The Ashen Crypt exhaled a chill, smelling of damp earth and millennia of forgotten vows, even as Zane and Elara crossed its threshold.
The air inside clamped down, thick and cold.
Then, a trio of shadowy forms erupted from the very walls, their forms coalescing into humanoid shapes woven from smoke and burning red eyes. Ash-Wraiths.
They moved with the silent, desperate fury of souls anchored by eternal resentment.
Elara Valerius, pristine in her Sanctum armor, reacted with the instinct of an A-rank Ascendant.
"Holy Purge!"
A dazzling lance of golden light shot from her outstretched hand, striking the lead Wraith.
The creature shrieked, a soundless tear in the air, its smoky form convulsing, sizzling at the edges.
But it didn't dissipate. It merely recoiled, dimming, like embers refusing to die.
"They're weakened, but not destroyed!" Elara snapped, her voice tight with surprise.
Her holy magic, usually absolute, was struggling against the crypt's profound despair.
Zane, meanwhile, looked less like a battle companion and more like a lost tourist.
He fumbled for his cheap iron sword, his movements clumsy, his face a mask of mild annoyance.
He swung with the grace of a broken twig, missing wildly as a second Wraith lunged past him.
"Useless F-rank," Elara muttered under her breath, already preparing another, more powerful spell.
*Necrotic energy density 127% higher than Sanctum baseline. Light-based attacks suffer 65% reduced efficacy. Primary objective: Identify the anchor point of the entities.*
Zane ignored the data stream. He was already seeing what he needed.
His clumsily aimed sword had struck a specific flagstone on the crypt floor, not out of accident, but calculation.
A faint, nearly eroded sigil was etched upon it, almost entirely covered by grime.
This wasn't a tactical maneuver. It was a historical artifact.
As Elara unleashed a blinding arc of light, Zane's worn boot, with a deliberate shift of weight that appeared to be another clumsy stumble, scraped sharply across the sigil.
A ripple, too subtle for the eye, but potent enough to disrupt unseen currents, pulsed outwards.
The three Ash-Wraiths froze.
Their glowing eyes flickered, the furious red momentarily replaced by a confused silver.
The ancient, binding oath that held them faltered.
"Now!" Zane's voice, sharper than Elara had ever heard it, cut through her concentration.
Elara, surprised but instinctual, poured all her will into her next attack.
"Sacred Judgment!"
This time, the light was absolute.
The Wraiths, their anchors momentarily severed, disintegrated into settling ash.
Elara, panting slightly, stared at the dissipating dust, then at Zane.
He was brushing dust off his tunic, looking entirely unconcerned.
The system notifications of mission completion and rewards popped up in her vision, but she ignored them.
"How... how did you know?" she asked, her voice tinged with a suspicion she couldn't quite place.
"Lucky guess?" Zane offered, shrugging. "They seemed distracted."
They pressed deeper, the air growing heavier, the whispers more numerous.
Every corner they turned seemed to be a fresh wound in history, littered with broken weapons and tattered banners bearing symbols Elara barely recognized from forbidden texts.
They erupted into a vast, circular chamber.
In its center, a colossal, armored shadow was already coalescing, radiating an oppressive aura of ancient grievance.
The Chieftain's Echo.
It was the heart of the crypt's curse, anchoring every lesser Wraith to its undying hatred.
"Its power is immense," Elara warned, her rapier now humming with a sustained aura of holy light. "I'll draw its attention. You... find somewhere safe."
Elara launched herself forward, a beacon of defiance against the overwhelming darkness.
Her sacred spells exploded against the chieftain's shadowy form, forcing it back.
"Holy Smite!" A pillar of light crashed down, making the Echo roar.
Zane, meanwhile, moved with a leisurely pace, circling the perimeter of the chamber.
He wasn't looking for a weak point in the chieftain's defense.
He was reading the walls, tracing the narrative of betrayal. He found it.
A massive, faded mural depicted a final, desperate battle.
A kneeling knight, swearing fealty. A regal family crest, surprisingly familiar.
"The betrayers will pay..." the Chieftain's Echo bellowed, its voice a guttural chorus of countless tormented souls, as it slammed its shadowy greatsword down, forcing Elara to erect a shimmering shield just in time.
"Your vow wasn't vengeance," Zane's voice, calm and clear, cut through the sounds of battle, resonating in the silent chamber. "It was protection. To protect the house of Lord Valerius."
The Chieftain froze. Its eyeless head snapped towards Zane.
Elara's shield flickered, her head whipping around, horrified.
Zane pointed to the mural, now fully illuminated by a stray beam of Elara's light. "The Sanctum's history is a lie. Your people weren't rebels. They were loyal guardians, betrayed by their own master, Lord Valerius, for power. Your oath bound you to them, not to eternal hatred."
Elara gasped, her mouth falling open. "Impossible! That's blasphemy!"
But the Chieftain's Echo began to shudder violently.
The green light of its reanimation flickered, warring with a deeper, silver glow emanating from within.
The centuries of accumulated hatred struggled against the truth of its foundational oath, now recalled.
"Now, Herald!" Zane barked, a rare surge of urgency in his voice.
Elara, stunned but resolute, reacted instinctively. She gathered every ounce of her remaining mana.
"Sacred... Absolution!"
The light that erupted was not of destruction, but release.
It enveloped the trembling Echo.
The rage, the hate, the centuries of binding—it all melted away, leaving only the translucent silhouette of a knight, giving a final, grateful nod to Zane, before dissolving into peaceful motes of ash.
Silence. Heavy. Profound.
Elara, panting slightly, stared at the dissipating dust, then at Zane.
He was brushing dust off his tunic, looking entirely unconcerned.
The system notifications of mission completion and rewards popped up in her vision, but she ignored them.
"How did you know that?" Her voice was a fragile whisper. "That knowledge is sealed. For centuries."
Zane picked up a single, dull silver coin from the ground, a drop from the now-purified Wraith. He flipped it once, then pocketed it.
His eyes, for a split second, held a terrifying depth that saw through time itself.
"Must've read it somewhere," he said, giving her a small, lopsided grin. "Just lucky, I guess."
He turned and headed for the exit. "Come on. I'm starving."