Oliver was honestly quite astounded with the other two. Because really, how was anyone in their right mind more intrigued with the mere fact that they were standing in a racial prison camp, than the fact that they stood upon the precipice of discovering a secret of the new world? It was lunacy! And then after their short discussion, which ended with their group knowing exactly the same as at the beginning of the discussion, they simply wanted to continue through the relic crypt. They were even annoyed when he implored them to pause and wait for him to study something so fundamental!

“How are you even capable of suggesting something so heinous as setting aside research in favour of something as petty as escaping a tomb filled with undead enemies?” Oliver cried out, continuing to vehemently argue for what was good and right, as he gestured wildly to the piles of bone all around them

“You explain it so perfectly yourself, yet seem unable to understand that,” Aelin said, shaking his head in appalled fascination.

“Oliver, come on, let’s just leave for now, and then we’ll come back some other time for research. This is a great place to grind after all, but right now, we’d really prefer going to the Fallen Republic, get some gear made with our new steel,” she gestured to the bag she now caried, and the seven batons within “and getting our weapons upgraded. This place won’t disappear or anything, so let’s go.”

“How exactly can we be certain that this Relic Crypt is capable of withstanding The Great Blaze?” Oliver pled.

Emma and Aelin, meanwhile, halted. For they had just heard of something they remained unaware of, yet was powerful enough for Oliver, the most single-mindedly positive person they knew, to consider that it could melt the gigantic building they found themselves within. And, well, ‘The Great Blaze’ was a fairly intuitive name when they found themselves within a sea of bone-dry leaves.

“Hey, uh, Oliver? What, exactly, is ‘The Great Blaze’? Because if it is what it seems to be, then, well, we’d really like to know why you thought we should explore rather than, you know, run away.”

What followed the revelation of The Great Blaze was quite the argument, with wild accusations such as ‘suicidal madman’ or ‘murderous madman’ running rampant. With a single rather biting comment concerning how his ‘forced trip into a death-trap’ had managed to spiral into the only worse destination imaginable, a kiln, from Aelin.

This was, perhaps, valid, considering that it was his responsibility to share such information, if only so that he could calm them by explaining how assured he was in their safety.

It was eventually decided after ample berating, which was admittedly earned, that they would rest for one hour, during which he could research, while they prepared themselves to delve deeper. They had deemed it necessary, given their decision to push through the cell hall in a single attack as opposed to their earlier idea revolving around guerrilla warfare, from above.

Oliver was now meditating with the skull of one of the guard skeletons in his lap, as his hands hovered lightly above the surface of the cranium. Both Emma and Aelin had looked at him weirdly when he began to fiddle with the bones, but honestly, it did not seem to be of great import to him. He cared about not hurting people, and he severely doubted that touching the bones belonging to a ghost of a bygone era would maim anyone, emotionally or otherwise.

At least, his best estimate was that the entirety of the prison they found themselves in happened to be a relic from before… something or other. Oliver was not certain of when, or why, these ruins, and presumably others akin to it, were preserved and reintroduced to the new world, however, he could imagine plausible reasons.

But, before any such theorizing could be done properly, he needed to reaffirm what he had sensed, to ensure that he had proper evidence and did not run off in the excitement of new discovery. As such, Oliver closed his eyes and attempted to gain the focus necessary to sense the mana in the world around him. It had become easier to accomplish, though it still required investments of both time and effort, and before long, he felt the ghostly currents of mana dashing above his skin.

Oliver smiled at the wild, unbridled, free, and fundamentally joyous sensation of the world's mana. He knew it was less than scientific of him the ascribe personality to energy, even if the energy was as poorly understood as mana, yet even so, he could not help but envision mana as a child. If in spirit, rather than age, for it was beautiful, in the same manner that only the wild play of children could be, a state which even amongst them was rarely achieved.

Oliver turned his focus away from the sensation of standing within a playground, where the wind was constantly swirling softly around him as children ran past, to the detection field around his hands. He would have ideally focused further, till only the space of detection outside his palms was felt by him, yet it remained outside his grasp. But even with the limits of his own skill, he could yet still sense the strange peculiarities of the bones.

Mana was rushing, gushing even, from the skull, pausing not even for a moment. He knew that it could not possibly be originating from anything held inside of the skull, as Emma had broken open too many for even a shadow of uncertainty remain on that account. Oliver paused for a mere moment, before arduously moving his finger within the skull itself, slowly to avoid breaking his concentration, and felt the same sensation within.

