World Awakening: The Legendary Player-Chapter 134: Event

Mela stared, her mouth slightly open, her mind was completely blank.

’he didn’t just fight it,’ she thought, ’he dissected it.’

this was not the reckless brawling she had grown used to; this was the cold, efficient work of a predator. she was terrified, a feeling she did not like at all, she wanted to go home.

Serian felt a deep sadness, a mourning for the angry, confused boy who was being replaced by this cold thing. he looked like Nox, but he did not feel like him. this was an empty shell, a weapon that had forgotten it was ever a person.

Nox saw their fear, but it didn’t register as something to be concerned about; it was just inefficient data. they were wasting time, and time was a resource.

"we need to move," he said, his voice flat, already turning toward the spire.

he dismissed the dead gem, letting it fall from his hand and clatter onto the pile of rocks.

"nox, wait," Serian called out, her voice a little shaky. "are you... are you okay?"

he stopped but did not turn around. ’am I okay? that is a stupid question. I am more than okay. I am better.’

"I’m fine," he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "the mission isn’t done."

he started walking again.

Mela finally found her voice, a harsh whisper. "that thing you did... it was not human."

’no,’ he thought, a flicker of something that might have been pride echoing in his quiet mind, ’it wasn’t.’

he did not bother to answer her.

Serian hurried to catch up to him, her steps light as she moved to walk beside him. she wanted to reach out, to touch his arm, to see if there was any warmth left.

she did not, her hand stayed by her side, she was afraid of what she might find. "your power changed again."

"it upgraded," he said simply.

he saw no reason to lie, and no reason to explain. it was a fact. his system had been upgraded. it was more efficient now.

Mela fell into step on his other side, a silent, wary guard. she was no longer bickering with him. she was watching him, the way a trapper watches a wolf it knows is too smart for the snare. she hated this feeling.

the Lich’s Spire grew larger as they approached. it was a jagged, black needle of a building that tore at the gray sky. a sickly green light pulsed from its highest windows, a slow, malevolent heartbeat.

the entrance was a pair of massive, iron-bound doors, decorated with carvings of screaming skulls and writhing souls.

it was very dramatic.

’a bit much, isn’t it?’ he thought. ’he’s trying too hard to be scary.’

the doors creaked open as they got close, an invitation into the darkness.

"it is a trap," Mela stated, the obviousness of her comment making it sound almost stupid.

"of course it’s a trap," he shot back, not even looking at her. "the whole dungeon is a trap. that’s the point."

he walked through the doors without hesitating.

the inside of the spire was one massive, cavernous room that stretched up into the darkness. a spiral staircase, made of what looked like polished bone, wound its way up the circular walls. in the very center of the room, a massive throne of black, jagged crystal sat empty.

the Lich King was not there.

"where is he?" Serian asked, her voice echoing in the vast, silent space.

’good question,’ Liona’s voice noted in his head. [the primary threat is not located on this floor. analysis suggests the apex of the structure is the logical location.]

"he’s at the top," he said. "he’s waiting for us."

"so we just walk up the spooky skeleton staircase?" Mela asked, her sarcasm a thin shield against her fear.

"yep."

he walked toward the stairs.

the moment his foot touched the first step, the entire room flared with green light. runes of power glowed on the walls, and the empty throne pulsed with a dark energy.

[Dungeon Event Activated!] a sleek black window appeared in his vision.

[The Gauntlet of the Lich King.]

[Objective: Ascend the Spire. Survive all three trials.]

the empty throne in the center of the room began to glow with a sickly green light. the crystal pulsed, and a figure began to form on the seat, coalescing from shadows and cold air. it was not the Grave Lord. this figure was sleeker, more refined, dressed in immaculate black robes embroidered with silver thread. a simple, elegant silver crown rested on its bare, polished skull.

"so," a smooth, cultured voice echoed through the chamber, a stark contrast to the Grave Lord’s rattling hiss. "the little pests have made it past my groundskeeper. how... unexpected."

the Lich King turned his head, his eye sockets burning with a cold, blue fire that was far more intelligent and far more malevolent than the Grave Lord’s simple green glow.

"I am the architect of this domain," he announced, his voice dripping with an ancient, bored arrogance. "and you are but mice in my maze. you wish to reach me? you wish to challenge my reign?"

he let out a soft, dry chuckle. "very well. I am in a sporting mood. prove your worth. survive my trials, and you may have the honor of dying at my feet."

the spectral image of the Lich King faded, but his voice remained, a lingering, mocking presence. "let the first trial begin."

the bone staircase began to tremble. the individual steps retracted into the wall, leaving a sheer, smooth surface. then, with a grinding groan, a section of the wall began to lower, revealing a dark, square hallway.

"it seems we have no choice but to play his game," Serian said, her hand tight on her sword.

"this is a fool’s errand," Mela muttered. "he is toying with us."

"yeah, he is," he said, already walking toward the new opening. "so let’s go break his toys."

they entered the hallway. it was a long corridor, its walls and floor made of the same polished black stone as the rest of the spire. torches, burning with a cold, blue flame, flickered to life as they passed.

at the end of the hallway was a single, ornate iron door.

he pushed it open.

the room beyond was a perfect, fifty-foot square, empty except for a single, ornate stone coffin resting in the center. the lid was carved with the image of a screaming face.

"what is this?" Mela asked, her needles already floating around her.

he scanned the room with his new, enhanced perception. [analysis: the coffin is a containment unit. it radiates a high concentration of chaotic physical energy. the room is a sealed combat arena.]

