The Whispering Woods was a misnomer; it was a screaming woods. As Dorian led his small, deeply reluctant team into the heart of the thicket, the wind through the gnarled branches began to distort. It didn't sound like air passing through dead leaves; it sounded like ten thousand voices murmuring in a dialect that scraped against the inside of the skull a grinding noise of regrets and half remembered sins.
"Stop listening to the wind," Dorian said, his voice a shard of ice. "They aren't spirits. They're echo shells residual filth left behind by the lives these trees have bled dry."
Elena walked a half step behind him, her eyes tracking the shifting shadows with a crystal compass. The needle spun with a frantic energy, emitting a sickly violet glow. "The necrotic density is off the charts," she whispered. "The very timber is saturated with it."
Julian was a shivering ruin, clutching his sword with both hands. "We shouldn't be here," he muttered mindlessly. "We're going to be butchered."
Dorian turned a gaze of pure, freezing disdain onto the boy. "If you say that once more, Julian, I will leave you here as a permanent resident. The Ghouls would appreciate a fresh, high born snack. Do I make myself clear?"
They reached a clearing where the oaks were more violently twisted than any they had encountered. Hanging from the branches were dozens of small dolls woven of dead grass and human hair. Each had a jagged black stone embedded where its heart should be, slick with an oily, black ichor.
"Doll traps," Elena breathed. "If you touch one, it establishes a 'Sympathetic Link.' Whatever the doll suffers, you suffer."
"Efficient," Dorian remarked. His **[Holy Eyes of Truth]** were already mapping the spectral web that blanketed the clearing. Every inch of the mossy ground was a trigger. "Wait here."
He walked into the clearing. He didn't weave around the dolls; he walked straight toward the largest one, shaped like a woman, hanging from the center like a corpse from a gallows. He seized it by its neck.
The clearing erupted. The voices in the trees rose to a deafening shriek. A wave of cold, necrotic energy slammed into Dorian, an invisible hammer trying to find a fracture in his soul. "Is this the extent of your power?" Dorian's eyes flared with crystalline light. He channeled his resonance directly into the doll's stone heart.
**[Skill: 'Divine Strike': Low Output]**
The golden resonance surged. Instead of shattering, the doll began to glow with a brilliant, white heat. The black stones in every other doll began to crack and splinter, the 'Sympathetic Link' working in reverse. One by one, the dolls burst into flames, their grass bodies turning to ash. The spectral web withered, scoured away by the purity of the light.
*Ding!*
**[Good Deed Detected: Disarming an Ancient Soul: Trap.]**
**[Faith Points Received: +50]**
**[Current FP: (9,998,780 points deducted)]**
The clearing fell into a sudden, heavy silence. Beneath the layer of ash, a stone trapdoor was visible, etched with runes of 'Silence' corrupted into a shape that invited the darkness.
"The entrance to the crypt," Dorian said.
"We're going down there?" Julian's voice was a shaky reed.
"No," Dorian replied with a cold, predatory smile. "I'm going down there. You and Elena stay here and guard the exit. If anything tries to crawl out, use the 'Light Stones.' And if you hear me screaming... well, try to run faster than the Ghouls."
"Dorian, no!" Elena protested. "You can't go alone!"
"If there's a Necromancer down there, you'd only be in the way," Dorian interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous, emperor like register. "I don't need a scholar or a coward. I need a clear field of fire. Now... stay here."
He pulled the iron ring of the trapdoor. With a heavy grinding sound, it swung open, revealing a dark spiral staircase. The stench that wafted up was ancient rot, preserved where the sun never reached. Dorian stepped onto the first stair.
"Be careful," Elena called out, her voice small in the vast darkness.
Dorian didn't answer. As he descended, the light from the surface faded, replaced by the soft glow of his own resonance. The walls were covered in dolls made of bone and sinew, their featureless faces watching him pass. He reached the bottom and found himself in a large, vaulted chamber. The floor was carpeted in white bones, and in the center sat a throne of obsidian much like the one he had sat upon in his past life.
But it wasn't empty. Sitting on the throne was a creature ten feet tall, its body a mass of stitched flesh and rusted iron armor. It held a massive, jagged cleaver that hummed with a sickly green light.
**[Enemy Identified: The Grave Warden (Rank 3 Elite).]**
Dorian didn't draw his sword. He just looked at the creature with a gaze far colder and more ancient than its own. "You're sitting in my chair," Dorian said, his voice flat and dangerous. "Get out."
The Grave Warden let out a roar that shook the foundations, and with a speed that defied its size, it lunged, the cleaver aimed directly at Dorian's head.
***
**Author's Note:** The Grave Warden stands between Dorian and the source of the rot. If you enjoyed the destruction of the doll traps, support the novel with your **Power Stones**! Your votes fuel the Emperor's return to power. Can Dorian reclaim his throne in **Chapter 13**? Let us know in the comments!