Chapter 20 ( The Ruins Beneath )

  The sun was high, casting a soft light over the ancient ruins that lay hidden deep within the forest. Moss-covered stone pillars and worn, faded carvings adorned the entrance, hinting at the forgotten secrets within. The group had assembled, standing at the threshold, each of them preparing for the trials ahead.

  Lan Xiaoyan stood silently, his gaze fixed on the entrance. His posture was calm, yet his sharp eyes missed no detail. A quiet leader, always observant, and never hasty. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the faintest flicker of determination behind his expression.

  Beside him, Aria von Ebonreich surveyed the ruins with a cold, calculating gaze. Despite her royal heritage, there was a hint of unease in her expression, but she masked it well. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the protective artifacts hidden within her clothing—pieces of her royal legacy that had been given to her as part of her protection. Her eyes flickered back to Lan Xiaoyan, and she nodded slightly.

  "We should proceed carefully," Lan Xiaoyan suggested, his voice soft but firm. "The traps in these ruins are likely ancient, and not all are obvious."

  Aria inclined her head in agreement. “You lead. I’ll keep an eye on our backs.”

  With that, the group advanced, their footsteps echoing in the silence as they entered the ruins. The air was thick with the scent of old stone and dust, and the walls were lined with strange symbols that none of them could decipher. Thorgar, the towering barbarian, clenched his fists, ready for any combat that might arise. Lan Xiaomei, ever eager to prove herself, was already bouncing on her heels, her hand hovering near her sword.

  The first challenge came quickly—an enormous stone door blocked their way, its surface etched with runes. Lan Xiaoyan stepped forward, studying it with quiet intensity.

  "Seems like we need to solve a puzzle to open it," he muttered.

  Aria moved closer, her gaze scanning the runes. “I can see the pattern. It’s a riddle of sorts.”

  She stepped forward, speaking softly in an ancient tongue. The door trembled as the runes glowed, and slowly, it began to grind open. The group exchanged glances, relieved but cautious.

  Behind the door lay a series of traps—swinging blades, hidden darts, and collapsing floors. Lan Xiaoyan and Aria took the lead, moving with grace and precision. Lan Xiaoyan deflected a blade with a single, fluid motion of his sword, his calm demeanor unshaken even in the face of danger. Aria, with her calculated precision, effortlessly avoided each trap, using her royal artifacts to shield herself from a dart that nearly grazed her cheek.

  "Well done," Lan Xiaoyan murmured as they reached the end of the corridor.

  Aria’s lips quirked up in the faintest of smiles. “No room for error in these ruins. We’ll need to be sharp.”

  They arrived at a large chamber, the air thick with the scent of treasure. The floor was lined with ancient chests, some cracked open with their contents spilling out. Cultivation treasures—bone, organ, skin, and muscle tempering pills, along with other artifacts—lay scattered across the room. The walls were adorned with golden carvings of past cultivators, their eyes seemingly watching the intruders.

  Lan Xiaoyan stepped forward, examining the treasure carefully. "These are rare. We should take what we need, but avoid greed."

  Aria nodded, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the treasures. "We take only what is most valuable. The rest is excess."

  Together, they began to sort through the treasures, distributing them evenly among the group. Lan Xiaomei grabbed a handful of muscle tempering pills, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

  “This is a lot!” she exclaimed, almost bouncing. “I’m going to get stronger—just you wait!”

  Thorgar grunted in agreement, already eyeing a large bone tempering pill. He didn’t need much; his barbaric style relied more on brute force, but the treasure would only make him stronger.

  "Let’s not get too hasty," Lan Xiaoyan warned, stepping carefully as his eyes scanned the room. "There’s something here... something that doesn’t feel right."

  Aria glanced at him, her icy composure unshaken, though a flicker of curiosity touched her gaze. “What do you mean?”

  Before Xiaoyan could respond, one of their other companions—Ren, the quiet scholar of the trio who had barely spoken since entering the ruin—moved toward the back.

  “Wait, don’t touch that!” Xiaoyan snapped, but it was too late.

  Ren’s hand pressed against an ornate chest, its lock carved in the shape of a spiraling dragon. The moment his fingers made contact, a surge of energy exploded outward, engulfing the room in blinding light. The air distorted. A teleportation array, hidden beneath the dust of centuries, flared to life beneath their feet.

  In an instant, the entire group vanished.

  Lan Xiaoyan reached out instinctively, but it was too late. The world twisted around them, and the familiar chamber was replaced by an unfamiliar, vast underground expanse. The air was thick with the scent of ancient earth, and the walls seemed to pulse with a strange, malevolent energy.

