Chapter Twenty-Nine: Your Father

With a soft *thwack*, a cluster of green flames suddenly ignited on the lamps on both sides of the hall entrance. Immediately following, another pair of lamps flared to life, and two trails of green-flame sconces extended rapidly along the rock walls, converging at the far end of the hall. The underground space, illuminated by the spell, was bathed in a persistent, eerie emerald glow.

The figure seated on the rock pedestal in the center of the hall became clearer.

"It’s not a rotting corpse after all..." Leslie stared, eyes wide, at the gaunt old man whose face bore only the marks of age. The blue flames that had flickered in the man's eyes vanished, so briefly that Leslie wondered if it had been a trick of the light.

"He only *appears* not to be. If he didn't have the ability to maintain his physical form, he wouldn't be sitting there," Eric remarked. Fortunately, the necromancer looked exactly as he remembered; otherwise, he would have been even more surprised than Leslie.

"So, what now?" Leslie tilted his head toward the back, gesturing to see if they should retreat to the rest of their party.

Eric sighed and tightened his grip on his straight sword. "I wish we could, but I doubt he’d agree to that."

If the mechanics from his previous life held true, the moment those green flames ignited, they had already entered the challenge state.

"I’m afraid... that won’t be possible... intruders."

The reply did not come from the captain of the guard, but from the necromancer in the hall. His voice was raspy and stuttered at first, as if he had forgotten the language, but it quickly smoothed out.

"Come, come closer... I haven't seen a living member of my own kind in decades. Let me get a good look at you."

Leslie, filled with vigilance, stood his ground, convinced he wouldn't fall for such a simple ruse. However, the young master beside him actually took a few steps forward.

"Young Master!"

"It's fine." Eric raised a hand to signal, though he stopped just before the pair of flame-lit sconces at the entrance. "Is it really just decades? It has been over two hundred years."

The old man’s eyes widened, his withered face etched with surprise and confusion. "Two hundred years... has it really been that long? What time is it now?"

"The year 728 of the Gaia Era," Eric answered, keeping his distance and surveying the old man and the glowing green hall.

The terrain and environment matched his memories perfectly, and the mechanics were likely identical.

The necromancer sat in a daze for a moment, as if unable to process such a vast expanse of time. "It seems I have slept for too long."

No one replied.

After a short while, the man seemed to notice the two at the entrance once more. "Who are you people? How did you get in? Has the seal at the exit been broken?"

"It has."

Having finished his assessment, Eric’s gaze returned to the old man. "As for me, I am Eric of the Chimino family."

"Chimino..."

Judging by the old man’s expression, he recognized the surname. "Could it be the Chimino from the twelve founding knights of Delan?"

Eric glanced at him. "That’s right."

"Then it seems we are old acquaintances."

The old man smiled, though it did little to improve his withered appearance. "In my youth, I spent some time at the Duke of Chimino’s estate. The Duke was very interested in my research on rejuvenation, and we had many pleasant conversations. He even bestowed many treasures upon me; I still have some of them to this day."

*Duke...*

The title gave Eric a moment of reflection.

This old man was indeed a relic from over two centuries ago, though unfortunately, his information was outdated. His first sentence was already a dead giveaway.

He looked at Leslie, who was also frowning.

Eric took a half-step forward. "You really stayed at the Duke's estate?"

"Hmm..."

The old man tilted his head, feigning recollection. "I don't think there was another Duke Chimino family in Delan."

He lowered his gaze to Eric. "Seeing you makes me feel as if the scenes from two hundred years ago are still right before my eyes. You look so much like your ancestor, especially that beautiful golden hair. I imagine your family is still enjoying great prosperity."

"I’m afraid not. The Chimino family has fallen from grace." Eric sighed and shook his head. "As for the ancestor you mentioned, if we are thinking of the same person, he was demoted to a Count by the Emperor after a disastrous war. The family's lands were confiscated, and they were exiled to this desolate backwater of Dant County."

"Is... is that so?"

The old man’s expression faltered, and he let out a melancholy sigh.

"What a pity. Duke Chimino was a good man... even if the war was lost, I’m sure it wasn't his fault."

"Who’s to say it wasn't?"

Eric shook his head and stepped back, his sword quickly coating itself in a layer of golden light.

"However, ever since the restoration of the dynasty three hundred years ago, the Chimino family, having been involved in the civil strife, was already reduced to the rank of Marquis. I wonder, which Duke Chimino’s estate did you visit two hundred years ago?"

"..."

The old man fell silent. He moved his lips, but decided to stop the charade and burst out cursing. "I knew it! Not a single noble is worth a damn! You see a frail, grey-haired old man like me, and instead of coming over to help or share a bit of nostalgia, you play mind games with me!"

Eric chuckled, pointed at the old man, and turned to Leslie. "He’s rattled."

"You golden-haired bastard!"

