When the gates of the Academy closed behind them, the world did not fall silent.
The wind did not stop, nor did the sky darken.
Yet Asmodeus felt that something inside him had been left behind.
The stone roads beneath their feet were the same, but they were no longer protected. Once the boundary of the Academy was crossed, knowledge and order were left behind. From here on, there was only will—and the price it demanded.
Asmodeus felt the weight of the sword on his back.
Excalibur was there. As always.
But today, it was different.
As if it were breathing.
Aeris walked a few steps ahead. The pack on her shoulder was almost as large as she was, yet she did not complain.
"I don't like how rushed this mission feels," she said.
"Normally, dungeon assignments are prepared weeks in advance."
Gael followed behind them. His steps were quiet, his expression unreadable.
"Some missions aren't prepared," he said.
"They are simply given."
Aeris glanced back over her shoulder.
"That's not a good thing, is it?"
Gael did not answer.
As the Academy faded into the distance, the terrain changed. Stone paths turned into hardened earth, then into jagged mountain trails. This was not land under the Church's dominion. But it was not safe either. It was one of those nameless places on the map—areas that were merely passed through, never claimed.
Asmodeus's instincts tightened.
He knew this feeling.
The silence was too perfect.
"Stop," he said.
Aeris had just begun to turn when the air tore apart.
The first arrow sliced past her ear, grazing her hair.
The second scraped her shoulder, tearing through her cloak. Blood immediately followed.
"Sniper," Gael said.
"High ground."
Aeris drew her sword. No magic. No support. Just muscle memory and resolve.
"How many?"
Before an answer came, a third arrow struck the ground.
Then the shadows moved.
They emerged from between the rocks.
Silent. Fast. Coordinated.
The moment Asmodeus saw them, he understood.
"Sabbah."
The name alone made the air heavier. Sabbah assassins did not fight. They arrived, completed their task, and vanished. And their target was usually singular.
Aeris met the first attacker head-on. She slid the blade aside, pressed at the wrist, and sent the man crashing down. The second came from the side. Aeris didn't retreat—she drove her knee forward. But the third was already behind her.
Asmodeus stepped in. He slammed his shoulder forward, followed with an elbow, throwing the attacker off balance.
He did not reach for his sword.
Not yet.
But there were too many.
Gael deflected two strikes, locking blades with another.
"Aeris! Your left!"
The moment Aeris turned, it happened.
A dagger slid out of the shadow, silently, and buried itself deep into her lower abdomen.
Time did not stop.
But the world grew heavy.
Aeris's eyes widened.
Her sword slipped from her hand.
"As… modeus…"
Her knees gave way.
Asmodeus caught her. Warm blood flooded his hands.
Too much.
"No… no…"
Aeris's breathing was uneven, but she was conscious.
"Don't… look at me like that," she said weakly.
"It'll pass…"
They both knew it was a lie.
Gael shouted,
"Fall back! Protect her!"
Asmodeus laid Aeris down and pressed his hand to the wound. But the bleeding would not stop.
The Sabbah were not retreating.
Asmodeus stood.
This was not Church land.
This was not forbidden ground.
This was simply the final line.
His hand closed around Excalibur's hilt.
Gael froze.
"Asmodeus… if you do this—"
Asmodeus drew the sword completely.
There was no burst of light.
The sky did not split.
But the earth bent.
Excalibur's blade was neither gold nor silver. Darkness lived within it—but not the darkness of emptiness. It was will. Judgment.
Asmodeus took a step forward.
He did not swing the sword.
Reality twisted.
The first assassin vanished where he stood.
The second tried to flee—only for the ground to seize his leg.
The third fell to his knees.
"Arthur's heir…" he whispered.
Asmodeus silenced him with a single motion.
Silence returned.
Excalibur was still in his hand.
Its weight had increased.
He sheathed the sword. But it was already too late.
The world had seen him.
Asmodeus immediately returned to Aeris's side.
Her breathing was weak—but she lived.
"I'm here," he said.
"You're not going anywhere."
Aeris opened her eyes slightly.
"That sword…"
"I don't know what it is…"
"But I know it saved me."
Asmodeus did not answer.
Gael scanned their surroundings.
"We can't stay here."
Asmodeus lifted Aeris into his arms.
She was light. Dangerously light.
They walked.
At the foot of the mountain, a dark裂 opened between the stones. It had not been carved by human hands, yet it was deliberate. The entrance to the dungeon awaited them.
Ancient symbols marked the walls.
Arthur's crest.
And beneath it, a single name carved deep:
SIEGFRIED
Asmodeus stopped.
Aeris forced her eyes open.
"This place…"
"Yes," Gael said.
"And inside… it's only just beginning."
A cold breath flowed out from the dungeon.
As if it were alive.
Asmodeus did not look away.
Excalibur was on his back.
Aeris was in his arms.
