Chapter 159
Access to the transfer gate had become less of a privilege and more of a natural extension for those bound to Daniel. The artifacts he entrusted to his companions were not mere trinkets—they carried his essence, his authority, and through them, the gate itself recognized their right to pass. It was a gift, but also a responsibility, a silent reminder that their paths were now tied to his.
Melgil's steps echoed softly over the gravel, each stride deliberate as she approached the looming structure. The gates shimmered faintly, the surface rippling with the promise of distant worlds and hidden destinations. Though the night air was still, she could feel the hum of power threading through the air, resonating with the artifact at her side. For a moment, she hesitated—not out of fear, but with the solemn awareness that every crossing through the gate carried weight. Then, steadying herself, she moved closer, the artifact pulsing gently in response as if acknowledging her intent.
The Veyrra stood motionless beyond, their presence heavy, like statues carved from steel and hunger. Tall and broad-shouldered, their braided hair glinted in the torchlight, streaked with iron rings and bone charms that spoke of a culture long severed from the noble courts of men. Each carried weapons not polished for parade but scarred with the weight of battles survived.
The duchess's voice followed her softly, though Melgil did not turn back."Be warned, the Veyrra do not measure strength by how hard you strike. They measure by how long you endure. Do not posture, do not demand. If you cannot endure their eyes, their silence, then you will not endure their oath."
Melgil's crimson gaze locked onto the woman, her heart steadying. For centuries she had carried the title of calamity, but that was power born of fear. If she were to walk Daniel's path, if she were to truly claim Gehinnom reborn, then she could not win them with terror. She would have to stand bare, judged not as a calamity, but as herself.
Yet even as she stepped closer, as the torchlight flickered against her pale skin and the Veyrra turned their heads to weigh her, fate stirred. A low, unnatural sound rippled through the stillness of the night. Not the rasp of steel nor the hiss of wind, but something older, heavier, rising from beneath the very earth.
The warriors stiffened, hands tightening on their axes. Melgil's instincts flared. She could feel it—the unmistakable pull of cursed mana, not unlike her own. Something beneath the estate had awakened.
One of the Veyrra spoke at last, her voice like gravel grinding stone.
"The test comes to you, not by our hands, but by the hand of fate. If you can endure it, we will know."
The duchess said nothing. Her silence was confirmation enough; this was no arranged trial. Whatever stirred was real, dangerous, and unbidden. Melgil's pulse quickened, her crimson eyes narrowing as she felt the ground tremble beneath her feet. The first trial of Gehinnom reborn was not negotiation. It was survival.
And though she longed to rush to Daniel's side, to fight where her heart yearned to be, she now stood bound to this path. If she faltered here, she would bring nothing to him but empty promises. If she endured, then perhaps the black gates of Erethune trembled under the ceaseless assault. Mary Kaye drove her archaeologist's shovel into the ground, earthen cracks rippling outward like veins of power. Stone buckled, foundations split, and a tower collapsed into the wall with a groan that shook the cursed city. Dust and ash rained upon the battlefield.
"Forward!" she cried, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Drive them back; this city is ours!"
Her guild roared in answer, surging through the breach. The cursed soldiers fell beneath waves of earth-shards, each swing of Mary's shovel sending tremors that shattered spear lines and splintered shields. But even as the cursed began to crumble, the gates themselves refused to yield. Black bone fused with steel, thrumming with unnatural life, pulsed like the ribcage of a monster refusing to die.
Meanwhile, the united guild arrived in force, Charlotte at their head, voted as the force leader in the Erethune, the Fractured City quest, firinge daggers flashing, her laughter sharp as embers. "If it lives," she shouted, "then we burn it alive!" She leapt into the fray, her blades igniting the very surface of the gate, each strike hissing against the cursed flesh-metal.
Behind her, the Lazarus siblings unleashed their gifts.
Bonnie extended a hand, gravity bending with a shimmer of distortion. The air thickened around the gate, pulling the bone-steel downward with crushing weight until it groaned and cracked. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she reversed it, the fragments wrenched upward, tearing free as though ripped by invisible claws. Her face was pale but resolute. Daniel said we must test ourselves. So test we shall. Even if it breaks me.
