The green fires in the ancient skeleton's eyes did not waver. The pressure in the chamber was a physical weight, a gravity of ages that made the air too thick to breathe.
I AM THE IRON TOMB SENTINEL. LAST WAKING GUARDIAN OF THE TWELVE. Its mind-voice was a tomb door closing, final and heavy. FOR EIGHT CENTURIES WE HAVE SLEPT. THE SILVER SEAL WAS OUR VOW. WHO BREAKS IT NOW? A CHILD DRENCHED IN DEATH'S MIST.
It took a step forward. Its armored feet struck the stone with a definitive clang. In its hand, a blade of the same strange, tarnished metal as its armor appeared, not drawn from a sheath, but coalescing from wisps of green flame. It pointed the tip at Lin Feng's heart.
PROVE YOU ARE NOT THE TAINTED FOE WE WERE SEALED TO CONTAIN. PROVE YOU ARE NOT CORRUPTION'S HOUND.
"How?" Lin Feng asked, his voice the only human sound in a chamber of echoes.
TOUCH THE BLADE. THE CORRUPTION SEEKS LIFE, SEEKS POWER. IT WILL CLING AND BURN. PURE DEATH... WILL BE JUDGED.
It was a test of essence. Lin Feng looked at the blade. It hummed with a low, resonant frequency that made his teeth ache. He thought of the poison in his veins, the sly, grasping nature of Lin Tao and Elder Hong's ambition. Was his own cold power any different? Was he just another kind of corruption?
He had no choice. He reached out, his fingers pale in the gloom.
He laid his fingertips on the flat of the blade.
A shock ran up his arm—a deep, resonant chime, like a bell tolling in a sunless valley. The green flames along the blade flickered, then changed. They cooled, tempered, shifting from virulent green to a calm, steady blue-white—the color of moonlight on old bone.
A sensation washed over him, not from the blade, but from the Sentinel itself. A shock of recognition.
THE SIGNATURE... THE SOUL-FORGER'S MARK. The mind-voice was no longer hostile, but thick with a stunned, ancient wonder. KAELON'S HEIR RETURNS. AFTER GENERATIONS OF QUIET BLOOD... THE SPARK IGNITES.
The Sentinel lowered its blade. The oppressive weight lifted, replaced by a profound, weary attention.
"Kaelon?" Lin Feng asked.
THE FIRST OF OUR ART. THE SOUL-FORGER. IN THE AGE OF THE PLAGUE, WHEN THE SKY BLED AND THE CORRUPTION CRAWLED FROM THE WORLD'S WOUNDS, HE WAGED WAR NOT WITH LIFE, BUT WITH THE LEGIONS OF THE ALREADY FALLEN. WE WERE HIS BLADE. HIS TWELVE.
The Sentinel gestured with its free hand to the eleven sealed coffins. THE FINAL BATTLE WAS HERE. BENEATH THIS VERY MOUNTAIN, A VEIN OF THE CORRUPTION SOURCE TOUCHED OUR WORLD. TO DESTROY IT WOULD HAVE UNMADE THE LAND. SO KAELON FORGED A SEAL. AND WE, HIS GUARDIANS, OFFERED OUR BODIES AS ITS ANCHORS. OUR SOULS TO WATCH. WE SLEPT, SO THE WORLD COULD DREAM IN PEACE.
The history unfolded in Lin Feng's mind, not as words, but as faded impressions—a towering figure shrouded in grey light, raising armies from ash and memory; a battle in deep, crystalline caves against shapeless things that warped stone and soul; a final, desperate ritual of sacrifice and sealing.
"The ones who sent me here," Lin Feng said, the pieces locking together. "They seek this Corruption Source?"
THE SEAL WEAKENS WITH TIME. ITS POWER IS A TEMPTATION. TO THE IGNORANT, IT IS A WEAPON. TO THE MAD, A GOD. THEY WOULD PICK AT THE SCAB ON THE WORLD, AND UNLEASH THE PLAGUE ANEW. The Sentinel's gaze bored into him. YOU CARRY HIS MARK, BUT YOU ARE UNTUTORED. A SPARK IN DRY GRASS. YOU SEEK POWER. FOR WHAT?