  "We've been teleported," Aria's cold voice cut through the confusion. "This wasn’t part of the plan."

  Lan Xiaoyan’s eyes scanned the surroundings, his calm demeanor never faltering. "We need to stay together. This area doesn’t feel safe."

  He turned to Aria, meeting her calculating gaze. "I’ll lead. Stay close."

  Aria nodded, though a flicker of uncertainty flashed behind her regal expression. She wasn’t used to being forced into a leadership role, but something about Lan Xiaoyan’s quiet confidence eased her own nerves.

  Together, they walked deeper into the labyrinthine corridors, their senses heightened. Something was watching them from the shadows.

  “I don’t like this,” Aria whispered, her spirit dampened by the oppressive atmosphere.

  “It’s alright,” Lan Xiaoyan reassured her, his voice steady. “We will find a way out, together.”

  The corridor widened suddenly, spilling them into a vast, crumbling chamber. The ceiling arched high above, fractured by time, with roots clawing through the cracks like bony fingers. The walls were riddled with holes—deep, dark recesses that pulsed faintly with motion.

  Then came the eyes.

  Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands.

  Red, glimmering dots blinked awake in the darkness. From every hole, every crack in the stone, from under broken tiles and shattered relics—they came. Thick-bodied rats, as large as dogs, with black fur slicked in grime and teeth like tiny daggers. The air was suddenly thick with their screeches.

  Lan Xiaoyan drew his blade without hesitation. It rang sharply through the air, a clean line of silver in the dim light.

  Aria stepped back, then snapped a silver pin from her hair—two fingers steady, knuckles white. She pressed it into a defensive grip, wrist taut with the precision of a noble trained in hidden blades.

  The first wave struck like a flood.

  Xiaoyan met it head-on, slashing a clean arc that split three in a single motion. Another lunged for his leg—he stepped aside, barely, and crushed it underfoot before swinging again. Each movement was efficient, disciplined—but the sheer number began to push him back.

  Aria moved like a dancer through the chaos. Her pin flashed, stabbing into eyes and necks, her motions desperate but exact. Blood streaked her sleeve as she pulled the ornament free from yet another twitching rat. One latched onto her skirt—she gritted her teeth and drove the pin straight through its skull.

  A shriek cut through the room—something larger stirred behind the swarm, but neither had time to look.

  The tide didn’t stop.

  Xiaoyan’s shoulder caught a bite—his sword arm wavered for a second, long enough for another rat to nip his thigh. He grunted and retaliated, blade slicing upward in a rising crescent, but his breathing grew heavier.

  Aria’s hair came loose, silver strands wild in the air as she ducked, stabbed, and twisted. A rat clawed across her ribs, shredding her dress and skin alike. Her blood joined the growing puddles on the floor.

  Still, they fought. Back-to-back, blades flashing in the dimness, breath ragged and motion blurred by violence.

  Minutes passed in a blur of blood and motion.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Lan Xiaoyan’s breaths were tight, controlled—but shallow. A rat had grazed his shoulder, another nicked his thigh. His strikes were still precise, but slower. Aria, for all her poise, had a long cut down her side. Her dress was torn, silver pins bloodied from repeated use.

  They were winning, but only barely—and the swarm didn’t end.

  Then everything stopped.

  A loud CRACK echoed through the chamber. It wasn’t stone shattering. It wasn’t a rat.

  It was something else.

  The air turned frigid. A thin mist bled from the far end of the chamber. The rats froze, mid-pounce, their noses twitching. Then they squealed—not in fury, but terror—and scurried away into holes and crevices like shadows retreating from a flame.

  Lan Xiaoyan and Aria turned toward the sound.

  From the dark emerged a figure.

  It wasn’t walking. It glided, dragging something behind it. Humanoid in shape, but wholly wrong. Its limbs were too long, too thin. Its body was wreathed in black mist. No feet touched the ground. Its face was a swirling mass of shadow where features should have been—except for two pale lights, glowing dimly where its eyes might once have been.

  It reached out with a claw-like hand.

  Snatched a fleeing rat.

  And devoured it whole.

  The bones cracked. The flesh dissolved. The rat’s squeal was cut off with a sickening wet crunch.

  The figure turned its head—slowly—toward Xiaoyan and Aria.

  The pale lights in its face flared.

  “We can’t fight that,” Aria hissed. “It’s a spirit—our weapons just tear through smoke. It pulls itself back together like nothing happened.”

  Lan Xiaoyan didn’t wait. “Run.”

