The landscape shifted around Lorien as he marched eastward. The sun hung low in the sky, casting jagged shadows across the rocky terrain.
Arion was heading toward his doom—of that Lorien would ensure. In that direction, fear gripped those who dared to enter the cursed cave. And he would drag the monster sealer into it.
Lorien’s lips curled into a thin smile as the plan solidified in his mind. His team, an elite group of mages and hunters, had been stationed near the cave since the first reports of Arion’s movements. He had predicted his movement. The reason for his visit to the village was to confirm his arrival.
The cave was a site of forbidden rituals, a place where warlocks bound monstrous spirits to their will. Though the warlocks were long dead, their magic lingered, corrupting the land and twisting the minds of those who ventured too close. To the superstitious, it was a haunted place; to Lorien, it was the ideal stage for Arion’s capture.
---
As Lorien’s figure disappeared over the horizon, Eira let out a long sigh. The oppressive weight of his presence lifted, leaving the village quieter. She glanced around, meeting the gazes of the villagers who had gathered nearby. Some offered her thankful nods; others merely avoided her eyes, their fear still palpable.
Turning away, Eira walked toward the edge of the village. She stopped beneath an ancient oak, the shade offering a moment of respite. Her fingers brushed the bark as she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Relief mingled with unease.
She had done what she could, sending Lorien in the wrong direction, but the danger Arion faced now weighed heavily on her. "To think the kingdom is targeting you. Who are you exactly?" she murmured under her breath. "I hope you are strong enough to make it through."
---
Arion adjusted the grip on his staff as he made his way through the dense forest, his boots crunching against the brittle leaves carpeting the ground. The canopy above filtered the late afternoon sunlight into fractured beams, but the light seemed to dim with each step he took toward his destination.
Something about the forest felt wrong. The usual rustling of leaves and chirping of birds had faded into an unnatural stillness. Only the faint rustle of unseen movement reached his ears. A shiver ran down his spine.
He couldn’t explain it, but the air itself felt charged, as if the forest were alive and aware of his presence. A faint pull guided him, an almost magnetic tug that he couldn't resist even if he wanted to. His instincts warned him this wasn’t natural, but he pressed on.
The temperature began to shift abruptly. One moment, a chill breeze brushed his cheek; the next, the air grew dense and warm, suffocating in its intensity. His grip tightened on the staff as he glanced around, his senses sharpening. He knew he was close to his destination.
In the distance, a low, mournful howl echoed. It sent a ripple of unease through him, but Arion forced himself to focus. Whatever waited ahead, he would face it.
When he reached the edge of the cursed cave, the shift was immediate. The air grew heavy, thick with mana so oppressive it felt like walking into a wall. The trees around the cave twisted unnaturally, their gnarled branches pointing like accusing fingers toward the entrance. A foul scent lingered in the air, stinging his nostrils with its sharpness.
Arion stood at the threshold, his chest tightening as the weight of the moment settled on him. The cave yawned open before him. The pull was stronger now, almost irresistible, but every nerve in his body screamed of danger.
He exhaled slowly, his grip steadying as he raised his staff, its faint glow cutting through the shadows. Whatever awaited him inside, he had no choice but to face it.
He closed his eyes and whispered the words of a spell. [Mana Sight] flared to life, and with it came a subtle glow, revealing faint traces of magical traps woven into the air. They were nearly invisible—but Arion wasn’t fooled. Danger lurked here.
Suddenly, the silence shattered.
A burst of light and sound exploded from the treeline. Flames soared toward him, and blasts of ice cracked the air. It was an ambush. From the mist, Lorien’s forces emerged, led by a woman with sharp eyes and a cold smile. Selva.
Her voice rang out. "Now! Don’t let him escape!"
Arion’s pulse quickened. He didn’t hesitate. Raising his staff, he gathered the winds around him. "[Tempest Wave]!"
The wind howled. A wall of force slammed into the oncoming attack, scattering fire and ice alike, disrupting the spells, pushing the mages back.
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But Selva wasn’t fazed. She charged at him. Arion barely had time to react as chains of magic wrapped around him, binding his limbs. He grunted in frustration, trying to break free, but it was too late.
With a fierce shout, Selva raised her staff. "]Core Pulse]."
The ground trembled. Rocks cracked. The earth groaned as it shifted, pushing Arion into the cave’s dark mouth. Before he could regain his footing, the entrance sealed behind him with a deep rumble.
Arion stood there, momentarily still. The air was thick with silence, and then—quietly, almost to himself—he muttered, “This was my destination anyway.”
The cave swallowed his words, and the darkness closed in around him.
Arion’s fingers brushed against the smooth wood of his staff, a quiet murmur escaping his lips. The staff's glow illuminated the cave around him, casting shifting shadows on the ancient, crumbling walls.
His eyes narrowed as he activated [Mana Sight]. The stone walls seemed to pulse with old energy, their surfaces cracked, worn by time. Yet, something beneath the surface still stirred.
The whispers came next—soft, unintelligible murmurs carried by the wind, echoing through the darkness. They swirled around him, as if the cave itself was alive, watching. Listening.
