The Hidden Monster of House Vale

"Kill them!"

Lucien's eyes snapped upward. The arrows weren't falling toward them—not yet—but the mountain peaks above were alive with movement. Figures in armor, figures in robes, figures wreathed in astral fire. Over a hundred Realm Masters clashing on the slopes, their battle cries echoing off the stone.

A war between two great families.

This was no longer safe.

Lucien grabbed Delian's wrist and pulled her back into the cave mouth. His other hand sliced through the air—not a slash, but a tear. Space split open before them, crackling with energy like lightning frozen in mid-strike. The edges of the Void Tear shimmered, reality bending around it.

Delian's eyes widened. Then she smiled—that sharp, approving smile he had come to recognize.

"One more secret revealed," she murmured.

They stepped through.

The Void Tear deposited them at the ruin's entrance. Dust settled around their feet. The bodies of the old man and his retainers were gone—cleared away, perhaps, or dragged off by beasts. Only bloodstains remained, dark against the ancient stone.

Lucien scanned the chamber. No Hellyn. No retainers. No sign of the Alde squad.

"We were inside the dungeon for almost two days," Delian said, her brow furrowing. "But how much time has passed here?"

She pressed her fingers to her temple.

"Now I have extra work. Finding them." She exhaled. "I believe in Hellyn. She's strong. They won't die easily. But still… we need to look."

Lucien was about to respond when a voice pressed against his mind—familiar, trembling, eager.

"Master. I have gathered Realm Masters. As you ordered."

Natey.

"How many?" he thought back.

"Twenty-five."

Lucien smiled.

"I'm coming."

He turned to Delian. "I have some work, my sneaky viper. Find your squad. Wait for me at the base."

Delian's lips brushed his—a quick kiss, warm and possessive.

"I understand. Something important, I assume." She pulled back, her eyes searching his face. "Don't worry about me. But take care of yourself."

She vanished into the forest, a shadow among shadows.

Lucien watched her go.

With this, he thought, I have control of the Alde family. Delian is strong. Useful. And after everything… she's not going to let me go.

He turned toward the distant cave.

It's time I took care of some unfinished business.

Natey sat in the same spot where Lucien had first found her—at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the cavern where Ashwin and Osmon had died. The bodies were gone. The blood had been cleaned. But she could still smell it.

Twenty-five Realm Masters wandered through the cave system, calling her name, searching for paths, for treasure, for the girl who had cried for help.

She waited.

Would they be enough to defeat Master Lucien? she wondered. No. Probably not.

She was still afraid of him. The way he killed—so casual, so indifferent—had carved itself into her memory. But somewhere beneath the fear, something else had begun to grow.

Admiration? she thought. Attraction?

She had never imagined meeting someone so powerful. Someone so absolute. It was like a fantasy.

The air in front of her split open.

A Void Tear crackled into existence, and Lucien stepped through.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, smiling.

Natey did not answer. They both knew it was not a real question.

From deeper in the cave, a voice called out: "Natey? Where are you? Did you find a path?"

Lucien's smile widened. "How did you gather so many?"

Natey kept her voice steady. "I cried. I told them I was lost. I said I would do anything if they helped me."

"Fucking retards." Lucien patted her head—almost gently. "Well. You did good work."

He turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Wait here. I'll take care of them."

Natey sat down against the cold stone.

What if he kills me now? she thought. My purpose is served. I'm just a loose end.

But as the screams began—distant at first, then closer, then everywhere—she found herself smiling.

At first, I was scared. Making a trap for these people felt wrong.

But now… it was fun. Watching them walk to their deaths.

If Master Lucien keeps me by his side, I could have days like this every day.

She hugged her knees.

There must be something wrong with me. He killed my fiancé. My master. My friends. And I don't feel a single shred of revenge. As if I never cared about them at all.

The screams stopped.

Lucien appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. Not a single drop of blood marked his clothes. His golden hair was undisturbed. He looked like he had just returned from a pleasant stroll.

"Get ready," he said. "We're going down."

They descended fifty meters.