  They turned, sprinting down one of the side paths. The stone floor echoed under their feet as they ran, the light from Aria’s artifact barely keeping up. Behind them came the soft whisper of mist.

  And then the soundless pursuit.

  The ghost moved with terrible grace—gliding through the ruins, always just behind, never quite reaching.

  But never falling far behind.

  —

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Lan Xiaomei clutched her brother’s spare sword close to her chest, her boots soaked from ankle to calf as they followed the narrow, spiraling tunnel. Thorgar led the way, massive shoulders brushing against the moss-slicked walls. He muttered to himself in the barbarian tongue—half prayer, half curse.

  They had no choice but to go forward.

  Behind them, the corridor had collapsed. Trapped, pushed onward by fate.

  Finally, they reached a tall, ancient door, carved with curling runes and marked in faded script:

  "TRIAL OF WATER"

  “…Doesn’t sound friendly,” Xiaomei whispered, her voice trembling.

  “Then it’s honest,” Thorgar grunted. “Let’s crack it.”

  The door slammed shut behind them.

  Cold stone. Dim blue light. The scent of age and moisture thick in the air.

  Lan Xiaomei clutched the hilt of her brother’s spare sword, trembling. Her boots splashed as she stepped forward, eyes darting toward the glowing pillar at the room’s center.

  Beside her, Thorgar walked calmly—barefoot, shoulders wide as a mountain.

  Suddenly, a voice echoed from all around:

  “Three questions. Three truths. Water is memory. Water is test. Succeed and live. Fail… and drown.”

  Stone shifted. Water trickled from cracks in the floor and walls—slow at first, then faster.

  Lan Xiaomei’s breath caught.

  "The first question."

  The glyphs on the central pillar rearranged:

  “You can hold me in your hand, yet I can fill a room. What am I?”

  Xiaomei stared. “I… I don’t…”

  The water rose past her ankles.

  She shook her head. “A... ghost? A... fog? A..."

  Thorgar knelt beside her. “Calm. Think with your heart.”

  Xiaomei’s heartbeat roared in her ears. A memory surfaced—her brother, telling her riddles on stormy nights.

  “A shadow,” she whispered.

  Correct.

  The pillar glowed. The water surged higher—at their knees now.

  "The second question."

  “The more you take from me, the bigger I become. What am I?”

  “No…” Xiaomei said, hugging her arms. “I don’t… I can’t…”

  Thorgar scratched his beard. “A wound… when you cut something, it grows worse, yes?”

  Xiaomei’s eyes lit up. “A hole.”

  Correct.

  The water was at her chest now. She was shivering.

  "The third question."

  “I have no mouth, yet I speak. I have no body, yet I cause harm. What am I?”

  The pillar pulsed. The room darkened.

  Lan Xiaomei gasped, nearly falling as the water crept up to her neck.

  “I—I don’t know!”

  Thorgar slammed a fist on the pillar. “It’s like a spirit! It gets inside your head, stirs your blood—like the howls in the north that drive men mad!”

  Xiaomei froze.

  Not a ghost… not a spirit…

  She thought of the arguments between fishermen, the tears that followed cruel words, the silence of the sea broken by—

  “Sound,” she choked out. “The answer is… sound.”

  Correct.

  A deep groan shook the chamber. The water began to recede, draining as if pulled by unseen hands.

  A door opened across the chamber.

  Lan Xiaomei collapsed to her knees, coughing and soaked, but alive.

  Thorgar stood beside her, quiet and steady. “You did well, little sister.”

  She looked up at him, eyes wet—not from the water. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “You could have,” he said. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

  Lan Xiaomei and Thorgar stepped into a silent, open chamber. The air was thick with reverence—not the weight of danger, but of destiny.

  At the center of the room sat a deep, dark blue egg, nestled on an altar of coiling jade. Above it, a massive statue of a Dragon twisted through the stone, mouth agape.

  From its carved fangs hung an enormous sword, as long as Thorgar was tall—its edge gleaming faintly, as if it longed to taste battle once more.

  A whisper filled the room—a soundless pressure against their thoughts.

  "Take it."

  Lan Xiaomei felt her feet moving before she realized it. The egg pulsed faintly in her arms, warm and alive. She trembled, looking into its near-obsidian sheen, seeing something stir within—a soul not yet born.

  Across the altar, Thorgar smirked. "Well, well," he muttered, "looks like the old beast had taste."

  With one strong pull, he freed the colossal sword from the dragon’s mouth. It hummed with ancient strength, heavy yet balanced, like it belonged in his hands.

  Then, the air cracked—reality itself folding. Light surrounded them.

