We continued to advance toward the hidden vault on the third level of the relic chamber.
The narrow stone passage, which had felt like squeezing through the throat of so ancient beast, was slowly widening the deeper we went. Shadows clung to the walls like thick cobwebs, but the air didn’t feel old—just heavy. Like it knew sothing we didn’t.
The only sounds were our footsteps and the quiet rhythm of our breathing echoing through the tunnel.
Then, I heard her voice.
"...It’s strange."
Alice spoke softly, almost to herself, but in this silence, even whispers carried.
I didn’t stop, but I slowed down and glanced over my shoulder.
"What is, My Lady?"
Her crimson eyes t mine, sharp and watchful even in the dim light. She kept her voice low, as though the walls might be listening.
"It’s been a while since we started descending... and we haven’t encountered the guardian spirit."
I frowned at her words.
She was right.
This was the hidden vault of the Draken family—one of the most secure places in the entire duchy. It was supposed to be protected by a guardian spirit, a being bound to the place by powerful ancestral magic. And yet...
We had made it this far without even a hint of resistance.
I could accept passing through the second level unchallenged—after all, I had won the Duke’s personal permission by claiming victory in the [Grand Northern Martial Tournant].
But this?
No guardian. No trials. Not even a whisper of magical interference.
It didn’t sit right.
’Could it be... the guardian spirit is stationed deeper—on the third level itself?’
Suddenly, Hans’s words ca back to , right before we stepped inside the vault:
—Don’t worry. The guardian spirit is away for the mont.
At the ti, I hadn’t thought much of it. But now?
It seed that "away for the mont" ant exactly what it sounded like.
I exchanged a glance with Alice, and from the look in her eyes, I knew she was thinking the sa thing.
This silence wasn’t comforting.
It was heavy. Ominous.
"...Could you tell more about the guardian of the relic vault, My Lady?"
All we knew so far was that the guardian was vulnerable to stealth. Beyond that, we were stepping into the unknown.
And heading into the unknown without information was practically suicide.
Alice’s insight could make the difference between life and death.
"The guardian... is a Wampa."
"...Pardon?"
I blinked. That answer threw completely off.
A Wampa?
One of the three great beasts of the northern regions?
Like Snow Lion that I and Alice killed.
A Wampa monster infamous for its brutal savagery, uncontrollable temperant, and complete lack of human speech?
That thing was the guardian?
A mix of confusion and reluctant admiration stirred within .
"To entrust the vault to sothing so volatile... That’s quite the gamble. One loud noise and the whole place could co crashing down with the relics."
Alice narrowed her eyes slightly.
"I can guess what you’re really worried about."
"I’m simply concerned for the safety of the Draken family’s treasured heirlooms—as a devoted servant, of course."
Especially the ones I plan to swipe.
She gave a look. A pointed, doubtful one. I didn’t flinch.
"The relics are safe," she said flatly. "While Wampa is a beast in appearance, he’s more spirit than monster. He doesn’t speak, but he can communicate by writing on the ground."
"Huh..."
For soone who grew up associating Wampas with frozen limbs and torn-off faces, that was unexpectedly... civilized.
"My father once told our ancestor tad it. Since then, it’s protected the vault faithfully, generation after generation."
Just then, a familiar chi echoed in my ears.
—Ding.
-----
◇ Notification ◇
▣ The true identity of the guardian beast protecting the Draken family’s vault has been revealed: Wampa, the Frostborne Sentinel.
▣ Vault access protocols have updated.
▣ The guardian spirit is aligned with the bloodline of House Draken and views direct descendants favorably. Proceed accordingly.
-----
I blinked, montarily stunned by the system’s ssage flashing before like divine text etched into the air.
Wampa.
The Frostborne Sentinel... the na alone carried weight. I suddenly felt very glad Alice was here.
I stole a glance at her.
She was inspecting the stone wall now, her fingers trailing across an etched crest almost buried in gri. She didn’t seem to notice anything strange—just calm, watchful, calculating as always.
She didn’t get the ssage.
Right.
Alice didn’t have a system.
She didn’t see what I saw.
"...My Lady," I said slowly, "does Wampa respond differently depending on who approaches?"
She raised a brow at the sudden question. "He’s cautious with outsiders. But if soone bears the Draken blood, he’ll hold back—observe, rather than attack. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. Why?"
I shrugged, playing it off. "Just curious. Figured I should know who I’ll be groveling to if he shows up."