Cody braced his staff and roared an incantation. Shockwaves burst outward in wide arcs, thunderclaps that sent cursed soldiers sprawling and reduced barricades to rubble. Each pulse carved a bloody path toward the gate. Maggie followed with wind blades, her arms slashing in rhythm as invisible edges scythed through flesh, cleaving enemies in half as easily as grass in a field.
Sophia's arrows burned as they streaked the night sky, piercing skulls and armor alike, bursting into brief blossoms of flame upon impact. Emma stood behind her, her eyes glowing faintly with the silver gleam of her assessment scan. "Weak point, there! Beneath the left hinge!" she shouted, pointing toward a place where cursed energies converged. Her voice was urgent but steady, the tone of one who had already accepted the weight of command despite her youth.
And Charlotte, blades dripping fire, struck at that very hinge with a scream of triumph. The metal shrieked, cracked, and at last, collapsed.
The gates of Erethune fell.
A gale of cold poured out from within, carrying the stench of crypts long sealed. The first to step into the castle's inner yard were Mary Kaye and her vanguard. They barely set foot on the stone when the ground trembled beneath hooves.
Out from the shadows rode the Death Cavaliers, six nightmare knights astride skeletal warhorses whose exposed spines rattled with every step, their hooves leaving scorched prints in the stone. Their armor was a patchwork of rusted steel and cursed bone, each plate crawling with glowing sigils that pulsed like veins of poison. But they were not uniform—each bore a distinct mark of the damnation that had claimed them.
The clash beyond the gate was nothing like the skirmishes outside. The undead inside the castle's garrison walls were different—faster, sharper, bound by the will of the curse that lingered in the very stones. These were not shambling husks or wandering shades; they were trained soldiers twisted into eternal guardians, their armor fused into bone, their swords moving with the precision of men who had drilled for decades before death claimed them.
The first wave struck like a tidal surge. Shields slammed into guild frontliners with the weight of battering rams, skeletal spearmen thrusting in perfect rhythm, their rusted tips hungry for flesh. The ground turned slick with blood as three defenders fell instantly, skewered before their comrades even realized the walls had opened. Screams filled the air, drowning beneath the clang of steel and the guttural roars of curses that rattled the soul.
Mary Kaye braced against a wall of blades, her shovel a blur, sparks flying as she deflected thrusts meant for her guildmates. Every strike reverberated through her arms, every impact a reminder that these were no ordinary undead. Her wards cracked against the force, and once—just once—she felt the cold sting of steel pierce her shoulder before Tamara's healing light dragged her back from collapse. She ground her teeth, forcing herself upright. "Not here. Not yet," she whispered.
Natasha Sokolov's ice bolts struck true, freezing two knights mid-charge, but even as they shattered, another three surged forward. One of their lances grazed her ribs, leaving a line of blackened rot across her skin where the cursed metal touched. Pain lanced through her, but she forced it aside, gritting her teeth as water mana surged into her veins. "I bleed later," she hissed. Her crossbow sang, bolts splitting skulls with precise execution.
Jacob Lazarus unleashed a river of molten lava, sweeping away a squad of skeletal pikemen, but their charred bones clawed forward even as they crumbled, their hands reaching for him with burning hatred. He staggered, his mana nearly spent, but Oliver's poisoned darts dropped the survivors before they could reach his throat. "On your left, brother," Oliver muttered coldly, his hand already nocking another dart.
Farrah's vines lashed from the broken courtyard stones, binding enemies into snarling bundles, but the undead hacked at them with cursed blades, cutting their way free. A gash opened across her thigh as one broke through, her blood soaking into the soil she called for strength. She nearly fell, vision spinning, until Nataliya's sword cleaved the knight in two, dragging her upright. "Stay standing," Nataliya snapped. "The roots need you."
Elsewhere, the White Devil guild bled heavily. One knight's cursed halberd tore through a shield-bearer, sending him screaming into the dust. Another's blade shattered Irinushka's musket in her hands, the weapon exploding in a spray of steel shards that ripped through her arm. She cried out, dropping to her knees, before Kuzmina, half-shifted into a massive bear, charged past her, claws tearing the knight's spine free in a single swipe.