This was the same as he had felt during his initial peripheral analysis, which, to his expertise as one of the foremost specialists within mana research, suggested that it was mana made corporeal through unknown means. In and of itself; a fascinating subject, however, even more intriguing was the fact that it remained with no indications of disappearance. So far as he remained aware, the possibility of this remaining through pure mana density was distinctly impossible, as any such scenario would be unlikely to occur, seeing as nothing would contain it.

Mana was, after all, controlled through will, belief, and what-have-you, which meant that the mana leakage he observed was to be expected. However, should the reason for it persisting even in the face of said leakage truly be raw mana density, then what, exactly, would prevent such monstrous energy from simply exploding to join with the worldly mana? The skull itself, which Emma could shatter at a measly combined level of eighteen?

No, that seemed distinctly implausible. Rather, something else had to be the cause for its persistence, presumably mana being infused into the construct somehow.

Oliver approached closer to the skull with his hands, expending every miniscule of dexterity and concentration available to dance upon the edge of contact. And, eventually, he felt it. It was…intriguing, to say the least. What he had initially mistaken for mana simply rushing from the construct, was in fact, under close observation, a stream running both ways. Almost akin to an hourglass where sand flowed both ways, neither disturbing the other.

Oliver beamed in gleeful delight as his hypothesis was semi-confirmed, reaching the proud peaks of ideas floating within the limbo between hypothesis and theory, where empirical evidence were the only missing component.

The reasoning was quite simple, really, for if mana was primarily shaped by will and or belief, then what held the skulls corporeal was their firm belief that the skulls were there. As for how these places, crypts of a bygone era, were brought into existence in the first place? Well, he had no proof, of course, however, two options seemed more likely than any other.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Charisma was an attribute which had for long remained illusive in its exact function. Not to say that he knew where to draw the distinction between Wisdom and Intelligence perfectly, but rather that he understood the fundamental function of the stats. They enabled ones mind to function with greater alacrity, if not with greater creativity. Charisma, however, seemed more external from the body than any other statistic, in that it allowed the wielder to better impose and express their thoughts upon the world, be it through speech, or mana, apparently.

Of course, that was not a perfect utterance on the aspects of Charisma either, seeing as Intelligence and or Wisdom certainly also had effects on the control of mana, however, it was passable.

This understanding of Charisma did however enable Oliver to conceptualize two possibilities for the nature of Relic Tombs. The first option was that they were locations with grand importance to the people of the distant past, those who apparently made contact with humanity at some point before the system. Those locations had such importance in the minds of people that their presence had been imposed on the very mana of the world itself, ensuring that once mana was reintroduced to the world, even it believed their presence to only be natural, long after the people who knew of it disappeared.

It would also serve as an explanation as to why the name ‘Relic Crypt’ had appeared within his mind once he entered, seeing as it truly was the crypt of a relic long passed and forgotten.

The other explanation was essentially identical, except of course that in this scenario the Relic Crypts held some unknown importance to the system itself, allowing them to persist with it. It held only slightly less weight, and even then, only due to the system seemingly preferring the approach of throwing a toolbox into the back of one’s head, before swiftly leaving, never to be heard from again except in sarcastic letters with no sender address.

“I have achieved a preliminary understanding of my research subject, and I find myself prepared and eager to continue our adventure, So, onwards! To adventure!” Oliver said, pointing forwards and with one arm, even as he directed his ropes to gather smaller bone shards for further research.

Emma did not deem it necessary to lift her head from where she lay in a circle clear of bones as she answered. “Oliver, it’s been a solid twenty minutes since we started this break. Take a nap.”

It eventually revealed itself to be unnecessary to pause for the entire duration of the break, and soon they stood prepared to venture into the undead depths.

“So, everyone ready for further adventures into The Floating Grave?” Oliver asked, looking down eagerly.

“Oliver, we took a vote. We aren’t naming it that.”

“It’s a placeholder!” Oliver said defensively, warding off her narrow-eyed accusation with his raised hands.

“We both know you’ll weasel your way into it being the permanent name.”

Aelin cut in before Oliver had time to defend his statement, “I think it is a placeholder whether the Madman would like it to be or not, given that everything it floats upon is about to burn.”

Oliver handed the femur he had bound his rope around to Emma, after which she lowered the rope into the pit, and prepared to hold Oliver’s weight as she positioned herself in the corner of the opening, the rope falling between her legs.

“Well, then, in such an eventuality, I suppose we will simply be pressed into renaming it; perhaps The Hanging Grave?” Oliver mildly mused as he climbed between Emma’s legs and slid down across the rope. He was careful not to move too far from the corner he rappelled into, because while Emma could now hold his weight with little to no effort, that did not expunge physics, and he could still pull her with him should he shift too far.

