasoned warrior as he gripped his hammer with both hands, ready to unleash destruction.

Aziel’s smirk widened as the manic gleam in his eyes intensified. Lightning crackled more fiercely around his form, casting shadows on the walls of books that surrounded them. He looked like a man possessed by the very storm itself.

Lara could contain herself no longer. With a wordless cry of pure fury, she sprinted past her companions, her twin blades gleaming hungrily as they cut through the dusty air. Her speed was incredible, born of rage and desperation, as she zoomed across the circular room toward their enemy, her weapons yearning for blood.

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