He had passed through a long corridor whose end could not even be seen, without being aware of it at all.
Damon’s gaze came to rest on the final painting. It depicted Emperor Crossen lying peacefully with his eyes closed. Judging from his white hair, the long-grown beard, and the wrinkles covering his face, it seemed Emperor Crossen, too, had reached the end of his natural lifespan. Countless people had gathered around his bed in sorrow. As Damon watched, he felt himself grow solemn.
“No matter how great a hero, he cannot defy his allotted span. Does that prove one way in which I am superior to Emperor Crossen? I defied my lifespan and lived five hundred years… I suppose I would be the first since Dongfang Shuo, who was said to have lived three thousand sexagenary cycles.”
Muttering slowly, Damon looked around. At the end of the corridor stood an extremely sturdy-looking door. Without hesitation, he approached it. There would surely be a crystal orb there to open the door. Since he had already experienced this several times, Damon unconsciously brought the needle in his hand to his finger.
Tzzzz.
The crystal orb, imbued with fresh blood, began to emit light. With a heavy grinding sound, the hidden door opened. It was just large enough for a single person to squeeze through. Damon silently stepped inside.
Beyond the door, another long corridor stretched out. He had no idea how much time had passed. Feeling an intense wave of fatigue wash over him, Damon gave a bitter smile.
“In short, this could be called dungeon exploration.”
As he walked down the corridor, he sensed traces of magic here and there. They seemed to be magical traps aimed at those who entered without permission. No—not only here, but in every place he had passed through until now, magical traps had been installed without fail. That was probably why the attendants had been unable to emerge. They had not even left corpses behind… But magic traps of this level could not possibly harm Damon. It would not be an exaggeration to say that the level of magic he had achieved was the highest among existing humans.
Doors were positioned at intervals along the corridor, but after entering one of them, Damon gave up on going into the others. Most of the rooms merely displayed works of art praising Emperor Crossen’s achievements, and none contained what Damon was looking for. Fortunately, the corridor was not very long. The moment he saw the splendidly decorated door at the end of the corridor, Damon grew tense.
“This must be the most important place.”
A dense aura of magic could be sensed. It would not have been an exaggeration to say that the entire door was under a spell. But Damon did not bother trying to dispel the magic. He knew the surest and simplest way to open the door…
Rumble.
This time, unlike before, the entire door opened. Damon strode through the wide-open doorway. Looking around, he was startled.
“What… what is this?”
Countless knights were glaring at him, fully armed. It was a vast host numbering in the hundreds. Damon soon realized that they were lifeless wooden statues. They were merely carved wooden figures of knights dressed in real weapons and armor, which was why he had mistaken them for the real thing for a moment.
“Good heavens… To put armor on wooden statues, the craftsmen must have gone through quite a bit of trouble.”
The faces revealed beneath the helmets were so elaborate that they could hardly be distinguished from living people. Damon swept his gaze over every aspect of the wooden statues with interest. Their number was slightly over five hundred, and perhaps because preservation magic had been cast on them, there was no sign of damage at all.
“It seems these are the original members of the Crossen Knights, the ones who created the legend. Those who fought alongside Emperor Crossen…”
Damon’s gaze came to rest on a wooden statue standing at the center of the formation.
“This must be Emperor Crossen in his prime. For some reason, he looks familiar…”
Damon kept tilting his head as he muttered. It was certainly a face he seemed to have seen somewhere. But no matter how much he searched his memories, nothing came to mind. Although the outline of the face had been carved with precision, it was fundamentally impossible to reproduce it perfectly. What imprinted a person’s impression most clearly was the look in their eyes. In the end, the wooden statue had no such gaze.
Damon clicked his tongue in regret.
“I’ll know if I go in, won’t I?”
Damon silently walked among the wooden statues. As he passed between the figures, so similar to real knights, an inexplicable chill crept over him. It felt as though hundreds of blades might pierce into his body at any moment, and Damon gave a bitter smile.
“If these things moved like Shaolin Temple’s One Hundred and Eight Bronze Men, they would truly be terrifying.”
After passing the group of wooden statues, three large doors appeared before Damon. Without hesitation, he opened the door on the left. But there was nothing inside. There was only a gigantic underground plaza large enough to accommodate thousands of soldiers at once. The weapon racks installed along the walls revealed what sort of place this was.
“It seems this is a training ground where knights were trained. Good. I can store Russelant here.”
Nodding, Damon turned around. Russelant’s restoration was not something that could ever be rushed. Only by slowly and steadily infusing it with dark magic over time could it regain its original power.
The door on the right also led to an underground plaza. After giving it a quick glance and closing the door again, Damon stood before the central door. Judging from how lavishly it was decorated, it seemed to be the final door where Emperor Crossen’s relics were kept. Damon’s heart fluttered with anticipation.
“Will I finally meet Emperor Crossen?”
Though he would not be facing a living person, but merely the items he had left behind, Damon could not easily control his trembling emotions. If there were objects left behind by Emperor Crossen, then through them, there might be a possibility of returning to the Central Plains. Of course, it was not that he missed the Central Plains, nor was there anyone in particular he wanted to see. To him, the Central Plains was a place filled only with dreadful memories he did not even want to think about. Rather, this place felt more familiar to him. The only reason he wished to go to the Central Plains was revenge. If, by chance, any of the Guardian Demon King Army had survived, he also intended to gather them. Though the possibility was almost nonexistent… Once he finished his revenge, Damon planned to return here without the slightest hesitation. Thinking of Sa Junhwan, a cold smile appeared on Damon’s lips.
