Chapter 46: Lord of Grayrock Castle

Inside the wide, dimly lit room, two eyelids parted slowly, revealing a pair of dark brown irises surrounded by whiteness. Niko blinked in confusion as his vision adjusted. For a fleeting moment, he believed he was back on Earth, safe in the comfort of his mundane life. He blinked again, convinced the nightmares, the blood, the horror were just figments of a terrible dream. But as his gaze drifted around the room, reality crashed back with brutal force.

This was not Earth.

The room, while furnished with an almost absurd sense of comfort and luxury, was wrong. The intricate designs of the dark wooden bed frame, carved with symbols he didn’t recognize, gave off an eerie, medieval aura. The bed beneath him, while soft, felt out of place—too regal, too old, like something out of an ancient villain’s castle. The kind of bed someone in a dark fantasy novel might die in, suffocated by a heavy sense of dread. And as his eyes darted across the room, taking in the opulent furniture—glossy brown cabinets with gold trim, thick velvet curtains, and the polished surfaces of everything—it all only deepened the growing unease in his chest.

Niko slowly sat up, surprised by the strength in his limbs. His body felt... intact. The bone-deep exhaustion that had gripped him in the dungeon was gone, replaced by a faint soreness as if he had spent a few days recovering. He ran a hand down his chest, still covered in the grimy, bloodstained robes he had worn during the battle with the wise ratman. The sharp, pungent scent of dried blood hit him, and he grimaced.

He pushed off the bed and walked unsteadily toward the window. Each step across the thick white fur carpet sent a jarring sensation through him—his muscles remembering the trauma even if his mind was temporarily numb. Niko's reflection in the tall, gold-trimmed mirror next to the window revealed the same disheveled mess he had seen last: wild hair, hollow eyes, and skin marred by dirt and blood. Yet there was something new now. A shift in his expression, a coldness that had seeped into his eyes—something far removed from the person he had once been.

Reaching the window, he looked out. The landscape before him sprawled out beneath the distant horizon, vast and unfamiliar. Green stretched as far as his eyes could see, the base of the mountain shrouded in mist. He could see places he had never set foot in before, unknown lands that now lay within his grasp.

A breeze drifted through the open window, lifting his hair slightly. Niko’s mind, however, was elsewhere—lost in the haunting memories of what had transpired. The dungeon. The deaths. The cold realization that this world was not a game. No second chances. No revivals. Only pain, blood, and a slow, inevitable descent into death.

“Candreva... Eitan... Kyle...” The names echoed in his mind, like the fading cries of the fallen. Their blood, the look in their eyes during those final moments—they haunted him. And though Niko had survived, he felt no triumph. The taste of victory was bitter, poisoned by the knowledge that this place, this world, would continue to devour those who didn’t adapt quickly enough.

Shaking his head, Niko called out his status.

[Name: Niko Lazar]

Level: 8

Exp: 08.13%

[Status]

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Strength: 1(+1)

Constitution: 1 (+2)

Agility: 1

Intelligence: 2 (+1)

Mana: 4 (+1)

Mana Power: 8/8

[Unique Title]

One Surrounded by Spirits (Passive)

Lord of Grayrock Castle (Passive)

+1 Strength

When inside your territory, stats increase by a certain percentage, depending on the level.

[Skills]

Celestial Probe I

Spirit King's Order

His eyes widened slightly as he read through the new title that had appeared. "Lord of Grayrock Castle." The words carried a weight that felt almost crushing. Lord... of a castle? Did that mean this sprawling fortress, this isolated bastion, now belonged to him? He had never considered holding territory, let alone ruling anything, and the implications made his heart race.

"How far does my territory extend?" he wondered. The dungeon, the mountains beyond... What else was under his domain?

He glanced at his stats again—intelligence raised, more mana at his disposal. He had leveled up four times from just a single battle with the wise ratman. The rewards were clear, but the risks... Niko couldn’t ignore the cold dread that had settled deep in his bones. This world—its cruelty—had cost him his comrades, and the sudden surge of power didn’t fill him with confidence. Only cold, calculating survival.

Niko turned to the mirror again, this time taking a long, hard look at himself. His reflection stared back, gaunt, eyes hardened by the brutality he had witnessed. He barely recognized the man in the glass. It had been so long since he had truly looked at himself. Not since arriving in this hellscape had he stopped to contemplate how much he had changed.

A knock echoed through the room, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Knock!"

"Knock!"

Niko’s gaze snapped toward the door. He wasn’t startled, just tense. Too much had happened for him to ever truly relax.

“Come in,” he called out, knowing it was Ivanic on the other side.

The door creaked open slowly, but before Ivanic could enter, far away in Niko’s territory, a different scene was unfolding.

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Inside a grand hall, illuminated by flickering torches, a group of men sat around a circular table, their faces grim. Each one wore distinct armor—decorated with symbols of power, authority, and rank. They were the commanders of the Protectors, and their conversation had shifted to a recent disturbance at the third mountain.

“As we conclude our discussion, we must address the completion of the dungeon atop the third mountain,” one of the men—a bald giant with cold, calculating eyes—spoke, his hands planted firmly on the table.

A blonde man across from him stood, his posture calm but his eyes sharp. “As we agreed, we will send a few of our men to test whoever conquered the dungeon. Assess them. If they can be useful, we’ll rope them in. If not... Well, we’ll see how cooperative they are.”

An older man, draped in dark robes that contrasted sharply with the soldiers’ armor, raised his hand, silencing the growing murmurs. “Caution,” he warned, his voice gravelly but authoritative. “This group, whoever they are, took on a dungeon we deemed too risky to conquer. Let’s not make any rash decisions. They are dangerous. Approach carefully.”

The others nodded in agreement, but a thin tension hung in the air.

Whoever had taken control of Grayrock Castle would soon have more to contend with than just the horrors lurking in the dungeons.