Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Classic Trap

Eric woke up the next morning as the camp began to stir. He climbed out of his tent just as a figure emerged from a larger one nearby. Through the hazy morning mist, their eyes met in the dawn light, and they exchanged a nod of greeting.

"Morning, Mother Superior."
"Good morning, Mr. Eric."

There was little to do so early, and as they went about their morning routines, most of the camp remained asleep, save for a few helpful villagers moving about. In truth, there wasn't much work to be done; preparing breakfast didn't require that many hands, and some of the villagers were simply there to collect their wages, showing their faces just to claim they had worked.

Eric didn't bother to dwell on it. He grabbed a piece of bread to tide him over, mounted his horse, and took a quick patrol around the perimeter.

"Good morning, Young Master Eric."
"Hello."
"You're up very early, Little Count. I heard that nobles in the city sleep all day and rise only at night, spending their time eating and playing without ever doing a lick of work. You really are different from the usual noble lords..."
"That's because I'm not a lord yet."

After a leisurely ride and some brief chats with the villagers he encountered, Eric stopped on a high ridge, looking down at the mining town and the vast, surrounding wilderness. Black smoke still rose from the mine—the final remnants of the undead that had been burning day and night. The town itself was quiet, as most of the early risers had gathered at the camp on the hill.

The rising sun cast its morning glow across the landscape, thinning the mist and revealing a few wisps of clouds in the sky. It looked like it would be a fine day.

"A good omen," Eric muttered to himself, watching the dazzling red sun. "If it rained, we wouldn't have a place to hold the banquet tonight."

His horse tossed its head, snorting and pacing in place. "Alright, let's head back."

By the time he returned, Leslie and the other guards were already up, and the camp was buzzing with activity. When it came time to descend into the depths again, the mine entrance was crowded with villagers, all eagerly awaiting their return. Eric felt the weight of their gazes. He wanted to say something, but finding no words, he simply raised his sword. A cheer erupted from the crowd.

"Let's go."

Torches were lit, and the group stepped back into the darkness of the mine, heading deep underground.

"Are we almost there?" Sophie asked the Mother Superior as they passed the first fork in the path.

If all went well, this would be their final descent. After much persistence, Alaina had finally relented and allowed Sophie to come along, on the condition that she would not go too deep, would not join the fighting, and would return the moment she was told to.

"We've barely started; there's a long way to go," Eric answered for the Mother Superior without turning back. "This is just where we fought on the first day."

Sophie looked at the Mother Superior and hurried to catch up to Eric. "Then how much further is it?"

Eric made a rough estimate. "About ten times the distance we've covered so far."

Sophie froze. "That far..."

"It only feels that way because we're underground. You can still turn back, you know."

"...No."

After a moment of hesitation, she reaffirmed her resolve. "The Mother Superior says that facing darkness and evil is one of the paths to strengthening one's faith."

Seeing the forced determination on her face, Eric chuckled. "You're just here to leech some experience, aren't you?"

"What... experience?" Sophie asked, confused.

"Nothing, never mind."

They descended the massive spiral path, stopping occasionally at intersections to check the makeshift barricades and ensure no undead were lurking within the side tunnels. As on previous days, the villagers with their carts followed behind to haul away the remaining corpses. When the fighting began, Sophie would have to return to the surface—or at least keep a safe distance.

"This mine is so deep. We must be hundreds of meters underground by now, right?"

Surrounded by rock walls, the oppressive weight of the sunless depths made Sophie nervous. She couldn't help but worry about the disaster that would occur if the ceiling were to collapse.

"Not that deep. The tunnels are long, but the slope isn't very steep." Seeing the anxiety written on the young nun's face, Eric figured she wouldn't last much longer and prepared to have her leave with the first group of returning villagers.

Looking at the black bloodstains on the ground and walls, Sophie sighed softly. "There's no escape up or down. How desperate those plague victims must have been when they were trapped here two hundred years ago..."

Eric paused, looking at her again. After a brief silence, he said, "That's true. That's why we're going deep underground to clear out the undead—not just to protect the villagers outside, but to end the suffering of these cursed souls and let them rest in peace."

"Right!" Feeling as though the same mission now rested on her shoulders, Sophie straightened her back, her gaze sharpening with resolve.

