Chapter 107: Golden Fortune City XIII
Rhys stepped out of the tower into the night air. The stars shone cold above, the city’s lanterns glowing like fireflies below. He could hear laughter and music from far away, but here, near the ruins, it was quiet—too quiet.
He looked at his map. Two ruins left. Both far apart. Both hidden in places no one wanted to walk after dark.
"Then I’ll take the nearest one," he muttered.
His boots carried him across crooked bridges and through narrow alleys until he reached the edge of Golden Fortune’s old district. The buildings leaned together here, roofs almost touching. The streets smelled of damp wood and salt. Few lanterns burned. Most doors were shut tight.
The ruin marker pulsed just ahead, above a broken courtyard where weeds pushed through stone tiles. In the center stood a gate of black stone, half-buried but still humming faintly with power.
Rhys exhaled and drew the Ruinous Darkness Blade. The steel whispered with a low growl, shadows curling around its edge.
When he stepped through the gate, the air changed.
It was colder, heavier. The ruin was not a tower this time but a wide hall below ground. The walls dripped with moisture, and faint carvings glowed along them. They looked like waves crashing, but twisted, as if the sea itself had been broken.
The first guardians rose from the floor.
They were not mist or hollow knights this time. They were statues—stone figures shaped like warriors of the sea, their armor carved from coral and their weapons like jagged tridents. At first, they were still. Then their eyes lit with blue fire, and stone cracked as they stepped forward.
Rhys smiled faintly. "Good. Stronger than before."
The first statue lunged. Its trident struck with enough force to break the tiles beneath. Rhys sidestepped, his cloak whipping in the air, and answered with a swift cut. The Darkness Blade carved across its chest, leaving a black scar that hissed as the stone began to crumble.
The second guardian swung from behind. Rhys twisted, raising his blade in time. The trident clashed against it, sparks and shadows flying. The impact rattled his arms, but he pushed back, kicking the guardian away.
Three more rose, circling him. Their steps echoed like drums, steady and heavy.
"Whirlwind Slash."
Rhys spun, his blade sweeping a dark cyclone that cut through two of them at once. Stone cracked and exploded, fragments scattering across the hall. The third tried to rush him, but he shifted, stepping inside its swing, and slammed the pommel of his sword into its chest. The blow knocked it backward, giving him the opening for a clean downward slash that split it apart.
The hall went quiet again—only the drip of water remained.
Rhys kept moving deeper.
But the ruin was not finished testing him.
As he reached the inner chamber, the walls shook. A much larger figure pulled itself from the altar at the center. Twice his height, its body was carved from black stone streaked with glowing veins of blue. Its face was hidden behind a broken mask, and in its hands was a weapon longer than Rhys himself—a trident forged from crystal.
The pressure of its presence pressed against his chest.
Rhys’s grip tightened on the Ruinous Darkness Blade. "So you’re the real guardian."
The giant moved with surprising speed. Its trident thrust forward, the air splitting with the force. Rhys rolled aside, the weapon slamming into the floor where he had stood, breaking it into shards. He sprang back to his feet and slashed, shadows screaming from his blade.
The cut left a line across its arm, but the guardian barely slowed. It swung its trident in a wide arc. Rhys blocked, the clash ringing through the chamber like thunder. The sheer strength behind the swing forced him back, boots grinding against stone.
He gritted his teeth, pushed forward, then used the recoil to launch into a counterattack. His sword flashed three times—Swift Cut, Vertical Slash, and another swift horizontal sweep.
The guardian staggered, cracks spreading along its chest.
But it didn’t fall.
Instead, its blue veins blazed brighter, and the ruin itself seemed to respond. Water spilled from the walls, flooding the floor until it reached Rhys’s ankles. Mist swirled thick in the chamber, turning every shadow into something uncertain.
"Tricky," Rhys muttered, shifting his stance.
The guardian charged again, water splashing with each heavy step. Rhys waited, watching, and then at the last moment leapt onto a fallen slab. The trident missed him, striking water instead.
