Xadion moved to the next door. With his partner Ezekiel's acknowledgment, he entered. The room was full of books — hundreds of them. As Xadion got closer, he realized these weren't ordinary texts, but techniques. Many of them read like sword manuals. He went shelf by shelf until his attention landed on seven books. The first was an epic-level technique called _Moonlit Siphon_.
There was a description on the front page: a lunar-based cultivation technique that lets practitioners draw on the moon's energy. At its early stage, a user can gather small amounts of moonlight to enhance their skills. With mastery, they can store that energy and draw on it later to strengthen attacks and increase power.
He thought for a moment, then moved on to the next book. Opening it, he found _Ironwood Body_. It was a passive cultivation technique that fortified the practitioner's physique, granting greater durability and resistance to physical attacks. Cultivators of the same rank would struggle to break through the defenses, and at its peak, Ironwood Body could withstand multiple strikes from opponents of a higher rank. This one was an environmental-level technique.
It was useful for defense, so he set it aside in his mind and looked at the next book. That one wasn't for him. But it reminded him of someone else. It was called _Inferno's Call_. A dark art that drew flames from the depths of the underworld, it allowed the practitioner to summon and control infernal fire. Foes could be scorched, and the battlefield ignited at will. The greater the mastery, the hotter the flames. This was an earth-level technique.
Sighing quietly, Xadion looked closer at the second book. It was also of no use to him. This one was an earth-level technique called _Illusion Arrow_. When the user loosed an arrow, another would form beside it — identical, but false. An opponent couldn't tell which was real until it was too late. At higher levels, a cultivator could conjure hundreds of arrows at once, though many would carry little force and serve only to overwhelm and misdirect.
Before moving on, Xadion reached for _Inferno's Call_. Even if he chose a technique for himself, he couldn't cultivate it yet. This one, though, would be a strong fit for Peter.
He glanced at the next book and paused. It was incomplete. The volume was thin, as if several pages had been torn out. The description on the cover was brief, almost cryptic: "At the peak, not even space and time will withstand a slash."
That line sent a chill down Xadion's spine. He didn't know if the book's author was boasting, or if it was true.
Just as he reached for the next book, a loud bang echoed from the door. Startled, he grabbed the nameless book and _Inferno's Call_, then hurried to open it.
Ezekiel was outside, standing still, his gaze fixed on the narrow path ahead. His eyes were cold.
"What's wrong?" Xadion asked.
"That thing is exposing its aura." Ezekiel said. "It's telling us to either go to it, or it will come to us."
Xadion followed his line of sight down the path. "I guess we'll have to come back after dealing with it."
"No." Ezekiel replied, still calm. "I'll show you the other two doors. Look around and choose something fast. We don't know what will happen after defeating it."
Xadion moved to the next two doors. The air grew denser as he opened them. One room held a single environmental-tier chest piece, its metal faintly humming with residual energy. Beside it were two earth-tier techniques, their covers worn but steady with power.
The next door opened into a room thick with item auras. Shelves were lined with storage sacks, glow-in-the-dark orbs pulsing softly, and other artifacts he couldn't name. The space felt charged, like standing near a vein of raw qi. He took two small sacks that carried the clear mark of storage items and moved on.
The following room was different. Rolls of shelves curved around the walls, packed with scrolls. The air here was quieter, older. Before he touched any of them, his attention caught on a book at the far end. It sat alone, separate from the rest.
He approached and picked it up. The leather was worn, the edges soft with age. It looked like a journal. When he opened it, the first lines carried weight, as if they'd been written with intent:
'All Hail Lucius Valerius,
First of his name,
First Ancestor of the Valerius Family,
And the first real Saint of Orinthal'.
Valerius? Saint? Orinthal?' Xadion stared at the words, confused. He slipped the book into his sack. He'd come back to it when he was free of everything else.
He turned toward the other stalls when something on the wall caught his eye. He stepped closer. The longer he looked, the wider his eyes became.
A loud bang at the door snapped him out of it. He left without taking anything else. Before Ezekiel could speak, Xadion cut him off.
---
Far down the path they'd taken, a hall waited.
The room was vast and empty. Nothing inside but a single throne. The light in the hall was wrong — too bright, yet it dimmed and bent away from the throne, as if it were afraid to touch it. Or maybe it feared the figure seated on it.
The being sat with his eyes closed, but the sword in his right hand did not rest. The blade was dark, stained with an old, dry light. Silence filled the hall. Even sound seemed unwilling to exist there. He looked less like a king and more like a conqueror waiting for the next throat to cut.
A minute passed. Then footsteps. Xadion and Ezekiel emerged from the corridor, their expressions calm, their steps measured.
The two stared at the figure on the throne. Ezekiel exhaled.
"You've fooled me long enough."
A pause.
"Will you not grace us with your presence, Your Highness… The Fallen Prince?"
Silence again. Then a low chuckle echoed off the stone. A voice followed — corroded, rotten, dragged from deep underground.
"In the beginning, I hated that name… oh, but how I yearn to be called that again."
Another beat of quiet.
"Again. Say my name. Again."