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile, but close.
"That depends on how much you value your limbs," she said, continuing her examination of the wall.
I swallowed. Noted.
anwhile, the words from the system kept repeating in my mind like a chant: Aligned with the bloodline... proceed accordingly.
Which ant if I stayed close to Alice, I might—might—avoid getting flattened like a bug under a hamr.
"I’ll follow your lead then," I said, keeping my tone light. "Not that I don’t trust myself. I just trust your bloodline more."
Alice glanced at , eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "You’re being unusually agreeable."
I offered a modest bow. "My survival instincts are sharp."
She turned away, but I could hear the faintest hum of amusent in her breath.
....But what I said is true.
I was an outsider here. So if that guardian spirit—or whatever beefed-up basent boss lived down here—caught a whiff of ?
Yeah. I’d be squashed like a tomato dropped from the fifth floor.
And I’d really, really like to avoid that particular fate.
So, I stuck close to Alice. Very close.
"Let’s go," she said, taking the lead.
That didn’t an I trailed behind like so coward. No, no. I walked right beside her, thank you very much. For companionship. Solidarity. Moral support.
Definitely not because of so irrational fear of being flattened into paste by a mythical watchdog in my own basent.
...I an, sure, I tried raiding this vault multiple tis back in the ga.
I rembered the layout like the back of my hand. Which corners to avoid. Which statues secretly scread. Which tiles triggered a full spiritual exorcism of everyone in the room.
If we played this smart, we’d be fine.
"How did I end up doing this in my own ho’s basent..." Alice muttered besides , and I barely held back a snort.
So even the Ice Queen grumbled like a tired office worker sotis.
Who knew?
That was what made this version of Alice so refreshing. Back in the ga, she was all cold perfection—icy glares, curt orders, a permanent wind machine making her cape billow dramatically.
But now? Here she was, muttering like a tired intern working unpaid overti under so dungeon-crawling overlord.
Honestly? I liked this version of her. The contrast made her more... human. Endearing, even.
A charm of reversal, as they say.
"We’re about to hit the first tricky alley," I whispered.
Now, let tell you sothing about stealth.
People think it’s all about crouching, breathing like a Buddhist monk, and slathering yourself in mud like so jungle ninja. Sure, that stuff helps—but the real secret?
Don’t get caught.
By any ans necessary. Whether that ans ducking into barrels, bribing a rat, or pretending to be a decorative statue—if you’re not seen, you win.
"That is..." Alice started, her voice catching as we turned a corner.
"Shh," I hushed, eyes fixed ahead. "That must be the sword your ancestors used, Lady."
Now, the third floor of the vault was different.
Instead of glass display cases or floating magical pedestals, it was just an open clearing.
And smack in the middle of it? A sword.
Not just any sword—the sword. The one that made Arthurian legends look underwhelming.
Stuck in a chunk of rock like it was auditioning for so royal destiny, it exuded cold air and the smug aura of sothing that knew it was important.
’Ah yes, this bastard again,’ I thought bitterly.
The number of tis I’d fallen for that blade back in the ga? Embarrassing.
It sat there like a neon sign: "I am THE treasure. Co, brave player. Loot ."
And it wasn’t even lying! The sword had lore—real lore. It was used by Duke Draken himself. Every duke and demon whispered about it in the story.
A legendary artifact. Practically oozing narrative weight.
Naturally, I had to have it.
I rembered the first ti I made it down here in the ga. I’d danced past death traps, outwitted magical patrols, narrowly avoided being possessed by a haunted painting—and there it was.
Glorious.
I practically skipped toward it and grabbed the hilt.
Then the screen flashed with a ssage.
---
[Equip Restriction]
[You are not worthy.]
---
I barely had ti to curse before the guardian deity (or maybe the angry ghost of Duke Draken himself) personally delivered my ga over like it was pizza night.
Boom. Deleted.
That sword? Total scam.
Looked like treasure. Acted like treasure. Was, in fact, a deadly ego test wrapped in shiny tal.
And here we were again.
"Hey, My Lady Alice," I whispered, stepping away from the sword like it was contagious. "Just a heads up... that thing has opinions. The mont you touch it, you either beco a hero or a pancake."
But she wasn’t besides , The next thing I know she was standing in front of sword.
"What the Fuck?"
I cursed at her, for the first ti since I Transmigrated into this ga.
I hope she didn’t hear .
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