The word terrifying didn’t even begin to describe this place.

  The chamber was a murky blend of dark brown and green, every inch seeming to breathe decay. The stench was worse, damp rot mingled with the sour tang of food left to die in some forgotten corner.

  But that wasn’t the worst part.

  The walls, floor, and ceiling looked alive, slick with a trembling, fleshy film. Beneath it, dozens of faces and hands writhed, pushing desperately from beneath. Muffled screams and pitiful wails echoed endlessly through the room.

  I forced myself to focus. Four black statues stood on each side, not the hooded figure with wings, but monsters. Different ones. To anyone else, they might have seemed unrelated.

  Not to me.

  These were the guardians of the Black Crown Room, only seen beyond the fiftieth floor. Each statue held a golden skull, its hollow eyes leaking faint, sickly light.

  “This must be a hidden room in the Descent of Despair,” I whispered. “One I’ve never seen before.”

  Could it be linked to the earlier anomalies—the solo fight, the disabled spells, the Lich King’s appearance?

  It had to be connected.

  But how the hell had it triggered?

  There was no way to tell now. I’d have to test it on the next exploration.

  I stepped carefully toward the Abomination’s statue, avoiding the twitching hands beneath the floor. Each step sank slightly, the surface stretching like rubber.

  At the base, a carving caught my eye, a clawed hand surrounded by red and orange swirls.

  The symbol of Unholy Strength. The Abomination’s passive skill.

  “Is this… some kind of reward chamber?”

  Every instinct honed from years of grinding whispered yes.

  I checked the others: Fire Pillar for Isadora, Dragonhide Armor for the Dragonhawk, Enlightenment for Nortrom. If my guess was right, this was incredible.

  But how did it work? Would it consume Soul Capacity? And what about the stat bonuses?

  Questions flooded my mind, but one loomed above all: Which one should I choose?

  Each one was powerful. Each one unique.

  “Damn it,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “I can’t think straight with all this screaming.”

  It took me a while before I finally stood in front of one of the statues, slowly reaching out. The room seemed to hold its breath. Every twitching hand, every muffled wail, faded into a tense silence.

  Another blinding light filled the chamber, forcing me to shut my eyes. But this time, something surged through me, like adrenaline being pumped straight into my veins. I felt… ecstatic.

  [Enlightenment acquired]

  When I opened my eyes again, I found myself in a smaller room bathed in a soft golden glow.

  Without wasting time, I drew Lunaris and activated Windstride. Air stirred faintly around my feet, filling my limbs with newfound swiftness. My gaze locked on the crescent-shaped pointer, counting seconds.

  One… three… five.

  Windstride was still active.

  I laughed softly. I’d actually obtained it.

  “Increases spell power proportionally based on Wisdom,” I recited the skill’s description from memory, grinning.

  Compared to the others, Enlightenment didn’t grant any immediate edge. It wasn’t like Dragonhide Armor, which made me a walking fortress, or Fire Pillar, which could one-shot a Hobgoblin.

  But this one… had potential. Tremendous potential.

  If I could push it far enough, I might even be able to create my own spell. Something uniquely mine.

  ***

  There was nothing left to do here. I climbed out of the underground cave through the narrow crack, squeezing past the rough stone until sunlight finally kissed my skin again.

  The trail wound through the Gnashfang Warrens, a thin scar carved along the mountainside. The heat was brutal, the air shimmered under the harsh sun. The absence of monsters was a small mercy, allowing me to reach the next ridge just before the world sank into darkness.

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  The sun hung low, a dull ember bleeding through the crimson haze. My hands brushed the ravine walls, slick with iron-red dust, as I climbed higher.

  The ledge narrowed. Below, the chasm yawned like a mouth that had swallowed countless adventurers whole. A faint hum trembled through the air, pressing against my chest in rhythmic waves.

  Whispers rode the wind, foreign, or perhaps not words at all. I swallowed hard. The Bleeding Way had begun.

  Thorns tore at my sleeves and skin, barbs sharp as broken glass. I stumbled, cursing softly, and caught myself on rough stone. The vines twitched, alive with malice, parting just enough to let me pass, or mocking me for trying.

  Each step dragged me deeper into mist, where light dimmed into a dull red gloom.

  Then I saw it: the Red Step, a fractured bridge arching over the chasm like a wound carved through the world.

  I moved cautiously, testing each footfall. The mist below churned like smoke, hiding the abyss. Shapes shifted within it, flitting at the edge of my vision.

  I really hope that’s just the wind, I thought grimly. A fight here would be suicide.

  At last, I reached it. A toppled pillar of black stone etched with faint, glowing runes. The Warden’s Cairn.

  I pulled several peppercorn-sized Mana Stones and placed them at its base. They trembled, then shot toward the pillar as if drawn by gravity. One by one, they dissolved and sank into the surface.

  A vision burst behind my eyes: a mask of obsidian shaped like a calm human face, cracking apart as golden light spilled from within.

  “Step lightly. Speak truth. Be weighed,” whispered a voice both divine and hollow.