Rhys raised his sword. "Water Blade!"
The Ruinous Darkness Blade shone with flowing blue light. He swung, and a crescent of sharp water sliced across the guardian. The impact tore through its shoulder, sending stone fragments flying.
It roared—not with sound, but with the rumble of the ruin itself.
Rhys pressed the attack, leaping forward. He cut once, twice, then spun into a Whirlwind Slash, the mix of darkness and water shredding through stone. The guardian staggered, cracks racing across its body like lightning.
But still it raised its trident for one last strike.
Rhys planted his feet. The blade thrummed in his hand, shadows swirling with the faint glow of water and moonlight. He swung with all his strength, the strike bursting into a storm of dark light.
The trident shattered. The guardian froze, its chest splitting open in a flash of blue. Then it crumbled, stone crashing into the rising water before dissolving into nothing.
The chamber went silent. The mist thinned.
On the altar where the guardian had risen, a shard floated—this one darker than the others, glowing with pale blue inside.
Rhys stepped forward, chest rising and falling with his breath. He reached out and closed his hand around it.
[ Tidal Shard Acquired ]
It pulsed like the sea, heavy and endless, a shard born of water and pressure.
Rhys turned it in his palm, then slipped it away. Another piece. Another step closer.
Only one ruin remained.
And only four days left.
Rhys stepped out of the drowned hall, the weight of the [Tidal Shard] heavy in his thoughts. The night air was colder now, carrying the tang of salt and smoke from the harbor. Above him, the moon hung sharp and bright, its glow brushing across Golden Fortune’s rooftops.
Only one ruin remained.
Four days left.
He unrolled the map. One mark still pulsed faintly, tucked far into the eastern edge of the city where cliffs dropped into the sea. Unlike the other ruins, its glow was steady, refusing to fade even as the hours passed. Almost like it was waiting.
Rhys folded the map and adjusted the strap of his sword. "The last one," he murmured.
The path was long. He crossed empty streets, passed lanterns burned down to their final oil, and reached a narrow stone road that wound toward the cliffs. The sea’s roar grew louder with each step until he stood at the very edge, wind tearing at his cloak.
There, half-hidden by jagged rocks, was a staircase descending into darkness. The ruin marker flared bright above it.
Rhys started down.
The stairs led into a wide cavern, the walls slick with salt and moss. Water dripped steadily, echoing like a heartbeat. At the far end, a gate of pale stone stood tall, carved with spirals of moonlight and waves. Unlike the other ruins, this one was intact—whole, untouched, and sealed.
Symbols glowed across its surface. They shifted when he looked, rearranging into patterns. A puzzle.
Rhys narrowed his eyes. He stepped closer and reached out. The symbols pulsed, reshaping into three clear images:
A stone symbol.
A water symbol.
A light symbol.
Above them, a line of carvings showed the cycle of the moon.
"Stone, water, light... and moon," Rhys muttered. The shards pulsed faintly in his inventory, as if answering.
He placed his hand against the gate. One by one, he drew the shards: Moonstone, Mist Shard, Lunar Shard, and Tidal Shard. The glow from each joined the symbols, filling them with life.
But the gate didn’t open. Instead, the symbols split into pieces and scattered across the walls of the cavern.
A voice—not sound, but pressure—filled the chamber.
"Prove you are not only a thief of power... but one who can shape it."
The puzzles began.
The first wall lit up. Four spirals of stone rotated slowly, forming broken circles. Each time Rhys touched one, the pieces shifted. It was simple—align the carvings into a full moon.
He worked quickly, moving the spirals until the shape locked into place. The wall rumbled, and a shard of light dropped free. He caught it.
The second puzzle lit. This one was harder: flowing lines of water across the floor, broken in places. He realized he had to redirect the streams by moving slabs of stone. Each time the water touched a symbol, it lit faintly. After long minutes of pushing, sliding, and testing, the streams connected, forming a glowing river that ended at the gate.
The cavern shook again. Another shard of light joined the first.