"We are following the footsteps of the myth, from Karelia to Vagrian, from Endless Ocean to the extremely cold place.
We read all the books, looked through ancient texts, translated the fragments that were eroded by time and only left a few words, and pieced together the murals that were burned by the war and left only the corners.
So, these existences we recorded - "The old man's voice echoed in the dim underground passage, with the kind of hoarseness and slowness that only people who have told stories in the dark for a lifetime can have.
"Okay, are you finished telling the story?" Kertison's voice came from the front. It was neither light nor serious, but the impatience of "I'm not here to listen to your lecture on mythology" was present in every word.
The old man didn't reply. His steps didn't stop, and his eyes didn't move from the darkness at the end of the passage.
"You guys just like to talk about mysterious things. So do those Silence Society guys."
There was a hint of irritation in Kertison's tone. People from Silence Society spoke like they were chanting incantations, and people from Destruction and Revelation Society spoke like they were preaching.
He was not interested in the myths and legends themselves. What he was interested in were the things mentioned in the myths and legends - those weapons, those treasures, those powers sealed in a corner waiting to be awakened.
Their value is not the story behind them, but what they can be used for.
They were walking in a dark underground passage, with damp, mossy stone slabs under their feet and rocks above their heads.
There are no windows or lights on the walls on both sides. Only a lighting crystal embedded in the wall that is driven by magic and emits light blue light appears at regular intervals.
The passage is very long, so long that you can't see the end, and so narrow that it is difficult for two people to walk side by side.
Kertison walked in front, and the old man walked behind. The sound of footsteps bounced back and forth, overlapped, and dissipated by the stone walls in the closed space, like someone clapping their hands repeatedly in an empty room.
Behind him is a group of expressionless people in dark uniforms, using levitation magic to transport a huge box.
The whole body of the box is dark silver, and the surface of the box is engraved with complex sealing runes. The runes glow lavender in the darkness, one bright and one dark, like breathing.
There is a person standing at each of the four corners of the box. Each person presses a hand on the box to continue to deliver magic power to the runes to maintain the stability of the seal.
The lid of the box has no gaps and seems to be cast in one piece, but there is a palm-sized, transparent, crystal-like window on the lid.
Through the window, one could see a piece of flesh and blood from the thing contained inside. Dark red, slowly squirming flesh and blood, exuding ominous fluorescent light.
That is the partial remains of Demon God of Shattered Remolding Wolunxius.
The old man couldn't help but turn his head and look again. Even through the magic sealing device, he could feel the outrageous magic intensity. It was not the concentration, but the level.
Like a wild dog locked in a cage and starved for tens of thousands of years, even if you can't hear its bark or see its fangs.
But the "I want to tear everything apart" vibe it exudes will seep through the gaps in the cage and penetrate into your pores, making you feel chills from the bones.
"Incredible... how did you get this thing?" The old man's voice contained a kind of wonder that people of his age should not have, the kind of wonder that a teenager would have when he sees the starry sky for the first time.
"You're lucky, I picked it up." Kertison answered simply.
The corner of the old man's mouth twitched.
Why didn't you say it fell from the sky?
But it's not surprising that the other party didn't tell me. After all, the cooperation between them is not stable.
Destruction and Revelation Society and Silence Organization - these two forces operating in the dark, the relationship between them can be described in one word as "each takes what he needs".
Destruction and Revelation Society There are resources, intelligence, and objects dug out from ancient ruins that no one else can even name.
Silence Organization has power, people, and extraordinary individuals who have been transformed and strengthened.
They have cooperated several times, and the results have been pretty good. The trust between them is limited to the extent that "this cooperation will not stab someone in the back."
If the other party didn't say anything, he wouldn't ask.
Kertison quickened his pace and walked to the position side by side with the old man. "Tell me, which ancient existence is sleeping or sealed here?"
The old man's footsteps did not stop, but his eyes retracted from the darkness at the end of the passage and fell on the stone slab at his feet, as if he was recalling a long-ago text that was covered with dust.
"Here, near the mountains on the Vagrian border. There is a legend circulating."
His voice was lower than before. It was not lowered deliberately, but when a person mentioned something really important, his voice would unconsciously be lowered to make those words carry more weight.
"Legend has it that a powerful monster once lived here. It was not a monster at all, just an ordinary beast that foraged for food in the mountains and forests.
