Chapter 401: The Lich's Diary (Part 2)
"Boom—"
A thunderous explosion tore through the air.
Scorching flames poured from the man's palm, turning the once-dark tomb into a sea of raging fire. The flames illuminated every corner of the tomb with their brilliant glow.
The firelight cast the man's face into sharp clarity. Even through the flames, the lich could see the playful smirk on his handsome face.
The air twisted, and sparks flew.
Tongues of fire danced wildly.
"Aah—"
"No, no—"
"Human! How dare you—"
The tomb was filled with chaotic noise.
Undead creatures that were terrifying to any ordinary person howled, shrieked, and roared as they scrambled to escape the inferno.
But no matter how much they struggled, the fire's merciless tongues continued to consume them.
The firestorm raged on for three minutes.
Hundreds of undead were reduced to ash. Flames still flickered across the tomb floor, continuing to spread.
"Snap!"
The man snapped his fingers, and the fire extinguished instantly.
In just a few minutes, the once "lively" tomb was left desolate.
Only charred marks remained on the walls and coffins, a thin layer of ash covered the floor, and wisps of smoke from the dissipated undead lingered in the air.
"There were so many undead here."
"I wonder how much 'material' they used over the years."
The man sighed softly, raising his hand as a gust of wind swept the ash aside, revealing a clear path before him.
He continued walking deeper into the tomb.
Behind him, the tongues of fire slithered like living creatures, finally slipping into the cracks of the tomb walls, destroying a hidden, pale skull—an insidious artifact capable of turning human remains into undead creatures.
The tomb, which had claimed countless lives over centuries, had finally met its end.
In Soulweeper Castle, the ghostly flames in the lich's eye sockets flickered.
"A sorcerer…"
The bone pen beside him continued to scribble furiously.
"This level of fire control suggests he might be a legendary sorcerer. How peculiar—how could such a figure appear in a magical wasteland like Anzeta?"
"Things are getting worse. Perhaps I really should go into slumber for a few centuries—after I deal with this intruder."
The ghostly flames in Orest's eye sockets flared, and decayed mist wafted from him.
Stroking the top of the crystal skull with his withered hand, he said coldly, "Even if he is a legendary sorcerer, so what?"
"He's still just a mortal."
"Mortals can never escape death or their final resting place—that's their inherent inferiority, forever unable to compare to an immortal like me."
"You'll be my final prey before I go into slumber."
The lich fixed his hollow gaze on the man in the projection as he spoke.
Orest's confidence was not baseless. He had anticipated the possibility of a spellcaster intruding and had spent a century preparing the tomb accordingly.
Even against a legendary spellcaster, the lich was confident he could inflict significant damage.
The heavy stone doors creaked open.
Before him lay a dark, seemingly endless corridor, like the gaping maw of a beast. Gusts of wind occasionally howled through it.
"The Corridor of Death."
Cassius gazed down the corridor, a hint of nostalgia in his expression.
In his past life, this place was known as the "Corridor of Death," the most detested section of the dungeon. Countless traps and necromantic arrays were intricately arranged within, each one triggering the next in a deadly chain.
Even Singo's team of professional players had suffered numerous full-party wipes before they finally cleared the corridor and reached the next chamber.
"Ah, the memories."
Cassius didn't hesitate—he strode confidently into the corridor.
Meanwhile, back in Soulweeper Castle, the lich watched intently, eagerly awaiting the moment the human intruder would be torn apart.
"Clank!"
"Boom!"
"Bang! Bang!"
"Swish!"
A cacophony of sounds echoed as countless traps and mechanisms were triggered in quick succession.
Arrows coated in bone-melting poison whizzed through the air; steel spikes shot out from the walls to pierce flesh; clouds of noxious gas capable of causing total body decay filled the corridor; pools of corrosive acid capable of reducing humans to skeletons appeared on the ground.
But that was only the beginning.
The true threat lay in the spells.
Death arrays, fear sigils, and soul-draining glyphs were etched into the ceiling and walls, ready to sap the life force of anyone who passed through.
Cassius strolled forward as if taking a leisurely walk, completely unaffected.
Arrows, spikes, and poison gas were all blocked by an invisible barrier before they could touch him.
The walls' [Death Arrays] activated, unleashing a dense mist of death as trapped spirits wailed, seeking to drain the life of the intruder.
But with a casual wave of his hand, Cassius erased the arrays.
From the ceiling, the [Revive Dead] spell activated, reanimating hundreds of skeletons and zombies from scattered bones and corpses within the corridor.
They growled and charged at Cassius, only to be incinerated by flames once more.
"So noisy."
"Why does this lich love stuffing so many mobs here? He should've designed Dark Souls XII in my past life."
"Boom!"
Cassius stomped his foot, and all the traps, mechanisms, and arrays around him instantly dimmed and shattered.
Silence descended upon the corridor as all noise ceased.
The "most detested checkpoint in history," which had stumped players for centuries, was finally destroyed.
This corridor, meant to torment players for days and leave even top-tier professionals battered and broken, was easily cleared by Cassius, who barely broke a sweat.
Cassius continued striding forward.
The corridor, constructed within underground caverns, stretched for several kilometers.
Statues depicting various stages of death and decay—men, women, and children—lined the walls of the inner hall, while dozens of burial chambers on either side continuously spawned undead creatures. But they were not his concern.
His destination lay deep within the ancient tomb: the resting place of Myrkul's Doom Elder—the End Chamber.
"How… how is this possible?"
"Why is he progressing so effortlessly?"
In Soulweeper Castle, the lich's once-calm voice now betrayed anxiety, even panic.
Liches cared little for the affairs of the living—unless their own survival was at stake.
Orest's panic was understandable. After all, once the Corridor of Death was breached, the mysterious, dangerous man was only steps away from his phylactery.
The phylactery—Orest's most prized possession and the key to his immortality.
"No, this can't be happening."
"He won't find my phylactery."
"I've prepared numerous traps in the next chamber. Even if he's a legendary sorcerer, he won't leave unscathed."
"Even if he survives the spells, he won't locate my phylactery. Besides… I've devised the perfect final safeguard to hide it."
"These short-lived mortals, fragile as ants, could never surpass the preparations I've spent centuries perfecting."