Daniel wondered if it was too late to resign. He had never been good with scary things, and this was a classic set-up to a horror plot. Gritting his teeth, he pushed open the doors to the tomb, peering down a staircase dimly lit by blue torches. From the dust that had settled on the stairs, it was clear that no one had stepped in here for years. Yet, the magic light held on.
Halfway down the massive stone steps, he remembered he had an ability just for this situation. The world turned monochrome in front of him, the barriers of the physical world nonexistent as he activated his Reaper’s Eyes. Vaguely, he could see four blue outlines, their positions apparent to him. However, his mana was draining too fast for him to maintain it properly.
Daniel let out a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t going in blind. He let his mana slowly regenerate as he went down the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. Once in a while, he’d use his ability for a second to make sure the spirits weren’t coming to assault him, cursing every time he found their positions shifting.
His stress reached a whole other level as he stepped into the tomb proper, no more stairs in sight. The hallway was a few feet wide, enough to comfortably move around in case of an emergency. Stopping to listen for any noise, he heard the sound of water dripping onto the floor, a rhythmical pattern every few seconds, but nothing more.
The ceilings and the walls were in an even worse condition than upstairs. Thick vines and fuzzy moss turned this place into a makeshift jungle, and the pillars that rose towards the ceiling were on the verge of crumbling. Daniel doubted this place could weather any serious combat.From this point onward, each step Daniel took had to be made with deliberate consideration.
Thirty feet from him, the hallway split into three, his Reaper’s Eyes detecting a spirit in the left hallway. It was steadily moving back and forth as if patrolling on a set route. He silently cursed to himself - it was time for action.
Now that he was deciding on a strategy, he regretted not having tested out Spirit Scythe more when he had the chance. If the alabaster hand could sweep the scythe in a horizontal arc, the spirit would be dead in an instant. Alas, he would have to make do with what he had.
Steeling his nerves, Daniel hatched a simple plan. His eyes turned black as he observed the spirit’s movements, ready to act the moment it turned around and started to walk to the left. He held his breath, moving carefully on his tiptoes, and when he was right next to the split in the road, he peered around the wall.
Greeting him was the back of a wispy blue spirit glowing with an otherworldly light. A tattered cape softly billowed as it floated forwards, the back of its head obscured by a dented helmet. In its spectral hands, it carried a mighty spear that drew in the light from its surroundings. Thank god it hadn’t turned around.
All of his attention focused on the spirit, he timed his exhale with the release of the spell. The mighty spectral plate armour melted like butter beneath the bone blade, a shout of surprise and agony emerging from the spirit. Instead of any words, the noise it made resembled the wail of a banshee.
Ghastly mist spilt out of its body as it whirled around, but there was nothing it could do about the gap running through it. The red slowly faded from its eyes, the anger dissipating along with its life. Moments later, all that was left behind was a floating blue sphere, the mist roiling across the thing. He reached out his arm, drawing it inside of him.
Lesser Spirit Essence harvested.
Daniel greedily gasped a breath of murky air, only now realising he had stopped breathing. He slumped against the wall, calming his raging heart. The fight had gone smoothly. Deep down, he had expected another near-death experience, similar to last time - no one would save him this time.
It wasn’t time to completely relax yet. He had three more spirits to vanquish, and if he was seeing correctly, two of them were in the same room.
It took twenty minutes for his mana to replenish, during which he explored the hallway that the spirit was patrolling. Or rather, the room attached to it that housed six sarcophagi. They were intricately carved, a symbol of two wyverns intertwined spanning the entirety of the lid of every single one.
All except one were perfectly intact. The other was shattered, a heavy blunt force smashing it from above, a piece of the nearby ceiling lying on the ground. A nearby nameplate on the coffin read the following.
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Lysander Steelhold.
1359-1383
Valiantly protected his family from the Devil Rebellion.
May he fight forever in Ashkarn’s legions.
Unfortunately, Lysander wouldn’t be joining one of the legions. He muttered a blessing for the soul, and then a prayer to Morvina to appease her. Seeing that Daniel wasn’t dead, she didn’t mind him stealing his soul.
