Chapter 34: Simulation Exam (5)
The corridor stretched long and dim before opening into a massive chamber, its high vaults curving overhead like the ribs of some ancient beast, cracked and worn by time. Pillars lined with strange runes stood tall, their carvings glowing faint under the shadows, marching off into the dark like silent guards. The floor was a mess of broken mosaics—shattered tiles scattered like pieces of an old map nobody could read anymore. Stairways twisted down into pitch-black pits, and balconies hung over drops that let out a cold breath, like the ruins were alive and exhaling slow. The air felt thick, heavy with an old pressure that made your skin crawl, like standing in a place that remembered too much and didn't want you there.
Christopher whistled low as he stepped over a pile of rubble, his boots crunching on loose stone. "Damn, this place is huge. So many foreign letters, so many weird symbols carved everywhere. It looks ancient… but at the same time—wrong, you know? Like it doesn't belong here." He shook his head, half in awe, half in disbelief, glancing at Lucian. "If we didn't have you, man, we'd be lost in this maze and probably waving a white flag by now. How do you even find your way in here?"
Lucian's gaze swept the stones, his fingers brushing a cracked carving on the wall out of habit, tracing the sharp edges like they might tell him something. 'Damnit, there are so many routes and passageways,' he thought, eyes narrowing as he studied the faint glow of the runes. 'But that's not what terrifies me. These letters—these symbols—are from Earth. How and why are they here? A glitch in the game's setup? Or something tied to my return from my first transmigration? I need to search this ruin thoroughly.'
Christopher nudged him with an elbow, grinning. "What, you some kind of archaeologist now, dude? Exploring ruins and caves on the side when you're not slicing up monsters?"
Lucian gave a small, dry smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Something like that," he said, voice short and clipped, like he was cutting the conversation before it got too far.
They kept moving deeper, the light from the entrance fading until the air turned thick with mana, heavy like walking through water. The three of them stuck close—Celestia quiet and sharp at the back, her sword ready in her hand, Christopher up front like a tank waiting to roll, Lucian in the middle keeping it steady. The ruins seemed to close in around them, walls leaning closer, like the place was guiding their steps whether they liked it or not.
Finally, they hit a door set deep in the heart of the temple: a massive slab of oak, old as the stones, banded with iron carved in patterns that hummed under your skin when you looked too long. The stone around it pulsed with a presence so thick it felt like standing in front of a wall of night—dark, heavy, pushing back.
Christopher stopped short, letting out a low whistle that echoed in the quiet. "What the—this aura… it feels like one of those top-tier signatures. Are you kidding me? We've got a nine-class level pulse coming from behind that door. That's no Class S—it's way above!"
Celestia's hand tightened on her sword, her silver hair catching the faint blue glow from the walls. "It's… strong," she said, voice steady but with a small shake, like she was feeling it in her bones. "Not just heavy mana—something more. Lucian, do we really have to open that?"
Lucian's jaw set tight. He pressed his palm against the iron-banded wood, feeling a sharp prick through his fingers, like the door was warning him to back off. His heartbeat slowed, deliberate, like he was counting it out. 'Shit,' he thought, the word hard and clear in his mind. 'This isn't a normal barrier. The aura matches peak High Stage—ninth class. If there's a creature inside, it's above Class S threat. I can't let Celestia or Christopher face that without a plan.'
He stepped back a pace, letting the old instincts kick in—lessons carved from blood and cold nights, from masters who taught him to look fear in the eye and name it. 'I have to use the other demonic art. The one I hate most,' he thought, the idea shaking for a second before settling firm. 'Heavenly Demonic Divine Arts. It reeks of both Divinity and Demon. It doesn't suit my saber, it always fights my balance, and when I used it as Seonin in my third life… the mark it left on me nearly ruined me. The professors will see it and yell "demon" before they ask questions. But if the thing inside is truly above Class S, I have no choice. I will protect them. No hesitation.'
Celestia's voice came soft but steady, cutting through his thoughts. "Lucian… do we have to—? Christopher and I are only Sixth Class. You're fifth class right now. I don't want you to—"
Lucian turned to her, his deep black eyes not empty for once but sharp, like a blade that had seen too many winters and come out harder. He reached out before she could pull back and patted her head lightly—an old, clumsy move he used for things that felt breakable, like a promise he didn't know how to say right. "Don't worry, Silvie," he said soft, the nickname slipping out like it was natural. "I have a way to defeat whatever's inside that door. Trust me, alright?"
Celestia's lips shook for a second, like she wanted to argue, to step in front of him and take the hit herself. But she swallowed hard, her gray eyes bright with something fierce, and nodded slow. "Alright," she said, voice reluctant but full of belief, like she was betting on him even if it scared her.
Christopher jabbed a thumb at the huge oak door, grinning but with a nervous edge. "If you're pulling out some secret magic sword art, just don't turn into a demonic statue or anything, yeah? I'd rather not carry you back, man. You're heavy enough as it is."
Lucian's mouth twitched in the smallest half-smile, barely there but real. "I won't become a statue," he said, lifting his chin—not bragging, just sure, like he'd already decided how this would end. 'This is a crossroads,' he thought, the line steady in his mind. 'Use what must be used, then disappear into the night if need be. Protect them first. Answer the rest later.'
They threw together a quick plan—nothing fancy, just enough to keep them alive. Celestia would hold the back, throwing out ranged purges with her light to keep smaller threats off. Christopher would charge in, big and loud, pulling eyes to him like a magnet. Lucian would break the seal, size up whatever was inside, and—if it came to it—unleash the art that burned like suns and shadows, the one he'd sworn to bury unless he had no other way.
As they got ready, the door's iron bands shook once, then twice, like the thing behind it was breathing deep. A low vibration came from the other side—not loud, but heavy, like a drumbeat from the heart of a mountain that didn't care who heard it.
Lucian's fingers tightened on his saber's hilt, the grip familiar but heavier now, like it knew what was coming. 'Heavenly Demonic Divine Arts,' he thought again, the name sitting hot and heavy in his mind, like a coal that wouldn't cool. 'Not for glory. Only necessity. Be the Monarch. Be the Master.'
He pulled in a breath, slow and deep, centering his lower dantian—the anchor he'd rebuilt from nothing to hold the storm he was about to call up. He turned his back to the massive door, facing his team, ready to do what he'd sworn: fight, protect, survive.
"On three," he said quiet, voice low but clear, cutting through the hum of the ruins. "One—two—three."
Their hands hit the wood and iron together, the seal cracking with a sound like a temple falling down. The darkness inside let out a breath, cold and heavy, and the fight was on.