Realm Lord

Before leaving the upper chamber, Arthur wanted to experiment further with his newfound power. His eyes fixed on the large wooden box that had contained the water jars, a curious thought forming in his mind.

'If I can store small items, what about something bigger?'

He concentrated, channeling the strange energy from his realm core toward the box. The familiar darkness spread across the wooden surface, creeping along the aged planks—but unlike with the jars, it stopped about halfway, refusing to progress further no matter how much he focused.

Arthur released his breath, unaware he'd been holding it. "Seems like there's a limit to the size of what I can consume with this ability... at least for now," he muttered, running his fingers along the partial shadow that still clung to the box before it dissipated like morning mist.

With a slight shrug of disappointment, Arthur descended the crumbling staircase to the main room of the temple. As he reached the bottom, the three skeletal figures positioned before the stone altar caught his eye once again—or more specifically, their clothes did.

'No, I can't. There's no way.'

The thought barely had time to form before Arthur found himself already kneeling beside the closest skeleton, gently lifting the edge of its short black robe. The fabric was surprisingly well-preserved despite its obvious age, protected from the elements within the temple walls.

"Agh, this isn't right," he whispered, hesitating as his fingers brushed against the garment.

Arthur wasn't exactly proud of what he was contemplating. It felt wrong to disrespect the dead like this, especially monks who had likely dedicated their lives to whatever deity or force this temple once honored. A pang of guilt stabbed through his chest as he carefully began removing the robes and loose pants from the long-dead worshipper.