Though, that begged a question. If Lysander was a religious man, why did his soul stay behind? More importantly, from reading the other name plates here, he had died at least a hundred years ago. Why didn’t his spirit reanimate then?
Searching for answers in the coffin, he pushed the lid aside, peering inside. What greeted him was a pile of preserved bones and a single rusted ring. Daniel spotted a small ruby on it, small motes of fire shimmering on the inside.
And then, he was faced with a dilemma. Robbing graves was bad. Period. It was rude and disrespectful to the person in the afterlife, or at least that’s what Daniel had been taught all of his life. Normally, he wouldn’t even begin to think about doing such a thing. But, what if he knew what happened to the soul in the afterlife? As soon as he willed it, Lysander would pass through the Gate of Reincarnation, and he would be reincarnated as someone else under Death’s domain.
If so, what use did Lysander have for his ring? He struggled with the question even as his mana refilled. In the end, with a heavy heart, Daniel decided he could use the magical ring more than the dead spirit. Slipping it on his fingers, he didn’t notice any changes to his body, nor did he have an appraisal skill to ascertain its use. It would have to wait for later.
A small thought in his head whispered to rob every coffin here. It consumed his thoughts the more he pondered it. He struggled with it until reaching a decision - he would respect the afterlives of those whose souls weren’t reaped by him.
Carefully, he continued through the winding hallways, stopping from time to time to read the nameplates. Everyone here had the surname Steelford, and the latest date he could find was 1529. The causes of death ranged from minor illnesses to kingdom-wide wars and major calamities.
The main hallway continued forward, but to the right, he spotted an opening into a side room. There, his Reaper’s Eyes spotted two spirits standing next to each other, unmoving. If he wasn’t on a quest to exterminate them, he could’ve possibly rushed past them. But, he had to earn his crests somehow.
Biting his lip, he slowly peered around the wall, beholding an enchanting sight. Two spirits were entwined in an embrace, dancing around each other in a dazzling display of devotion. The beauty of their presence stole Daniel’s breath away.
The first spirit was a woman with radiant hair trailing down her white dress, her entire being shimmering with prismatic light. The second cut a tall and noble figure, ceremonial knight’s armour only adding to the spirit’s presence. Both of them had only eyes for each other, and even as Daniel stared for several seconds, they didn’t notice him.
Who was he to interrupt such a beautiful scene? The two spirits were doing nothing to harm others. Doubt plagued his mind, sending clouds of darkness across his thoughts. What if the first spirit he killed was innocent, there to safeguard his remains? If so, this was nothing more than cold-blooded murder. Besides, his underworld housed a Spirit Reception Hall, which meant that spirits could co-exist with him.
His course of action was set. He would walk into the room and peacefully talk it out with the spirits. Perhaps they had some lingering attachments left in the mortal world, and, yes! They would give him a quest, as is usual in a fantasy world. Only then would their spirit peacefully pass away.
It was all extremely logical. If so, why were his hands trembling? Why did his chest feel so heavy every time he breathed in? Every time he thought about stepping in, he would be reminded he could only cast his spell twice. In proper combat, what was the chance that he didn’t miss a single time?
And then, his mind began to sing a different tune. Yes, spirits weren’t natural. They would most likely attack him when he stopped out. Why else would Tavian send him here? Normally, souls would pass peacefully into the afterlife. Most people had lovers, so why weren’t they all spirits? These two likely held a grudge that would see them attacking everyone they saw.
Daniel felt powerless.
His mind tried its best to justify murder, refusing the possibility he was in the wrong. It would be too much for him. A hypocrite through and through, he lacked the confidence to take a simple step, to prove himself right.
He could have taken the step forward. He could have stepped back and left, seeking guidance from Tavian. Instead, he muttered to himself, “I’m sorry.”
Unblinking, he watched as the scythe cleaved through the two of them, their love turning into sheer agony. The lovers’ anguish echoed through the room, taking on a hateful tone as they spotted their killer.
2x Lesser Spirit Essence harvested.
Soul Reaper 2 ---> Soul Reaper 3
Available points: 7
Skill selection available.