The cave swallowed them whole.
The moment Chen Yuan crossed the threshold, the howling wind of the canyon vanished, cut off as if the world itself had closed a door behind them. What replaced it was silence—thick, unnatural, oppressive in its serenity.
Too calm.
The cave walls curved inward like the ribs of a colossal beast. Strange runes were etched into the stone, uneven and archaic, their lines neither purely human nor entirely foreign. Some glowed faintly, pulsing with a dull red light, while others had long since faded, cracked by time and corrosion.
Skeletons littered the ground.
Not scattered chaotically, but arranged—some slumped against the walls, others kneeling, a few reaching forward with empty hands frozen in final desperation. Their bones were stained dark, as if blood had seeped into them and refused to leave.
Lu Fu stopped almost immediately.
His scholarly restraint shattered.
"Incredible…" he whispered, kneeling beside one of the skeletons. He brushed dust from the bones with reverence, eyes shining. "These formations… they match the funerary symbols of Heavenfall's late imperial era. But the positioning—this is not burial. This is submission."
Chen Yuan did not share his fascination.
His gaze was fixed deeper inside the cave.
The aura was undeniable now—dense, heavy, pressing against his senses like deep water against bare skin. It was the sword's presence. He could feel it clearly, painfully so, as if it were just beyond the next bend.
Close.
Yet unreachable.
Each step forward twisted his perception. The path ahead seemed to subtly rearrange itself, the shadows shifting just enough to disorient. More than once, Chen Yuan had the uncanny sensation that if Lu Fu were not walking beside him—speaking softly, grounding reality with measured footsteps—he would lose himself entirely.
Not physically.
But directionally.
"This cave was designed to confuse," Lu Fu said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. "Not walls or traps, but intent. Those without a tether would wander until they broke—or died."
Chen Yuan exhaled slowly.
The system offered no assistance.
That alone unsettled him.
They moved deeper.
The aura intensified.
And then Chen Yuan felt it.
A second presence.
It was not sharp like killing intent, nor vast like the sword's oppressive authority. It was… old. Heavy. Saturated with blood to such an extent that violence was no longer an action—but a state of being.
Something stirred in the depths.
Chen Yuan's muscles tensed instinctively. His heartbeat slowed, not from calm, but from focus.
This is not the sword, he realized.
Whatever lay ahead was not merely guarding The Conquest.
It was bound to it.
A protector—or perhaps a remnant of something that had drowned in war and refused to die.
Lu Fu felt it too. His voice faltered mid-sentence, his scholarly excitement dimming as unease crept into his expression.
"Chen Yuan…" he said carefully. "Heavenfall records speak of many things. Rituals. Curses. Guardians forged through slaughter."
Chen Yuan's eyes narrowed, fixed on the darkness ahead.
"Then we are not alone," he replied.
The silence of the cave deepened.
And somewhere within the darkness, something ancient listened.