Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 54: Crypt

The doors groaned loudly open when the captain placed a cautious hand over their lusterless surface, sliding inward to reveal a dark stretch. Golden plates shining, Garran and Dain stepped in, with Valens taking to the middle of the group when Captain Edric gave him a nod.

What welcomed him inside were the faint whispers over the scattered Resonance, growing distant still like fair strands of hair slipping through the gaps between his fingers. There were dozens in the din, and if he focused just enough, he could make out a single word from their senseless mutterings.

‘Mistress…’

A shiver ran down his spine as he summoned the Inferno. Got stared at by the Templars when the flames blazed alive. He shrugged it off and sucked in a deep breath. Even the Inferno’s coiling tongues weren’t enough to illuminate this place.

It did splash light over the walls, though. Walls riddled with writings, more like scratch marks clawed at their precious faces, half of them erased by what seemed like a passing storm. The other half got chipped away by the tips of dagger-like nails stabbed right into the syllables.

Old language, again, but written in a different form. I seem to remember seeing these exact symbols in some of Master Eldras’s collections.

The System called it Laran Language in this world, and there was an ‘Ancient’ word slapped beside it. He was also an ‘Ancient’ human and an ‘Ancient’ Arcane Healer, which seemed to be a way for the System to say he wasn’t entirely an alien to this world.

Or… It could be something else. There’s at least some common ground between the connected worlds. The language is the same, albeit they don’t look like they have a grip over the old speech. However, it makes no sense why they can’t understand this so-called Shadow’s speech if they can hear it.

Valens paused.

Captain Edric and others said shadows utter a bunch of nonsensical sounds when they speak, even if Selin’s words made perfect sense.

“Writings on the wall,” he said, lifting his chin up and gazing at the Templars with curiosity. He pointed at a side wall, at a broken mural with a few words recognizable underneath. “Can you read them?”

“What words?” Garran answered, slowing down and staring at the mural. He frowned. “You mean this? Some twisted lines and a bunch of claw marks. I’m guessing we’ll have a few Shriekers waiting for us ahead.”

Valens took another glance at the word scratched deep into the wall.

Some twisted lines… It clearly says The Weeping Sea. I’m not sure if we’re looking at the same thing.

“Shriekers?” he then asked, curious. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

“Don’t you, now?” Garran chuckled. “Nasty bastards, those ones. A Hollow’s a basic thing. Some trick of the Tainted Father, hardly conscious about its surroundings, mindless in its assault, but a Shrieker’s a different beast. Vengeful, for one. Creepy and insidious, too. With your level, if you let them scream into your ears you’d be pissing blood for a few days. That’s from a first-hand experience right there, so you better trust me on this.”

“But why?” Captain Edric said heavily. “Hollows and Shriekers are a dime a dozen in the Broken Lands, but if this operation has anything to do with the Wretched Mother, then there should’ve been a group of Petalwitches or Grave Singers here, yet I don’t see anything.”

“A dime a dozen?” Valens scowled.

“Not every dead man has the fortune of joining the Eternal War or being sent off in a sprinkle of ashes to the Beyond’s Rest,” Captain Edric said grimly. “When shadows take you, they take you good until you become one of them.”

“I remember the last time I saw someone from the Fate’s Path,” Garran shrugged, as though the captain’s words carried no particular importance. As though it was simply common sense that some people just… turned into twisted creatures. “Didn’t they go into hiding after we dealt with that group some dozen years before? Their divinations are worth shit if you ask me. You expect more from a Class-Path that’s supposed to belong to one of the Forsaken.”

“We had the Lord’s Blessing,” Captain Edric said thoughtfully as he looked around him. “Not here, though.”

“We have the swords, Captain,” Garran grinned as he looked over his shoulder to Valens. “And a healer should there be a need for it, eh?”

“Uh,” Dain grunted approvingly.

Captain Edric waved him off. “Shriekers and Hollows. This whole thing doesn’t make any sense.”

…..

Valens decided to keep his silence as they moved from one mural to the other, whispers in his mind. The walls were full of half-eaten marks coated with dust, barely recognizable other than a few words he managed to get. On their own, they didn’t mean much to him, but by the time they turned a dozen corners and crept deeper into the crypt, he started putting somewhat of a story between them.

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It was about a sea. The Weeping Sea, to be more precise, with its waves raging and churning, overhead the wind screaming, clouds brimming with storms of terrifying magnitude. An eternal fog clung to its surface and never did go away as the clouds kept a tight hold over its skies. There was never light in the Weeping Sea, one of the passages read, and even if there was some, they couldn’t breach through the shroud.

And yet, a mountain stretched high from the middle of it, fog washing down from its sides. Captain Edric was strangely silent when they came across that particular mural depicting the mountain and kept his silence still when Valens asked him if he recognized it.

He couldn’t get an answer from the man, but couldn’t bring himself to ask more as there was a strangeness to that painting. Made his skin crawl all over his back and through his arms.

Ahead, some of the murals depicted groups of people, likely women by their figures and long hair, all dressed in rags with their hands stretched out toward the mountain, clothes dripping wet from the journey across the sea. Little children beside them, either held under tightly clasped hands or being pushed toward the foggy foothills of the mountain.