Arion continued forward until he entered a large chamber. The floor was strange—lined with glowing runes. His heart skipped. This was no mere decoration. These runes were a warning. A magical trap.
He knelt, studying the symbols. His fingers brushed over them, tracing their patterns as he attempted to disable the trap. His breath caught as he chanted, focusing his magic. But nothing happened. The runes remained, glowing ever brighter.
A sharp surge of mana shot through the air, and Arion’s senses flared. It was too late.
The air grew colder. Dark shapes began to coalesce in the shadows, their forms flickering, half-formed. Arion stood, ready for the battle that was about to unfold. The vengeful spirits bound by the runes had awakened, and it would not let him leave so easily.
With a soundless screech, they charged at Arion. Each one wielded a spectral weapon, its blade shimmering with an ethereal glow. Their movements were swift, and Arion barely had time to react as they closed in on him.
Instinctively, he activated [Mana Sight]. He observed their movements, analyzing the flow of their mana. They were fast, but predictable. Beneath their swirling energy, he saw weak points—fragile areas of their essence that his magic could exploit.
Arion’s heart beat steadily. He could feel the pulse of his passive ability, [Sealing Aura], humming within him. As the spirits neared, a subtle pressure filled the air, emanating from Arion like a silent wave. He could sense the spirits weakening, their strikes faltering, as if the aura of his class was draining their strength. They hesitated, their spectral weapons slowing in their arcs.
With swift precision, Arion struck. His staff moved like an extension of his own will, each blow landing with a resounding crack. The spirits recoiled at his strikes, but Arion was relentless. He tapped into the power of [Sealing Rune], activating the spell with a gesture, marking one of the spirits. The rune flared with bright light, turning the spirit into a card. One by one, the spirits fell, their forms turning into cards.
But then, a shift. The air grew colder once more. A deeper, darker presence surged from the depths of the cave, and Arion’s senses screamed a warning.
The second wave crashed toward him like a tidal wave of shadows. These spirits were larger, their forms swirling with darker energy, their eyes empty voids that seemed to draw in the very light around them. Each one brandished a weapon that flickered with ethereal light.
Arion barely had time to react as one lunged at him, its weapon slicing through the air. He twisted his body, narrowly dodging the strike, feeling the cold of its presence brush against his skin. The spirit hissed, its energy crackling as it readied another attack. Arion’s heart thudded once, twice, and then he moved.
His staff cut through the air. A quick thrust, a jab—his weapon met the spirit’s ethereal blade with a sharp crack. The strike was absorbed by the weapon’s energy, but Arion could feel the shift. The spirit wavered, its form flickering for a split second. That was all he needed.
He whispered the words, the rune forming in the air. A flare of light shot from the tip of his staff, hitting the spirit dead center. "[Sealing Rune]." The glow of the rune wrapped around the spirit’s form, binding it with invisible chains. Its weapon froze mid-air, and its body turned into a card.
Another spirit swung its blade, a jagged streak of darkness aimed straight for Arion’s chest. He sidestepped, his staff tracing a wide arc, slamming into the spirit’s side. The blow sent a ripple through its form, but it didn’t fall. It snarled and surged forward with renewed aggression.
Arion barely had time to catch his breath. "[Sealing Rune]!" His voice was firm now, more confident. The rune shimmered against the spirit’s side, drawing out its essence and turning it into place.
Three more spirits appeared, their weapons crackling with force. One darted to his left, its movement a blur. Arion swung his staff in a wide circle, channeling the wind around him into a slicing gust. [Tempest Wave]. The spirit was knocked off course, its form faltering for just a moment. That was enough.
"[Sealing Rune]," he muttered. The glowing symbol erupted against the spirit’s chest, and its form shattered, turning into a card.
But the fight wasn’t over. The last two spirits were upon him. He ducked under one slash, spun to the side as another spirit aimed its weapon at his head. Arion twisted his staff, parrying the blow, his feet sliding across the stone floor as he countered.
His [Sealing Aura] became stronger just now. The spirits faltered once more, their attacks slowing, their power weakening. He took the opportunity, striking low, the tip of his staff connecting with one spirit’s core. The rune flared, and with a sharp exhale, the spirit turned into a card.
The last one remained. It was slower now, its form flickering, its weapon trembling in its grasp. Arion knew it wouldn’t last much longer.
A final strike. The staff collided with the spirit’s chest, and as the sealing rune etched itself onto its form, the creature howled in agony before it turned into a card.
The room fell silent.
Arion stood still for a moment, catching his breath. The spirits were gone, sealed away by his magic. He glanced at the empty space before him.
[You have defeated Vengeful Spirit x15. Experience gained: +450]
[You have reached level 19]
His stats surged, the rush of power flooding him. Strength. Clarity. Focus. The level-up was more than just numbers—it was a deep, resonant shift, like a wave of energy washing through him. His mind cleared, his senses heightened. The cave, once thick with the scent of decay and whispers, felt somehow lighter.
The battle was over—for now.