Shadow Monarch in DC-Chapter 185: Legacy Shadow Legion Dungeon Level 7

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The portal behind Arthur collapsed in a quiet flicker of dark energy, the last shimmer fading into the dark. Arthur stepped forward, his boots touching down on ancient stone as a gust of wind stirred the dust in the massive chamber before him. A soft ding echoed in the air, followed by a familiar sound:

[Welcome to the Legacy Shadow Legion Dungeon – Level 7]

Another line faded into view, the letters etched in silver and deep crimson against the air:

[Where blade meets silence, truth is revealed.

Let steel speak, and shadows judge.

Only the worthy shall dance in blood of the red knight, earn the Loyal sword of the Monarch.]

Arthur tilted his head, intrigued. A soft grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Blood of the red knight... This is a test of swordsmanship?" he murmured. "Now that’s more like it."

He took a breath, eyes scanning his surroundings. The chamber stretched impossibly wide, a grand hall forged in the old style of war and ritual. Jagged spires pierced the ceilings above. Blackstone columns rose like sentinels, their surfaces etched with unknown names. Tattered banners hung from the rafters, emblems of unknown orders and legions. Along the walls, suits of armor stood in rigid formation, each one holding rusted blades or battered shields, as if waiting for the command to rise again.

The silence was oppressive. Not dead, watchful.

Arthur walked forward, slowly. Despite the weight of his boots, not a single step made a sound. It was as if the hall itself swallowed noise, unwilling to betray whatever ancient presence still slumbered here.

"Knights as enemies now?" he muttered, eyes tracing the statuesque armor. "Or is this just for show...?"

He paused mid-step. Something... shifted.

His head turned sharply toward a corner beneath a ruined archway. His gaze narrowed. One hand rose, fingers curling.

[Ruler’s Authority]

With a flick of his wrist, the very air groaned. A crunch rang out and a form was ripped from the shadows. A figure twisted midair, limbs flailing, before its neck snapped with a wet crack, and the body dropped like a sack of meat.

A shimmer of vanishing magic peeled off the corpse, revealing a cloaked figure in robes laced with arcane glyphs. The lifeless eyes still glowed faintly with mana.

"A mage," Arthur said, coolly, examining the dead figure. "Trying to play assassin in a knight’s trial? Poor form."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a pair of heat signatures flared to life behind two columns.

Twin orbs of fire flew toward him, trailing smoke and molten air. Arthur anticipated it. His body moved like liquid shadow, weaving to the side, each motion elegant and effortless. The flames tore past him, one bursting against a pillar, the other missing entirely and smashing into a decorative crest on the wall.

His Kamish Twinblades was already in hand, gleaming faintly in the light. He turned and in a single, artful step, danced.

The blade hissed through the air, trailing darkness behind it. Two heads flew, spinning in tandem, their bodies dropping before they even realized they’d been touched. The stroke carried through to the wall behind them leaving a long, deep diagonal gash in the stone. The wall shuddered, cracked.

and then collapsed with a thunderous crash, burying the bodies in rubble and flame.

Arthur stood at the center of it all, blade now dripping with the faint glisten of blood and smoke.

He tilted his head back and exhaled, like a man savoring the first sip of wine.

"Now this..." he said with a grin, "...this is getting exciting."

He looked at the far end of the chamber where massive double doors stood, flanked by statues of knights with swords plunged into the earth.

"If this is what I think it is," Arthur continued, voice low with anticipation, "then the reward’s going to be the best I’ve had yet."

He flicked the blood off his blade with a sharp twist and began walking forward again, deeper into this strange castle.

****

JUMP CITY – REBUILT BLACKWYND ESTATE -

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the newly rebuilt Blackwynd Estate. Nestled just outside the city’s noise and chaos, the estate stood tall and serene, its clean stone walls lined with creeping ivy and shadowy figures that didn’t belong to this world.

Raven stood by the front entrance in casual black jeans and a sleeveless deep purple top, her hood down for once, violet hair catching the breeze. She took in the estate quietly, eyes scanning the sigils that pulsed faintly that she had embedded in the walls to protect the place. All of it was her idea and not Arthur’s.

"Raven!" a warm voice called from the wide-open doors.

Adam Blackwynd stood with a welcoming grin, his long coat swaying behind him as he walked forward to greet her. Behind him, Arthur’s mother followed, smiling gently.