And for the first time, he understood:
This path would not make him a hero.
This path would make him the one who survived.
A cold breath seeped out from the depths of the dungeon, and Asmodeus stopped.
This was not hesitation.
It was acceptance.
The mouth of the dungeon was silent. There was no gate, no mechanism waiting to close—yet Asmodeus knew that the moment they stepped inside, the world behind them would let them go. Some places could not be passed. Others erased return the instant they were crossed.
Aeris's breathing trembled faintly against his chest. Her eyes were half-closed, but she had not lost consciousness. Each touch of cold against her wound made her body tense involuntarily.
"I'm cold…" she whispered.
Asmodeus pulled the cloak tighter around her.
"It will pass."
It was not reassurance.
It was an order.
Gael crouched near the entrance, examining the symbols carved into the stone. His fingers traced the runes, and his expression darkened.
"These aren't warnings," he said.
"They're… records."
Asmodeus did not take his eyes off the entrance.
"Records of what?"
Gael swallowed.
"Of those who entered."
Aeris lifted her head slightly.
"Did any of them come back out?"
Gael did not answer.
The silence weighed heavier than any response.
The dungeon was not dark. But there was no light either. The stone walls emitted a faint gray glow of their own. No torch would burn here. No magic would take hold. It was as if the dungeon rejected everything brought in from the outside.
Asmodeus took the first step.
The moment his foot touched the stone floor, the air changed. The cold no longer came from outside—it rose from within.
Gael entered right behind him.
And then—
The ground trembled.
Very slightly.
But deliberately.
Asmodeus paused. He drew Aeris closer to his chest. In that instant, he felt the stones shift. The flow of air behind them ceased.
Gael turned around.
The entrance was gone.
As if it had never existed, the mountain's body was smooth and unbroken.
"The first floor has closed," Gael said.
Aeris's fingers tightened faintly against Asmodeus's chest.
"Asmodeus…"
"I'm here."
His voice was firmer this time. Not only for her—but for himself.
They moved forward.
The corridor was wide at first, but narrowed the further it stretched. The walls were flawless—no cracks, no marks. Time had never touched this place. Or it had been completely erased from it.
After a while, a line appeared on the floor.
Perfect. Immaculate.
Gael stopped.
"Stop."
Asmodeus halted.
Beyond the line, the air grew denser. Heavier. It felt less like taking a step—and more like giving something up.
"This," Gael said quietly,
"is the first threshold."
Aeris spoke with difficulty.
"What does it want?"
Gael shook his head.
"We don't know. Dungeons don't ask questions. They take payment."
For a moment, Asmodeus felt the weight of Excalibur on his back. The sword was silent—but awake. As if it recognized this place. Or as if this place recognized it.
Aeris's breathing quickened. Pain flared again from the wound.
"Don't… let me go," she whispered, barely audible.
Asmodeus did not answer.
Because the answer was already decided.
He stepped over the line.
The dungeon reacted.
The walls trembled. A deep resonance rose from within the stone. It was not language. Not words. But it carried meaning. Something was reading them from the inside.
And Asmodeus understood:
This dungeon did not measure strength.
It did not weigh weapons.
It did not care about courage.
It asked only one thing:
"What will you sacrifice?"
The ground cracked.
Darkness thickened beyond the line. Not like mist—but like gathered shadow. It had always been there.
A silhouette separated itself from the dark.
It was not human.
Nor was it a beast.
It was something that had forgotten how to be human.
A long, thin frame—its joints bent at wrong angles. Where a face should have been, there was nothing. No eyes. No mouth. No expression.
Gael whispered,
"This… isn't a guardian."
The dungeon answered.
This time, the meaning was unmistakable:
"First floor payment:
Burden."
The silhouette took a step forward.
The ground sank. The stone did not break—it was pulled downward. As if the dungeon were measuring weight.
Aeris groaned softly in Asmodeus's arms.
And Asmodeus understood.
This floor did not want his sword.
It did not want his life.
It did not want his power.
It wanted what he carried.
"Put me down," Aeris said weakly.
Asmodeus lowered his head, resting his forehead against her hair.
"Be quiet."
It was not a plea.
It was a vow.
The silhouette advanced again.
The pressure increased. Asmodeus's knees trembled. His shoulders burned. But he did not step back.
"This trial is meant for one person!" Gael shouted.
Asmodeus lifted his gaze into the darkness.
"She is not a burden," he said.
"She is me."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the silhouette retreated.
The dungeon shuddered.
From deep within, a voice rose again—no longer cold, only absolute:
"First floor cleared."
But it continued:
"The burden… will increase."
Ahead, a new path opened. Narrower. Darker.
Asmodeus tightened his hold on Aeris.
Because now he understood:
This dungeon was not trying to kill them.
It was trying to make them abandon each other.
And this…
was only the beginning.
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