The chamber was thick with the scent of scorched stone and blood. Sophius core has finally shattered. The silence that followed the giant's fallen tallic scrap was deafening, broken only by the labored breaths and groans of the wounded.
The knights, though victorious, bore the heavy cost of their triumph. Their armor was dented and scorched, many helts missing, revealing faces streaked with blood, sweat, and soot. So leaned on broken spears or makeshift crutches, while others lay on the ground, clutching wounds.
Despite the devastation, a flicker of pride and defiance remained. As the last echo of Sophius's collapse faded, the surviving knights raised their weapons—so with trembling hands—and let out a ragged, thunderous war cry, "For the fallen! For the! For the duke! For the realm!"
It was a roar not of celebration, but of promise—that their sacrifice would not be in vain.
Commander Darius turned sharply to his Marshal. "Count the casualties and report to imdiately."
Minutes later, the Marshal returned, his face grim. "Our elite force is nearly annihilated. Only 150 remain out of the original 500. Fifty more are wounded. The separated unit in the other chamber where dead with no survivor."
Darius's jaw tightened. "We don't have ti to mourn. We find whoever is responsible for this madness—and we end them."
He turned to another figure standing apart from the others. "Allen, are you coming with us?"
Allen was still near the shattered remains of Sophius, his eyes scanning every scorched corner of the chamber, searching for answers to the riddle that had haunted him. He didn't look up as he replied, "Yes. I need to know the truth."
Marshal Roo clicked his tongue, casting a scornful glance.
"Still chasing riddles, mad mage," he thought.
Allen caught the look. "Don't look at like that. I was the one who helped you bring Sophius down."
"I never said you didn't," Roo replied curtly. "And yes, your contribution was... appreciated."
Around them, the remaining knights moved to assist the wounded. Gareth gently lifted the unconscious body of Priest Jarek, drained from the divine energy he had unleashed during the battle.
Commander Darius stepped toward the massive door at the far end of the chamber, he declared, "Whatever lie behind this door could be dangerous. Stay alert everyone. We will move together."
Kaboom...
With a roar of fury, Darius raised his greatsword, infused with aura. He slamd it into the center of the door with a thunderous strike. The door reinforced with runestone flared violently, resisting for a heartbeat—then shattered. A shockwave of force exploded outward, sending dust and debris flying as the twin doors were annihilated, blasted off their hinges and reduced to molten fragnts.
At the far end of the chamber, a figure rose from a chair wrought of deep black oak. He is deeply lined and weathered, along with his long white beard, give him a distinguished appearance despite his simple attire—a blue robe devoid of ornants and a simple blue hat.
He spread his arms with deliberate grace as he exclaid, "Welco to the Tower of Vestige."
Commander Darius stepped forward, his boots crunching over the shattered remains of the door. His eyes burned with fury, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. His voice ca out as a low, venomous growl, he uttered, "We finally et the bastard who killed my n."
Ren remained unfazed and brushed any sense of decorum. His voice was smooth, almost bored as he uttered, "Sophius was the guardian of this tower, only the worthy may pass through him. Traditionally, those who survive beco official mbers of the Tower of Vestige. You should be honored."
Darius let out a bitter laugh, sharp and hollow. "Old man, you're joking, right? You slaughter my knights and now you're offering us so bullshit mbership pass?"
Ren's expression didn't change. If anything, his indifference deepened as he coldly replied, "It's not my concern that your n died trespassing," he replied coldly. "The Tower of Vestige is my domain. I owe no apology for defending my privacy. Your losses are not my liability."
Darius's face twisted with fury; his jaw clenched tight as he stepped forward. But just as he was about to strike, a firm hand landed on his shoulder.
It was Allen. The mage's grip was steady, not forceful, but enough to halt the commander mid-step. Allen stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man before them. He tilted his head slightly. "Hey, old man... your face looks familiar. Are you... Ren Restes? The legendary Mage of the Apocalypse?"
Ren gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. "I am."
Before Allen could speak again, Darius stepped forward, "Allow to introduce myself. I am Commander Darius Foxsen II, son of the late Darius Foxsen—the man who led the resistance during the Apocalypse."
Ren's eyes narrowed slightly, "You look just like your father... but stronger. Far stronger."
Allen's gaze sharpened, "Your face hasn't changed. Maybe a decade older at most. But the illustrations in the old tos—dated 140 years ago—look almost exactly like you."
Allen took a step closer, suspicion thick in his voice.
"You've been missing for over a century, without a single trace. And now we find you here, in this crumbling tower, untouched by ti. You're not an elf. Not a dwarf. So why are you still alive?"
Before Ren could respond, Gareth cut in, his voice sharp and accusing.
"He made a pact with a demon. That's why he hasn't aged. He's a witch. And witches don't age."
"Ti flows differently in the Tower of Vestige," he retorted. "What felt like years to you may have been re monts to ."
But Gareth wasn't convinced. He pressed forward, his hand inching toward the hilt of his blade, his tone rising with righteous fury. "Nonsense and witchcraft. You speak in riddles to mask your corruption. We need to execute this demon incarnate before he brings another apocalypse upon us."
Allen turned sharply toward Gareth, his eyes narrowing into a piercing glare. A sudden surge of white mana flared around him, the pressure was imdiate and suffocating—a force of raw magical authority as he uttered coldly, "Hey lowborn knight. Will you please shut up? I am not done talking."
Gareth instinctively stepped back, sweat beading on his brow as the weight of Allen's mana pressed down on him. Even Commander Darius, hardened by countless battles, glanced at Allen with a flicker of surprise at the sudden shift in his deanor.
Then, just as quickly as it had risen, the mana receded. Allen exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. He turned back to Ren, his tone now calm but focused. "Senior Ren," he said, "what's the answer to the riddle?"
From the side, Marshal Roo—who had remained silent until now—finally spoke, his voice laced with exasperation. "Hey, crazy mage. Get over it. Sophius is dead, and you're still stuck on riddles?"
Ren showed a faint smile, clearly entertained by the rising tension in the room. He is quiet amusent as he spoke, voice calm and cryptic. "I don't intend on revealing the answer."
Allen's gazed where still fixed at Master Ren, "Long ago, I received a prophecy from Duke Ashby... that a demon incarnate would one day be revealed. And now, it seems—this is that mont."
But before Allen could say more, a sudden shift in the air sent a chill down everyone's spine.
From the shadows, a figure erged- swift as death, silent and precise. It crept behind the old mage like a phantom, A cold whisper followed, sharp and final, "Checkmate."
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