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The larger the history, the more powerful the Wraith it could feed on. And now… Merlin could not even fathom what history this colossal Wraith had consumed and warped.
"You expect me to answer that? Who do you want me to ask? If I knew, do you think I would be here tomb-raiding with you?" Ian shrugged, though his curiosity about the future had only grown.
Merlin opened his mouth, as if to speak, but nothing came out. Perhaps he trusted Ian's words, or perhaps the survival instinct in his mind had once again taken control.
Only he knew the truth.
"Perhaps the answer lies inside."
Ian's gaze shifted to the grand palace before him. Its massive doors were tightly shut, covered in intricate runes. Clearly, a powerful sealing spell kept intruders out.
"Perhaps."
Merlin inhaled deeply, steadying himself. He couldn't help but scrutinize the shadows stretching across the sky, and after a long moment, noticed Ian had made no move.
"Why aren't you opening the door?" Merlin asked, suspicion in his voice.
Ian raised an eyebrow, wearing a look of complete self-assurance.
"Isn't this the prophet's job? Aren't you a prophet? Our contract clearly says you handle these tricky problems."
Merlin could only stare, speechless.
"At the time, you never said this was your home!" He ground out through clenched teeth, frustration thick in his voice.
"For starters, I didn't even know you were coming here. And secondly… didn't you not ask either?" Ian blinked innocently, that infuriatingly unbothered expression making Merlin want to strike him.
Who in their right mind could have predicted this situation? Before tomb-raiding, you're supposed to ask your partner if this tomb is theirs??
Insane!
Merlin's chest heaved violently, his expression cycling through irritation, disbelief, and finally settling on resigned helplessness.
"Fine… let me analyze it. This might take some time."
He turned his attention to the magical inscriptions on the massive doors.
"How long will it take?"
Ian leaned closer, tracing the carvings with his fingers.
"A day… two days? The magical text here is incredibly complex." Merlin spoke cautiously. He wasn't sure of the exact duration, but he had confidence in his ability to decode it, the core of his Dao had not yet shattered.
"Looks like I'm the real Great Prophet," Ian muttered, stopping at a recessed groove on the door. With a flick, he pressed his wand directly into it.
Thud… thud… thud.
As expected.
It was exactly as he had anticipated.
The door recognized the key. A dull, resonant heartbeat echoed, like a massive, living heart pounding in the shadows around them. The surrounding darkness churned like molten magma, but did not attack.
Boom!
The palace shuddered as if thousands of horses thundered within its walls.
The massive doors slowly began to open, spilling blinding light. Brilliant multicolored beams flashed wildly, intense and scorching, making the very sky seem to tremble.
"That's not a prophecy," Merlin muttered, stepping back a few paces with a soft sigh.
"Predicting your own future design… how is that not prophecy? Grand Wizard, do you even understand prophecy?" Ian's skeptical gaze made Merlin's mind spin like a stampede of a thousand wild horses.
"…."
His sigh was heavy, weighted with frustration.
"Fine, whatever."
Faced with such twisted logic, what could the Wizard King even say? Merlin immediately regretted his decisions. If he hadn't been wandering around while waiting for King Arthur, he wouldn't have run into this brat.
And if he hadn't run into this brat, he wouldn't have rushed recklessly to investigate this place. And if he hadn't done that… he wouldn't be facing such unbearable hardships now.
Sigh.
Merlin was utterly exasperated.
Ian, on the other hand, was in a completely different state of mind. Watching Merlin, the master of language, struggle to articulate himself, Ian's face lit up with a broad grin. He even reached out to dust off imaginary particles from Merlin's impossibly pristine body.
"Make sure you put this in your autobiography," Ian said with a wink.
Flattery never comes without a reason. Ian knew that earning Merlin's acknowledgement was a big deal. Who could now dare to claim he had no talent in Divination? This was the Wizard King himself, speaking with his own lips!
"Alright…"
Merlin shook his head at Ian's smugness, but inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. If Ian was going to go write an autobiography about this, it meant he would survive this encounter, alive.
Hōng lóng,
A tremendous roar echoed through the air. The massive doors slammed open with a resonant boom, revealing the palace's interior. An ancient, mysterious aura washed over them immediately.
Inside, the palace was far larger than it appeared from the outside, as if it were an entirely separate world. Towering domes were encrusted with countless glowing gems, shining like stars in a night sky. The floor was laid with smooth black stone tiles, each step sending out faint ripples, as if they were walking atop water.
It was a strange, almost surreal sensation.
Yet… even stepping inside, a hollow emptiness lingered in the air. The palace was completely devoid of funerary treasures, just as Ian had predicted.
Of course… There was one unexpected detail.
This was truly a tomb.
The centerpiece of the palace, drawing all their attention, was a solitary coffin. It floated no higher than the floor and emitted no light, simply sitting there like an ancient, mundane object.
Ancient. Silent.
Above it hovered a line of faintly glowing runes. The letters rotated slowly in the air, as though alive, compelling both of them to stare.
[Death is the Greatest Gift]
The runes shimmered and danced in the air.
"What does that mean?" Ian frowned, clearly puzzled.
"You're asking me?" Merlin muttered, feeling almost too drained to respond.
"Open the coffin, Grand Wizard."
Ian took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around his wand until his knuckles whitened slightly. How could he not feel nervous, standing before what might very well be his final resting place?
"Alright."
Merlin cast a glance at Ian, noting the younger wizard's unease. He didn't refuse. Slowly, he raised his hand and whispered a few spells, layering himself in protective magic.
Then…
They finally approached the coffin. Merlin, however, quickly realized something that made his eyes widen in disbelief: there was absolutely no trace of magic around it, not even the simplest protective spells. Determined, he carefully examined every inch of the coffin, searching for any hidden wards or traps.
Nothing.
The coffin sat there.
As ordinary as an ordinary wooden box could be.
Merlin furrowed his brow and glanced at Ian several times, his eyes filled with confusion and disbelief. Ian, on the other hand, simply stood there, gaze locked onto the coffin as if waiting for something.
"Strange…"
Merlin murmured under his breath. He had come to accept Ian's claims about his identity. Turning back to the coffin, he placed both hands on the lid and pushed.
Clatter…
The lid was far lighter than expected, almost surprisingly so. As it slid open slowly, Merlin's gaze fell inside.
"Hm?"
The next moment, his body froze, his expression locked in shock. Ian watched Merlin stand motionless, a growing sense of unease creeping into his chest.
"What is it?" Ian asked cautiously.
Merlin didn't answer, remaining stiff as if something had pinned him in place.
"Speak… or are you petrified?" Ian's alertness spiked. He wondered if Merlin had fallen victim to some hidden trap. A thought even crossed his mind: if Merlin were gone, would he have to step into Merlin's place in history?
Then, without warning…
"×&%￥#@, ￥#@§№☆548%!$#71^&%!$#&%￥..."
Merlin suddenly burst into a torrent of curses.
Ian exhaled in relief, but his curiosity skyrocketed. What could possibly provoke Merlin to swear more profanely than even when disaster had struck before?
"Anything… oh."
Ian hurried forward, peering into the coffin. Inside lay a body, but it was nothing like he had imagined. The coffin was enormous, large enough for a person nearly two meters tall, yet the body inside was tiny.
Barely the size of an infant.
"Ah?" Ian was dumbstruck.
The feathers of the body were black as night, faintly gleaming as if freshly fallen from the sky. Time had left no mark on it; it showed no sign of withering or decay.
"How could this be a bird?!"
Yes.
Ian was staring at a small, brilliantly dark… raven.
(End of chapter)