The old man’s mood turned faster than a flipping book. While cursing, he slapped the armrests of his stone seat, as if trying to stand but failing.

"If I wasn't trapped here by this seal, I would have come over, crushed your little prick, stuffed it in your mouth, chopped off your head, and tossed it in front of your mother—whoever she slept with! Bah! You filthy noble trash!"

The old man continued his string of profanities. Eric remained unmoved, but the captain of the guard was incensed, raising his sword to rush in and decapitate the man.

"Don't be impulsive!" Eric quickly pulled Leslie back. "This old man is playing both sides—trying to build rapport and then insulting us, all while pretending he can't move—just to lure us inside."

He pointed to the green flames ringing the hall. "The moment you rush to him, those flames will hit you squarely in the face. One flame is one layer of curse; ten layers mean instant death."

Cold sweat broke out on Leslie's brow. "How insidious."

"The trigger range is very limited. We just need to stay out."

The old man, who had nearly cursed three generations of Eric’s ancestors, stopped mid-rant, his brow furrowed.

"...Boy, who exactly are you? How do you know so much about my traps?"

"I'm your father."

"..."

The old man nearly choked. He took a deep breath to compose himself, refraining from returning the insult.

Just as Eric said, the coaxing and the insults were meant to lure them in. Without playing dirty or launching a surprise attack, he likely had no chance—especially since the knight behind the boy looked like a high-level warrior who appeared dangerous.

More than the feeling of humiliation, a creeping fear of the unknown began to fill his heart.

He had sensed the movements above for days; the speed at which these people advanced had shocked him, and his subtle attempts to stir their bloodlust had failed. How could he dare to confront them head-on now?

Having lurked underground for so long, he had hoped to rely on these traps to find a sliver of survival, yet this golden-haired boy had seen right through them and knew everything in such detail.

How did he know?

Did he know anything else?

The necromancer remained silent for a long time, then changed his tone and spoke again: "I apologize for my previous rudeness. I believe there should be no hatred between us; there is no need for this to end in death."

Eric didn't speak; he just watched him.

After a pause, the old man continued: "I am Fland, from the Cast..."

"—You are a necromancer from the Aster Star Academy of Castelfell," Eric interrupted, finishing his introduction for him. "You traveled to many places across the continent. Because you spoke disrespectfully of the Hero King Utu’s 'Turning Back the Horse' statue in the White Horse City of Kojano, the local governor issued a warrant for your arrest, which is why you fled to Dant County."

"..."

Fland’s mouth hung open for a long time before he managed to close it slightly. "I was working for Governor Otweiler..."

"—During the plague in Dant County under Otweiler, it was you who proposed to the governor that the infected be driven into the mines. This would prevent the plague from spreading while providing you with countless experimental materials to continue your necromancy research. You just didn't expect the governor to have no intention of letting you go, sealing both you and your students in the underground mine," Eric finished for him once more.

"..."

Shock and bewilderment compounded, fueling an uncontrollable fear. Yet, at a certain extreme, Fland ceased to be afraid.

"Are you... a descendant of Marz?"

"Who is Marz?" Eric countered.

"My student—the only one who didn't come here with me."

"Oh, I'm not, and I don't know him," Eric shook his head. "I wasn't lying to you; I really am a descendant of the Chimino line."

"Impossible!"

The slight numbness the old man had built up collapsed. "How do you know these things?! No one could know this except for my student!"

*Because these are just the scripted lines for a boss fight,* Eric thought. *You said them yourself.*

Eric smiled slightly, remaining silent and continuing to project mystery to apply pressure.

"Who are you?! Did those traitors above tell you? ...No, I cut out all their tongues; they couldn't have spoken..."

The old man seemed to descend into madness, burying his head and muttering to himself, seemingly lost in his own world and entirely off-guard.

"Don't let your guard down," Eric told Leslie. "This old man still has a pile of tricks he hasn't used, just waiting for us to approach."

"I understand, Young Master." After encountering so many traps along the way, Leslie wouldn't dream of taking a step forward carelessly.

Eric then ordered him to retreat to the rest of the group and bring everyone over.

"What about you, Young Master?" Leslie was worried about his safety.

"Don't worry, I'm not stupid enough to go up and fight him one-on-one." Eric never took his eyes off the man. "I'll keep him occupied here. If I can't win, I’ll certainly run; he won't dare to pursue me too far."

"Young Master... very well, I will be right back."

Just as Leslie turned, he caught sight of Eric swinging his sword and cried out in alarm, lunging forward.

*Clang!*

As soon as he steadied himself, he realized Eric wasn't attacking him, but a bone spike flying toward him.

Looking back at the hall, the gaunt old man was now shrouded in black mist, his hair standing on end, the blue flames in his eyes reignited. A dense swarm of bone spikes hovered behind him.

He raised a hand and pointed at them.

"None of you... are leaving this place."