The "Cave of the End" was a misnomer. For the six Half-Draconian warriors pursuing Arthur, it was a slaughterhouse with a roof. For Arthur, it was a cold, jagged throat that seemed determined to swallow him whole.
As he sprinted through the narrowing tunnels, his breath came in ragged, frosty plumes. Every muscle in his legs screamed as he leaped over frozen stalagmites and skidded across slick patches of permafrost.
He was desperate to find a bottleneck—a narrow pass where his superior control could offset the Draconians' overwhelming stats. But the cave didn't narrow; it exhaled.
Arthur burst into a wide, subterranean chamber. He skidded to a halt, his boots sparking against the ancient stone floor. He scanned the darkness, hoping for a high-level monster—a Gryphon or a Frost Giant—to act as a chaotic third party. Instead, he found a tomb of silent history.
The chamber was a masterpiece of ancient human craftsmanship, a jarring contrast to the raw, chaotic ice of the mountains. Adorned across the high stone walls were numerous Coats of Arms. They depicted a circular motif centered around a resplendent red flower—the heraldry of the Saharan royalty, but far older and more intricate than any design currently used in the Empire.
In the center of the chamber, a massive circular motif was etched into the bedrock, surrounded by intricate periphery symbols that resonated with a low, humming frequency. It wasn't the jagged, chaotic runes of the Draconian race. It was human geometry—calculated, precise, and ancient.
'A summoning circle?' Arthur's mind raced. 'It's not Draconian. It's human. But from an era before the players... before even the current Empire.'
Behind him, the heavy, rhythmic thud of scaled feet echoed. The laughter of the Half-Draconians bounced off the walls, filled with the cruel mockery of predators who had cornered their prey.
"Whatever it is, it's my only shot," Arthur muttered. He reached into his inventory and pulled out a handful of Deluxe Magic Stones. He felt a physical pang of grief; these were worth 1,000 gold each. He had bought them to craft wands for the twins, Alfia and Meteria. Now, he was about to throw them into a hole in the ground on a whim.
He slammed the stones into the grooves of the circle. They shimmered, their crystalline light bleeding into the ancient etchings. The magical energy drained rapidly, the stones turning into dull, grey pebbles in seconds.
Nothing happened.
"Fuck!" Arthur growled, his brow furrowing. "Think, man! There has to be a trigger! There's always a trigger!"
The Half-Draconians entered the chamber, their silhouettes framed by the tunnel entrance. The leader, Jad, stepped forward, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled a puff of sulfurous smoke. His eyes, slit-pupilled and yellow, locked onto Arthur with predatory glee.
"You call this a refuge, human?" Jad asked, his voice dripping with malice. "This is the 'Cave of the End.' Many fools have come here seeking secrets. They only found a grave. Even the monsters of these mountains fear to step foot in this place. But we? We are the blood of dragons. We fear nothing."
"There is no monster to save you here," another warrior, Gut, remarked, his heavy axe scraping against the floor. "Only a dead end and a human who has run out of breath."
Arthur took a deep breath. His plan had failed. His 1,000 gold was gone. He stood alone in a dead-end chamber against six Level 300+ elites. To any other player, this was the end of the line.
'If I die, I die,' Arthur thought, his sapphire no eyes darkening. 'But I won't die like a coward.'
His gaze flickered to the wall once more, focusing on the red flower. Then, it hit him.
He reached into his inventory and pulled out the Emperor's Sword, the relic he had claimed from the fallen Death Knight Lancelot (Ref: Chapter 26). As he held it aloft, the red aura of the blade pulsed in perfect synchronization with the carvings on the wall.
The sword wasn't just a weapon; it was a key.
Arthur saw the formation patterns on the floor and noticed the central nexus where all the etched lines converged. He marched toward it, standing his ground as the Draconians closed in.
"Draconian warriors," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a grim, steady tone. "Have your laugh. Savor this moment. Because I promise you, there will be no more of your kind in the future. I have marked your settlement. I have mapped your valley."
Jad chuckled, a sound like grinding stones. "And who will you tell, little ant? The worms of the earth?"
"The Imperial Knights will march," Arthur proclaimed, raising the Emperor's Sword high. The blade began to glow with a fierce, blinding radiance as he poured every drop of his mana into it. "And you lizards will die by the swords of the Empire! Glory to the Saharan Empire! Long live the Great Emperor!"
He wasn't just shouting; he was invoking. He remembered the lore—the Saharan Empire was built on the bones of those who stood against them.
With a primal roar, he stabbed the sword into the heart of the formation.
"Pray to your emperor all you want," Jad sneered, his chest expanding as he prepared to incinerate Arthur with a Dragon's Breath. "He is a lowly being who would bow before the might of our ancestor, Nidhogg!"
The six Draconians simultaneously raised their hands, forming the Mark of the Dragon and invoking the name of the Evil Dragon Bunhelier's son, Nidhogg. It was a gesture of supreme arrogance, a boast of their celestial lineage meant to crush Arthur's spirit before his body.
The atmosphere in the cave changed instantly. The temperature didn't just drop; it plummeted. The air became so heavy it felt like liquid lead, pressing down on everyone in the room.
