Chapter 13: The Nameless Sovereign’s Tomb [1]

While the knights continued cutting through the undead, I didn’t even spare them a second glance.

They were just skeletal foot soldiers—slow, brittle, and predictable. Any decently trained knight could handle them. And mine weren’t just decent. They were handpicked for this.

No, the real danger wasn’t out there in the open sun.

It was buried beneath the sand.

The entrance loomed before me now. A worn, time-beaten stairwell carved into the earth, mostly hidden by a collapsed mound of stone. The air around it felt… different. Still. Too still. Like even the wind didn’t want to touch this place.

That’s when it appeared.

[Dungeon: The Nameless Sovereign’s Rest]

[Warning: The difficulty level is significantly higher than the player’s current capabilities.]

[Do you wish to proceed? Y/N]

I stared at the glowing system message.

High difficulty, huh?

That might scare the average person. Maybe even a few seasoned players. But for someone like me… it was just another challenge.

After all, I knew what was inside. Not everything—but enough. I remembered the layout, the traps, the general flow of the place from the game. I wasn’t walking in blind.

Still…

This place had a reputation for a reason.

It wasn’t some starter-level tomb filled with weak monsters and handholding tutorials.

This dungeon had chewed up early players and spit them out.

There were traps that killed instantly.

Puzzles that drained your stats if you failed.

Enemies that didn’t follow normal AI patterns.

It was designed to feel like you didn’t belong here yet.

But I did.

This relic buried deep inside… it wasn’t meant for the protagonist. It was a waste for someone who already had half a dozen legendary weapons and plot armor.

But for me?

It could be the difference between dying a side character and rewriting my entire fate.

“High difficulty?” I muttered under my breath. “Bring it on.”

Clang.

The system confirmed my choice.

The interface faded, and the temperature dropped as I stepped past the threshold.

The bright desert sun gave way to cold, stale air, and the faint flicker of ancient torches lining the walls, long-dead but enchanted to respond to intruders.

One by one, they lit up as I descended.

Clang—!

The last thing I heard above was the sound of bone shattering and metal clashing.

The knights had it under control.

Down here, it was my turn.

As soon as my boots landed on the cold stone floor at the bottom of the staircase, a strange chill ran down my spine.

There was something off about the air down here—thick, dry, and silent. Too silent.

Then—

Woosh—!

A sharp gust sliced past my cheek. I instinctively twisted my head to the side.

Thunk!

An arrow slammed into the wall just inches from where my face had been. Dust crumbled from the impact, bits of aged stone falling near my feet.

“Haaah… haaah…”I let out a shaky breath. “Damn… That was way too close.”

If I hadn’t reacted in time…

Yeah. That would’ve been the end of me.

My eyes slowly scanned the corridor ahead. Long, narrow, and dark—barely lit by the faint glow of moss clinging to the walls. But even in this dim light, I could see the faint outlines of pressure plates and tiny holes in the stone.

Right. I remembered now.

This was the first stage of the dungeon—The Hall of Needles.

A narrow corridor filled to the brim with hidden traps. One wrong step, and you’d get skewered, burned, or worse. It was designed to filter out the overconfident.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Okay… focus.”

Luckily, I remembered most of the trap locations from the game.

Not all of them—but enough to survive.

Still, knowing was one thing. Actually moving through them in real life? That was a whole different kind of nerve-wracking.

I crouched low and began to move forward, slow and deliberate.

Each step felt like a decision. Every square inch of stone was suspect.

One tile had a slightly different sheen than the others—I avoided it.

Another had a faint crack along the edge, one that wouldn’t be visible unless you were looking for it—I skirted around that too.

Click.

I froze.

Not under my foot, but behind me.

Thunk-thunk-thunk!

A volley of darts shot out from the wall, narrowly missing my back as they embedded into the opposite side with dull, splintering thuds. I didn’t even breathe until the echoes died.

“…I really hope that was a one-time mechanism.”

I resumed moving, this time keeping my center of gravity low, fingers brushing along the wall, feeling for indentations. If I couldn’t trust my eyes in this dim light, I’d rely on touch.

A few more meters in, the corridor twisted, curving into a gentle slope downward. That’s when I saw the next obstacle.

A pressure plate puzzle.

Square tiles etched with ancient glyphs covered the floor in a grid, stretching out toward a heavy stone door at the far end.

Some of the glyphs were faded, others gleamed faintly with residual mana.

I knew this. I remembered this.

You had to step only on the ones with matching pairs. Step on an odd one, and the ceiling would drop like a hammer—or worse.

But there was a catch: the order was randomized every time.

“Alright… Think, think…”

I crouched by the edge of the grid, squinting at the symbols. Most of them were familiar—old Western Empire runes.

I recognized about half. That was enough.

Using my finger, I traced a path in the dust near my boot, mapping the safe route. One wrong guess would be a painful mistake, but with each second that passed, I could feel the tension building. The stale air pressed against me like a weight.

I muttered the glyphs under my breath.

“Rha… Sol… Neti… Rha again…”

I took the first step.

The tile pulsed faintly under my foot but held steady.

Second step. Another match.

Third step.

The tile made a clicking noise.

My breath caught.

But nothing happened.

“…False alarm?”

Then I saw it. The wall to my right shifted slightly—a small slit barely larger than a coin opening like a silent eye.

My instincts screamed.

I dove forward just as a thin spear launched horizontally, slicing through the air where my ribs had been. The tip scraped my cloak as I rolled onto a confirmed-safe tile.

I landed hard and groaned, but I was still alive.

I slowly got up and dusted myself off.

“Okay. New rule: even the correct tiles aren’t always safe.”

I continued, heart pounding like a war drum. Step by step. Match by match. After what felt like forever, I reached the last row.

One final tile.

I hesitated.

There were three matching glyphs.

Two were obvious bait. I remembered that much from the game. They looked right, but they had extra strokes—subtle fakes meant to punish hesitation.

I picked the leftmost one.

Step.

No click. No pulse. Just the dull, familiar sound of leather against stone.

The stone door in front of me rumbled, ancient gears grinding as it pulled open.

I exhaled, hard. My legs nearly gave out.

“…I’m still alive.”

I stepped into the next room—and immediately stopped.

[ You have entered the second stage of the The Nameless Sovereign’s Rest, Undead Royal Guard.]

[Warning: The difficulty level is significantly higher than the player’s current capabilities.]

[Do you want to proceed?]

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