Even the specialists were not spared. Enan's clones were torn apart as the Grave Howler's phantom blades cut through them like paper, one nearly striking his true body. Maggie's wind magic faltered under a shield wall, a spear slipping through and cutting deep into her side before Tamara's frantic healing mended flesh. Madison's fire seared through ranks of the cursed, but a returning arrow found her shoulder, pinning her to the wall until Cody's shockwave freed her.
Every strike was answered with blood. Every spell cost mana they could not spare. More than once, the line nearly broke, and with every fallen comrade, the realization hammered into their skulls: this was no game. Here, death was absolute.
Yet the guilds refused to break.
Brie's telepathic orders cut through chaos like a blade, her voice guiding faltering warriors back into formation. "Left flank,hold! Casters, now!" At her command, Kenneth, Margot, and Blanche layered barriers of silence and fear, splintering the knights' discipline just long enough for Radinka's axe to swing wide, cleaving through a gap in their line.
Oliver's poisoned darts thinned the enemy's captains, their movements slowing, allowing Charlotte to slip behind their ranks, her daggers igniting skulls into bursts of ash. Jacob roared as his molten hands crushed another knight's helm like clay, even as his body bled from half a dozen cuts.
Mary slammed her shovel into the earth once more, the stones erupting into a jagged wall that split the courtyard in half. "Now!" she cried, and the guilds answered. Kevin's wind slash tore through the divided ranks, Myrtle's water followed, freezing them in place, and Madison's fire finished it, a roaring inferno that reduced them to cinders.
Silence fell, broken only by the groans of the wounded and the crackle of dying flames. Bodies lay strewn across the courtyard, both cursed and human. Twelve guild members had fallen already—dozens more lay bleeding, only barely clinging to life.
But the gates of Erethune's garrison stood open. The defenders were broken.
Exhausted, burned, bloodied, the guilds looked at one another, disbelief and grim pride burning in their eyes. They had survived what no one else had in five long years.
Mary planted her shovel into the ground and leaned on it, sweat and blood dripping from her face. Her voice was raw, ragged, but unyielding.
"We are not finished. Patch the wounded. Gather the fallen. Erethune will not stop us here."
And as Daniel, hidden from sight, watched from the ruins nearby, his expression was unreadable. His silence weighed heavier than the battle itself, judging, measuring, deciding if they were truly ready for what came next.
The battle stretched on, violent and unrelenting. Every strike, every scream carved Erethune deeper into ruin. The undead garrison crumbled block by block, their numbers vast but not endless. For every Lazarus blade, for every Devil spell, for every Strategy Guild trick, the cursed city lost another fragment of its army.
And through it all, Daniel stood at the edge of the fog, watching, not with the gaze of a savior, but of a teacher. His students had chosen their crucible. Now, they would prove themselves in blood.
The strike teams pressed deeper into Erethune, their boots hammering against the cobbled streets slick with ash and ichor. Smoke curled through the alleys, a gray veil masking the shifting silhouettes of the cursed families. Once mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, now hollow shells with eyes clouded like stagnant water. They did not scream when they attacked. They only lunged, clawing with broken nails and rusted farm tools, their silence more chilling than any war cry.
At the front, Mary Kaye raised her archaeologist's shovel, its edge humming with a low pulse of earth mana. Every swing split stone and bone alike, sending shockwaves that collapsed walls and shattered pavement. She shouted orders through the chaos, her voice steady as a general drilling recruits. Yet inside, her thoughts were sharper, conflicted.
This is not what I studied for. These were families, lives once tied to fields and books. But if we falter here, then Daniel's faith in us dies with this city. So I will not falter. Not here.
Behind her, the High Strategy Guild carved lanes through barricades of rotting timber and bone. Each victory was precise, each maneuver as if rehearsed, and with every cursed family that fell, Mary's determination hardened.
Further east, weaving through fire-lit alleys, Charlotte Lazarus danced with her daggers flashing crimson. Fire enchantments flared with each strike, the air around her alive with heat and smoke. She fought with a reckless grace, her guild following like shadows, silent, fast, efficient. To her, the battlefield was both terror and theatre.