"It’s good to see you again," Adam said, clasping her hand briefly. "We don’t get many visitors here that aren’t made of shadow."

Raven chuckled. "Well, I figured it was time."

They moved inside, the polished floors echoing softly beneath their steps. The main hall was bright, touched by natural light through high arching windows. The atmosphere felt warmer than Raven expected.

"We see Kara every now and then," Arthur’s mother said, gently placing a tray of tea on the table in the sitting room. "Even George does. Who is held as a prisoner by Arthur in Gotham at the moment." She smiled fondly. "But not Arthur. He didn’t set foot here in ages."

Raven’s eyes softened. She took a seat across from them, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You need to understand the kind of responsibilities he’s carrying."

Arthur’s mother sipped her tea and exhaled. "Self-inflicted responsibilities."

That made Raven smile faintly. "Can’t argue with that.. But.."

She leaned forward slightly. "But Arthur wields immense power. Power that touches forces most people don’t even know exist. It’s no wonder he stays distant. Even from us. He rather fights solo. And he acts like we’re dead weight sometimes, but..." She looked toward the window, where the faint shadow of a wyvern passed across the distant glass like a cloud. "...He’s not a solo fighter. Not really with that kind of power."

A subtle sound of metal shifting came from the far end of the room. Blade stood silently near the doorway, posture straight, like a statue of death in shadow armor. The shadow of Slade Wilson — Deathstroke — but colder, sharper, and more devoted than the alive one ever was.

Raven smirked and nodded toward him. "Just look at Deathstroke here. Probably one of Arthur’s most powerful shadow soldiers. And he’s here. Guarding you."

Before either Adam or his mother could respond, a deliberate cough sounded from a high-backed chair in the corner.

Raven turned to see Galatea, legs crossed, posture regal, eyes glowing faint violet. Her voice was dry and edged with playful menace. "Strongest, you say?"

Raven arched a brow. "Oh. I didn’t see you there."

"You weren’t meant to," Galatea said, her voice like cool steel. "But please, continue flattering the assassin. He needs it."

A roar split the air from above the estate, guttural, draconic. The sky briefly darkened as a massive silhouette crossed overhead, a wyvern It circled once, then disappeared behind the western wing of the estate.

Adam laughed. "That’s the wyvern.. He patrols during the night. He scares away people sometimes... many think this place is haunted already.."

Arthur’s mother waved her hand dismissively. "I know what you’re trying to say, dear. That Arthur cares. That this is his way of showing it. But he’s still my son. He should visit. Not send shadows."

She leaned toward Blade, patting his armored arm lightly. "Though I have to admit, I got used to them. Blade’s such a humble, polite creature."

Raven nearly choked on her tea, laughing. "Humble and polite? Him?"

Blade didn’t move. He simply turned his head slightly toward her.

Adam grinned. "Honestly? I don’t mind that he’s not around all the time. If anything... I’m proud of what he’s doing."

Raven looked at him. At both of them. She saw in their faces not disappointment or resentment but longing.

She smiled. Not her usual guarded smirk, a warm and real smile.

****

Arthur’s hand slammed down with brutal force, metal buckled beneath his palm with a sickening crunch. The helmet caved inward like paper, the ornate faceplate crumpling inwards with a hollow clang.

He paused, studying the shattered helm beneath his hand.

No blood. No scream. No final breath.

Just silence.

"...Just like the others," Arthur muttered, rising to his full height. "Empty shells. No blood at all..."

His eyes slowly lifted, glowing faintly violet as he turned toward the massive doors ahead. The hall behind him was a graveyard of broken steel and scorched stone. Ruined armor lay scattered across the floo, knights twisted and crushed, mages cleaved in half, robes smoldering, and the knights all of them utterly lifeless. No scent of death. No warmth of blood. Just the cold remains of artificial life.

He turned back toward the door. His steps were silent, but his senses screamed.

A pulse.

Faint, but immense like the deep pressure before an ocean storm.

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

He could feel it now.

Strong mana, ancient, dense, leaking through the cracks of the grand gate.

"...Whatever’s behind this door," he whispered, voice edged with anticipation, "Kamish’s mana is nothing compared to this... This has to be the Boss.."

/-\

If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Solo leveling in Westeros.

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If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at

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You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want