Absolute Cheater-Chapter 275: Fantasy XIV

He looked up at Valeris with eyes too young for war.

"I—I bind myself to you, Queen Valeris. I don't want to die."

There was no poetry in his words. Only fear.

But fear was enough.

He bled. He burned. The circle closed.

The binding was done.

And in that moment—a whisper crossed the chamber.

Soft. Wrong.

A shadow passed behind the priest. The candles flickered. The air rippled like heat off steel.

Asher's hand went to his sword.

Too late.

The priest's eyes rolled back—and then burst into black flame.

The ancient man screamed—no, something inside him screamed—and his body cracked like a shell, splitting open as shadow poured from his chest like ink.

"What the—!" Asher leapt forward, blade drawn.

Valeris snapped her hand upward, throwing a shield of soulfire across the circle.

The shadows recoiled—but not before the sigils on the nobles' hands flared again. Darkened. Twisted.

Elias collapsed, clutching his chest, convulsing. The other two screamed as their brands smoked.

Asher struck through the shadow-form, cutting with blade and will. A second passed. Then silence.

Smoke drifted.

The priest's body was gone. Only ashes remained.

Valeris knelt beside Elias—her fingers glowing with diagnostic magic.

"He's alive," she said tightly. "But something... entered the circle during the ritual."

"A possession attempt?" Asher asked, already searching the perimeter.

"No. Worse."

She stood slowly, gaze sharp.

"Someone tampered with the soul-binding circle. They meant to twist it—to hijack the bond."

Asher's voice was low. Lethal.

"To make you the puppet instead."

Valeris nodded grimly.

"And if I hadn't reinforced it mid-ritual, it might have worked."

A silence fell over the sanctum. The three nobles lay unconscious but breathing—marked forever by the attempt.

Valeris straightened. Her crownless head was haloed in smoke and faint soulfire.

"There is a deeper hand at play here. Something... ancient."

Asher stepped beside her. "Old magic. Old enemies."

"I felt something in the dark," Valeris whispered. "Something that knew my real name. Not Melina. Not Queen."

She turned to Asher, her expression unreadable.

"It called me Valeris, Asher. In the soul realm. That shouldn't be possible here."

He frowned. "Unless something from our world has bled into this one."

Then his expression relaxed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Then it's normal. This is a Void-ranked dungeon—one that evolves continuously. If it didn't adapt, someone would've conquered it long ago."

He shrugged, the casualness oddly reassuring.

"So what now?"

Valeris tilted her head slightly, eyes still fixed on the fading glow of the runes.

"The story realm adjusted itself. It's just responding to us… to our level."

She nodded once, sharp and certain.

They stared at the dying embers of the ritual circle.

A thought passed between them, unspoken.

The dungeon was changing.

It wasn't just a fantasy world anymore.

It was waking up.

And something inside it knew who they were—truly were.

As the last ember in the ritual circle faded to cold ash, Asher stepped back, eyes narrowing.

"This changes everything," he said quietly. "We've been treating this like a guided path—like a roleplay with fixed rails. But if the dungeon is shifting with us, adapting… then we can't afford to keep reacting. We need to get ahead of it."

Valeris looked over at him, brushing ash from her gloves. "You're thinking what I'm thinking."

"We need to learn everything we can about Mimir," Asher said. "Its people, its history, its bloodlines. Not just the official records—the myths, the buried scandals, the secrets no one puts in books. If this place is reshaping itself based on who we are, it'll use whatever parts of this world it can twist against us."

He turned, already stepping away from the ritual site, cloak flicking behind him.

"The difficulty's going up. That means the story threads are too. If the dungeon's pulling from Mimir's past, we need to know who the real monsters are—before it decides to resurrect them."

Valeris followed without hesitation. "I still have access to the royal archives. At least Melina did. Even if they try to bar me, I'll get in."

Asher nodded. "Good. I'll take the old quarter. See if any of the silent Houses still whisper behind closed doors. Half of them already think I'm some living relic—might as well use it."

She smirked faintly. "You do have that 'wandering war god' aesthetic."

He shot her a dry look. "You kissed it last night."

She smiled. "More than kissed."

They walked together through the outer courtyard, the distant thunder still rumbling overhead like a storm yet to break. The guards at the palace edge saluted them, but none dared speak—not after the power Valeris had unleashed the night before. Not after the Queen's blood ran like fire across the floor.

Before they parted, Asher caught her wrist and pulled her close again, speaking low, just for her:

"We don't trust anyone from here. Not truly. Everyone in this city is a piece of the game now—one the dungeon can turn at any moment. Watch for signs. Watch for echoes. If anyone starts calling you Valeris again..."

"I'll cut their throat before they finish," she whispered, eyes sharp.

Then she kissed him once more—quick, fierce—and turned toward the archive wing.

Asher moved the opposite way, toward the gates and the lower city.

Above them, the bells of Mimir tolled once—deep and sonorous.

It was a sound not meant to be heard by mortals.

And somewhere deep in the belly of the dungeon, something turned its head.

The Royal Archives of Mimir were not built for comfort.

Cold stone, dust-heavy air, and the silence of centuries greeted Valeris as she descended the spiral steps beneath the palace. The guards at the entrance had hesitated at first—clearly instructed to bar her—but a single look had been enough to freeze their resolve.

The Queen had returned, and the Queen did not ask.

Torchlight flickered along the walls, illuminating frescoes of past monarchs—eyes that followed, mouths painted in triumph or judgment. Valeris ignored them. Let the dead watch. Let them see who walked their halls now.

She reached the bottom floor, a sealed iron gate looming ahead, engraved with the symbol of House Mimir: a mountain with a single black flame burning at its peak.

"Only those of the blood may enter."