I don’t want to risk it.

Valens stole a glance from the captain, then turned back at the Templar pair bounding ahead. Shining figures of light, too bright for a passage this dark and silent. Save for that Mas guy, none of them seemed overly zealous, which was a good thing.

But if Valens were to say he could read the Shadow’s speech, things might take a different turn.

That’s a fact I have to remember. That’s a fact I have to find a way to work around.

It was one thing talking about certain beliefs during a ride along the bare lands of this Melton Kingdom. One thing to state he wasn’t a believing man. Part of the reason why he hadn’t felt a need to filter his words was to become his own man in this world. A man who wouldn’t be bound by the shackles of some grand organization. Another part was simple. For all the glamour and sobriety with which these men carried themselves, neither Captain Edric nor Garran seemed particularly religious people.

Best not to push too many buttons. That should be one of the Codes as well.

Valens shook his head. Looked like this mystery would be his to solve and his alone.

…..

It reeked of pus and dirt, and not all of it came from the dark walls around them. The stench got worse when a burst of papery laughter echoed through the narrow passage, followed by taps from within the darkness, delicate taps as though someone was tiptoeing over the ground.

Garran and Dain visibly stiffened at the sounds, while Captain Edric brought his sword up in a ready grip. He commanded the group to slow down and tighten the gaps between them. That done, each Templar picked a different direction to aim their swords, establishing a triangle with Valens stuck in the middle of it.

“It’s coming,” Garran whispered, voice unnaturally cold. “I’ll take the left wall. They always choose left for some reason.”

“Uh,” Dain grunted and turned away, taking the right side as his armored feet slid soundlessly with the motion.

Valens felt a poke around his back as Captain Edric leaned closer to him. “Keep your ears close, and steel your mind. Don’t let it stray into dark thoughts. Don’t let the screams bring out the worst in you. Once you give in to the cries, there’d be no saving.”

“Don’t listen to the cries. Understood,” Valens nodded as he quested for Apathy and felt it settle hard over his mind as a sudden cold crawled down his neck. This was as far as any man could steel their mind in his world, but here there were stranger things to be wary about.

This should be enough.

Tip and tap the sounds echoed. Tip and tap was the rhythm of their passing. Valens focused on the Resonance and kept an eye over his sound vision, but the basalt walls around him dampened the songs. He couldn’t see through them. He couldn’t hear the frequencies of the dreadful pressure pressing upon the Apathy’s net.

Something shifted.

Sparks flew out as Garran’s armored feet cried against the ground when he turned swiftly and swung his sword around, the golden weapon shining as it made for the left wall upon which wavered tendrils of darkish fog. Before the creature could materialize out into the hall, the tip of the sword squelched hard into its ethereal form, cleaving a smooth line upward across and sending the two sides wavering in a foggy mess down the ground.

That was where the creature took form, though it was already dead.

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Black blood poured out from the halves of its body, coated with smoke wafting off like acid poured over smooth flesh, reeking of rot and pus. It had a face of crooked lines. A mouth stretching wide with cracks around the pale lips, bloody teeth long and sharp like daggers. A pair of round, dark eyes that left no room for the whites, squinted in silent agony. It had no hair other than the shadows coalesced into a ragged robe that covered most of it. And the nails…

They look like Selin’s nails when she was about to turn into a Wailborn.

Inferno blazed alive over his fingers as a set of frequencies stabbed into the Resonance. Grinding like rusted gears of a machine, rotating stubbornly still as metal cried a defiant song. Coming from the left wall. Then it was right. Then there was a group of them echoing all around the narrow passage.

Captain Edric growled as he slapped his visor down, took a wide step to the back, and faced the way they’d come with his sword gleaming. Shadows curled around the tip of his armored feet, stretching deviously upward and seeking a hole to seep in. He paid them no mind as he kept his eyes fixed ahead.

Dain’s giant sword made for a sweep, caught two creatures by the tails of their wavering forms, caught them like mice in a trap, forced them to materialize as his golden sword disturbed their frequencies. He was a torch of holy light, of Strength and Endurance beyond reason, pressing upon them as heavy as a mountain.

A cold touch around his ankles. Valens shifted to the side, peered down to see a hand stretching out from underneath the broken tiles. The tip of the creature’s middle nail tried to drill into his skin, but a Light Feet carried him away, Inferno’s tongues washing down to choke the shadow in raging flames.

[Shrieker - lvl ???]

The name was painted in a deep crimson as if the very appearance of its disgusting form wasn’t enough of an indication of the danger it posed. Valens twisted about and ducked under a claw aiming at his head, used Light Feet to push himself closer to the captain before staring up at the narrow passage.

It was alive with shadows. Oozing from the cracks along the walls, seeping like smoke of a wildfire before they took their twisted forms. A dozen of them, easily. A dozen of them—

His back prickled as the Resonance changed under his feet. Nails rose from between the flames, clawing their way across as easily as cutting through mud. Stretching dangerously upward and into his face, dripping with rot but still strong. Still sharp as ever.

“Shit,” Valens cursed as he reached for Gravitating Earth. If the flames alone weren’t enough, then he had to get more creative.

…..