  But as the world began to vanish, the voice returned, brushing against Xiaomei’s mind like a wind full of sorrow and hope:

  "Look after that child well... they will need your heart more than your strength."

  She gasped.

  And then they stood once more at the ruins' entrance. The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows over the stone.

  Thorgar turned, resting the sword across his shoulders. “You did good, little sister.” He grinned wide, genuinely. “Real good.”

  Xiaomei looked down at the egg, holding it close. She didn’t fully understand what she’d taken... only that she had made a promise, and it had already taken root in her soul.

  —

  Lan Xiaoyan’s chest burned with every breath. His lungs screamed, his legs were lead, but he didn’t dare stop—not with that thing behind them.

  Beside him, Aria von Ebonreich ran in eerie silence, her pale face streaked with grime and sweat. Her once-pristine royal robes were torn in places, her breath shallow but controlled. Even now, she refused to lose composure.

  Behind them, the ghastly figure drifted like a nightmare made real. It didn’t scream. It didn’t roar. It simply pursued—endlessly, silently, as if it would follow them into the afterlife if it had to.

  Then—a doorway.

  Massive. Ornate. Etched with weapons of every kind, it loomed before them like a last salvation.

  Above, ancient characters burned dimly: “Trial of Weapon.”

  “No time to think!” Aria snapped.

  Lan Xiaoyan didn’t answer. He grabbed the handle and pushed—the door groaned open just wide enough for them to squeeze through.

  The ghost surged forward—but as they crossed the threshold, the doorway slammed shut behind them with a deep, echoing boom. A glowing translucent barrier shimmered to life across the entrance.

  The ghost collided with it hard.

  Thud.

  Then again.

  Thud.

  It couldn’t pass through—but the barrier flickered, dim, like a dying flame trying to resist a storm. The ghost pressed its formless hands against it, and the barrier sizzled weakly under the pressure.

  Lan Xiaoyan collapsed onto one knee, sword still in hand. Aria leaned against a pillar, one hand on her ribs.

  “Too close,” he muttered.

  She didn’t answer—just stared coldly at the ghost’s twisted form pounding again and again at the weakening barrier.

  Then, as silence crept in between the thudding, a faint crack appeared at the base of the barrier.

  A hairline fracture.

  Lan Xiaoyan saw it, and so did Aria. They exchanged a look.

  Their rest would be short-lived.

  The chamber was vast.

  Stretching endlessly beneath a ceiling of jagged stone, the floor was littered with weapons, their blades rusted, hafts broken, spears splintered—a graveyard of forgotten war. Swords, glaives, axes, sabers… even bizarre, foreign tools of death neither of them recognized.

  Some pulsed faintly with residual Qi. Others whispered of lives once claimed.

  As the two stepped in, a low whisper echoed, like wind rustling through the bones of the dead.

  “Only one may choose the weapon.”

  The whisper wasn’t cruel. It was old. Tired. Factual.

  Lan Xiaoyan looked at Aria. “You take it.”

  Aria von Ebonreich raised a brow. “No.”

  “You’ve got better instincts,” he said. “Royal blood. Experience. You—”

  She cut him off.

  “I trust your gut more than mine,” she said coolly. “Your hands are steady even when you're bleeding. That’s rare.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by fallen blades, until Aria took a step back and gestured forward.

  “I’ll watch your back,” she added.

  Lan Xiaoyan looked across the graveyard of weapons, heart steady.

  He stepped forward.

  “Only one is the true weapon.”

  The whisper echoed again, louder now—resonating in Xiaoyan’s bones.

  “The rest are cursed. Choose wrong… and you will be devoured.”

  Lan Xiaoyan took another step forward.

  The moment his foot touched the blackened stone, the air changed.

  He heard them.

  Thousands of voices.

  All whispering.

  All clawing at his mind.

  “I am the true blade.”

  “The rest are fakes.”

  “Take me, boy. I’ll make you a king.”

  “They’re all cursed—except me.”

  “You’re not worthy of me.”

  “I’m weak. Harmless. Take me…” (a whisper so soft it stank of manipulation)

  His breathing slowed. Cold sweat trickled down his back. The voices grew louder—bickering, arguing, begging, mocking. Some spoke with honeyed tongues, others with snarls. The silence from before had become a battlefield of sound.

  Xiaoyan closed his eyes.

  A calm breath.

  Then another.

  And there—cutting through the chaos like a single, clear note through noise—was a single whisper. Subtle. Confident.

  Not pleading. Not demanding.

  It said nothing of greatness or power.

  It simply said:

  “I am here.”

