"Guess I'll have to do this alone," Valder muttered, though his tone lacked any hint of reluctance. Instead, there was a spark of excitement. He was eager to test his abilities.
Six years had passed since he arrived in this world. Though his body was now that of a child, his psychic powers—or as this world called it, magic—had only grown stronger. Valder felt more capable than ever, brimming with confidence.
"By the old Alliance standards, I'd be classified as an Alpha-level psyker," he mused with a smirk. "Back then, those guys got special perks—easy money, no frontline duty. Must've been nice."
His musings were cut short as he halted in mid-air. With a gesture, the undead soldiers accompanying him stepped back, forming a loose arc around him, about three hundred meters away. Their purpose was clear: to guard their master while keeping their distance. The arc's outer edge faced the cliff where the tomb's entrance lay hidden.
Once his guards were in position, Valder focused his mind, sensing the chaotic flow of the Winds of Magic around him. He ascended slightly, floating nearly two meters above the ground—the maximum height his levitation spell could achieve. Then, with his right hand raised, index and middle fingers extended toward the sky, he began to draw in the swirling magic.
The Winds of Magic surged toward him, converging at his fingertips in a maelstrom of energy. The colossal force was compressed, condensed, and refined until it formed a blade of pure, blinding light—a radiance akin to the sun itself. Harnessing the power of the red Morrslieb moon, Valder's control over the Winds had grown exponentially, allowing him to unleash a staggering amount of power.
"Let's see just how strong I've become," Valder said with a grin, his voice tinged with exhilaration. With a swift motion, he slashed the air, sending the searing blade of magic hurtling toward the tomb's protective barrier.
The blade cleaved through everything in its path—trees, rocks, the earth itself—and finally crashed into the invisible barrier. For a moment, the barrier seemed unyielding, but then it shuddered violently before disintegrating into nothingness. If any mage had been nearby, they would've been astounded to find that, within a fifteen-kilometer radius, not a trace of the Winds of Magic remained.
"Bit of a mess," Valder muttered, wincing as he dropped to the ground. The strain of channeling such immense power had left his body weak and aching. Even maintaining a simple levitation spell was beyond him now. Fortunately, his vampire physiology and light frame spared him any serious injury, though his back throbbed dully.
Still, despite the physical toll, Valder couldn't help but smile. The sheer destructive force of his attack had exceeded his expectations. He'd seen the work of powerful mages in this world, and he was certain he could match them now. Knowing he had such strength at his disposal filled him with a sense of pride and confidence.
Of course, his attack hadn't been flawless. The excess energy had damaged part of the tomb, likely destroying some of the treasures within. But Valder wasn't too concerned. The real prize was the tomb itself, and he was determined to claim it.
After a brief rest to recover some of his strength and magic, Valder stood and dusted off his cloak. With a gesture, he summoned his undead guards and approached the edge of the cliff. His magic reserves were still dangerously low, so he opted for a simpler spell—a small vortex of rising air to slow their descent. This basic spell was often used by armies to navigate treacherous terrain or mount surprise attacks.
The guards leapt into the vortex one by one, their descent slowed enough to allow them to land safely at the tomb's entrance. Valder followed, his sharp vampire eyes taking in every detail of the dark, ancient passage.
As the group advanced, their footsteps echoed through the narrow tunnel. The walls were smooth, the craftsmanship of a bygone era still evident despite centuries of neglect. Valder's guards moved cautiously, their weapons at the ready. But even their vigilance couldn't prepare them for what came next.
Without warning, mechanisms hidden within the walls activated. Twin jets of searing purple flames erupted from either side, engulfing the undead soldiers. The heat was intense, enough to melt steel and incinerate flesh in seconds.
"Defend," Valder commanded calmly.
The guards reacted swiftly. Four shield-bearing warriors stepped forward, their enchanted iron shields glowing with a dark red light as they absorbed the inferno's fury. Behind them, the necromancers raised their staffs, casting a translucent barrier to further protect the group. But even with their combined efforts, the relentless flames began to take their toll. The shields' glow dimmed, and the necromancers' strength waned.
Valder, unaffected by the blinding light thanks to his vampiric senses, assessed the situation. His crimson eyes glowed as he activated his racial ability—Witch Sight—allowing him to perceive the world through the lens of magic. The chaotic swirls of energy, the shifting patterns of light and shadow, everything was laid bare before him.
He quickly devised a plan. With a flick of his wrists, two silver knives appeared in his hands. These weren't ordinary weapons; they were tools Valder had pilfered from the castle kitchen. Silver was soft and malleable, hardly suited for combat, but in Valder's hands, it became a lethal instrument.
With precision, he hurled the knives into the walls. The blades struck with unnatural force, embedding themselves deep into the stone. Moments later, a muffled explosion echoed through the corridor as the knives shattered two hidden mana stones powering the fire traps. The flames died instantly, leaving only smoke and scorched walls in their wake.
"Seventy-five out of a hundred," Valder thought to himself, assessing his performance. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. The way forward was clear, and the tomb's secrets awaited.