The silence that followed Thorne's victory was eerie.
The shattered remnants of the spectral beast dissolved into flickering wisps of light, vanishing into the cold air. Thorne stood in the aftermath, his chest rising and falling in quiet exhaustion. The system's message hung in his vision:
[Quest Complete: Overcome the Phantom Trial.][Reward: Skill — Phantom Step (Rare)]
A faint shimmer ran down his legs, the energy coiling around his calves like mist. He instinctively understood the new power—it allowed short-range dashes with reduced presence, ideal for evasion and repositioning. A gift earned through pain and resolve.
But the trial wasn't over.
The chamber began to shift once more. The statues that once watched in silence turned inward, bowing ever so slightly. Stone beneath Thorne's feet rumbled, forming a narrow staircase spiraling down into darkness. Faint whispers echoed from below—unintelligible, yet undeniably real.
[New Path Unlocked: Descent of the Lost.]
"This dungeon is testing more than strength," Thorne muttered. "It's watching my every move."
Torch in hand, weapon at his back, he descended the spiral staircase. The walls grew tighter, closer, until he had to duck beneath low arches. With every step, the whispers grew louder. He tried to tune them out, but they scraped against his mind like broken glass.
"You're not strong enough.""They will find you.""He died because of you."
He stopped mid-step, gripping his head as the voices sharpened into familiar tones. One of them sounded just like his father.
It wasn't real—it couldn't be.
And yet…
He pressed on, clenching his jaw. This wasn't just a test of combat—it was mental warfare. Another layer to the dungeon's cruelty.
Eventually, the passage opened into a broad hall dimly lit by hovering blue flames. The air here was thicker, almost alive. Strange masks lined the walls—twisted faces, eyes sewn shut, mouths wide open. As Thorne stepped inside, the flames pulsed, and the system chimed again.
[Stage Two: Whispering Shadows Initiated.][Objective: Survive the Hall of Illusions.]
Immediately, shadows detached themselves from the walls—twisted versions of himself, each wielding his weapon, each bearing his face but with eyes void of light. Ten… twenty… maybe more. They made no sound as they approached, forming a circle around him.
Thorne steadied his stance, activating Phantom Step for the first time.
In a blur, he vanished, reappearing behind one of the shadows and striking. The blade passed through it like mist, and in the next instant, it turned solid—catching his arm with a slashing counter.
He grunted, sliding back. "So they shift between real and fake."
His Eye of Perception sparked to life, highlighting subtle distortions in their forms—barely visible cracks in their illusionary structure. Those were the ones that could be struck.
Target acquired.
He dashed again, this time sliding beneath a horizontal slash and slicing upward through a crackling shadow. It burst apart in a hiss of smoke.
Nine left.
But they didn't wait. The rest converged with uncanny coordination, forcing him on the defensive. His mind raced. Timing was everything. He couldn't afford to waste movement—not in a place like this. With a side flip, he activated Phantom Step, reappeared behind another real shadow, and struck it down.
Eight.
Still too many.
They came at him relentlessly—mirroring his movements, adapting to his rhythm. Every successful dodge was followed by a glancing blow. His stamina waned. He had to end it quickly.
Then he remembered something.
The runes from earlier chambers.
Thorne's eyes scanned the room—and there it was: a faded mark beneath one of the torches. An ancient symbol of sealing, nearly erased by time.
If he could get there…
He disengaged with a backward roll, used Phantom Step again, and sprinted toward the rune. Shadows howled in pursuit.
With a swift strike of his dagger, he cut across the stone torch stand, igniting the rune.
The chamber trembled. Light expanded from the mark, spreading in a wave that passed through the illusions. They recoiled, screeching—becoming fully solid.
"All or nothing," Thorne muttered.
With blood on his blade and fire in his veins, he charged.
One by one, the shadows fell—no longer shifting, no longer hiding. He fought like a storm, blending skill with instinct, adaptation with precision. Each slash was calculated, every step decisive. The last two shadows lunged together—but Thorne was already behind them, moving like a ghost. Twin blades pierced the air, and then silence.
The illusions faded into ash.
The chamber dimmed, the blue flames now serene.
[Trial Cleared: Whispering Shadows.][Hidden Bonus Acquired: Fragment of Insight — "Echo of the Past."]
A small shard floated before him, pulsing faintly with light. He reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed it, his vision went white.
He was no longer in the dungeon.
He stood in a memory—one not his own. Rain pelted a battlefield soaked in blood. Figures clashed in the distance—five leaders bearing clan insignias surrounding a lone warrior in regal armor. That armor… Thorne's breath caught.
It was his father.
His father stood tall, wounded but proud, facing down the five clans.
And then—
The memory shattered.
Thorne collapsed to his knees, gasping. The fragment was gone.
But something had changed.
He remembered the battlefield. He remembered their faces. He now knew that what he sought wasn't just revenge—it was justice.
And this dungeon… it was showing him the path.
He stood once more, eyes steeled, and walked toward the next chamber without hesitation.