  His eyes opened and locked onto a sword with a red and grey design, clean and elegant. Its presence didn’t scream. It didn’t even speak again. But something about it was… right.

  Behind him, the translucent barrier cracked again, a spiderweb of light bleeding through.

  No time.

  With a steady hand, Xiaoyan reached forward—and grasped the hilt.

  The whispers silenced.

  Everything held its breath.

  As Lan Xiaoyan gripped the red-and-grey sword, a warm pulse traveled up his arm. Suddenly, light shimmered across the blade—and from within, a figure materialized.

  A woman floated before him, ethereal and elegant, her presence cloaked in soft red light. Her features were perfect—regal, otherworldly, and somehow comforting. Flowing hair that danced like smoke, eyes that gleamed like stars.

  "Ah… freedom at last."

  Her voice echoed in his mind—only his mind—soft and melodic, like a song remembered from a dream.

  "Thank you, child, for releasing me from this wretched prison."

  Xiaoyan’s mouth parted, stunned, his gaze unable to leave her.

  She raised a playful brow and chuckled.

  "Focus, child. You can admire me later."

  He blinked, regaining his composure. The warmth of her presence dimmed, drawing attention back to reality.

  Behind them, the barrier shattered.

  CRACK—BOOM.

  The translucent wall exploded outward, and the darkness spirit lunged through, swirling shadows pulsing with hate. Its eyes locked onto Aria, who instinctively drew her ornamental picks, too tired to react quickly.

  "Ah… a darkness spirit," the sword spirit whispered with a hint of nostalgia. "It's been millions of years since I’ve seen one… Child, use me to slay it. Focus on its core—the rest is but smoke."

  The sword flared, glowing a fierce red.

  The ghost screeched and rushed forward, claws stretching out for Aria’s heart—

  But before it could reach her—

  SLASH.

  In a single, fluid motion, Xiaoyan stepped forward and struck cleanly through the spirit’s center. The red hue of the blade shone bright as it passed through the creature.

  The ghost paused mid-air.

  Then it howled—and burst into black mist, leaving behind a single darkness crystal that dropped to the floor with a dull clink.

  Silence.

  Lan Xiaoyan looked down at the sword, his lips parting to speak.

  But before he could, the spirit’s voice came again—calmer this time.

  "Keep me secret, child. For now, let me be your shadow."

  And with that, she faded back into the sword, leaving no trace of her existence.

  Xiaoyan quietly sheathed the blade, turning to Aria.

  "You alright?"

  She nodded slowly, her sharp eyes still wary.

  "That sword… it suits you."

  He only gave a faint smile in return.

  As the dust settled and the echoes of the ghost’s scream faded into silence, an array lit up at the far end of the chamber. It flickered with pale blue light—a teleportation array.

  Lan Xiaoyan and Aria exchanged a tired glance, then nodded in sync.

  “Let’s go,” Aria said quietly.

  Aria taking the darkness crystal for herself.

  As they walked, Xiaoyan felt the sword in his hand pulse once more. The blade shimmered—and then dissolved into light, flowing into his right forearm and forming a glowing red-and-grey sigil shaped like an elegant sword crest.

  “You’re mine now, child,” came the familiar, teasing voice in his head. “I hope you didn’t think freeing me was the end of our relationship.”

  Xiaoyan, still walking beside Aria, responded silently.

  “...Who are you really?”

  The voice hummed, amused.

  “My name is Lunaria. Once… I walked the heavens as an Earthen Deity Realm cultivator.”

  He nearly stopped in his tracks, his brow twitching slightly. That level… it was beyond what he could even imagine right now.

  “They feared me. Admired me. Betrayed me.”

  Her tone dropped slightly, cold and nostalgic. “Allies and enemies alike plotted together, turning me into this prison of steel. But now…” Her voice lifted again, strong and proud. “Now I walk again, through you.”

  “Why me?” Xiaoyan asked, genuinely curious.

  “Because we have a great destiny, you and I. I saw it in your eyes—resolve wrapped in silence, leadership forged through love and pain.”

  She paused before adding with firm authority:

  “Become my disciple, Lan Xiaoyan. I will guide your sword. Teach you the paths that split heaven and hell. Accept me—and I will raise you to the realm they all feared.”

  Xiaoyan considered the weight of her words. The whisper of power, the thread of tragedy, and the spark of something… greater.

  And he bowed his head, mentally.

  “Then I will be your disciple, Lunaria.”

  Her laugh echoed in his mind, soft and proud.

  “Good. Then your path begins now.”

  As they stepped into the teleportation array

  , the light swelled, and their bodies vanished—leaving behind the silence of the graveyard of weapons.