Monster Evolution System: I became a Rat-Chapter 72: Freedom

The crewmen advanced slowly into the tomb of the ancient heroes.

Their footsteps echoed softly on the stone floor, each tap quickly fading into the vast, hushed emptiness around them. The air was cool, untouched by wind or time, carrying a faint trace of dust and the lingering whisper of incense long since gone.

In their hands were lanterns with white lights, brought from Mist City, whose glow could pierce through the fog and light up the entire surroundings.

In hushed tones, the sailors whispered among themselves about the possibilities the tomb might hold, their imaginations running wild. But whenever their voices dared to rise above the silence, the captain quickly hushed them.

Rosacer followed closely, his posture hunched and his pace just a bit behind.

Fea walked beside the Captain at the front, her gaze sharp, constantly sweeping the halls ahead. Katrina remained behind them; she was little anemic after the fight with Opelia but alert to every shift of shadow and movement. James and the other sailors moved together, careful not to stray too far apart, while Rosacer lagged slightly behind, observing more than other can think.

Their footsteps came to a sudden halt. In front of them lay a chamber, its door broken in—someone had already infiltrated.

"It’s wide open," the captain muttered.

Fea slowly raised her hand, and the vegetation around the entrance began to sprout human eyes. They quickly scanned the interior, then fell still.

With a calm voice, Fea said, "Nothing."

The captain glanced at his crew, then turned back to the entrance and stepped inside.

His crewmen exchanged glances, then followed behind.

Seven stone pathways branched outward from a central hall, each leading toward a raised platform. At the end of every path stood a grave, massive and solemn, carved directly from the bedrock of the tomb. The ceiling above rose high, supported by thick pillars etched with symbols that glimmered faintly when lantern light brushed over them.

The Captain halted.

He looked at his crewmen. In their eyes lay a question.

But the captain remained quiet, unsure himself.

"No traps so far," he muttered under his breath. "But don’t let your guard down."

Slowly, all of them approached the nearest grave.

Upon it lay a stone effigy of a man clad in robes marked with stars and circular patterns. His hands were folded calmly over his chest, his face serene, eyes closed as though in deep contemplation rather than death. Above the grave, ancient script named him.

It was written in a language unknown to them, yet they could still read the ancient script. Perhaps it was the so-called origin script that old men spoke of in their tales.

The Captain read aloud, "Albert Alwin, the Saint of Astronomy."

Behind him, the crewmen whispered to each other.

James turned and whispered to his Captain, who was in front, "What is this language? I can understand it, but I have never seen it before."

He tried to keep his voice down, not wanting to alert or attract any monster that might be hiding between the walls.

Instead of the Captain, Fea turned toward him.

She replied in place of the Captain, who himself looked confused after reading the name aloud. "Proto-Ernest language. It is the first language mankind ever spoke... but it was supposed to be extinct." Her eyes furrowed as she spoke.

James nodded, holding back further questions.

From behind them, Rosacer felt a faint pressure in his chest as he read the name.

He swept his gaze over the mural-painted walls inside while holding his chest with his right hand, giving it a gentle massage.

Before his eyes.

The murals on the surrounding walls depicted the man gazing into the heavens, stars bending and aligning at his command. Celestial diagrams surrounded him, lines crossing the stone like frozen constellations. It was a tale of one who mapped the heavens and listened when they whispered back.

"He looks... peaceful," James said quietly.

"Heroes often are," Fea replied with a stern voice. "At least in death."

The Captain didn’t want to wait, so he ordered them to keep moving. The crewmen shook their heads as they carried on.

The second grave belonged to Bianka Benedikt, the Demoness. Her effigy was carved mid-motion, hair flowing as though caught in an unseen wind, her expression neither cruel nor kind, but resolute. Flames curled around her stone form, yet her hands were empty.

The murals here were darker. They showed her standing alone against monstrous figures, fire devouring corruption, her back turned to crowds that recoiled in fear.

"She wasn’t liked," James commented on the murals.

"Feared," Katrina murmured. "But necessary."

Without turning his head, his eyes shifted toward Katrina, and he gave a slight shake of his head.