"For justice," Lin Feng said, the words sharp and clear. "For my own life, stolen. For my family, who may stand in the path of the fools who would open this seal. I need power to stop them. Not to become them."
The Sentinel was silent for a long moment, the blue flames in its eyes dancing with contemplation.
A TEMPORARY PACT, HEIR OF KAELON. MY SERVICE, FOR YOUR VOW. SWEAR TO ME, UPON THE GRAVE OF YOUR MAKER, THAT YOU WILL SEEK TO PRESERVE OR STRENGTHEN THE SEAL. THAT YOU WILL TURN YOUR GROWING POWER AGAINST THE CORRUPTION, NOT TOWARD IT. SWEAR THIS, AND MY BLADE IS YOURS. MY KNOWLEDGE, YOUR GUIDE.
Lin Feng did not hesitate. The enemy was no longer just a cruel cousin and a scheming elder. It was a catastrophe waiting to happen. "I swear it."
A thread of blue-white fire, identical to the flame now on the Sentinel's blade, leapt from its chest and touched Lin Feng's own. A pact, deeper than the Soul Oath with Han Wei, was forged in ancient duty and new purpose.
The Sentinel's posture changed. The militant readiness softened into a watchful, intelligent poise. The green flames were gone, replaced entirely by the calm, bone-white light.
YOU MAY CALL ME BONE SAGE. MY COMRADES SLEEP STILL. THEIR POWER CAN BE AWAKENED, IN TIME, BY THE RIGHTFUL HEIR. BUT FOR NOW, ONE ANCIENT SOLDIER AND ONE MODERN SPARK MUST SUFFICE.
It—he—turned his gaze to Lin Feng's other skeletons and the panther. YOU BIND THEM WITH WILL AND A LEASH OF ENERGY. INEFFICIENT. KAELON'S FIRST LESSON: THE PERMANENT ANCHOR.
Bone Sage reached out a finger and traced a complex, glowing rune in the air. It hovered, pulsing with gentle power. THE SOUL-BIND RUNE. IT CARVES A PERMANENT SPACE FOR THEM IN YOUR SOUL PALACE. THEY DRAW MINIMAL ENERGY TO SUSTAIN. TO COMMAND, ONLY WILL IS NEEDED.
The knowledge flowed into Lin Feng—the shape, the intent, the quiet, binding magic. He approached his vanguard first. He traced the rune in the air before its skull, then pushed it forward with a whisper of Death Qi. The rune sank into the bone of the forehead, flared once, and vanished.
The constant, faint drain on his energy to maintain the skeleton vanished. The connection remained, sharper and clearer than ever, but now it was self-sustaining. A permanent soldier in the barracks of his soul.
One by one, he bound his swordsman, his shield bearer, his shadow-panther. A profound relief settled over him. His energy reserves, previously constantly trickling away, now felt deep and still, ready to be spent on growth and battle, not mere maintenance.
Bone Sage watched, a teacher assessing a student. GOOD. THE FOUNDATION IS LAID. NOW, UNDERSTAND THE TRUE ENEMY.
He pointed a bony finger downward.
THE CORRUPTION SOURCE STIRS. THE SEAL FADES LIKE A MEMORY. THE FOOLISH ONES POKE AND PROD, SENSING ITS POWER. THEY HASTEN THE END. YOU HAVE PERHAPS A MOON'S CYCLE BEFORE THE SEAL FAILS AND ITS INFLUENCE BREACHES THE STONE. WHAT FIRST MANIFESTS WILL BE WEAK... BUT IT WILL SPREAD. IT WILL TWIST. IT WILL CONSUME.
One month. Thirty days to grow strong enough to confront not just a clan coup, but an ancient plague.
Lin Feng looked at Bone Sage, a being of wisdom and war from a forgotten age. He looked at his bound minions, his silent, loyal army. The path ahead was darker, more terrible, and more weighted with responsibility than he had ever imagined.
But he was no longer alone in the dark. He had a Sage. And he had a purpose that stretched beyond his own grave.
"Then we have no time to waste," Lin Feng said, the cold in his voice now tempered with a new resolve. "Teach me."