As the young man stepped forward, the oppressive atmosphere suddenly eased.
He halted before the tightly shut gates of the ancient castle, then flicked his finger. A palm-sized dagger shot forward and struck the doors!
BOOM!
The sound of splintering wood echoed through the air.
The long-sealed gates of the castle burst apart into a storm of shattered wood, and a wave of rot and decay rushed out from within like a foul wind.
The gates had opened.
Everyone's expression grew solemn.
But as their eyes locked on the ancient castle, the faint sound of rustling echoed from within. Then ca a raspy voice that drifted out from the darkness.
"So, you've finally co…"
Upon hearing this, everyone present wore a look of confusion.
Who was this eerie voice referring to?
"You've already arrived. Why hesitate to enter?"
The voice continued, stirring an unsettling chill in the crowd.
How long had this castle been here?
Why was there still soone inside?
And if that "soone" was truly human—what sort of terrifying being could have survived for so long?
If it wasn't human… then the mystery was even more disturbing.
For a mont, everyone froze in place, paralyzed with unease.
But just then, a figure began walking steadily toward the castle.
The Third Princess's heart skipped—because that person was Alan!
Why would Alan recklessly charge into the castle ahead of everyone?
She was bewildered.
But at that mont, Alan himself was deeply conflicted.
His body seed to move on its own, as if sothing within him had been awakened—sothing unforgettable.
He could feel an unusual emotional resonance…
One that ca from Nicolas, deep within the layers of Hell.
Through his long practice in Hell, so of Nicolas's aura had unknowingly imprinted itself upon him.
Though faint, it now stirred violently in response to the castle—
Suddenly, it took control of his body.
Only when the Third Princess pressed her hand firmly onto his shoulder did Alan snap out of it.
Whether it was the lingering trace of Nicolas's aura or the dragonfang staff he had absorbed into his weapon,
Alan began to realize—they were all connected to Nicolas.
And sohow… related to the voice within this castle.
Just as Alan halted, the young man in deerskin gloves stepped forward again, brushing his hair back with a casual hand.
"Well then, since the elder has extended an invitation, I shall accept it," he declared, stepping toward the castle.
As he moved, nurous dagger-sized swords spun around him, forming a sword-gale barrier to protect him.
Tap, tap…
His crisp footsteps echoed as he entered the castle—without any resistance or harm.
Seeing this, Alan, the Third Princess, and the others cautiously followed.
But the mont they stepped inside… they were stunned.
The interior of the castle was adorned with countless magnificent and intricate murals.
The murals depicted a confident young man wielding a staff, triumphing over his peers one after another.
As the murals progressed, the young man aged into maturity—and his foes transford into monstrous, unimaginable creatures.
While the others watched the murals with confusion, Alan sensed sothing familiar—
from the aura and presence of the man in the paintings.
Nicolas!
These murals depicted Nicolas—his journey of growth from youth to greatness!
The murals chronicled his entire path.
And at the far end of this grand hall of murals stood a young woman in a white bridal gown.
Her skin was porcelain-white, her face warm and gentle like the girl next door. She held a paintbrush, slowly working on the wall.
Her strokes were hesitant, lacking inspiration. She would paint and repaint—her current work nowhere near the vivid realism of the earlier murals.
Everyone was rooted to the spot, not daring to move.
From the woman's body radiated an aura of unimaginable danger.
It was as if she could extinguish their lives with a single thought.
Life and death lay entirely in her hands.
The room fell utterly silent. Everyone secretly readied their strongest spells.
The bride-like woman noticed their wariness and let out a soft sigh.
She pointed toward a nearby side door.
"Go. He left so things in there. He's dead now anyway—might as well let you have them."
As soon as she finished, most of the mages quickly moved toward the side passage.
Her aura was simply too overwhelming—none of them dared remain here longer than necessary.
Besides, they could feel powerful elental energy emanating from the side chamber. Compared to this empty mural hall, there was clearly treasure waiting beyond.
The Third Princess was also eager to explore—but then she noticed that Alan hadn't moved.
"You're not going?" she asked curiously.
Alan hesitated for a mont, then said,
"You go ahead. I'll stay."
The Third Princess thought for a mont, then nodded.
"Be careful."
And with that, she eagerly rushed toward the side chamber.
Monts later, a surprised shout ca from inside:
"Tier-Diamond magic skill!"
Alan's heart stirred. This place truly lived up to being the legacy of Nicolas's youth—there was plenty of treasure to be found.
Still, he stepped forward—toward the woman in the wedding dress.
There were questions in his heart that only she could answer.
As Alan approached, the woman visibly trembled. Her eyes glistened with what seed like tears—
as if she were seeing a long-lost loved one.
But soon, her trembling faded. She shook her head repeatedly, murmuring:
"No… it's not him. You're not him."
Alan paused for a mont, then spoke gently to this woman of unknown age:
"Senior… the one you speak of—is it Nicolas?"
A wistful light entered her eyes.
"I've been waiting here for him… He said he would return to see .
But I waited and waited… and he never ca back."
As she spoke, her long fingers twitched—and the staff-sword in Alan's hands flew into hers.
Her nostalgic gaze deepened.
"That familiar aura… that familiar energy… This sword—it holds a trace of him."
Alan didn't know what she ant by "a trace of his spirit"—but he didn't press further.
The woman soon sank into mory. Then she sighed deeply.
"Young man… do you have soone you love?"
A silhouette flickered across Alan's mind, but he remained silent.
"If you're sure it's her… then pursue her with all your heart.
Don't be like —waiting through countless years, only to realize he would never return.
Never, ever co back."
Alan thought of Nicolas in the First Layer of Hell—already reduced to a skeleton.
This woman… truly would never see him again.
"Sotis I wonder…" she said quietly.
"If I'd chosen to leave with him that evening, as the sun set over this very place where we first t—
would our story have ended differently?"
She sighed again, her gaze toward Alan growing more and more complex.
Alan gently offered,
"Senior, I believe… there must have been a part of Nicolas that regretted never seeing you one last ti."
That wasn't just idle comfort. The reaction of his staff-sword… the aura on his body…
had all led him into this castle.
That fleeting surge of emotion—Alan had sensed it.
"Is that so…?" Her eyes reddened. "But it doesn't matter anymore.
It doesn't matter now…"
"Though I don't know what your relationship with him was, you carry his aura… and his staff.
Will you perform one last wedding for ?"
Alan nodded.
"It would be my honor."
The woman smiled, lifted her paintbrush—and inspiration surged within her.
She painted Nicolas's likeness onto the wall. Then she drew blooming flowers across endless hills, filled the sky with clouds and evening light—
And painted a grand wedding.
Alan stood there in awe. Under her brush, it felt as though the world around him had changed.
Everything beca so vivid, so real—he could hardly tell illusion from reality.
In that mont, he was the priest, presiding, blessing, and bearing witness to a love story that had waited for eternity…
Reviews
All reviews (0)