Beneath the starlight, Lucian pressed deeper into the catacombs. This time, he intended to search every inch.
The last burial ground he visited was the Fringefolk Hero's Grave, and because that was technically his own family's tomb, he hadn't bothered looting it thoroughly.
But here? He would show no restraint. To a Tarnished, grave-robbing was practically a way of life.
Anything he remembered being here, he would not miss. Though… he had to admit, he recalled little of true value in this catacomb.
What made it memorable was not treasure, but its structure: a dual-boss grave, tied heavily to the story.
Bones littered the floor in heaps. As Lucian walked, brittle fragments cracked beneath his boots with sharp snaps.
Long ago, when the Erdtree's death-return system still functioned, the people of the Lands Between had no fear of death. One only had to lie down in a grave, and the roots of the Erdtree would carry their soul back into its cycle.
That explained the countless corpses strewn everywhere. Tombs were once resting places—simply lie down, and the Erdtree would reclaim you.
Its roots stretched through wall and floor alike, serving as conduits for the return. As for coffins and sarcophagi, those were reserved only for the most honored.
But ever since the Prince of Death shattered the system, the graves had been abandoned for ages.
Now, cobwebs veiled the corridors, and only a rare few white candles still flickered with weak flame.
Lucian stepped through brittle bones and extinguished candles, descending further by worn stone steps.
From ahead came a faint rattle of bone striking bone.
He turned, star-glow illuminating the chamber beyond.
There, scattered limbs and ribs began sliding across the ground—clattering together around a central sternum. A skeletal hand still clutching a shortsword was dragged along, as was a shield bound to another arm.
Piece by piece, the bones reassembled into a full human frame, rising unsteadily to its feet.
A skeleton—one of the common Deathborns' spawn.
It stood as if confused, lifting its shield hand to touch its bare skull. Then, as though realizing its state, it raised sword and shield and rushed at Lucian.
He had not brought the Dragon Slayer Swordspear into the catacomb this time. The weapon was simply too large—unwieldy even at its smallest size, and hopelessly cramped in narrow halls.
But Lucian hardly needed to rely on the spear now. He was, at this point, nearly all-round.
He pressed his hands together at his chest. The Dragon Communion Seal in his palm glowed red.
A burst of radiant gold flared before him.
Spreading his arms in a cross, he invoked the Fundamentalist Law of Regression—a golden sigil of interlocked triangles shimmering at his front.
From beneath his feet, a golden arc sprang forth, releasing countless intersecting lines of light that raced across the floor in a perfect lattice.
The grid spread under the skeleton's feet, washing it in holy radiance.
The Deathborn staggered forward two steps before its bones cracked apart, scattering once more into a lifeless heap.
Lucian stepped closer to inspect. The animating death-mist had been utterly purged. Now it was nothing more than inert remains.
Indeed, the Law of Regression was perfect against the Deathborn.
After testing its strength, Lucian pressed onward.
—
The corridor walls soon sprouted torches, but the flames were not ordinary fire. They burned pale white.
Ghostflame. The same fire wielded by Death Rite Birds.
The passage was straight, offering no alcoves, corpses, or loot. Lucian advanced quickly until he stood before a great iron door.
An arched frame of stone held it in place, flanked by two statues—robed skeletons holding staves.
Beyond lay the chamber of the grave's guardian.
Many catacombs in the Lands Between followed this design: the boss-room near the entrance, not the end.
Lucian studied the door carefully.
It bore a relief of the Erdtree, but unlike most depictions, the lush crown of branches was small—while the vast, tangled roots below dominated the carving.
Fitting, given that graves were tied to the Erdtree's roots, the pathway of return.
In the game, opening such doors required finding a lever hidden deep inside, usually guarded by ambushes.
But Lucian had no patience for such games.
He stepped back, knees bent, storm-force gathering around him. Breathing deep, he surged forward and drove a heavy kick into the iron door.
The locks held. The door dented deeply but did not yield.
The stone frame, however, was not so durable. Cracks spread through the masonry. A heartbeat later, it collapsed, severing the connection to the door.
Boom—!
The massive door tore free and crashed to the ground with thunderous weight.
Locked or not, iron was only as strong as the stone that held it.
Lucian strode past the fallen slab, descending further.
—
The air grew thick with roots. Fine tendrils of the Erdtree stretched across wall and ceiling, multiplying as he walked.
At last, the chamber opened into a vast cavern, upheld by four massive stone pillars. Ghostflame torches blazed along the walls.