One day, it mistakenly entered a temple that had been forgotten underground for countless thousands of years. A certain demon god was enshrined in the temple. It was fortunate enough to come into contact with the blessing - or curse - of that demon god.
When it came out of the temple, it was no longer a beast. Its size had become dozens of times larger than before, its scales had become invulnerable, and its claws could tear steel.
There was wisdom in its eyes and desire in its heart. It began to hunt, not out of hunger, but out of joy."
The old man paused, as if he wanted to give Kertison some time to digest these words.
"It became the most powerful monster at that time, the King of Warcraft, Aiyileiyas."
Its name occasionally appears in ancient legends on the mainland.
It's not a good thing to say. No epic will sing the praises of the King of Warcraft, and no bard will sing its story.
Its name only appears in those forbidden documents locked in secret rooms, in those half-eaten pages of ancient books with illegible handwriting."
Finally, after many years in the Cholera Continent, a human brave took the inherited holy sword - Tyrfing - with courage and determination, defeated the monster and sealed it here."
The passage has reached the end. There is a huge door. The door is made of bronze, and its surface is covered with a layer of dark green patina. Some vague reliefs that have been mostly corroded can be seen vaguely in the gaps of the patina.
The content of the relief can no longer be seen clearly, but it can still be distinguished from the general outline - it is a huge beast with fangs and wings, and a humanoid figure holding a long sword.
The door has no handle or keyhole, only the vague reliefs and the faint, pale golden light seeping from the cracks in the door.
"So, how do we wake it up?"
"It's very simple."
The old man stepped forward and pressed his palm on the door. The door began to shake. It was not the kind of violent shaking that made the entire mountain vibrate, but the kind of slow squirming that occurs when an old man with stiff joints who has been sleeping for too long is pushed out of his sleep.
The bronze door shaft has accumulated rust for countless years, peeling off section by section, like dry skin peeling off.
The vague reliefs on the door began to glow—golden, shining brightly bit by bit from the gaps in the reliefs, from the cracks in the patina, and from the lines that had been corroded until only dents remained.
The light grew stronger and stronger, and finally condensed into a dazzling beam of light, and the door shot out loudly.
The magic power of the light beam was enough to penetrate an adult dragon, and it was enough to vaporize an entire team of fully-armed high-level knights.
It hit the old man.
The old man stood there without even taking a step back. At some point, there was something in his hand, palm-sized, dark silver, like a token.
The token was suspended above his palm, spinning slowly, emitting a faint, silvery white light.
The light formed a thin, almost transparent barrier in front of him.
The golden beam of light hit the barrier, like waves hitting a rock, breaking into countless tiny, harmless light spots, spreading out in all directions, like a silent, golden rain.
"Time has passed too long. This seal has become strong on the outside but strong on the outside." The old man raised his head and watched the light beam change from dazzling to dim, from thick to slender, from presence to nothing.
The door is open.
Behind the gate is a huge room.
It is not the kind of artificially dug, square room with obvious human traces, but the kind of cave-like room that is naturally formed and later slightly modified, and still retains the original texture and shape of the rock.
The dome is irregular, with several thick stalactites hanging upside down from the dome, some very close to the ground. The ground is uneven, with some places bulging and some places concave.
The surrounding walls are covered with murals. The contents of the murals are arranged along a moving line that starts from the left side of the entrance, extends to the right, goes around the room, and finally returns to the right side of the entrance.
In the first mural, an ordinary, unremarkable beast walks in the darkness;
In the second mural, the beast stands in a temple surrounded by countless runes and light, and its body begins to expand;
In the third mural, the beast has turned into a huge creature, spreading its wings to cover the sky and the sun.
The murals at the back began to become chaotic and abstract, with distorted lines and strong colors. It was hard to tell whether they were depicting battles or disasters. I could only feel the fear carved into the stone that had not dissipated for thousands of years.
The old man stood in the center of the room and looked around. His eyes lingered on the murals for a moment. He had seen those scenes described countless times in ancient books, but this was the first time he had seen them with his own eyes.
He withdrew his gaze and landed on the ground, the token in his hand still spinning slowly.
"So, what should we do?" Kertison stood next to the door, holding on to the door frame with one hand. His tone was faster than before.