Chapter 69: Whispers of the Webbed Tomb

The air grew colder with every step Niko and Fumito took as they walked through the ancient prison corridors deep beneath the mountain. A sense of unease clung to the air like a suffocating fog, pressing against their skin with invisible fingers. The faint flickering of a torch they grabbed on their way down cast eerie shadows on the damp, stone walls, making it seem as though the dark itself were alive.

Niko waved his hand, silently commanding his Bee Spirit to move ahead. Its metallic wings buzzed faintly as it darted forward, casting quick-moving shadows that twisted grotesquely along the worn walls. Fumito kept his rust-covered greatsword resting over his shoulder, his grip steady but tense.

“This place…” Fumito muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, “It feels wrong. Like we’re trespassing where no one should ever be.”

Niko nodded but didn’t respond. His eyes were focused, scanning the cells on either side of the corridor. The first few were filled with nothing but ancient dust and piles of shattered bones—human-like but twisted, malformed. They seemed almost wrong, as though whatever these creatures had once been was never meant to exist.

They pressed on, their footsteps echoing against the cracked stone floor. As they ventured deeper, the air grew colder still, biting into their skin with icy claws. The stones became darker, wet with something they couldn’t identify, and a strange scent filled the air—a sickly sweet mixture of rot and decay.

Fumito ran a hand over the hilt of his sword, muttering, “We shouldn’t be down here... This place has been forgotten for a reason.”

The cells they passed were far worse than the first few. They were littered with the remains of things that defied reason—three-headed skeletons twisted into agonized positions, claw marks etched deep into the walls as though whatever had been trapped here had tried desperately to escape. Some scratches were nearly as deep as the width of a human hand, old yet still sharp to the touch.

Suddenly, the faint buzzing of the Bee Spirit stopped. Niko’s eyes narrowed. He raised a hand to silence Fumito, who immediately went still, listening intently.

Then, from the darkness— “Skkrrt! Skkrrt!”

Two shapes burst from the shadows, moving with deadly precision. Their skeletal frames shimmered faintly in the dim light, their eyes glowing crimson. Ratmen.

Their sudden ambush was near-perfect, a lethal attack honed by instinct and endless hunger. But Niko was ready this time—he wasn’t the desperate, inexperienced survivor struggling to scale this cursed mountain anymore.

“Now!” he hissed.

CLANG!

The first Assassin Ratman lunged with a jagged blade, only to be met by a clash of steel as Fumito’s Rusted Sword struck it mid-leap. Sparks flew as the ratman’s weapon shattered on impact, leaving it exposed just long enough for Fumito to deliver a vicious horizontal slash. The blade tore through flesh and bone, spraying black ichor across the cold stone floor.

The second ratman tried to circle around, its wicked dagger raised for a killing blow—only to be stopped by the sudden, bone-chilling appearance of The Ratman of Rust, who materialized from the shadows with cold precision. His rusted blade cut in a brutal arc, severing the attacker’s arm in one swing. Before the ratman could even scream, its head rolled free with a sickening thud.

The air stilled, the echo of the short but fierce battle fading into the oppressive silence. Niko stood unfazed, but internally, he cursed his carelessness. He’d grown too reliant on the Bee Spirit’s scouting, assuming it would be enough. Ratmen were notoriously stealthy, able to blend into the dark like living shadows. He couldn't afford to make such mistakes again.

Fumito kicked one of the fallen ratmen corpses aside, scowling as he wiped the black ichor from his sword. “No loot... not even a shard. Damn it.”

Niko waved it off. He wasn’t here for trinkets—there was something far more valuable buried in these ancient depths.

“Let’s move.” His voice was low, commanding.

They pressed forward, deeper into the seemingly endless prison corridor. The cold grew more intense, almost unnatural, and the distant sound of something dripping echoed faintly through the dark. Water? Blood? They couldn’t tell.

Then they saw it— a stairwell leading even further down.

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Its presence seemed almost malicious, as though inviting them deeper into the heart of the mountain’s secrets. Jagged stone steps descended into the abyss, disappearing into the shadows below like the maw of some ancient beast.

Fumito hesitated, his fingers tightening around his sword. "You sure about this?"

Niko’s eyes gleamed in the dim light, a calculating expression on his face. He felt it... Something important was down there. Something powerful... or something cursed.

“Let’s see what else this mountain is hiding.”

Without another word, they descended, leaving the haunted prison hall behind, and stepping into the deeper darkness below.