  Feeling it directly was… unsettling. Goosebumps crawled up my arms.

  Then the ground shifted, revealing a hidden path.

  I lingered a moment before moving on. The cliffs widened into a hollow where spiral stone steps led downward. The air grew heavy, suffocating. The vines grew wilder, stabbing at me as I passed. My footsteps echoed strangely, sometimes distant, sometimes muted, until all sound vanished.

  Below, a red pulse beat slow and steady, like the mountain’s heart.

  At last, I reached the fissure: the entrance to the Crimson Sepulchre. The glow within was dim but insistent, casting jagged shadows across the stone walls. The Bleeding Way ended here.

  I took a moment to heal before stepping through the fissure. The red glow intensified, spilling from cracks in the walls like molten veins. The air was thick with the scent of iron, ash, and something faintly sweet, like rot wrapped in perfume.

  Every sound I made echoed strangely, as if the stone itself mocked me, or worse, remembered me.

  My hand trailed along the cold wall, feeling faint tremors beneath it, subtle and rhythmic. The whispers grew clearer, seeping from the fissures, warning in voices that didn’t belong to the living.

  I swallowed my fear and stepped into the chamber.

  Twin braziers greeted me, one burning pale as moonlight, the other crimson as blood. The pale flame stood still and silent, while the crimson writhed like a living thing.

  And then I saw him.

  Osiris, the Undying Judge.

  Draped in blackened silk laced with thread of gold, his face hidden behind an obsidian mask.

  “The seal is broken… the veil is torn. The Warden’s Cairn remembers,” he intoned, voice like stone grinding against stone. “Blood marks the path... thorns guard the way. Few have dared it. Fewer reach the end. Tell me, wanderer of wounds, what do you seek at the end of pain?”

  In the game, this was where dialogue options appeared. Choose wrong, and you’d die in three seconds flat.

  I knew every line by heart.

  “I seek what was lost when the world forgot your name,” I said firmly. “I came through the Bleeding Way to beg your judgment. The offering was all I had left.”

  I raised both hands, each holding Mana Stones the size of ping-pong balls, worth a hundred each.

  Osiris stepped forward. “You wake a judge, not a savior. The scales do not weep for courage, nor bleed for truth. Purpose stirs behind your eyes, yet your soul quivers before it. What do you wish in return?”

  “I leave it to the Undying Judge,” I said carefully, “to decide and grant what is deserved.”

  He paused.

  “Nothing of value can I offer you.” He took one stone from my palm, weighing it briefly between his fingers before letting it drop back, unimpressed.

  “Even what is worthless to the Undying Judge,” I said softly, “is precious enough for me.”

  “And yet,” he rumbled, tone sharpening, “you dare bring such a small amount.”

  “Of course it’s not enough,” I said lightly, tucking them away. I lifted my pouch. “That’s why I brought more.”

  “Brave words… and hollow, if spoken without measure,” he rumbled. “Kneel, wanderer. And let your heart declare what your tongue cannot.”

  A massive scale descended from the darkness above, chains groaning as it struck the floor, already tilted ominously.

  “Balance what is given and what is taken,” Osiris said. “Make it equal, or taste the weight of its absence.”

  My pulse spiked. He didn’t explain, but I knew. The punishment for failure was death.

  I knelt and poured the Mana Stones onto the empty pan. Slowly, the metal creaked toward balance.

  When it finally steadied, I met his gaze. “Have I… earned your judgment, Undying Judge?”

  “Just enough,” Osiris said flatly. “But not enough for anything.”

  I knew better than to ask how much would be enough. That question always ended badly.

  So I stayed silent and poured in more Mana Stones of various sizes. The scale tipped again, groaning under the weight.

  “I trust your judgment,” I said, stepping back.

  Osiris stood motionless. Then, the scale began to rise into the darkness above, chains rattling until silence returned. Without a word, he turned toward a door at the far end.

  “The Altar of Tenebris Mortem,” he said, pushing it open.

  “I’m honored,” I replied, bowing slightly before following him inside.

  The chamber beyond was smaller, lit by faint crimson light. At its center stood a massive stone slab carved with twisting reliefs. At its heart was a smooth, circular hollow.

  Osiris turned and left without a word. His footsteps faded into nothing.

  I drew a handful of Mana Stones and placed them into the hollow.

  The slab shuddered. The stones dissolved into light, and thick, inky smoke poured from the carvings. It rose in twisting tendrils, heavy with the scent of burnt metal and dust. I coughed, waving my hand until the smoke began to thin.

  When it cleared, something gleamed faintly within the hollow.

  I reached in and lifted it. A hexagonal relic, cold and heavy, etched with symbols that shifted under the light.

  Hex Mortis.

  I stared at it, a grin spreading across my face. “I actually got it on the first run.”

  The relic had several purposes, one of them to summon the hidden boss of Wraithmoor: La Llorona.

  That would take time. A lot of it. But it felt like a door had opened.

  And I couldn’t wait to see how far I could go.

  MILESTONES

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