She looked toward the guillotine, where the headless figure stood silent and still, blade in one hand, his own severed head in the other—mask still fixed in an eternal scream.
"So," she whispered,
"He offered himself. Made himself the final offering. The 108th."
Kael took a shaky step back, eyes fixed on the headless statue.
"Wha—what… he killed himself?" he stammered, the image clawing at his thoughts like an itch that wouldn't fade.
Yue let out a long breath, as if the weight of this truth had sat on her for centuries.
"Better to anger that deity. He knew what had to be done."
Kael's voice dropped to a hush.
"So… what happened after? The ritual was completed, right? What happened to the spell?"
Yue shook her head, solemn.
"That's the part no one knows. Not even in the murals I found. Everything goes dark after that. Like the temple refused to remember."
Kael stared into the shadows around the guillotine. The silence pressed down.
Heavy. Choking.
"I think… by killing that," Yue said, pointing at the headless figure beside the guillotine, "you might be able to escape."
Kael's gaze lingered on the silent abomination—one hand gripping a massive blade, the other cradling its own head like a grotesque offering.
"He's… alive?" Kael whispered.
Yue shook her head slowly.
"No. Not truly. That's not a man anymore. Just the will of what was left behind. Duty. Regret. Or something worse."
Kael's throat tightened. His fingers twitched.
Dreamweaver pulsed in his hand—low and steady.
Like a heart.
Like it knew.
Like it hungered.
Kael quickly shrugged off his coat, flipped it inside out, and slipped it back on—this side was black, perfect for blending in.
There was no time to hesitate.
It was do or die.
Yue floated silently beside him as chaos erupted in the hall. Students screamed, fleeing in all directions from the rampaging skeletons. No one noticed Kael sprinting toward the headless statue—no one had the time.
Kael moved silently, almost as if in a trance, stepping before the headless statue.
Dreamweaver pulsed in his grip—hungry.
He raised the crimson blade high overhead and brought it down with all his strength.
T.H.U.U.D.
For a moment, the entire temple held its breath.
The clattering of bones ceased. Even the torches seemed to dim.
The students turned, one by one, drawn by the unnatural stillness behind them.
Selene hesitated, her breath caught in her throat, and looked back.
Slowly, she looked back—and nearly screamed.
The headless statue was moving.
Not only that—it was blocking an attack.
And ....the attacker?
A figure in a long black coat.
Face obscured by a red demonic mask.
He looked like something pulled from a nightmare—inhuman, menacing, a demon cloaked in shadow and steel.
The skeletons stopped moving.
Not shattered, not slain—just frozen, as if in silent respect.
All eyes turned to the headless figure now locked in battle, sword clashing with the masked intruder.
The air was thick with disbelief.
A stunned voice muttered, "W-Who is this guy?"
Another followed, quieter but no less shaken: "No… what is he?"
"Is he with us?" someone asked, unsure whether to hope or fear the answer.
Yes.
The masked figure... was Kael.
He had stolen the Skull's mask, slipping it on without hesitation, without shame—like it belonged to him all along.
The cold metal clung to his face like a second skin. He felt it settle—not just over his features, but into his very being. The hall, the screams, the panic—they all faded into a muffled hum.
Then, a flicker at the edge of his vision.
A system notification, silent and ominous.
[Congratulations]
[You have obtained a Rank 8 Relic.]
[Nerathis Mask: Conceals the user's identity completely—physically and metaphysically. Shields against all forms of divination.]
Kael's sword met the undead blade in a harsh clang of metal, echoing through the fractured silence of the hall.
The headless being pressed forward, its movements grimly efficient.
In one hand, it held a rusted sword; in the other, it raised its own skull like a shield—grinning in eternal mockery.
Its body was rotten, hollowed by time, yet it fought with a precision that defied its decay.
Kael responded instinctively, his swordsmanship talent — raw, untapped—awakening like an old memory. He moved better than he had any right to.
Each parry was quicker, each step more controlled.
Something inside him knew how to fight.
And yet, as the duel raged, something gnawed at him.
He wasn't sure how to feel.
He had just received a Rank 8 relic.
No trials, no sacrifice—just taken from the Skull and claimed as his own.
Nerathis Mask. A relic of rare power.
But all it did was hide him. His face. His presence. His truth.
No firestorms. No divine blade. Nothing that shattered kingdoms or silenced gods.
Just anonymity.
He didn't know if he should be grateful… or disappointed.
Yue hovered nearby, watching with clinical interest.
"Judging by its form, it was likely a Rank 4 magician in life. Skilled, but not extraordinary. Now? No mana, no spells. It fights purely on muscle memory."
Her gaze lingered.
"Its body's been rotting for over a million years. And it still fights.
That… is interesting."
Kael ducked a wide slash, exhaled through clenched teeth, and narrowed his eyes.