They said we were weak, little Lazarus brats clinging to Daniel's mercy. Look at us now. Each flame I light is proof that I was right to follow him. Proof that our rebirth was no illusion. Erethune will remember our names.
Charlotte's laughter rang out, wild and cutting, as she spun through a wave of cursed children. It was not cruelty that made her laugh, it was defiance. In fire, she found freedom.
On the western flank, Natasha Sokolov advanced like a predator stalking prey, her crossbow snapping bolts through skulls and hearts with clinical precision. Her guild moved as a pack, covering every angle, each kill swift and merciless. Natasha's gaze never softened, not even when a cursed woman stumbled toward her, dragging a doll by its hair. She fired without hesitation, the bolt nailing the woman to a doorframe.
Compassion is weakness. Daniel gave us strength not so we could mourn, but so we could survive. My loyalty is simple: we hunt, we kill, and we live. Those who hesitate die. And I will not die in this place.
The cursed families resisted fiercely now, swarming from hidden cellars and shattered windows. Streets turned into choke points, ambushes waiting at every corner. For every step gained, blood was spilled. But the guilds pressed on, their separate paths slowly bending toward the castle gates.
The gates themselves loomed ahead, a mass of blackened steel and bone, pulsing faintly as if alive. The cursed soldiers clustered there, shields interlocked, spears bristling like the teeth of a beast. From the ramparts above, skeletal archers loosed volleys into the streets below.
Mary's guild battered the western approach, her shovel smashing open breaches for her people to storm through. Charlotte's fire-clad assassins swept in from the south, igniting barricades and forcing the cursed into panicked knots of burning flesh. Natasha's hunters picked the gaps, bolts cutting down any who broke formation, her cold eyes never wavering.
The streets behind them burned and bled, but victory was being written in fire and steel.
And through it all, the leaders felt the weight pressing in—the weight of Daniel's eyes upon them, unseen but present. Not as a commander barking orders, but as a shadow behind their thoughts.
"Prove yourselves". His voice seemed to echo.
And with every strike, with every step forward, they answered in kind.
The black gates of Erethune trembled under the ceaseless assault. Mary Kaye drove her archaeologist's shovel into the ground, earthen cracks rippling outward like veins of power. Stone buckled, foundations split, and a tower collapsed into the wall with a groan that shook the cursed city. Dust and ash rained upon the battlefield.
"Forward!" she cried, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Drive them back; this castle is ours!"
Her guild roared in answer, surging through the breach. The cursed soldiers fell beneath waves of earth-shards, each swing of Mary's shovel sending tremors that shattered spear lines and splintered shields. But even as the cursed began to crumble, the gates themselves refused to yield. Black bone fused with steel, thrumming with unnatural life, pulsed like the ribcage of a monster refusing to die.
The East Lazarus Guild arrived in force, Charlotte at their head, fire daggers flashing, her laughter sharp as embers. "If it lives," she shouted, "then we burn it alive!" She leapt into the fray, her blades igniting the very surface of the gate, each strike hissing against the cursed flesh-metal.
Behind her, the Lazarus siblings unleashed their gifts.
Bonnie extended a hand, gravity bending with a shimmer of distortion. The air thickened around the gate, pulling the bone-steel downward with crushing weight until it groaned and cracked. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she reversed it; the fragments wrenched upward, tearing free as though ripped by invisible claws. Her face was pale but resolute. Daniel said we must test ourselves. So test we shall. Even if it breaks me.
Cody braced his staff and roared an incantation. Shockwaves burst outward in wide arcs, thunderclaps that sent cursed soldiers sprawling and reduced barricades to rubble. Each pulse carved a bloody path toward the gate. Maggie followed with wind blades, her arms slashing in rhythm as invisible edges scythed through flesh, cleaving enemies in half as easily as grass in a field.
Sophia's arrows burned as they streaked the night sky, piercing skulls and armor alike, bursting into brief blossoms of flame upon impact. Emma stood behind her, her eyes glowing faintly with the silver gleam of her assessment scan.
