Chapter 402: The Lich's Diary (Part 3)
If one were to open Orest's diary, they would understand the source of his confidence—the next chamber was a true death trap for living beings, one that even legends could not easily survive.
"New Calendar Year 1407, December, clear skies."
"It's been two years since I transformed into the great immortal being. I've broken free from the shackles of death, and everything feels so marvelous."
"But... there are still hidden dangers."
"I need better ways to protect my phylactery. So, I purchased thirty-five female elves from the black market, cursed them, and transformed them into banshees—"
"I watched them struggle, wail, their flesh rot, and their minds collapse. Eventually, they died and were reborn as undead creatures. Out of the thirty-five, twenty-seven successfully transformed."
"Ah... they are truly fascinating undead beings. They cannot feel joy, only the torment of existence, yet they still cling to the beauty they once had as living creatures."
"Fortunately, my experiment succeeded. I sealed the remaining twenty-seven banshees inside a bottle, where they will be eternally imprisoned, forever wailing in grief—thus creating the [Bottle of Banshee Wailing]."
"Heh heh, from now on, no one will ever leave here alive."
[Banshee's Wail]
Known as one of the "most terrifying 9th-circle spells," this spell emits a wailing cry that generates an overwhelming amount of negative energy, capable of tearing a person's soul apart.
Orest solidified this 9th-circle spell and placed it in the deepest chamber to guard his precious phylactery.
Orest stared at the image displayed on the crystal skull, his hollow voice murmuring as he locked his gaze on the man about to enter the next chamber: "Feel death, you arrogant mortal."
"Heh heh heh…"
"So, this is the End Chamber, huh?"
"I've only heard its name in my past life, but I didn't expect to see it in person."
Cassius wiped the dust off the stone door, revealing a skeletal holy emblem beneath. He couldn't help but marvel.
In his past life, players had struggled through the torment of the Corridor of Death, believing they had earned victory at last.
But when they opened the stone door, what awaited them was the 9th-circle spell [Banshee's Wail]—and they were wiped out once again.
It wasn't until someone thought of using soulless constructs to destroy the [Bottle of Banshee Wailing] that players were able to enter the chamber.
"What an interesting artifact."
Cassius narrowed his eyes. Through the power of [Cataclysmic Dragon's Eye], his vision penetrated the stone door, revealing the crystal bottle and the twenty-seven imprisoned banshees inside.
It was a legendary-level item. As long as a living creature approached, the banshees inside would emit a [Banshee's Wail] that could shred the souls of enemies.
Cassius pressed his hand lightly against the stone door.
"Yes, yes, just like that…"
"Ignorant fool of a mortal."
"Push open the door to your doom and embrace your end!"
The lich stared at the magical image, anxiously urging the man forward. He wished he could teleport over and open the door himself.
But something unexpected happened—the man bent his fingers slightly, and a glowing claw-shaped force field appeared in the chamber. It reached out and grabbed the crystal bottle containing the banshees.
"No—"
"What is he doing?!"
"Impossible! How did he find it?!"
Orest raged internally, his mind spiraling into chaos.
The next moment, something even more shocking happened— the glowing claw slashed through the air, creating a spatial rift, and the bottle vanished into thin air.
It was stolen!
The trap he had spent decades meticulously designing was stolen!
Orest's withered hand trembled slightly, the ghostly flames in his eye sockets flickering erratically. He knew the situation had taken a severe turn.
He grabbed a bone-crafted staff from the shelf and prepared to cast a teleportation spell to go directly to the End Chamber.
But to his horror, he discovered that the space around the chamber had been sealed.
"Damn it!"
"Why can't I cast my spell?!"
The lich spiraled into madness.
Thick necrotic mist billowed from his skull, and the ghostly flames in his eyes burned fiercely.
But no matter how hard he tried, Orest couldn't enter the chamber. He could only watch helplessly as the man approached his hidden phylactery.
"No, he won't find my phylactery."
"My plan is flawless."
"Besides, I've prepared one final trap. There's no way this human could anticipate it! He will die!"
Orest gritted his teeth and growled.
He wasn't bluffing—he had indeed considered this worst-case scenario and made meticulous preparations.
In the End Chamber was a near-legendary staff meant to serve as bait, tricking adventurers into thinking they had found the "final reward" and prompting them to leave.
The phylactery, meanwhile, was hidden in a concealed chamber. The hidden door could only be opened by removing the paintings from the walls in the correct order.
More importantly, the chamber was guarded by three beholders. Orest had spent a hefty price in souls to summon them, and their 200-year contract was about to expire.
Orest had thought he wouldn't need to use this final safeguard during the two centuries of its duration, but fate had taken an unexpected turn today.
The monstrous aberrations were greedy and filled with hatred, the bane of all spellcasters. Their massive central eyes could project anti-magic fields, and their smaller eye stalks could unleash effects like petrification, sleep, and charm.
Orest was confident that anyone trapped in a confined space with three beholders would meet a gruesome end.
Inside the End Chamber.
In the heavy stone sarcophagus lay the skeletal remains of the Doom Elder, the embodiment of Myrkul's curse.
The walls were adorned with paintings depicting various stages of death and decay among men, women, and children.
Cassius picked up the staff lying on the altar and gave it a casual wave, releasing dark green energy.
"Interesting…"
"A staff capable of casting 8th-circle spells—this must be that 'artifact' from my past life."
It was the near-legendary [Staff of Withering], capable of casting 8th-circle withering magic, draining the life force from enemies and causing their bodies to wither.
"And these paintings…"
Cassius chuckled, snapping his fingers. The paintings fell off the walls in the correct order.
With a rumbling sound, a hidden door appeared in the corner, leading to the most secret chamber.
"So, it's been found, huh?"
"That human must know something—could it be the remnants of those players?"
"No matter. Witnessing the phylactery of an immortal is the last honor he'll have before he dies screaming at the hands of the beholders!"
The lich's body trembled violently, and a tense expression appeared on his withered face. His words were laced with madness, reflecting how much he valued the phylactery.
After all, it was the source of his immortality!
Cassius descended the staircase step by step, entering the hidden chamber.
Finally, under the flickering torchlight, he saw the phylactery—a small jewelry box inscribed with dense, intricate protective runes.
"Finally."
"But... what's that?"
A spherical creature floated ominously, its enormous central eye glaring from above its gaping mouth while its smaller eye stalks writhed and scanned the area.
Three beholders emerged from the shadows, cackling wildly as they projected anti-magic fields from their central eyes in different directions.
"Intruder!"
"Die!"
"We'll devour you!"
The man's body seemed to shimmer under the effects of the anti-magic fields, his form flickering with scattered magical sparks.
The lich watched nervously and whispered, "Yes, yes! Beholders, destroy this sorcerer's protective spells and tear him apart!"
What he didn't know was that those weren't protective spells—they were part of a 4th-circle Complete Polymorph spell.
"Boom!"
A deafening explosion resounded.
Stones shattered, walls collapsed, and thick clouds of dust filled the air. Something massive was expanding rapidly within the debris.
"Crack, crack…"
As the dust settled, the chamber lay in ruins. The hidden room had completely collapsed, and the smug grins on the beholders' faces had vanished, replaced by sheer terror.
In the cramped End Chamber, a massive red dragon loomed, making the space feel impossibly small.
Its towering back cracked the ceiling, creating deep fissures, and even with its wings partially folded, they touched the walls on either side.
The dragon's body occupied most of the chamber.
This wasn't a metaphor—it was reality.
The red dragon lowered its head, baring its fangs in a menacing grin. Its shadow engulfed the trembling beholders.
"I heard... you wanted to eat me?"