Light bent ever so slightly along the fissure, causing less distortion than even scattered particles of dust would have. Without careful scrutiny, it would have been impossible to detect.
"It took seventeen centuries to produce the faintest crack in this seal… Without fate's guidance, I would never have found it. Very impressive, Arthur Lyon. No wonder you were able to slay the Dragon Tyrant."
Ambrose tried probing it with his magic to minimal effect.
This crack was rely damage from the seal's gradual decay, not so deliberate key left behind for later generations.
Arthur Lyon had never intended for anyone to find this artifact. The seal was a lock forged without a key from the very beginning. There was no proper thod to undo it.
Ambrose could only break it by force.
Holy light and dark magic were fundantally incompatible. If he corroded the seal with dark magic, its power would inevitably weaken, and the seal would collapse.
That seed to be the only option.
He wasn't worried about a potential self-destruct chanism. There was no way the artifact would be destroyed or banished into the void if the seal were forcibly dismantled.
After all, if Arthur Lyon had been capable of destroying the artifact, he would have done so already. If he had been able to cast it irretrievably into the chaotic void, there would have been no need for a seal at all.
Therefore, neither of those contingencies existed. The seal's strength lay not in traps, but in its perfect concealnt.
Since the artifact inside would be safe regardless of what he did, Ambrose would simply resort to brute force. He had no ti for finesse.
Dark magic seeped into the hair-thin crack, clashing violently with the holy light that sustained the seal. Sparks erupted in the air.
As the fissure widened, brilliant holy radiance burst outward, nearly piercing Ambrose's skull.
He hastily erected a Mage Shield to block it, but the holy light began to gather and condense into a humanoid form, as if it were alive.
"A celestial warrior?!"
This was a manifestation ford entirely of holy light, an embodint of the Lord of Dawn's power that had been summoned to destroy evil.
The mont it manifested, its sword swung toward Ambrose.
Nothing was more inherently evil than a lich. Naturally, the celestial warrior charged him at once.
Ambrose sighed. Fortunately, after returning to shore, he had switched back to his mithril body.
Blades sprang from both his arms, intercepting the radiant sword. With a smooth motion, he shattered the holy blade.
The weapons extending from his forearms bore anti-magic properties. Holy light, after all, was rely specialized magical energy. Among Catherine's boons was the ability to forge anti-magic weapons.
The celestial warrior, composed purely of holy light, should have been the bane of undead. Instead, it was countered by Ambrose's twin anti-magic blades. Within monts, its body was carved apart. With its structure destroyed, the disrupted holy light within was forced to dissipate.
Ambrose heaved a sigh of relief. Thank the gods that he had prevented the war against the elves. Against forces like this, a mage like him would have been completely suppressed.
The celestial warrior was gone, but the seal remained intact. Only so of the holy power within had been consud.
Ambrose could only marvel at the extraordinary strength of the founding emperor of Lyon.
Ancient magic wasn't inherently stronger than modern magic, unless there had been so cataclysm that severed the transmission of knowledge. Mages simply invested in intelligence. Under their combined efforts, advancent in magical research ant that newer spells were typically simpler, stronger, and less costly.
This seventeen-century-old seal was not terrifying because of its exquisite craftsmanship, but because its caster had possessed overwhelming power.
"He was probably already at the level of a demigod even before he slew the Dragon Tyrant, and he was barely over thirty at the ti… Life really is unfair."
So lived for centuries and remained half-baked legends. Others were demigods by the age of thirty. So spent half a lifeti believing themselves invincible, only to be crushed by so young upstart.
Longevity was never a guarantee of strength.
After a mont of reflection, Ambrose resud channeling dark magic into the fissure. The holy light continued to crackle violently.
The hair-thin crack widened to the size of a toothpick.
Encouraged, Ambrose prepared to pour in even more power and break the seal before the Ragetide Kingdom noticed the disturbance.
Suddenly, however, the holy light within grew violently unstable. Sensing danger, Ambrose hastily retreated.
A white halo detonated like a miniature sun, scorching everything within range into charred earth.
"What?!"
The holy light was utterly different from before. That last attack had been overwhelmingly powerful.
Had he reacted a mont slower, he would have been gravely wounded.
Before he could fully process what had happened, a translucent figure drifted out from the fissure. A strikingly handso man in his early thirties appeared, one with golden hair, blue eyes, and heavy silver-white armor.
He looked familiar.
After a mont's recollection, Ambrose rembered where he had seen that face—the imperial capital of the Lyon Empire.
Though he had not left the teleportation array at the ti, he had glimpsed towering statues within the City of Dawn. Many reliefs bore this very likeness.
