The forest stretches endlessly ahead, thick with the scent of damp earth and the rustling whispers of unseen creatures. De-Reece moves with the practiced ease of a predator, his senses finely attuned after weeks of relentless training and battle. His body is healing—his ribs still ache from the Komodo Dragon fight, but nothing that slows him. The steady hum of Solar's presence beside him reassures him as she stalks just ahead, her violet-lined fur shimmering faintly in the dappled moonlight.
Something feels different tonight.
The air shifts.
A disturbance in the natural flow of the forest. A presence—not a beast, but a person.
De-Reece slows his steps, his grip instinctively tightening on the long blade strapped across his back. The Domineering Demon Sword hums faintly in response to his touch, an extension of his will. His instincts rarely fail him, and right now, they whisper a single truth.
He is not alone.
A voice slices through the stillness.
"You move too quietly for a lost traveler."
De-Reece halts. The speaker emerges from the shadows—tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in deep green robes embroidered with the emblem of a clan he does not recognize. His features are sharp, his eyes dark with the weight of one who has seen too much already. There is no arrogance in his stance, only awareness—this is someone who understands battle.
"You've been watching me," De-Reece states, voice steady.
A smirk flickers across the stranger's face. "And you've been walking straight into a ruin infested with traps and ancient formations."
De-Reece raises an eyebrow. He had noticed the subtle markers in the terrain—the faint disturbances in the ground, the unnatural silence ahead—but he hadn't expected someone else to be scouting it. "I don't recall inviting company."
"You're not the first to seek out the Forgotten Vault," the stranger replies, stepping closer. "And I doubt you'll be the last. Since we're both after the same thing, how about we save ourselves the trouble and work together? No point dying separately when we can take our chances together."
Solar growls softly, but De-Reece merely watches the stranger.
"Your name?"
The man hesitates before answering, as if weighing the worth of giving it. Then:
"Kaelen."
The name rings no bells, but that means little. De-Reece knows better than to judge strength by reputation alone. The aura around Kaelen is carefully restrained, but his qi pulses like a tightly coiled serpent beneath the surface. A fellow competitor for the sect selection? Possibly.
"Fine," De-Reece relents. "But if you try anything, I'll leave you buried in whatever trap you spring."
Kaelen grins. "Likewise."
The entrance to the Forgotten Vault yawns before them—a gaping wound in the rock face, half-consumed by vines and time. Faint carvings line the walls, their meanings long lost to history. The air here is old, heavy with the remnants of qi that hasn't stirred in centuries.
Solar pads ahead cautiously, sniffing at the entrance before stopping abruptly. A shimmer in the air—a distortion that ripples unnaturally.
"A formation," De-Reece mutters.
Kaelen exhales sharply. "I suspected as much. But…" His eyes narrow. "It's still active. That means something's inside. Something worth protecting."
De-Reece grips the Domineering Demon Sword and steps forward, carefully pressing his palm against the unseen barrier. A jolt of force repels him, but it is not overwhelming. A test.
"Two signatures," he realizes aloud. "It requires two people."
Kaelen watches him. "And if we fail the test?"
De-Reece glances at him. "We don't leave."
The air between them is tense for only a moment longer before Kaelen nods. "Then let's not fail."
They step forward in unison.
The moment they do, the world shifts.
The air inside the Forgotten Vault is thick with time, soaked in the remnants of ancient qi that lingers like a whisper from the past. De-Reece steps forward cautiously, every instinct in him warning that this place is not truly abandoned. The architecture, the still-active formations, even the lingering pressure of something unseen—it all speaks of a place that still remembers.
Treasures like these aren't left behind without a price.
Kaelen's grip tightens on his glaive. "I have a bad feeling about this."
De understands. That same unease sits heavy in his gut. He's seen too many things in this world already to believe that this vault—untouched, untouched—will simply hand them its secrets.
Then, the first trial awakens.
The moment they step forward, the air shifts. Energy hums to life, crackling along the walls like a beast stirring from slumber.
A shimmering barrier materializes, blocking their path.
A disembodied voice, cold and weightless, speaks:
"Those who seek knowledge must unravel the bindings of the past."
Kaelen exhales sharply. "A formation?"
De doesn't answer right away, eyes scanning the runes flickering along the edges of the barrier. Not just a formation—a seal. A layered one at that.
His mind moves fast. If this is a seal meant to keep people out, breaking it with force could trigger a backlash. A well-made formation could just as easily collapse the whole vault on them as let them through. He's seen worse.
He closes his eyes and lets himself feel the energy.
There. The weaknesses are subtle, but they exist.
His fingers move through the air, tracing the strands of qi within the barrier. Formations, like all things, follow patterns. A weaver must understand the fabric before they can untangle it.
Kaelen shifts impatiently. "You sure about this?"
De-Reece doesn't answer. Instead, he pulls gently on the right threads—not with brute force, but with precision.
A crack forms.
Then another.
The barrier trembles—then collapses in on itself.
De exhales, rolling his shoulders. Another lesson from Cheon Ma Sin Gun put to use.
Kaelen stares at him. "Remind me to bring you along the next time I have to break into a ruin."
De simply steps forward. No point in wasting words. There's still more ahead.
As they step forward, the ground beneath them shifts, stone grinding against stone. The once-narrow hallway widens, stretching into a vast circular chamber. Walls rise high above them, torches burning with eerie blue flames that flicker but cast no heat. The ceiling disappears into shadow, the air thick with an oppressive weight.
A scent lingers—dust, age, and something more. Something unnatural.
Kaelen grips his glaive, shifting into a defensive stance. "I don't like this."
De doesn't answer. His attention remains fixed ahead. Something is coming.
Then, the chamber trembles. A deep, guttural sound echoes through the space—a resonance that rattles bone and sets qi on edge.
From the darkness, they emerge.
At first, they resemble statues, towering figures clad in blackened armor, rusted but unnervingly whole. Then, one moves, then another—not like mindless puppets, but with the measured discipline of trained warriors.
De's grip tightens on his sword. These things aren't just constructs. They are fighters.
Kaelen swears under his breath. "Of course, it couldn't just be a simple test."
The voice from before returns, distant yet clear:
"Strength alone does not define a warrior. Overcome."
Then the undead knights charge.