"Just make sure you protect yourself," Alaina reminded her, noticing the intensity in her eyes, which made it seem as if she were about to challenge the necromancer herself.

"I know..."

After traveling for some time, Leslie, who was leading, suddenly raised a hand, and the group stopped.

"Are we there?" Sophie whispered, but seeing the serious expressions of those in front, she quickly lowered her voice.

Alaina squeezed her hand to reassure her, then glanced back at the tunnel, wondering if it was time for her to head back.

"This is about as far as we explored yesterday," Leslie said to Eric. "According to your words, we shouldn't be far from where the necromancer is hiding. Since the passage is quite wide here, I propose the group stays here to wait, and I will go ahead to scout."

"I know the terrain; I'll go with you," Eric said, stopping the guard captain from protesting. He looked at the other guards. "Stay here and protect the two envoys from the Holy City, as well as the villagers."

"Yes!"

With the arrangements made, Eric and Leslie moved out, one after the other. As they ventured deeper, Eric recalled the final boss's tactics. "Besides summoning skeletons, the necromancer is skilled with curses. He doesn't have many instantly lethal attacks, but being controlled is as good as dead. Be sure to dodge his spells."

"I understand, Young Master. You warned me yesterday," Leslie replied, his focus unwavering.

"And the other thing I mentioned? You remember that too?"

"Yes..."

Eric looked at him. "Don't hesitate. If you hesitate, I'll really die."

The guard captain nodded solemnly. "Yes!"

They continued exploring the unknown. To Eric, everything he saw was identical to his memories, becoming more familiar with every step.

"Stop," he called to Leslie.

The captain halted. Eric looked at the floor of the passage, walked a few steps forward, and poked the ground with his sword. "There's a trap here."

He had Leslie hold onto him, then took a step forward. Nothing happened. He leaned his body forward, shifting his weight slowly.

*Click!*

Without warning, a section of the floor over a meter wide and two meters long collapsed, revealing a pit four or five meters deep, filled with jagged spikes and piles of white bones. Leslie gripped him tightly, cold sweat beading on his forehead, while Eric just sighed.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. The first time in this life I've seen such a classic pit trap..."

Regaining his balance, Eric peered into the pit. Even after two hundred years, the spikes still glimmered with a metallic, faintly blue sheen. "Falling from this height—even if the spikes don't kill you, a single scratch would poison you to death. An instant kill; even a Divine Priest couldn't save you."

Leslie felt a chill. "If I had come to scout alone, I would have fallen right in."

"So, let's walk slowly. I remember most of the traps. We'll clear them one by one."

The guard captain wiped his brow. "Yes, Young Master..."

They bypassed the spike pit and continued onward. Eric didn't remember the location of every single trap on this "Road of Death" before the boss room—he had died here too many times to count—but he remembered the types of traps and how they were triggered. With extreme caution, he felt his way forward, and with Leslie's assistance, they either disabled the traps or marked them clearly.

"Crouch, get low."

Leslie crouched without hesitation. Eric, already low to the ground, poked the floor with his sword.

*Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!*

Three arrows shot from the darkness ahead, flying just over their heads.

"Crossbow trap, or a pressure-plate trap. A classic, right?"

Leslie didn't know what kind of "classic" the young master meant, but he knew that if he had come alone, he would have been turned into a pincushion. Or rather, he wouldn't have even made it this far—he would have died long ago.

"Don't get up yet," Eric warned, stabbing the ground again, triggering another volley of arrows. He kept poking, and the arrows kept flying.

"How many rounds are there... is it ever going to end?" Eric muttered. After a few more stabs, the mechanism finally went silent.

They stood up and moved forward. As the tunnel turned, three distinct holes were visible in the rock wall—the source of the crossbow bolts. Leslie ran his fingertips along the edges of the holes. "If he had the ability to set traps like this, why not just dig through the mountain and escape?"

"Maybe he didn't set them," Eric's voice came from nearby. "Why don't you go over and ask him yourself?"

He threw a ball of light forward. Leslie looked up and realized the tunnel had come to an end. At the far side of a grand hall sat a gaunt, withered figure on a stone throne, head bowed. As if sensing their gaze, it raised its head, its eye sockets glowing with an eerie blue flame.