As the dust settled, the battlefield was left eerily silent. The towering skeletal behemoths had crumbled into nothing, and the remnants of the Death Lich's army dissipated into wisps of dark mist. The only thing left standing was the throne, now cracked and barely holding together.
Leon stretched his arms. "Alright, loot ti."
Milim rolled her eyes. "You say that like we're playing a ga."
Roselia walked over to what remained of the Death Lich's throne and raised a hand, her Golden Magus Legacy activating as a golden rune appeared beneath her feet. The throne trembled before shattering completely, revealing a hidden altar beneath it.
A dark crystal pulsed in the center of the altar, surrounded by floating Lich Cores—glowing spheres of concentrated undead mana.
"Jackpot," Roman muttered, stepping forward. "These cores can be used to craft high-tier necromantic artifacts… or fuel powerful dark magic rituals."
Leon grinned. "Which ans we can use them to strengthen my Origin Conjurer summons."
Naval smirked, twirling her rapier. "Or sell them for an absurd amount of money."
Lilian, still bathed in dark flas, crossed her arms. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind keeping a few for myself. They could enhance my dark flas."
Milim approached the dark crystal, her Blood Grand Knight and Dark Grand Knight standing behind her like silent guardians. She placed a hand on the crystal, and it pulsed in response.
"This isn't just any crystal," she muttered. "It's an Undead Heart—the condensed core of countless fallen souls. If we absorb it, our summons will beco far stronger."
Leon raised an eyebrow. "And what happens if we don't absorb it?"
Roselia adjusted her gloves. "Then it will eventually reform into another Death Lich… possibly stronger than the last one."
Roman chuckled. "So we either take the power or let another boss spawn?"
Leon smirked. "Sounds like a no-brainer."
Milim nodded. "Then let's divide it."
She placed her hand on the crystal, and Leon did the sa. The Undead Heart reacted violently, dark tendrils of energy spiraling around them as the power split in two. Their bodies absorbed the energy, and at that mont, their summons all began to glow ominously.
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The Golden Knight's armor turned slightly darker, infused with traces of necrotic power, while the Destruction Mage's energy beca even more unstable. The Blood Mage's aura thickened, becoming more tangible, almost like a living entity.
Milim's Blood Grand Knight radiated a deeper crimson, and her Dark Grand Knight emitted a stronger deathly presence, their strength rising significantly.
Naval whistled. "Damn. That's so serious power-up."
Roselia nodded. "Your summons just reached a whole new level."
Leon flexed his fingers, feeling the new surge of power coursing through him. "Not bad."
Milim smirked. "Now, about that next dungeon…"
Leon's grin widened. "Oh? Got sothing interesting in mind?"
She crossed her arms. "How about a dungeon where the rewards are divine artifacts?"
Roman raised an eyebrow. "Wait… are you talking about the Divine Ruins?"
Milim nodded. "Yep. Ti to see how our new power stacks up against ancient gods."
Leon chuckled. "Now that… sounds fun."
The Divine Ruins were nothing more than the remnants of the Light Religion's headquarters.
Their fanatical belief centered around a mysterious figure known as the Mother of Light—a being whose existence was never truly proven. No records, no relics, not even a trace of her reign existed. Yet, her followers believed in her with unwavering faith, guided by the words of their Prophet—a man who preached her supposed divinity, perford miraculous feats, and used these displays to solidify her as a deity in the eyes of his disciples.
Under his leadership, the religion grew into an empire, forcibly converting every land they conquered. Those who refused to embrace their faith were labeled heretics and either executed or enslaved. They waged holy wars against entire nations, all in the na of their fabricated deity, bringing ruin to countless innocent lives.
But their arrogance led to their downfall.
A single man—a boy who lost his parents to their senseless crusades—rose up against them. Fueled by vengeance, he trained relentlessly, forging himself into an unstoppable force. And when he returned, he brought absolute destruction.
One by one, he slaughtered their ranks, piling their souls upon their own sacred altars. He cursed their spirits, binding them to their ruined sanctuary and condemning them to an eternity of suffering, forever worshiping a goddess who never ca to save them.
Because she never existed.
Their so-called Prophet had orchestrated everything. He had exploited their fears and hopes, manipulating them with false miracles to build his own empire. In the end, he alone remained—the final tornted soul, trapped within the ruins of his own creation.
Now, the Divine Ruins stood as nothing more than a tragic testant to blind faith and deception—an eerie, cursed dungeon filled with wandering souls, dood to suffer for eternity.
And Leon's party was about to raid it.
As Leon's party approached the Divine Ruins, an unsettling silence hung in the air. The once-grand temple, now reduced to a crumbling husk, lood before them, its towering statues of the so-called Mother of Light covered in cracks and dried blood. Faint, ghostly whispers drifted through the ruins, a mixture of prayers, sobs, and screams—remnants of the tornted souls bound to this place.
Milim stepped forward, her crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. "So, this place is basically a giant graveyard of delusional fanatics, huh?" she muttered, glancing at the shattered stained glass windows depicting holy battles that never truly happened.
Roselia smirked. "Not just a graveyard—a dungeon of eternal suffering." She extended her staff, golden runes shimring along its surface. "And we're about to make it even worse for them."
Roman chuckled darkly, resting his massive sword on his shoulder. "The irony of a 'Holy Sanctuary' turning into a cursed nightmare… poetic justice, if you ask ."
Naval and Lilian stood close, scanning the area cautiously. Unlike the others, their expressions were serious.
"Don't underestimate this place," Naval warned, gripping her rapier. "These souls are not just lingering—they're desperate. They've been waiting for centuries to lash out at the living."
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