The tunnel opened into a vast underground chamber—a river of crystal-clear water flowing between banks covered in flowers that glowed with soft blue light. Bioluminescent moss clung to the ceiling, casting the space in an ethereal glow. It was beautiful. Unnatural. Wrong.

As they approached the far wall, Lucien felt it.

Suction.

Something was pulling him—not physically, but deeper, stranger, like gravity had shifted direction. The air rushed past him. His boots skidded on the stone.

He grabbed Natey, pulled her against his chest, and ran.

The suction accelerated. His speed became godlike—blurring past multiple branching paths, each one a death sentence if he chose wrong. One wrong turn and the vacuum would crush him against the stone.

He trusted his instincts.

For over an hour, he ran.

Then the tunnel ended.

They burst into a cathedral.

Broken pews lay scattered across the floor like fallen soldiers. Statues of gods—forgotten deities with chipped faces and missing limbs—lined the walls. Stained glass windows, shattered and dark, stared out like blind eyes. Dust covered everything.

But the ceiling was intact.

"What is this place?" Natey whispered.

"A cathedral." Lucien walked forward slowly, his eyes scanning the room. "Judging by the decor… some kind of cult."

He stopped.

The skeletons were all clustered together—huddled in a corner, as if they had died hiding from something. Their bones were cracked, splintered, broken from the inside.

A lever.

It stood against the far wall, untouched by dust.

Lucien made a decision. He opened the Shadow World and pushed Natey inside—not roughly, but firmly. She disappeared into the darkness between spaces.

Then he pulled the lever.

The ceiling groaned.

Stone ground against stone as the roof began to open—peeling back like the petals of a flower, revealing more space, more darkness. The cathedral expanded upward, its true size revealed.

And above them, floating in the center of the space, was a being.

Millions of veins connected to it—threading through the walls, the floor, the ceiling—all feeding into its humanoid form. It had no skin. No bones. Only veins and flesh, woven together into the shape of a man.

It was sleeping.

Or so it seemed.

Lucien did not hesitate.

He drew the Blood Moon Katana and activated World Cleaver.

Slashes filled every millimeter of space—invisible blades cutting through air, through stone, through flesh. The being was carved into millions of pieces. Veins fell like rain. Flesh scattered across the floor.

Silence.

Lucien lowered his sword.

Too easy, he thought.

The veins regenerated.

Instant. Seamless. The being reformed as if it had never been touched. Its head turned toward Lucien. Its face—if it could be called a face—had no features. No eyes. No mouth. No nose.

But it saw him.

Veins shot from every direction—from the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the air itself. Lucien dodged, weaved, cut—but they were too many. Too fast.

Several pierced his body.

He screamed.

Not from the physical wound—his body was steel, forged by Astral Marrow Pills and Primordial Souls. But this pain was deeper. This pain was his soul.

The veins were attacking his soul.

Lucien staggered. His vision blurred. His astral energy drained—sucked out of him like water through a straw. For the first time since coming to this world, he felt weak.

He stepped into the Shadow World.

Natey stood in the darkness, waiting.

Lucien appeared before her, gasping, bleeding from wounds that should not have been possible. His soul felt raw. Exposed.

Natey watched him.

"You can't kill it directly," she said. "Attacking the main body won't work."

Lucien forced himself upright. "Do you have a plan?"

"It's called a Soulpiercer. An immortal creature." She spoke quickly, evenly. "Its body is here, but its heart is somewhere close. Destroy the heart first. Then attack its soul directly. Only then can it be killed."

Lucien's eyes narrowed. "How do you know this?"

"My family—the Ravencroft Family—is famous for information. Records. We've been documenting the creatures of the Ancient Breach for hundreds of years." She met his gaze without flinching. "We are not strong. But information is our strength."

"And why would you help me?" Lucien's voice was cold. "I killed your master. Your fiancé. Your friends."

Natey's expression did not change.

"My family is a baron merchant house. Every decision I've made was for my own benefit. Osmon had resources. Ashwin had devotion. Neither of them had power." She paused. "Even now, I have two choices. Either you find me useful and spare me. Or you die here—and I die with you."

She spread her hands.

"I don't have a choice. So I help."

Lucien stared at her for a long moment.

Then he smiled.

"You're smarter than I thought."

