From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman-Chapter 112: The Leash

Leon’s voice echoed softly through the cavern, syllables rough with dust and age. The names scraped his throat as he spoke them—foreign yet familiar, like echoes of his own bloodline. Each word ignited a symbol along the spiraling root-line, black light burning faintly beneath the tree.

"Thornek. Vael. Harun of the Eastwatch. Emryn, daughter of Red Vale. Marek of the Hollow..."

He continued, and the cavern responded.

The dead whispered.

Not aloud. Not with words. But the pressure changed. The roots stopped pulsing and started breathing again. One of the chains overhead shuddered, dust trickling down. The second crown shifted slightly, a tremor running through the blades that encased it.

Tomas stepped back. "Leon, how many more?"

Leon didn’t stop. The names came faster now, his tone hollow. Repeating. Reaching. Summoning.

Mira tightened her grip on her wardstone. Its glow flared with every name, as if verifying truth. But something else happened too.

The creature at the edge of the dark—the remnant, the guardian—took a step forward.

Leon faltered.

The next name hovered on his tongue. But it didn’t come from memory. It came from within. Not inherited—lived.

He whispered it. "Alrek."

The guardian stopped.

Chains rattled above. The black light from the roots flared once more, then began to fade—not extinguished, but sealed. Like a lid slowly closing.

The spiral beneath Leon’s palm dimmed. The tremors ceased.

And the second crown stopped moving.

Leon leaned back, gasping. Sweat clung to his neck. His fingers trembled. Not from fear—from weight.

Mira reached him first. "You did it."

"No," he rasped. "We delayed it. That was a litany. Not a binding."

Tomas cursed under his breath. "Then how do we bind it again? Fully."

Leon looked up at the dead tree. The chains. The blades. The blood carved into stone.

"We become part of it."

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Mira broke it first. "You mean the ritual? Like them?"

Leon nodded.

Tomas stepped away. "That’s suicide. You saw the bones. Half of them didn’t make it."

"They weren’t me," Leon said quietly.

A deep rumble rolled across the cavern.

Mira gritted her teeth. "It’s waking again. We have minutes, not hours."

Leon looked around the chamber, then pointed to the north basin. "We rebuild the circle. We follow the same marks. I’ll anchor it. You two channel the rest."

Tomas looked like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t.

They moved.

Rubble was cleared. Ash swept aside. They mimicked the placement of bones, metal, warding runes. Mira stood over the edge of the spiral, whispering incantations from memory. Tomas poured powdered wardstone into the cracks. Leon knelt in the center, bloodied fingers spread across the roots.

He began to speak again.

But this time, he didn’t recite names.

He gave them.

His own.

"Leon Thorne. Son of Elric. Heir to the Woundbearer."

The spiral flared. Chains above groaned.

"I give my name to the seal. I give my blood to the roots."

The tree answered.

A single root unfurled.

And pierced his palm.

The pain was sharp, but he didn’t cry out. He gritted his teeth, kept his focus. The root didn’t burrow deep—just enough to draw blood. Just enough to take. As his blood sank into the bark, the blades around the crown pulsed once, then steadied. Their black gleam dulled. Not gone. Sleeping.

Across the cavern, Mira knelt and began tracing the ancient pattern Tomas had uncovered earlier. Her wardstone cracked with heat as she channeled its last energy into the sigil lines, stabilizing the circle. The air grew denser with every mark she etched—almost thick enough to touch.

Tomas set the final shard into place at the outermost edge. "This is it, right?" he asked, voice tight. "We finish the circle, and it locks again?"

Leon didn’t look up. "If the mountain agrees."

The cavern rumbled—not a tremor this time, but a sound. A groan. As if the entire place had taken in a breath and was waiting to exhale.

Mira finished her line and stood. "It’s done."

Leon nodded. "Then let’s seal it."