“Because of the Sevenfold Severing Gold Art, I may not be able to kill him, but that does not mean there is no way at all. I am a master of black magic. I have already thought of countless ways to make him suffer for eons in a state where he lives, yet is not truly alive…”
But before taking revenge on Sa Junhwan, there was something he had to do. Revenge against the dragons. And rescuing Daphne was just as important. Though he still had no confidence that he could accomplish it. An amused expression appeared on Damon’s lips.
“If it were possible to turn Emperor Crossen into a Death Knight… If that could be done, he would be an incredible fighting force.”
But there was not the slightest possibility of realizing that. Death Knights were created from the souls of knights who had died bearing resentment. However deep their resentment might be, it was exceedingly rare for a knight’s soul to remain in this world after death. The reason he had been able to turn the four knights of Icarot into Death Knights was because of the unique nature of the Northwood Plains, which prevented souls from leaving. In that sense, it was almost impossible that the soul of Emperor Crossen, who had lived out his natural lifespan and met death peacefully, still remained in this world. Perhaps, in recognition of the achievements he had accomplished in life, he might even have ascended to the divine realm. Damon clicked his tongue regretfully.
“Even if his soul remained, there’s no reason he would agree to become a Death Knight, is there?”
Damon slowly reached out and touched the crystal orb. As he put strength into his finger, a drop of fresh blood seeped out.
Rumble.
As the door opened, Damon quietly prepared himself to meet Emperor Crossen.
What greeted Damon as he entered the stone chamber were dozens of stone tablets. Tablets a little over two meters high and one meter wide stood in orderly rows. The tablets at the front were densely engraved with writing. After skimming them, Damon realized they were none other than the biography of Emperor Crossen.
“I already saw it in paintings, so there’s no need to read more.”
Withdrawing his gaze, Damon silently walked toward the tablets in the rear row. There, Emperor Crossen’s words to his descendants were written. The words Emperor Crossen had left for his descendants were not very long. Admonitions about the bearing of a sovereign, how to treat the people, and the mindset of a martial artist were recorded in detail on the tablets. To Damon, they felt somewhat trite and old-fashioned. He snorted and turned away.
“Judging by what he left behind, he was definitely a man of the righteous faction.”
The moment Damon turned his head, he stopped. He had seen several crystal coffins arranged behind the stone tablets. Inside each crystal coffin was a single item, and they were exceedingly familiar to Damon. Hastening to stand before one of the crystal coffins, his eyes already gleamed with an indescribable light.
“It’s a personal sword. I never thought I’d be this glad to see a long sword from the Central Plains.”
Inside the crystal coffin lay a single sword. It was a typical Central Plains-style longsword with an ancient-looking tassel attached. Compared to the longswords of this place, it was slightly shorter and thinner, but the sharpness permeating the blade was still keen. The blade, which had no blood groove carved into it, proved that it was an efficient weapon not only for thrusting but also for cutting. Damon’s gaze moved to the sword’s hilt. There, characters from the Central Plains—more welcome to Damon than anything—were engraved.
“Iron Blood Sword.”
Damon tilted his head. He was trying to recall, among the martial experts remaining in his memory, any martial artist who used such a sword. But since five hundred years had passed, it was not easy to remember.
“As if there were only one or two bastards who use swords like this. Longswords are what those righteous faction bastards use the most, after all.”
Damon gave a bitter smile and moved on. In the crystal coffin beside it, a set of Central Plains-style clothing was preserved, and Damon recognized it as the blue long robe he had seen in the painting. That, too, was one of the most common garments in the Central Plains. Wondering if he might find a clue, Damon carefully examined the sleeves of the clothing. He had remembered that martial sects usually indicated status with markings on the sleeves. But it was in vain. The garment inside the crystal coffin was nothing more than an ordinary blue long robe, the sort one might buy in a marketplace.
“This is difficult. Difficult indeed.”
Unable to hide his disappointment, Damon moved on. In the next crystal coffin, a pair of worn-out leather shoes was carefully preserved. Those, too, were completely ordinary. After looking over the crystal coffins, Damon shook his head. There were no items at all that might allow him to discover Emperor Crossen’s identity.
“If I can’t find out, then it can’t be helped. In any case, if I use these things, they may be of great help in returning to the Central Plains.”
Damon quietly passed the crystal coffins. At that moment, his eyes flashed sharply. Behind the crystal coffins stood a single stone tablet, and it was densely engraved with unfamiliar characters. Of course, they were not at all unfamiliar to Damon. They were characters of the Central Plains. Joy appeared in Damon’s eyes.
“The only one in this place who can read this is me. No one but me can read it.”
Damon hurried to the stone tablet and began reading the engraved words feverishly. As time passed, shock spread across his face.
“Fifty years have already passed since I left my homeland and devoted my entire life to Arcadia. Now, I intend to put the final affairs of my life in order. Yet there is something that weighs on my heart, and so I leave these words behind. It is likely because of my regret that my roots must be buried as they are. Perhaps the one who can read these words is, like me, a fellow countryman who came from the Central Plains. One who is not cannot read the characters of the Central Plains. If fate does not allow it, my roots will remain buried like this. To you who have, by chance, come upon these words, I wish to entrust one thing. It is that you remember the forgotten name and homeland of me, Crossen. My name is Linghu Ming. The ninth sect master of the Iron Blood Sect, a swordsmanship sect of the Central Plains—that was my identity.”
Boom.
The moment he read the three characters of the name Linghu Ming, a thunderous roar like a bolt of lightning rang through Damon’s mind. Linghu Ming was not simply someone with whom he had once had ties; he was a man bound to him by a tangled, immeasurable ill fate. To put it simply, he was a mortal enemy with whom Damon could not live under the same sky. A look of emptiness passed over Damon’s face.
“Linghu Ming… That damned bastard was Emperor Crossen…”
Perhaps because it was so absurd, he could not even speak properly.