The two days that followed were a blur of focused, almost feverish activity. While Elara sequestered herself in the workshop, the sounds of miniature arcane explosions and high-frequency hums occasionally echoing from within, Zero dedicated himself to his own preparations. His plan was a delicate, multi-layered construction, and every piece had to be in its perfect place.
His first objective was to establish a flawless alibi. He sought out Professor Finch, his face a mask of solemn duty.
"Professor," he began, "I have a personal matter to attend to. A family emergency back in my home village. I've already filed for a three-day leave of absence with the administration."
Finch, who now saw Zero as his indispensable prodigy, was immediately concerned. "Oh, dear boy! Is everything alright? Nothing too serious, I hope?"
"My grandmother is very ill," Zero lied, his voice imbued with a touch of practiced sadness. "I'm not sure how much time she has left. I need to go see her." The lie was perfect in its banality. It was a common, un-verifiable excuse that would arouse no suspicion.
"Of course, of course," Finch said, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Family comes first. You go. Take all the time you need. Your position will be here when you get back. And… if there's anything you need, any resources the academy can provide…"
"Thank you, Professor. You're too kind," Zero said, playing the part of the grateful, humble student to perfection. He had his alibi. For the next three days, Ashe the Porter would officially be hundreds of miles away, grieving at his grandmother's bedside.
His second objective was intelligence. He spent an entire afternoon in the academy library's restricted section, a privilege granted by Professor Finch's sponsorship. He wasn't looking for books on the Iron King; he already had the ultimate guide. He was researching his employers. He dug into the genealogies of Leo's and Celeste's noble houses, cross-referencing their known political alliances and financial holdings. He was mapping their power structures, identifying the pillars that held up their public personas. Every piece of information was another line in their Ledger entries, another future weakness to be cataloged and exploited.
Finally, he needed to retrieve the key.
The Cartographer's Journal described the key to the Iron King's tomb not as a physical object, but as a "song of stone." Kaelan wrote, "The tomb's lock is not mechanical, but elemental. It responds only to a specific resonant frequency, one found only in the petrified heartwood of an ancient Ironwood tree."
The Journal contained a map to the last known grove of Ironwood trees, a place deep within the Amber Zone, in a valley known for its magnetic rock formations. On his second night of preparation, Zero slipped off campus.
The journey was a practical application of all his training. He moved through the darkened forest like a whisper, his `[Predator's Gait]` rendering him silent, his custom stealth suit making him a patch of mobile darkness. He used his `[Blink Dagger]` to cross treacherous ravines and bypass noisy, dead-leaf-littered ground, his movements a series of short, disorienting teleportations that left no tracks. He was becoming a master of phantom travel.
He found the grove in a valley where the air hummed with a strange, static energy. The Ironwood trees were magnificent, their bark a dark, metallic grey and their leaves the color of rust. They were ancient, petrified things, more stone than wood, having absorbed the rich mineral deposits of the valley over centuries.
He found the specific tree Kaelan had described, one struck by lightning a hundred years ago, its trunk split open. Inside, nestled among the petrified rings of the tree's life, was the heartwood. It was a piece of stone-like wood about the size of his fist, so dense it felt like a chunk of solid lead. When he held it, he could feel a faint, almost imperceptible vibration emanating from it, a low, deep hum that resonated in his bones. This was the key.
He stored it in his `[Inventory]` and returned to the academy before sunrise, his alibi intact, his objective complete.
On the third day, he met Elara at a discreet, pre-arranged location: a crumbling, abandoned watchtower on the outskirts of the campus grounds. She looked like she hadn't slept in two days. Her hair was a mess, there were grease stains on her cheek, and her eyes were shadowed with fatigue, but they burned with a triumphant, manic light.
In her hands, she held her creation.
It was not a weapon of elegant, elven design. It was a tool of brutal, industrial function. It had the basic shape of a heavy crossbow, but instead of a bow, it had two large, copper-coiled cylinders. At its center was the high-grade crystal she had requested, now glowing with a contained, pulsing blue light. The entire device was covered in a complex lacework of runes, and it hummed with a barely restrained power.