A voice, old and crumbly like shifting tectonic plates, vibrated through the very marrow of Arthur's bones.
«Nidhogg?»
The summoning circle, which had remained dormant despite the magic stones, suddenly erupted in a pillar of blinding crimson light. The Emperor's Sword acted as a lightning rod, channeling a power that felt ancient and absolute.
«Who dares to bring the defiler's name into my sanctuary?»
The Half-Draconians gasped, their Dragon's Breath flickering out in their throats. They looked around wildly, unleashing fire at the walls in a blind panic, but the flames simply vanished before hitting the stone.
«Draconian scum... you are not worthy to stand before this 'Great One'.»
Arthur dove behind a fallen pillar, frantically drinking health and mana potions. He watched as the pressure in the room intensified.
"I am a descendant of Bunhelier!" Jad screamed, enveloping his body in a fierce fiery aura, trying to fight the invisible weight forcing him to the ground. "I will not kneel before a human trick!"
«KNEEL!»
The command wasn't spoken; it was a physical force. The floor of the chamber cracked. The six Half-Draconian warriors—Level 300+ elites—were slammed into the stone with such violence that their knees shattered. Their fiery auras were snuffed out like candles in a hurricane.
From the center of the glowing crimson formation, a figure began to coalesce around the hilt of the Emperor's Sword. It wasn't a monster. It was a man, or the ghost of one, clad in armor that seemed to be forged from the heart of a dying star. His eyes were deep red, like melted gold.
This was the Ego of the sword, the progenitor of the Empire: Haicyen Saharan.
However, he wasn't alone. As the crimson light swirled, another spectral figure appeared from Arthur's shadow, a man with a weary face and a neck marked by a phantom scar.
Haicyen turned his gaze toward the second ghost. «Who are you to haunt this sovereign's awakening?»
The ghost, known to history as the Madra, spoke with a voice that echoed like a funeral bell. «I am a victim of your descendant's ambition, Great Sovereign. I was the King of Lubana, the one they called the Undefeated King. I was powerful enough to stand strong against your imperial army's conquest march... so they used cowardice where steel failed.»
Madra's eyes were hollow. «When I grew old, your Empire threatened my son, Rajenda, with a kingdom-wide massacre once I died of old age. My son, fearing the death of his people, killed me—his own father—in my sleep to appease your 'Great Empire'.»
Haicyen's spectral form flickered with agitation. Arthur stepped forward from the shadows, his voice steady.
"He speaks the truth, Great Sovereign," Arthur added. "The Empire showcased Master Madra's head at Titan's Gate on a pike for a year. Then, they erased his name from the annals of history so no one would remember the man the Empire couldn't defeat fairly."
Haicyen looked at Arthur, his red eyes burning. «And what of the Empire now? Does it still stand for the protection of the weak as I intended?»
Arthur laughed, a bitter, sharp sound. "The Empire has become a gathering of arrogance and ambition. Every country in the Western continent must pay 36% of their annual tax to the Saharan Empire as tribute, or the Red Knights, the dukes will march and they'll face annihilation. Your Red Knights and Black Knights are more arrogant than the kings of the realms they occupy."
Arthur continued, his voice echoing in the silent cave. "Since Master Madra's era, the Saharan family has been terrified of another legend rising. They target minority tribes with special talents. For example The Ul Tribe, specialists in magic? Less than 1,000 remain after the Great Purge. The Nero Tribe, masters of the shadow technique? The Empire purged the whole clan. There are countless cases like these, who knows how many tribes who could be humanity's asset have already been purged by empire."
"The Empire is nothing more than a tyranny now, just like them." He pointed a finger at the shivering Draconians on the floor. "They are arrogant, they wear their ancestor's name, your name like a mask to justify their greed."
Haicyen Saharan stood silent. A wave of remorse and disgust rolled off his spectral form, cracking the stone walls. He had created an empire to be a shield for humanity, and his descendants had forged it into a whip to rule the continent.
He looked at Arthur, then at the Emperor's Sword still embedded in the floor.
«I intended to rest in the annals of time,» Haicyen boomed. «But if my blood has soured into this... then I must find a hand worthy of correcting it.»
He turned his gaze directly onto Arthur. The system finally chimed, but the message was not what Arthur expected. Golden and red text flooded his vision, overriding his HUD.
[A 'Myth' has noticed your presence.]
[The Hidden Quest: 'The Sovereign's Agent' has been forcibly triggered.]
[Condition: Survive the 'Trial of the First Emperor'.]
[Reward: The Ego of Haicyen Saharan will acknowledge you as the True Successor.]
Haicyen raised a spectral hand, and the six Half-Draconians were instantly liberated. The Emperor's eyes locked onto Arthur's.
«Show me your soul, boy. Let me see if you are also a tyrant in the making, or the edge that cuts the rot away.»
Arthur gripped the hilt of his sword, his heart racing. The "bus ride" was officially over. The war of the legends had begun.
"I'm no hero," Arthur whispered, his grip tightening. "But I'm definitely the one who's going to collect the debt."