"Arthur Lyon?!" Ambrose called out a na that made all undead tremble.
The translucent figure looked puzzled.
Unexpectedly, Arthur did not attack imdiately. Instead, he frowned in confusion. "You're a lich, aren't you? I'm quite certain I've never t you. If I had seen a chanoid lich before, I would rember. But you're not mistaken, I am indeed Arthur Lyon, the most handso paladin on the continent."
Ambrose: "…"
Was this truly the personality of Lyon's founding emperor? His shalessness was astonishing.
The phantom spoke affably. "So then, Mr. Or Ms. Lich, might you relinquish your greed and allow this artifact to remain sealed? You do not understand its importance. Once unsealed, even the undead will suffer consequences."
Ambrose did not dare act rashly. Though this phantom was certainly not the real Arthur Lyon, the pressure it radiated rivaled that of the Silvermoon Knight he had once encountered.
This being was exceptionally dangerous.
He probed carefully with his senses, then said in surprise, "Your Majesty, is this… your soul?"
Arthur corrected him solemnly. "You must an, my heroic spirit. A paladin's soul is surely a heroic spirit. Do not confuse the terms. And why are you calling 'Your Majesty'?"
"A heroic spirit…" Ambrose was montarily speechless.
He was an absolute authority on souls. His perception would not err. The figure before him was a full-fledged soul.
But that made no sense. Arthur Lyon had lived over a century after slaying the Dragon Tyrant. How could his soul be inside this seal?
If this truly was Arthur Lyon, how did he not know the Dragon Tyrant was dead? Why claim that releasing the artifact would bring disaster?
What exactly had happened seventeen centuries ago?
If Arthur had sealed the artifact with his own soul, then who slew the Tyrant Dragon? Why had the previous elven king never ntioned this? Had he intended to let Ambrose walk into a fatal trap?
Countless thoughts raced through Ambrose's mind—but now was not the ti to ponder these questions. The Ragetide Kingdom would notice the disturbance he had created soon enough. His goal right now had to be to secure the artifact.
"Arthur—may I call you Arthur? Can we make a deal? Lend the artifact. I swear I'll return it once I'm done."
Arthur Lyon shook his head firmly. "I'm afraid that's impossible. Once the artifact leaves this barrier, the Dragon Tyrant will sense it. No one can outrun a ti dragon. If he reclaims it, everything will be lost. But rest assured. I shall create a new world. In that world, even undead will have a place to exist. Be patient. All will improve with ti."
Ambrose nearly spat out, "I don't believe a word of that!"
The Lyon Empire was well known for persecuting the undead. The dwarven kingdom had nearly been annihilated; other races were on the brink of extinction under Lyon's oppression. Who would trust such promises?
Yet the power of divination told him the heroic spirit spoke sincerely.
Wasn't Arthur Lyon a human supremacist?!
The implication of this newfound information was staggering.
Ambrose shook his head. Now wasn't the ti for this! "Arthur," Ambrose said quickly, "the Dragon Tyrant is dead. You succeeded. The dragons have long since been driven overseas."
Arthur's eyes widened. "The Tyrant… is dead? How much ti has passed?"
"Seventeen centuries," Ambrose answered earnestly. "You accomplished the impossible. You are the founding emperor of the Lyon Empire. You are a legend among legends. The continent sings your praises in countless epics. The artifact has long since lost its master. Please, lend it to . I need it to save a human."
Arthur seed stunned. "I… succeeded? The Tyrant is dead?"
"You severed the dragon's head yourself."
"And they still sing of my deeds?"
"Of course. Operas based on your life have been rewritten countless tis."
Arthur brightened. "Then recite a few lines for ."
"Ah… I'm not much for poetry. Sothing like, 'The Holy King cloaked in dawnlight, his blade cleaving the evil dragon'… Sothing along those lines."
Arthur laughed. "That's worse than sothing a goblin would compose. You just made that up, didn't you? You've no talent for being a bard."
Brilliant holy light radiated from his body. He drew a phantom sword from his waist, around which holy light coiled.
The glare made Ambrose's magic churn violently. His instincts scread that this strike could not be taken head-on.
Arthur gripped the sword. "You're the Tyrant's agent, aren't you? You're trying to trick into surrendering the artifact. Give up! Be it seventeen centuries or seventeen millennia, so long as I exist, no one will claim this artifact!"
Ambrose sighed. "Your Majesty, I once admired you. After all, I used to be human."
With that, he opened up his extradinsional space.
"Captain Aige, I choose you!"
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