"Weak point, there! Beneath the left hinge!" she shouted, pointing toward a place where cursed energies converged. Her voice was urgent but steady, the tone of one who had already accepted the weight of command despite her youth.
And Charlotte, blades dripping fire, struck at that very hinge with a scream of triumph. The metal shrieked, cracked, and at last, collapsed.
The gates of Erethune fell.
A gale of cold poured out from within, carrying the stench of crypts long sealed. The first to step into the castle's inner yard were Mary Kaye and her vanguard. They barely set foot on the stone when the ground trembled beneath hooves. Out from the shadows rode the Death Cavaliers, armored knights astride skeletal warhorses, their eyes blazing with pale green fire. Six of them fanned across the yard, lances leveled, their armor etched with curses that pulsed like open wounds.
They charged.
Mary planted her shovel into the ground, earthen bulwarks erupting before her just as the first lance struck. The impact shattered the wall of stone, forcing her back a step, but she stood unbroken. "Hold the line!" she roared, voice ringing. Her inner voice whispered something colder:
"So these are his guardians." Fierce, loyal, unyielding. Good. Then breaking them will prove us worthy.
To her right, Natasha Sokolov advanced with the White Devil Guild, crossbow raised, ice and water swirling around her form. Bolts of frozen steel ripped through the air, piercing through cursed armor, slowing horses mid-charge. Frost bloomed across the battlefield, each crackling layer forcing the Death Cavaliers to fight at half-speed. Her expression was iron, her thoughts colder still: Daniel gave us strength. No hesitation. No mercy.
Jacob Lazarus, vice leader, raised molten hands as magma poured forth, lava streaking the ground with rivers of fire. The skeletal steeds screamed soundlessly as their bones hissed and cracked in the heat. Oliver slipped past him, poison darts whispering through the air, finding the gaps in cursed armor and sinking into exposed sinew. The knights convulsed, their movements faltering.
Farrah called upon the roots beneath the cobblestones. Vines burst upward, thick as serpents, wrapping around the hooves of skeletal horses, snapping bones and dragging riders down. With each wave of her hands, more greenery surged, forming thorn walls that tangled the Death Cavaliers in an emerald cage. Her heart pounded with equal parts fear and exhilaration. The city bleeds rot, yet still the earth listens to me. Good. Then I will answer its call.
But the Cavaliers were no mere husks. Even wounded, they fought with furious resolve. One drove its lance clean through a Lazarus warrior, hoisting the screaming body into the air before slamming it lifeless into the stones. Another cleaved through a wall of vines with a cursed blade that howled with stolen souls.
The courtyard became a storm of earth and fire, poison and frost, wind and blood.
Mary swung her shovel in a brutal arc, striking one knight full in the chest. Earth mana exploded outward, shattering its ribs, but the knight laughed, a hollow rattle, before raising its broken sword for a counterstrike. Bonnie answered, crushing the weight of the knight's body downward until its knees buckled, giving Mary the opening to drive her shovel straight through its helm.
Charlotte leapt atop another rider, daggers igniting its skull in a flare of fire that turned bone to ash. Natasha's bolts pierced the third, shattering its helm before she froze its remains to the ground in jagged ice. Jacob engulfed another in lava, its screams echoing like molten glass, while Oliver and Farrah together dragged a fifth down beneath a storm of poison and vines.
The last Cavalier charged Mary directly, lance poised for her heart. She met it head-on, her shovel glowing with power, striking the ground once more. A fissure opened, swallowing horse and rider alike in a maw of stone. The knight howled as it fell, crushed beneath the weight of earth.
Silence followed, broken only by the crackle of flames and the hiss of cooling lava. The Death Cavaliers lay shattered, their loyalty extinguished in blood and fire.
Mary stood tall, shovel planted in the ground, her breath ragged but her gaze unbroken. She looked at her allies, the bloodied, the battered, and the triumphant, and spoke with steel in her voice.
"The gates are down. The Cavaliers are fallen. Now… we march for the heart of Erethune."
And in their hearts, each guild member felt it, the echo of Daniel's unseen presence, watching, judging, measuring them not by victory alone, but by the strength with which they carved their way through the dark.