He disappeared.

Lucien erupted from the Shadow World with the force of a storm.

The Soulpiercer's veins shot toward him—but this time, he was ready. He cut them down as they came, his blade a blur of crimson light. He moved through the cathedral like a dancer, destroying everything in his path.

The pews. The statues. The walls themselves.

Stone crumbled. Dust filled the air. The stained glass windows shattered into a thousand glittering shards.

But the heart was not in the walls.

To sustain the body, the heart must be close, Lucien thought. So where—

He eliminated possibilities one by one.

Not in the floor. Not in the ceiling. Not behind the altar.

His eyes locked onto the Soulpiercer itself.

Behind it.

He charged.

The veins lunged—hundreds of them, thousands, forming a wall of piercing death. Lucien raised his hand and tore open a Void Tear directly in front of him. He stepped through and appeared behind the Soulpiercer.

Roots and vines exploded from the ground, ripping the back wall apart.

And there it was.

A heart—made of bloody veins, pulsing with dark light, connected to the Soulpiercer by a single thick cord.

Lucien destroyed it.

The Soulpiercer shuddered. Its veins went limp.

But it did not die.

The soul must be crushed.

Lucien's eyes began to glow—golden, blazing, terrible. His Draconic Armor materialized over his body, scales of black and crimson forming a second skin.

And above him, behind him, around him—a divine entity took shape.

Celestial Monarch.

She was beautiful. Terrible. Perfect.

Only half of her had manifested—from her head to her waist—but that was enough. Long golden wings curved from her back, each feather sharp as a blade. She wore a white dress that left her thighs bare, her large breasts straining against the fabric. Her face was emotionless, her eyes completely white.

A spirit of judgment. A god of execution.

Lucien raised the Blood Moon Katana. She raised her Divine Sword in unison.

World Cleaver.

The blade cut through everything—flesh, stone, space, soul.

The Soulpiercer died.

The Celestial Monarch vanished.

Lucien collapsed to his knees and vomited blood. His body could not handle the strain. Not yet. Not for long.

But he was alive.

[Dungeon Complete: Veins of the World]

Rewards:

Primordial Vein Heart – Attacks become soul-piercing. Upgradable to grant temporary invincibility.

Abyssal Soulburn – Burn the soul of any being weaker than the user through eye contact. Victims will tear their own flesh until death. Their souls burn for eternity.

Purification – Cure any disease in mortals. Upgradable for other beings.

Lift Curse – Remove curses from places and mortals. Upgradable for other beings.

Key for the Divine Cave – [Unknown]

+9000 Soul Points

Lucien read the notifications through blurred vision.

"Seems like I got divine items because this was a cathedral," he muttered.

He looked at the Primordial Vein Heart, still pulsing in his hand.

Combine with World Tree Heart.

Pain surged through his chest—hot, bright, transformative. The two artifacts merged, and Lucien felt his soul grow denser, sharper, more dangerous.

Then he activated Abyssal Soulburn in his eyes.

More pain. Worse pain.

His vision turned red, then gold, then settled into something new. He could see into things now. Into people. Into their souls.

Natey emerged from the Shadow World, summoned by his will.

She looked at him—at his glowing eyes, at the blood on his lips, at the smile that was not quite sane.

"Congratulations, Master," she said softly. "You are even more powerful now."

Lucien drew his sword.

In a blink, he was behind her. The blade rested against her throat.

"So," he said, smiling, "do you want to die?"

Natey did not flinch.

She smiled.

"Even if you kill me, I don't mind." Her voice was calm. Warm. Almost happy. "I saw something with you that I never would have seen with Osmon or Ashwin. They were retarded. Compared to you, they were worse than shit."

She reached up and touched his chest.

"I just want to see more."

Lucien sheathed his sword.

His hand found her cheek—caressing, almost tender.

"Well," he said, "you are still very useful."

Natey's heart soared.

Then her expression hardened.

"Master. Sarric Mordric is looking for you. He has three Spirit Forge Realm Masters with him. And his uncle."

She met his eyes.

"He's in the Peak Spirit Forge Realm."

Lucien's smile did not waver.

"Oh?"

Author Note:

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