Emma glared at him with narrowed eyes as Aelin also climbed between her legs. “You and I both know that the chains will melt or snap in the fire, and I am willing to let go if it means that no more landmarks down here are named ‘The Fallen Something’. Especially The Fallen Grave.”

“It’s a theme, Emma!” Oliver whined. “We cannot simply abolish an established naming convention due to something as pathetic as your insecurities concerning my fabulous naming sense.”

Aelin, meanwhile, glared at Emma; daring her to let go while he was also descending the rope.

Aelin and he then caught Emma as dropped down to them, even as hordes of skeletons were climbing the railings of the walkway they stood upon and the floor-to-ceiling bars of the cells. The prison cells themselves were rather ratty, although half of that impression could be attributed to the doorless doorframes and the utter lack of furniture beyond awakening bones. The stairs they found themselves on were clearly once meant to reach the second level of prison cells, although now they had been elevated to the premier path through the room. Of course, the bar walls were a close second, with the undead clambering over them to reach the guard walks.

“Does anyone have any clever ideas for a place where we can actually stand and fight? I would suggest standing on the guardrails, but I don’t know if they’re smart enough to go underneath and grab at our feet,” Emma groused.

“And why exactly is it that we aren’t just staying here and breaking their skulls as they climb to our level?” Aelin asked, his eyebrow raised.

“I know we could do that, but it just seems so… boring. They aren’t exactly incredibly dangerous alone, and I figured if we could find a spot, like the rails, to corner them, it would be good practice.”

Aelin’s idea eventually won, and a slow and long game of wack-a-mole was played at the foot of the stairs. Oliver, after concluding that they would be fine, went to adventure himself. Although it primarily consisted of hanging below the stairs in one rope while attempting various methods for knocking skeletons to their death with the other.

Sadly, he had yet to attain his tenth class level, although he was rather sure he stood upon the precipice.

Eventually, they stood at the bottom of the cell chamber, a thick carpet of splintered, shattered and broken bones beneath their feet.

They then jumped to the next pathway, which had both a right and left option, of which they picked the left, where they came upon a bathing room with a seemingly once-functional plumbing system. It even had a metal bucket filled with dirty water, which had managed to stay full and upright even after the circumstances which flipped the entire prison.

They then tracked back, their newly acquired bucket of dirty water carried with them on Aelin’s insistence. They turned right once more when they came to a bend in the path, with ladder rungs now flowing along the ceiling. Which, to Oliver, seemed rather cruel towards the inmates, seeing as it thrust upon them the challenge of climbing sideways along the ladder should they wish to descend, to make room for other inmates. They then came to another crossroads, where they initially went left, which led only to another bathing chamber and a cell block above them they could not reach.

When they turned to the right, however, they reached a cavernous mess hall, at least a hundred metres deep, with piles of iron tables, chairs and other canteen furniture making a very precarious landing zone at the bottom. Of course, there was also one very telling clue among the wreckage of The Great Tilt, namely scattered autumn leaves among them.

A quick search of the openings revealed another opposite them, and one slightly below and where the ceiling would have once been. Presumably, the opposite opening was where one would emerge should they take the ‘left’ or ‘downwards’ path, while they stood at the culmination of the ‘right’ and ‘upwards’ path, which they had chosen at the very beginning of the crypt.

The one in the ceiling, however, had a thin trail of leaves in what little he could see of it, a sight welcome after hours of grey, drab, monotonous walls.

There were sconces in the ceiling where lights of some kind were once held, and Oliver was quite sure he was capable of reaching them with his ropes tied together.

“Okay, so who’s going on Oliver’s back first so we can finally get out of here?” Emma asked, relief in her voice.

“I am actually yet still incapable of swinging on my ropes, at least this far. The blood sadly streams from my head, and I fall unconscious, which would be less-than-ideal in the proposed situation.” Oliver mildly explained with a shrug.

Silence reigned as the others considered Oliver’s words. Oliver leaned over the edge slightly, looking upon their walls for clues.

Aelin eventually broke the silence as he bit out clipped words in a clear attempt to restrain himself. “So… You’re saying that we are stuck here. In a soon-to-be kiln?”

Oliver turned around walking further back the hall as he spoke conversationally, a small smile still present on his lips. “Well, I would not phrase it in exactly that manner, seeing as I am utterly convinced that a solution will… present itself… soon.” Oliver trailed off, staring at the bucket as he considered the people with him and a possible solution hit him.

Of course, the probable escape route hit just as Aelin did, and Aelin hitting him in the back of the head took precedence as the world faded to darkness.