Rosacer said nothing.

His heart still felt heavy as he tried to massage it. All the sailors were in awe of the murals and tombs, so much so they didn’t even notice.

The third grave belonged to Bertham Anselm, the Soul-Eater Mage. His effigy was unsettling, mouth slightly open, eyes hollow. Chains carved of stone wrapped around his arms, linking him to ghostly figures etched into the slab beneath him.

The murals painted a grim tale. Souls were torn from the dying, power bought at a terrible price. And still, time after time, Bertham placed himself between ruin and those who could not protect themselves.

’An irony. He saved lives by feeding on the dying, sacrificing the few so the many could endure...’ Rosacer pitied the hero.

"A burden," He whispered. "To protect the weak..."

The crew did not linger.

Next was Edelgard Edgar, the Berserker, he rested in the fourth chamber.

His grave was scarred, chipped, and cracked, as if someone had tried to defile his corpse, his final resting place... But who would do that to a hero....

His effigy was larger than life, muscles carved taut, expression frozen in a battle cry.

The murals showed endless war. Blood, broken weapons, fields littered with bodies. And always, Edelgard at the front, standing where others could not.

James swallowed hard. "He seems to enjoy fighting."

"It seems so," the Captain added. "It looks like he fought alone on the battlefield."

The cohort continued forward.

The fifth grave belonged to Lopis Lemon, Servant of the Dawn God.

Light seemed to cling to the stone unnaturally, reflecting lantern flames with unnatural warmth.

The effigy knelt, head bowed, hands clasped in prayer. Unlike the others, his face bore sorrow rather than pride.

The murals here were different. They showed Lopis standing beneath a radiant sun, yet shadows stretched long behind him. They showed him healing the wounded, raising fallen cities, and finally, standing before something vast and unseen, his body trembling.

Rosacer felt it then.

A faint resonance, like a vision of something divine.

"So this is the Dawn God’s servant," he thought.

The sixth grave belonged to Leonard Spencer, Emperor of Rise.

His effigy sat upon a stone throne, crown resting upon his head, sword laid across his knees. His expression was stern, unyielding. The murals depicted kingdoms unified under his banner, laws carved into bones and stone, chaos beaten back by order.

But the final mural showed him stepping down from the throne, offering his crown to another, turning toward the battlefield once more.

"The infamous Kingston Nowill..." the Captain said quietly.

The final grave stood apart from the rest. It was much farther away.

Mikhail Egon. Apostle of War.

His effigy stood upright rather than lying down, spear planted into the stone floor, both hands resting upon it. His eyes were open.

Several crewmen stepped back instinctively.

The murals here were sparse. With only marching armies, endless campaigns, and finally, Mikhail standing alone before a sealed darkness, spear raised.

Silence settled over the chamber.

All the members of the crew glanced at one another, each in awe of the sheer magnificence of what they had witnessed.

Rosacer didn’t have the time to linger in awe. His heart pounded harder with each moment, and the pressure kept mounting.

"Magnificent..." Fea murmured. "These were the heroes who had saved the world countless times... I can’t help but wonder what they were like."

The Captain and the rest of the crew felt the same sense of awe and nodded in agreement.

Since they did not have all day, the Captain finally said, "Move. We have to get out of here."

A passage lay at the far end of the chamber. They made their way toward it, and after passing through, they found themselves standing before something unexpected.

A massive gate, partially collapsed, its surface etched with overlapping seals and symbols of suppression.

Heavy rusted chains of iron wrapped around it, some already broken in between, others still maintaining their form.

Lights were being filtered through cracks beyond, just reaching their feet.

The Captain exhaled, a long breath. "So that our way out."

"Yes," Fea replied. "It seems...so."

As they worked together to clear the debris, Rosacer stood back, his gaze lingering on the seals.

"Why would they seal the heroes’ tomb?" he wondered.

Katrina glanced his way, keeping her silence.

Now, standing at the brink of freedom, everyone felt a rush of excitement to leave and be free.

The gate creaked open, letting in a rush of fresh air and the tantalizing promise of a world beyond the tomb.