William kept eating slowly as he flipped through the small diary. The stew—thick with meat and potatoes—steamed in front of him, its warm aroma filling the room. It felt oddly comforting... almost cruelly so, considering the setting. Angel hovered silently nearby, her glowing sphere pulsing gently.
"What does it say?" she finally asked, her voice a soft whisper of curiosity.
"It's filled with little notes about her daily life... how she explored the woods and crossed a river to the north. Sounds like this whole place is abandoned," William replied without lifting his eyes from the page. "She mentions seeing buildings about two hundred kilometers away, but never found anyone."
He flipped through more pages. Each one painted a picture of solitude, survival, fading hope—and fear. Then he reached the final entry.
He read aloud, voice low and uneven.
> "If someone finds this diary, please... find a way to escape. The end is near. The nights are no longer safe. Even the moon watches me with hate."
A deep silence fell between them.
"The moon... hates her?" Angel murmured, trying to process it. "That's... unusual."
William closed the diary carefully and pressed it to his chest.
"I don't know why she wrote that, but I can't just shrug it off as imagination."
He stood and started searching the house again. Angel activated her scanner and swept every wall for hidden compartments.
"Nothing here," she reported after a few minutes. "It's all... too clean."
They made their way back to the room where William had seen the armor and sword earlier. They were still there, towering and heavy-looking—almost like they were daring him to try again.
"Look at this," William said, motioning to them. "I can't even lift the sword. It's stuck like a mountain."
"Let me scan it," Angel said, floating closer. "...Incredible. They're made entirely of mithril."
"Mithril? That should be light! Or at least that's what the stories say…"
"Popular myths rarely match up with reality," she replied. "This mithril is over a hundred times denser than steel. Your current sword only has about two percent mithril in alloy. This... is pure."
"So... how strong would someone have to be to use it?"
"To lift it, at least the strength of a level-two knight. About twenty-five points. To swing it... level three. And to use it effectively... you'd need strength like Captain Thenerev's—over a hundred."
William clicked his tongue in frustration.
"Looks like I've got a long way to go."
Just then, Angel interrupted.
"I've detected something odd in the floor. Behind that desk—there's a cavity."
Together, they pushed the desk aside with effort. Beneath it was a hand-shaped imprint carved into the floor.
"Place your hand in it and twist," Angel instructed.
William did as she said. A faint click echoed as a hidden mechanism activated. A trapdoor slid open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
They moved down cautiously. The basement was lit by soft glowing stones—similar to the ones Aurus had used back at the academy. The space was large, lined with shelves and tables full of books... all of them blank.
All except two.
One rested on a desk. The other—much larger—was sealed on a pedestal at the center of the room.
William walked over to the desk first, flipping through the smaller book.
"Damn… This is going to be tough to translate. We don't have a reference."
"You're wrong, sir," Angel said. "It's written in Volgaris... but the letters are reversed, like a mirror."
As Angel began scanning and deciphering, William turned more pages, trying to make sense of what he could.
When she finished, Angel spoke again, her voice lower this time.
"It's a journal. The author is Lerion Asher. The title is Memories of a Nightmare."
Her tone shifted—serious, almost grim.
"This isn't just a diary, William. It's a warning. A last will."
And she began to read.
---
Humanity had carved its place in the world through brutal wars against elves, dwarves, and giants. But everything changed when the moon turned red. The Grand Emperor summoned the mightiest knights and most brilliant mages. Even the other races sent envoys—fear in their hearts. Something was coming.
For five long years, they waited for the disaster. Tensions rose. Old grudges reignited. And then it happened: the sky split open. Unspeakable beasts poured down from above. Not even the greatest warriors could stop them.
In a final desperate move, all the races united for a forbidden ritual—one that demanded an enormous sacrifice to seal the evil away. A giant magical diagram formed in the sky, wrapping around the moon itself. But just as it completed, a massive hand emerged from the moon and smashed it with ease.
The Lion King, lord of the beasts, found a dark elf hiding among them. He tore him apart, demanding answers.
Then came the Worm King—a figure so terrifying, even the Lion King stood silent. The Worm King extended a hand, releasing a black mist. From it came horned worms that sparkled like stars in a midnight sky. They burrowed into the elf's corpse, forcing it to speak.
The elf confessed: a being from another world had promised him power and eternal life in exchange for a sacrifice. He had poisoned his people's sacred river, killing them all as an offering. And he had sabotaged the ritual from within.
The Lion King ripped off his head. But it was already too late.
The monster's arm destroyed the magic circle and crushed the allied forces in seconds.
The final entry read:
> "I, Lerion Asher, knight of kings, fled like a dog. If someone reads this... avenge the fallen. And never forget that even the moon can lie."
---
William closed the book slowly. His face had gone pale.
"This... this wasn't just an invasion. It was a massacre. Planned from the inside."
"And maybe," Angel added in a low voice, "it's starting again."
Silence gripped the room. Outside, the wind whispered gently—like the world itself was holding its breath.
"Angel… we need to be ready. No matter what's coming."
She nodded.
"I will be, William."
And together, they braced themselves for the long night ahead.