Chapter 106: Golden Fortune City XII
She propped herself up on her elbows, hair falling into her face. "Always chasing the next ruin." Her voice was softer this time, not the usual teasing edge, but something closer to concern. "You know, some things slip away faster than treasure."
Rhys paused at the door, the morning sun outlining him in pale fire. He didn’t answer right away. His hand brushed against the hilt of the Ruinous Darkness Blade, then loosened.
Finally, he said, "I can’t afford to slow down. Not yet."
Mia held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, then leaned back with a small, tired smile. "Then at least come back before the week ends. Don’t make this city the only one chasing ghosts."
He gave the faintest nod—the kind that carried weight when words didn’t. Then he slipped out, boots hitting the wooden steps as the smell of the sea filled his lungs.
The streets below were already alive with noise. Merchants called out the last of their wares, adventurers hurried between inns and shrines, and the air carried the sense of something about to end. Golden Fortune was a feast devouring itself—lanterns burning brighter as the days grew shorter.
Rhys moved through it all with steady pace, unrolling his map once more. Only a handful of markers remained untouched, their glow faint but insistent. His lips pressed thin.
"Five days," he muttered. "That’s all."
The Moonstone’s weight sat in his inventory like a quiet pulse, its affinity to light, water, and mist whispering of power waiting to be unlocked. But even that was only one piece. He needed more—because beyond this city, there were foes who wouldn’t be impressed by half measures.
As he turned a corner into the older district, the sound of bells rang out from a tall clock-tower, sharp and final.
Five chimes. Five days left.
Rhys exhaled, smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. "Plenty of time."
And with that, he melted back into the crowd, heading for the next ruin before Golden Fortune could close its gates for good.
The streets grew narrower as Rhys followed the map. The noise of the busy center faded, replaced by quiet alleys where only the wind moved dust across broken stones.
The last ruins were always harder to reach. People had already picked clean the easy ones. What remained now were the places hidden deeper, places most adventurers didn’t bother with because of the danger—or because the rewards looked too small.
Rhys didn’t believe in "too small." Even a single shard of power could make the difference later.
He stopped at an archway half-buried in vines. The stone was cracked, the carvings faint, but the glow of his map pulsed brighter when he touched it. A ruin marker—still active.
"Good," he muttered, drawing the Ruinous Darkness Blade.
The air inside was cold and damp. His boots echoed as he stepped into the dark hall, torchlight flickering along broken walls. Symbols lined the stone, most unreadable now, but some still whispered with faint light.
Shadows stirred. Shapes pulled away from the walls—guardians, weak compared to what he had faced before, but determined to block his path. Rhys didn’t waste time. His sword flashed, the darkness blade cutting through them with sharp arcs, each one dissolving back into dust.
The deeper he went, the stronger the pressure became, like the ruin itself was testing him. Finally, the hall opened into a round chamber. At its center floated a shard of pale crystal, mist swirling inside it.
Rhys stepped forward. "Another piece."
The guardians rose again—bigger this time, their forms warped by the ruin’s fading power. But Rhys only tightened his grip, smirk still on his lips.
Five days left. Plenty of time.
And with that, he moved to claim the shard.
The shard pulsed as Rhys reached for it. Mist curled around his hand, cool and heavy, almost like water. For a moment, he felt resistance—as if the ruin itself wanted to hold on—but then the crystal yielded and dropped neatly into his palm.
[ Mist Shard Acquired ]
It was small, barely the size of his thumb, but it hummed with energy. The same kind of energy as the Moonstone, though lighter, sharper, like moonlight through fog.
He turned it over once, studying the faint glow inside. "Not bad," he murmured, slipping it into his inventory.
The guardians shuddered, their bodies cracking as the shard left the altar. Without the core to hold them together, they collapsed into dust and silence. The pressure in the chamber lifted, leaving only the drip of water in the distance.
Rhys exhaled and sheathed the Ruinous Darkness Blade. Another ruin, cleared. Another piece gained.
When he stepped outside, the sky was already darker, streaks of orange fading into purple. Lanterns flickered to life across the streets, and the smell of smoke and spice rolled through the air.
