Aamon and his team finally stepped into the castle's lowest chamber—a vast, dust-laden basement hidden beneath layers of wards and illusions. The stale air was thick with age and silence, disturbed only by their soft footsteps echoing across the stone floor.
Then, Aamon saw it.
A white portal shimmered in the center of the chamber, hovering just above a rune-inscribed pedestal. Its glow was serene yet commanding, pulsing softly like the heartbeat of something ancient.
His eyes widened. A white portal. That could only mean one thing.
"Inheritance," he muttered under his breath.
Such portals were exceedingly rare—gateways to hidden realms left behind by powerful beings or ancient civilizations. If one could pass the trials within, they would gain everything the realm held: techniques, artifacts, forgotten knowledge, or even legacies.
Alexia approached beside him, narrowing her eyes. "Are you sure it's stable?"
Aamon nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the swirling portal. "It's not fluctuating. This is the real deal."
Yue, ever quiet, gently touched the glyphs on the pedestal. "There are no bindings. It's unclaimed."
Aamon took a deep breath, steadying the storm of thoughts in his mind. The risk was undeniable—but so was the opportunity.
"Let's go," he said, voice resolute.
With silent agreement, the three of them stepped into the white light.
The sensation was like diving into warm water and emerging into a new world.
When Aamon opened his eyes, he was left breathless.
They stood on a grassy ridge overlooking an otherworldly valley. Rivers of crystalline water flowed like silver ribbons through vibrant meadows. Towering mountains pierced the sky in the distance, their snowcaps glowing under the radiant sunlight. Birds with iridescent feathers soared overhead. Herds of strange but peaceful beasts grazed on golden grass. The very air buzzed with serene vitality.
Nature was alive here—in its purest, most untouched form.
Aamon's eyes scanned the realm in awe. "This place… it's beautiful."
Alexia stepped forward, her usually sharp demeanor softened. "This doesn't feel like a battlefield or a trial… It feels sacred."
Yue knelt beside a strange flower that seemed to hum softly. "The mana here is unusually dense. But it's not oppressive. It's… harmonious."
Aamon frowned slightly. "Then why was such a realm hidden beneath a desolate, haunted castle? Why was it guarded by corrupted spirits?"
Yue ran her fingers over the petals of the flower, then closed her eyes. After a few moments of quiet observation, she spoke.
"This realm is inhabited by sprites."
"Sprites?" Aamon echoed.
She nodded. "Lesser spirits. Or rather… devolved ones. They exist in harmony with nature. Most are harmless, even helpful. But something here disturbed them."
She rose, brushing dust from her hands. "Some of them changed. I can feel it in the residual aura. They were frightened, driven mad… and they turned on their own kind."
"Cannibalism?" Alexia asked, brow furrowed.
Yue nodded grimly. "The corrupted spirits we fought… they weren't invaders. They were once sprites. But something triggered their descent."
"They consumed their kin," Aamon said quietly. "And that corrupted them."
Yue gestured to the skies. "This realm was likely once sealed to protect its purity. But the barrier weakened over time. The madness spread."
Aamon's jaw tightened. "Then we were never the threat. We were the chance."
Alexia's eyes glinted. "And if this is an inheritance realm, there's a purpose behind its trial. Maybe fixing what went wrong is part of it."
Aamon stepped forward, surveying the land before them. Somewhere within this sacred place lay the heart of the trial—perhaps even the source of the corruption. If they could uncover it, they might gain not only the realm's treasures… but a chance to restore it.
He clenched his fists, determination settling into his bones.
"Let's move. We're not just here to pass a test—we're here to finish what others failed to do."
And with that, the three stepped deeper into the radiant wilderness, unaware of the trials waiting ahead.
Soon, they reached the heart of the secret realm.
Aamon's steps slowed as the landscape opened up into a serene, circular clearing nestled between luminous trees and soft, whispering winds. At the very center stood a glowing stone stele, ancient and silent—its surface etched with timeworn runes that pulsed faintly with power.
Before approaching it, Aamon brought up his system interface, checking the Evolution Points (E.P) he had accumulated from the earlier battle.
His breath caught in his throat.
12,000 E.P.
His eyes widened.
"Wait… that means…" he muttered, doing the math quickly. "Each corrupted spirit gave 1,000 E.P?"
A ripple of disbelief passed over his face. The corrupted spirits weren't just dangerous—they were immensely valuable. No wonder their presence was so disruptive. Not only were they a threat to the realm itself, but they were also a goldmine of growth for those capable of surviving them.
With this many points, he could fund the next evolution of both Alexia and Yue without hesitation. Their progress wouldn't be stalled by lack of resources anymore.
And the remaining 2,000 points… his gaze sharpened.
He could finally invest in the Awakening Skill—advance it, deepen its potential, and explore what it could truly become. It wasn't a combat ability, but its value lay in long-term growth, understanding, and synergy with the other legacies. For once, he could strengthen himself without having to gamble every step.
Resolving to focus on that after the trial, Aamon turned toward the stele.
He reached out and placed his hand gently on the weathered surface.
The moment his skin made contact, the runes lit up. Blinding light surged upward, spiraling into the air like a beacon.
Then, silence.
A figure formed before him—hazy at first, then rapidly taking shape.
A woman.
She seemed to emerge from the light itself, her form clothed in a gown of rippling silver threads, hair cascading like a river of moonlight. Her features were delicate and ethereal, eyes ancient and serene, yet holding a sorrow that ran deep.
Even Alexia, who was rarely fazed, took a quiet step back.
Aamon instinctively tensed. This was no ordinary remnant.
The woman's voice echoed like a song woven with wind and time. "I am Lysara, Keeper of this Realm."
Her presence radiated pressure—immense, refined, and absolute. Aamon's instincts screamed that she was a being at the very apex of power.
Ninth Order. At minimum.
But before he could speak, she continued, her voice soft but heavy with meaning.
"My strength was once at the peak of the Ninth Order. But I was only a servant. My master… was beyond."
Aamon's mind reeled.
Beyond the Ninth Order?
That wasn't just rare—that was bordering on myth. Even the greatest empires of Genesis realm had only a handful of known Ninth Order beings, and they were treated like living gods. To suggest there was something above that…