"I call it the 'Resonant Lance'," she said, her voice hoarse with pride and exhaustion. "It draws ambient mana from the air, condenses it in the crystal core, and then converts it into a focused, high-frequency sonic pulse. It has three settings." She pointed to a small dial near the trigger. "Low frequency for disrupting delicate mechanisms, like traps. Medium for shattering crystalline structures, like runic wards. And high… well, high is for deconstructing archaic power cores. Or anything else you want to turn into vibrating dust."
Zero took the device from her. It was heavy, compact, and radiated a sense of immense, controlled power. His System immediately gave him a reading.
`[Item: Resonant Lance (Prototype). Quality: Epic. A masterwork of unorthodox Artificing. Fires a focused sonic pulse capable of disrupting magical and mechanical constructs. Power Source: Ambient Mana/User's Stamina. Warning: High-frequency setting is unstable and may cause catastrophic feedback.]`
*Epic.* It was a quality level he had only seen a handful of times in his first life, usually on legendary artifacts. Elara wasn't just a prodigy. She was a genius, a master of her craft working on a level no one else at the academy could even comprehend.
"It will drain your stamina to fire it," she warned. "The conversion process is… inefficient. I haven't had time to build a proper power cell. Consider it a field test."
"It will be sufficient," Zero said, his voice showing a flicker of genuine respect for the first time. He securely fastened the Resonant Lance to his pack. "Are you ready?"
Elara nodded, her own pack already on her back. She had traded her usual tunic for a suit of dark, hardened leather armor of her own design, reinforced with kinetic-dampening runes at the joints. She was prepared.
Their destination was a two-hour journey on foot from the academy, a series of rocky hills and barren plateaus known as the 'King's Rest.' The Grave of the Iron King was not hidden underground, but was instead a massive, fortress-like mausoleum built into the side of the largest hill.
They traveled in silence, a pair of shadows moving through the grey, pre-dawn light. Zero led the way, his senses on high alert, while Elara followed, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings, her hand never straying far from a set of wicked-looking throwing darts strapped to her thigh. They were a strange pair—the F-Rank Porter and the C-Rank Artificer, the ghost and the genius—bound by a shared, unspoken understanding that they were both far more than what the world saw them as.
They reached the mausoleum as the sun began to rise. It was an imposing, awe-inspiring sight. The entrance was a pair of massive, twenty-foot-tall stone doors, seamlessly fitted into the hillside. The doors were made of solid obsidian, and their entire surface was covered in a complex, interlocking pattern of runes that glowed with a faint, blue light, a magical lock that had defied the best efforts of tomb raiders and scholars for a century.
"Incredible," Elara breathed, her eyes wide with academic awe. "The warding scheme is ancient, pre-Imperial. It's a self-repairing energy matrix. You could hit it with a siege golem and it wouldn't leave a scratch."
Zero ignored the wards. He walked to a small, unassuming stone plinth that stood before the great doors. The top of the plinth was flat and bare. He pulled the petrified Ironwood heartwood from his `[Inventory]`.
"That's the key?" Elara asked, her tone skeptical. "It's a rock."
"It's a song," Zero corrected. He placed the Ironwood heart onto the plinth.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the low, deep hum that Zero could feel in the stone began to amplify. The plinth, the stone doors, and the very ground beneath their feet started to vibrate in sympathy with the key. The faint blue light of the runic wards on the doors began to flicker, their perfect, orderly patterns disrupted by the resonant frequency.
The hum grew into a deep, sonorous chord, a musical note that seemed to come from the heart of the mountain itself. The intricate runes on the door flared brightly one last time, and then, with a sound like a thousand shattering crystals, they went dark.
With a deep, grinding groan that had not been heard in a hundred years, the massive obsidian doors began to slide apart, revealing a dark, cavernous passage leading into the cold, silent depths of the tomb.
Zero took the Ironwood key from the plinth and looked at Elara. "Technical consultant," he said, his voice low. "Stay behind me. Touch nothing. And prepare your Lance. The welcoming party is likely to be… persistent."
He drew his Blink Dagger, its dark metal seeming to drink the morning light, and took the first step into the Grave of the Iron King. The game was afoot.