"it’s a cage," he said. "and we just walked into it."

as if on cue, the iron door behind them slammed shut with a deafening boom. a heavy iron grate slid down over it, sealing them in.

the lid of the stone coffin began to scrape open.

a roar of pure, bestial fury erupted from within, a sound of mindless rage and ancient hunger. a massive, fur-covered arm, its hand tipped with claws as long as daggers, shot out and gripped the edge of the coffin.

a creature hauled itself out.

it was a werewolf. but it was wrong. it was huge, easily nine feet tall, its body a corded mass of muscle and matted, black fur. its flesh was stitched together in crude patterns, and parts of its skeleton were visible through the rotting hide. its eyes glowed with the same blue fire as the Lich King.

"the first trial," the Lich King’s voice echoed from the walls. "is a battle of strength. this was once the alpha of a great pack, a proud warrior. now... he is my pet." the voice was full of a casual, sadistic cruelty. "do try to survive. he hasn’t been fed in a century."

the undead werewolf threw its head back and howled, a sound that was half pain and half rage.

it fixed its glowing blue eyes on them.

and charged.

the werewolf moved, its charge was a blur of black fur and rage.

Mela reacted first, her training taking over. a cloud of silver needles shot across the room, aimed for the creature’s eyes and throat.

they hit the werewolf’s matted fur with a series of dull pings, bouncing off its tough, dead hide without leaving a scratch.

’its skin is like stone,’ she thought, her confidence wavering for the first time. ’my needles are useless.’

Serian was next. she met the creature’s charge not with force, but with grace. she sidestepped the initial pounce, her sword a silver flash as she sliced at its exposed flank.

the blade cut through fur and dead flesh, but the wound was shallow, a minor inconvenience that only served to make the beast angrier.

it spun, its claws tearing through the air where she had been.

she leaped back, her face grim. ’it feels no pain. it is a relentless storm of claws and teeth.’

Nox just watched.

he was not afraid; he was processing. the world had slowed down, the werewolf’s frantic movements becoming a series of predictable attack patterns.

[analysis: target is a tier-4 necromantic construct,] Liona’s voice was a calm stream of data in his mind. [primary attributes are strength and speed. combat intelligence is minimal. it relies on overwhelming its opponent with brute force.]

’so it’s a big, dumb dog,’ he thought. ’inefficient.’

the werewolf ignored the two elves, its glowing blue eyes locking onto Nox. it seemed to recognize him as the primary threat.

it lunged.

he did not move back. he did not block.

he flickered.

reality stuttered for a microsecond, and he was no longer in front of the attack. he was beside it, his hand shooting out to slap the creature’s extended arm, redirecting the force of its lunge. the werewolf stumbled, its own momentum carrying it past him and into the stone wall with a heavy thud.

Serian and Mela just stared.

it was not the explosive power they were used to seeing from him. it was quiet, controlled, and brutally effective. he had not overpowered the beast; he had outmaneuvered it with an almost casual ease.

the werewolf roared in frustration, pushing itself off the wall. it came at him again, a whirlwind of snapping jaws and slashing claws.

Nox became a ghost.

he weaved between the attacks, his movements fluid and precise. he was not just dodging; he was flowing around the creature, a calm island in a sea of fury. with every swipe of its claws, he would make a small, precise movement—a slight turn of his shoulder, a small step to the side—letting the attacks pass him by with inches to spare.

he was not fighting it. he was dancing with it. and he was leading.

"what is he doing?" Mela whispered, her voice a mix of awe and confusion.

"he is learning," Serian replied, her eyes wide. "he is not just a brawler anymore. he is a warrior."

[threat analysis complete,] Liona’s voice stated. [the construct’s left shoulder is a primary structural weakness. the stitching is weaker there. a focused, percussive strike has a 94% probability of severing the limb.]

’got it.’

Nox stopped dodging.

the werewolf, sensing an opening, lunged forward, both claws aimed for his chest in a final, killing blow.

he flickered again, vanishing from its path. he reappeared at its left side, right as its arm was fully extended. the weak, crudely stitched joint was completely exposed.

a short, wicked-looking blade of black, void energy grew from the knuckles of his gauntlet. it was not a grand act of forging; it was an instinctual, instantaneous creation.

he did not punch. he struck, a single, focused jab, like a surgeon’s scalpel.

the void-forged blade sliced through the rotten sinew and dead muscle with a wet, tearing sound.

the werewolf’s left arm flew from its body, landing on the floor with a heavy thump.

the creature stared at its own severed limb on the ground, a flicker of confusion crossing its bestial face before the rage returned, doubled. it roared, a sound of pure agony and hate, and lunged at him with its one remaining arm.

it was clumsy now, off-balance.

he ducked under the wild swing, and his other hand, now wreathed in black, chitinous armor, shot up, plunging deep into the werewolf’s chest.

he felt his fingers close around something hard and cold. the creature’s heart, a frozen, dead lump of rock-hard muscle.

he squeezed.

it shattered into dust inside the creature’s chest.

the blue light in the werewolf’s eyes flickered and died. its massive body went limp, collapsing to the floor in a heap of dead fur and broken stitches. it did not dissolve; it just lay there, a broken toy.

the room was silent.

the iron door they had entered through groaned, and the grate slowly lifted. the bone staircase reappeared at the other end of the chamber, winding its way up into the darkness.

"the first trial... is complete," the Lich King’s voice echoed, sounding less amused and more... interested. "impressive. for a mouse. but do not get cocky. the next trial will test more than just your brute strength."

Nox stood over the dead werewolf, the armor and blade on his hands receding back into his skin. he looked at the open doorway, then back at his companions.

"well," he said, his voice calm. "that was a decent warm-up."