He placed both hands on the root now, ignoring the blood that trickled from his palm. His voice was hoarse but steady. "I bind this crown with my line. With every name that came before, and every name that may come after."

The spirals glowed.

"I give my legacy to the seal. I give my breath to the roots."

The ground beneath him pulsed once—then again.

Chains above grew taut.

A second root slithered forward.

This one reached toward Mira.

She didn’t flinch. She offered her hand.

It pricked her finger, took a single drop. Enough.

Then Tomas.

He hesitated.

Leon looked up. "It won’t kill you."

"I know," Tomas muttered. "But I don’t like anything that makes me bleed."

Still, he stepped forward. The root met his skin. The pact accepted.

All three stood in silence.

Then the roots withdrew.

The sigils flared brighter than before—blinding, even.

Then darkness.

When the light returned, the cavern was still.

The second crown no longer pulsed. The chains were motionless. The blades retracted just slightly into the earth, like thorns hiding beneath soil.

Leon collapsed backward, breathing hard.

"It’s done," he whispered.

Mira crouched beside him, wardstone flickering faintly. "You sure?"

He nodded.

Behind them, the guardian figure had vanished. No sound. No farewell.

Tomas looked around. "So... now what?"

Leon sat up slowly. "Now we get out."

But the door they’d entered through was gone.

Not closed. Gone.

The wall had smoothed over, as if it had never existed.

Leon didn’t panic.

He stood and turned toward the northern wall—the one where the ritual basin had been.

There was a gap now. Narrow. Faint breeze coming through.

Mira caught it too. "Another way."

Leon nodded. "It always leaves one."

Tomas groaned. "Of course it does."

They moved carefully, picking their way through the debris and bones. As they approached the opening, the sigils on the ground flickered once more.

Then faded entirely.

The seal held.

But something followed them.

Not a creature.

Not a shadow.

But a presence.

Leon felt it in his bones.

It wasn’t hostile.

Just simply watching.

The passage narrowed as they moved deeper. Walls arched low, carved with runes that had not lit once during the ritual. These were older. Forgotten. They pulsed only as they passed—one flicker, one breath.

Mira whispered, "It’s guiding us."

Tomas exhaled. "Or herding us."

Leon didn’t respond. He kept walking. The ground beneath shifted subtly, no longer raw stone but smoother, almost tiled. The further they went, the cleaner the air became, as if whatever lay beyond didn’t want them marked by what they’d touched.

They emerged into a small chamber.

Circular. Empty.

A single pedestal rose in the centre.

Upon it, a mirror.

No glass. Just water. Still, dark, and unmoving.

Leon stepped forward and peered in.

His own reflection stared back—

—but not as he was.

Not in bloodstained clothes.

Not in ash and bone.

He was older.

Robed in black and grey, a crown of thorns upon his head.

Behind him in the reflection stood a line of figures, all bearing the same eyes.

Leon reeled back. frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

The mirror rippled.

Then stilled.

Tomas stepped beside him. "Was that...?"

Leon didn’t answer.

He reached out and touched the water.

The mirror vanished.

And the wall behind it cracked—

—just enough to reveal sunlight.

For a long moment, none of them moved.

Then Mira stepped forward and pushed the broken wall wider. It gave easily, more illusion than stone.

Beyond was a narrow slope, jagged with loose gravel and old roots, curving upward toward a pale sky.

Leon stepped into the light.

The air hit different here—cooler, real. Birds chirped far above. Trees swayed on the ridgeline. They were back on the surface. Or somewhere like it.

Tomas followed, blinking hard. "We’re... not dead."

Mira let out a slow breath. "We finished the seal."

"No," Leon said. He stared out across the slope where the path stretched into open forest. "We started it."

Mira looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Leon didn’t answer right away. He turned toward the faint rise of smoke in the far east. Something was burning.

He adjusted his grip on his belt and stepped forward.

"Because we weren’t the last ones to walk that cavern. And we won’t be the last to leave it."