Chapter 68: Magic of Freedom
The tension in the air was palpable, a silence so heavy it threatened to choke them. The moment they stepped into the cavernous chamber, the ambient warmth of the outside world vanished. In its place came a suffocating chill and the oppressive scent of decayed flesh and scorched bone.
Then, they heard it.
Clacking.
Not just one or two sounds—dozens, maybe even more.
Fifty figures emerged from the gloom ahead, their bony forms illuminated by the sickly blue glow of the crystals embedded in the cave walls. They towered over ordinary men, their skeletal frames thicker and bulkier than any human remains. These were minotaurs once—now twisted undead hulks, each easily over eight feet tall, horns jutting from their cracked skulls, and empty sockets glowing with an unholy green fire.
"Skeleton minotaurs," Serina said, eyes widening in recognition. "Animated through dark magic. This is necromancy—strong necromancy."
"And fifty of them," Lyra muttered. "That’s... a bit more than I expected."
"They’re fast," Elira warned, raising her kite shield and bracing her stance. "Watch their charge."
"Serina," Inigo said, his voice calm despite the rising danger. "Burn them."
The sorceress nodded, already stepping forward.
She lifted her silverwood staff and began chanting in a soft, melodic cadence. Glyphs glowed from the runes carved into her cloak and spellbook, lighting up with an eerie orange hue as mana gathered in her palm. Her voice rose—no longer gentle but commanding. A flare burst from her staff’s tip, exploding overhead and lighting the entire cavern in searing orange light.