At its heart sprawled the Erdtree's massive roots, fused with countless corpses that had long since returned—skeletons bound into bark, inseparable from the wood.
From the floor, more skeletons rose, weapons in hand, shuffling toward Lucian.
He ignored them. Instead, he glanced around with mild confusion.
If memory served, the boss here was the Cemetery Shade… yet none appeared. Were these mere skeletons all the room contained?
Behind him, a wisp of darkness silently took form.
No sound, no breath, no presence.
The Cemetery Shade.
Its skull was clutched in the grip of a strange parasite: a crab-like body, with moth-like furry antennae and ten spidery legs that pierced deep into its host's head.
The man beneath was a husk—skinny, riddled with holes, heart hollowed, yet animated by the parasite's control.
Its empty white eyes fixed on Lucian's back.
Without a whisper, it raised twin mantis-blades, snapping them open, and struck down.
The swing was fast, but Lucian sidestepped with a single quickstep.
Arrows from skeleton archers rattled uselessly against his scales. He ignored them, spun, and swept his staff across.
A conjured Carian Greatsword cleaved the Cemetery Shade in two.
The halves collapsed—then instantly reformed, fusing like tar.
Even before it had fully knitted back together, the Cemetery Shade lunged again, blades hacking wildly.
Lucian backstepped, raising his Dragon Communion Seal. Red light surged.
A phantom dragon's claw ripped into existence, slamming down with brutal force.
The Shadow's body was shredded, half its form dispersed into smoke.
Yet again, black mist seeped back, restoring it.
Lucian narrowed his eyes. His damage was overwhelming—by rights, the creature should have perished several times over.
Which meant the weakness lay elsewhere.
His gaze locked on the parasite.
Yes. That was the true body. The teleportation, the semi-phantasmal state—those were its abilities, not the husk's.
Destroy the parasite, and the Cemetery Shade would fall.
He leveled his staff at its head, sorcery gathering.
"Time for a little crystal barrage…"
Glintstone shards erupted in a furious volley, hammering forward like a machine gun.
This was Crystal Barrage, a spell adapted from the crystalline beings, one Sellen had personally recommended.
As expected, the parasite sensed danger. It dragged the host into mist, reappearing across the chamber.
So, it feared direct strikes. Proof enough.
From the moment it spawned, it had barely attacked—pressed too hard by Lucian's relentless spells and incantations.
While it regrouped, Lucian unleashed another wave of Law of Regression, scouring the chamber of lesser skeletons.
Then, swift sorceries followed—Glintstone Pebble, Swift Glintstone Shard, and finally, the killing strike: Comet Azur.
The Cemetery Shade understood. At range, it would be annihilated.
It warped closer, blades flashing. A feint, its true aim was the parasite itself, its legs snapping free and lunging for Lucian's skull.
Had it latched on, he would have been next in line as host.
But Lucian was ready.
The Dragon Communion Seal blazed. Blackflame surged over his fist.
With a single crushing punch, he smashed through parasite and host alike.
The Cemetery Shade's skull burst like an overripe melon, parasite shattering in fire.
It still flailed, blades hacking wildly, barely breaking Lucian's scales. The wounds closed as quickly as they opened.
The parasite writhed, burning, until nothing remained but ash.
Without it, the mist shrouding the Cemetery Shade dispersed. The husk collapsed into sludge.
The Cemetery Shade was not truly strong—just a parasite clinging to a corpse. Still, its abilities were unnerving. Caught unprepared, even a hero might fall here.
But compared to true champions, it fell short.
Even bare-handed, Lucian could have crushed it with storm or claw. This battle had been little more than practice—for spell and incantations alike.
He stooped, picking up one of the Mantis Blades. Testing its weight, he gave it a few swings.
Sharp. Balanced. It gleamed with power, already strengthened to +7.
Not bad. His Swordspear was only at +12.
The Mantis Blades were heavier than curved swords, even more than straight swords, yet their ingenious design converted weight into power, cutting the air cleanly.
By channeling magic, their folded halves could snap open into mantis-like claws—perfect for sudden reach.
That was why they were named Mantis Blades.
Lucian claimed both, strapping them to his belt. They might prove useful against the Black Knife Assassin to come.
The Cemetery Shade had been weak enough to toy with. But the the Black Knives… they were another matter entirely.
On the Night of Black Knives, they had slain the mightiest demigod: Godwyn the Golden.
And Lucian had no intention of taking lightly blades that bore the power of Destined Death.