"Form up," I commanded, dismounting and stepping forward. The knights spread out, forming a protective semicircle around the entrance.
A deep breath settled my nerves as I approached the entrance, my hand brushing the cold stone of the door. The runes flared brighter at my touch, reacting to the presence of my mana. It was a promising sign. With a pulse of psychokinesis, I pushed the doors open. They groaned on their ancient hinges before slowly parting, revealing a dark, yawning interior.
"Light the torches," I said, turning back to the knights. They moved efficiently, lighting torches and passing them around.
As we entered, the light from the torches flickered against the walls, casting long shadows. The interior of the tomb was as grand as the exterior, with high ceilings supported by intricately carved pillars. Frescoes depicted scenes of great battles and heroic deeds, the colors still vibrant despite the passage of time.
"There's a presence here," one of the knights muttered, his voice hushed with awe.
I felt it too—a sense of something watching us, waiting.
"This is no ordinary tomb," I said, my voice echoing slightly in the vast chamber. "We are in a place of legends. Stay alert."
We moved deeper into the tomb, the air growing cooler and more oppressive. At the far end of the main chamber stood a grand sarcophagus, its lid adorned with golden inscriptions. This, I knew, was where the king of heroes rested.
As we approached, the runes on the sarcophagus began to glow, pulsing in rhythm with the beat of my heart. I extended my hand, focusing my mana into a steady stream that flowed into the inscriptions. The ancient symbols flared to life, and with a rumbling sound, the lid began to shift.
A low, echoing voice filled the chamber. "Who dares disturb the slumber of the king of heroes?"
"My lord. This could be dangerous," Modric uttered, a hint of cold sweat could be seen on his forehead.
One peculiar trait that Draven has is his nerves of steel. Even though the men looked nervous and vigilant, I didn't feel even a single hint of tension in the air or within me.
I stood firm, ignoring Modric, my eyes fixed on the sarcophagus. "I am Draven, Earl of this land. I seek the trial of Gilgamesh."
There was a pause, then the voice spoke again, this time with a hint of amusement. "Very well, Draven Arcanum von Drakhan, son of Darzen. You seek the trial, and so you shall have it." Answering with my full name that I didn't told him.
The lid of the sarcophagus slid aside, revealing a stairway that led down into darkness. I turned to my knights, their faces reflecting a mix of fear and determination.
"Modric, select ten men to accompany me. The rest will guard the entrance."
Modric nodded, quickly choosing nine of the most seasoned knights. The chosen men stepped forward together with him, their expressions resolute. With a final nod, I descended the stairs, the knights following closely behind. The air grew colder, and the sense of ancient power grew stronger with each step. At the bottom, we emerged into a large, circular chamber.
In the center stood a pedestal, on which rested a simple yet elegant sword.
"This is it," I whispered, stepping forward. The sword seemed to hum with a power of its own, the air around it shimmering slightly.
As I reached for it, the voice boomed again. "To claim the sword, you must prove your worth. Face the trial, son of Darzen."
The chamber began to shift, the walls rippling as illusions of warriors formed around us. These were no ordinary apparitions; they moved with the fluidity and precision of seasoned fighters.
"Prepare yourselves!" I shouted, drawing my own blade and summoning my psychokinesis.
The knights formed a protective circle around me, their weapons ready. The first wave of spectral warriors charged, and the battle began. I used my psychokinesis to hurl stones and debris at our attackers, while my knights met them with sword and shield. The fight was intense, the illusions surprisingly solid and formidable.
As my mana reserves dwindled rapidly, I realized I wouldn't be able to defeat all of them with my psychokinesis alone. I needed something else.
Looking at a certain knight's swift movement in defeating one of the illusions, an idea crossed my mind.
[Comprehension]
In such a short moment, my brain comprehended and engraved the movement of the knight to my memory. It all happened in a flash, leaving my mana in a low amount of 230. But it was enough.
"My lord!!" Modric, who was surrounded by three illusions, shouted when he saw an illusion of a templar knight approaching me and about to attack.
Now it was time for my [Herculean Physique] to shine.
Whoosh!
The sword of the templar knight illusion passed by me as I dodged it by a hair's breadth. Such a feat would have been impossible with my former self, but with [Comprehension] and [Herculean Physique], even this kind of movement was possible.
Slash!
I slashed the ghost's exposed flank with the Drakhan sword swiftly. From that point on, I continued the battle with swordsmanship. Each swing was precise, each dodge calculated, my body moving with an agility and strength I had never before possessed.
Finally, with a final surge of effort, I blasted the last of the illusions into oblivion. The chamber fell silent, save for my men's heavy breathing. Thanks to [Herculean Physique], my breathing was still in order. The sword on the pedestal then glowed brighter, and I stepped forward once more. When I attempted to hold it, the scenery around me immediately changes.
"Oho... It's been a while since I got a visitor," a deep, resonant voice echoed through the chamber.