After their descent, a more reinforced prison was exposed to them, eerie and dark. The reinforced section of the prison at the mountain’s base felt like stepping into another world—a forbidden place where light and hope dared not linger. Massive steel doors lined the corridor, their surfaces scarred with ancient claw marks and strange, twisted symbols. Each door had only a single slit, barely large enough for a hand to pass through, designed not for prisoners to see out but to keep whatever was inside away from humanity.

The further Niko and Fumito ventured, the more oppressive the air became. A faint, pulsing sensation lingered in the cold atmosphere, as though the walls themselves were breathing—watching them in silent malice.

“This place…” Fumito whispered, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his rusted sword. “It’s not like the rest of the prison. What... what were they keeping down here?”

Niko’s gaze lingered on the sealed doors. His sharp mind raced through possibilities, recalling the fragmented histories he had read from the castle's ancient tomes. This place reeked of something old—something that was never meant to be remembered, let alone disturbed.

“They reinforced these cells for a reason…” Niko muttered, voice low and steady. “Whatever they locked away… they feared it.”

Fumito glanced at the cold iron walls. He could almost feel the lingering presence of horrors long past, trapped in those lightless cells—things too dangerous or twisted to be left free.

Suddenly, Niko froze.

Ahead, his Bee Spirit came to an abrupt halt, its metallic wings twitching erratically. A deep wrongness radiated from the hall ahead, like a silent predator watching from the shadows. The hair on Niko’s arms stood on end.

Fumito immediately drew his sword, his expression sharpening. "What is it?"

“Something... off.” Niko narrowed his eyes, carefully advancing toward where the Bee Spirit hovered. He waved a hand, commanding it to move closer while he prepared his staff, ready for anything.

As they approached the next cell, Niko’s breath hitched.

Caught in a twisted web of sticky, white silk, a small rat spirit from the Rat Shaman's swarm twitched mindlessly, as if unaware of its entrapment. Its glowing red eyes stared blankly, jerking like a wind-up toy stuck on repeat.

Fumito recoiled. “What the hell…?”

Niko slowly knelt, examining the ghostly strands clinging tightly around the spirit rat's form. He reached out with his staff, carefully touching the edge of the web. His Celestial Probe sparked faintly—but returned nothing. Whatever this was, even his skill couldn't identify it.

“This… isn't normal,” Niko hissed, stepping back, his mind racing.

Their attention snapped forward as they noticed something even more disturbing.

One of the reinforced cell doors further ahead had been broken open—its heavy steel twisted and shattered outward, not inward, as though something inside had fought its way free. Inside the darkened cell, white webs stretched everywhere, hanging like vile curtains. Thick strands of the silk-like substance stretched across the cell’s walls and spilled into the corridor, forming a grotesque network leading deeper into the prison.

But the worst part...

Strange, oval-shaped objects littered the room and spilled into the corridor—eggs, veined and faintly pulsing with unnatural life.

Fumito swore under his breath. “We’ve got to destroy those things... now.”

Niko nodded, his jaw tightening. He couldn't allow this under his territory—not when he still didn't know what they were dealing with.

“These... cannot be allowed to hatch.”

Fumito didn’t wait for further instruction. He raised his rusted greatsword high and brought it crashing down onto the nearest egg, splitting it in two with a sickening squelch.

“Splat!”

Foul-smelling green ichor oozed out, staining the stone floor with a toxic stench.

Ding!

A soft chime echoed in their minds. Experience points gained.

Niko’s eyes widened. “We’re... getting EXP?”

Fumito wiped his sword on his sleeve, disgusted. "Whatever these things are... killing them counts as combat.”

Without hesitation, they moved to the next egg. Crunch. Another burst of vile fluid sprayed across the floor.

One after another, they destroyed the grotesque eggs, green fluid pooling beneath their feet like some grotesque ritual.

When only one egg remained, Niko narrowed his eyes. He raised his staff, preparing to deliver the final blow.

“Splat!”

The egg burst, spilling its insides like the others. But before they could even breathe a sigh of relief...

“REEEEAAARRRGGHHH!”

A horrifying, inhuman screech erupted from deep within the prison— farther down the hall. The sound was a twisted, piercing wail, echoing through the hollow, stone corridors like a chorus of tortured souls. It reverberated through their bones, sending a cold shockwave of primal terror down their spines.

Fumito clenched his sword with both hands, breathing heavily. "What... what the hell was that?"

Niko’s face darkened, his eyes locking onto the broken cell. His grip on his staff tightened until his knuckles turned white. Whatever they’d done...

They’d awakened something.