He checked his map again. Only a handful of glowing marks remained—fewer each day. The city was closing in on its end, and soon there would be nothing left to claim.
Rhys adjusted his cloak, the faint weight of the Moonstone and Mist Shard heavy in his thoughts. Light, water, mist—the pieces were lining up, though their true shape wasn’t clear yet.
"Three left," he said under his breath. "That’ll be enough."
Rhys folded the map and tucked it away, his eyes drifting toward the shadowed streets ahead. Three ruins left. Three secrets waiting to be pulled from Golden Fortune before it sealed itself forever.
The thought sharpened his focus. Every step he took now mattered. These weren’t scraps or empty shrines—if they were still hidden, still glowing on his map this late, then they held something more.
He moved quickly, weaving through the narrow lanes where the crowds thinned. The laughter and music of the main square felt distant here, replaced by the quiet hum of the city’s bones.
The first of the last three ruins wasn’t far. The marker glowed faintly over an old tower slumped against the edge of the district, its top shattered, ivy crawling down its sides. It looked abandoned, but the faint thrum of energy in the air said otherwise.
Rhys drew a slow breath, hand brushing the hilt of his blade. "Two shards, one stone... and now, a tower. Let’s see what you’ve been hiding."
He pushed the heavy door open, its hinges groaning in protest. Inside, the air smelled of dust and old magic, thick enough to sting his nose.
Symbols glowed faintly on the walls, spirals and runes that seemed to shift when he looked too long. The floor hummed with power—unstable, restless.
Rhys stepped forward.
The tower’s guardians stirred at once. From the shadows, shapes emerged—tall, cloaked figures with hollow faces, their forms built of shifting mist and broken light. Their presence pressed against him harder than any ruin yet, not brute strength but weight, like standing beneath a storm.
Rhys tightened his grip on the Ruinous Darkness Blade. His smirk was faint but certain.
"Three left," he repeated softly. "Let’s start here."
And with that, he moved, steel and darkness flashing as the tower came alive around him.
The clash echoed through the hollow tower, each strike sending ripples of mist scattering across the walls. The guardians were fast—faster than the broken knights he’d faced before—and their blades were made of condensed light, cutting clean through stone and shadow alike.
But Rhys pressed forward. The Ruinous Darkness Blade roared with power, each swing swallowing pieces of their luminous weapons, unraveling them into smoke. He ducked beneath one strike, pivoted, and cut through the hollow chest of a guardian. Its form twisted before collapsing into threads of light that faded to nothing.
Two more closed in from either side, their blades crossing to pin him. Rhys slammed his boot into the stone floor, mana flaring. "Whirlwind Slash!"
His sword spun in a wide arc, a cyclone of darkness erupting around him. The guardians shattered under the force, their fragments scattering like shards of broken glass before dissolving.
When silence returned, only the hum of the tower remained. It pulsed, stronger now, guiding him upward.
Rhys climbed the cracked stairwell, his steps steady. The higher he went, the brighter the runes on the walls glowed, threads of pale silver running between them like veins. The pressure thickened with each level, but it didn’t slow him.
Finally, he reached the top.
Where the roof had collapsed, the night sky spilled in, stars sharp against the dark. At the chamber’s center floated a crystal shard larger than the last—this one a piece of moonlight solidified, glowing faint and steady like a heartbeat.
Rhys stepped closer.
[ Lunar Shard Acquired ]
The glow dimmed as he touched it, the shard settling into his palm with surprising weight. Unlike the Mist Shard, this one radiated calm—steady, watchful, a counterpoint to the Ruinous Darkness Blade’s restless thrum.
"Light, mist, moon..." Rhys murmured, tucking it away. "The pattern’s clearer now."
As the last traces of the tower’s magic faded, he stood in the starlight, cloak stirring in the night wind. Below, Golden Fortune still buzzed with noise, unaware that another of its secrets had just been taken.
Only two ruins remained.
Rhys tightened the strap on his sword and descended the stairs, his expression cool but sharp.
Five days left. Two more prizes waiting.
And he intended to claim them both.