Journey to Become the Zenith

The Mountain That Buried the Truth

Lane’s voice broke the silence.

”Victor.”

Her expression remained composed, but there was a sharpened edge beneath it—like a blade pressed lightly against skin.

”I found something you might want to see.”

And with that—

She turned, gaze fixed toward a narrow trail cutting deeper into the mountain’s shadow.

Victor didn’t hesitate. Clara followed immediately.

Down that trail, Lane ahead, ground rough underfoot, route curling close to the cliff where woods gave way to bare rock. Stones shifted with every step they took. Air changed up high - not just chill but sharp, slipping through fissures in the face like it carried secrets older than names.

Lane moved forward quickly, though without rushing all the way. Still, he stayed short of his top pace.

Faster meant trouble, Victor said before. Clara might fall behind when the pace got rough.

Lane remembered that.

What stuck with her was how clear it stayed. The memory annoyed her more than she wanted to admit.

A slight tension crept into her jaw when she shifted how fast she walked.

Something inside urged her to slip away, leaving them scrambling behind. Yet she hesitated, caught between motion and stillness.

But she didn’t.

If Victor got irritated

Just that one idea made her walk slower.

Mistakes? None came from her. Blame landed elsewhere, quietly.

Lane knew that.

Facts settled in slowly, just like Victor once explained. She got it now.

Someone else will share the space you think you hold alone.

Belonging to me means agreeing to it - no exceptions. That’s how it stands.

That night in the village—

When the air was thick with tension and desire—

She had agreed.

Passion had drowned hesitation.

She had crossed that line willingly.

And Victor had been honest from the beginning.

She had already accepted Skyla—her twin.

She had accepted Videl—their childhood friend.

The four of them had grown up together. Shared meals. Shared dreams. Shared scars.

But Clara—

Clara was different.

Not someone raised beside them.

Not someone who knew Victor’s past the way they did.

She had walked into their world later.

And that difference gnawed at Lane in ways she hated admitting.

It’s fine.

She forced herself to breathe.

Once I accept Clara... the others will be easier.

I hope.

A quiet sigh escaped her.

The trio finally reached the place Lane had discovered.

The sun had dipped below the mountain ridge now. The sky was violet, fading into ink. Shadows pooled thick between stones.

It was too dark to see clearly.

Victor stepped forward and extended his hand.

”Light.”

Mana gathered in his palm, forming a soft white orb. He flicked his fingers upward and the orb floated above his head, casting steady illumination.

Lane and Clara followed suit, each summoning their own light spells.

The clearing brightened.

And what it revealed—

Made Clara inhale sharply.

It was a graveyard.

Not ancient.

Not forgotten.

But deliberate.

Dozens of graves carved into the mountain’s slope. Wooden markers driven into soil. Some tilted. Some newly placed.

The earth had been disturbed.

That was the first thing Victor noticed.

The second—

The coffins were exposed.

Someone had dug them up.

Fresh soil lay scattered across the clearing. Planks splintered. Lids shifted.

The wind carried a faint scent of damp wood and something else—

Stillness.

”Lane,” Victor said quietly as he approached one of the open graves, ”did you try opening the coffins?”

Lane shook her head.

”No. The moment I saw them, I came to inform you.”

Her tone was steady, but her eyes flickered briefly toward Clara—as if to confirm she hadn’t acted recklessly.

Victor knelt beside the nearest coffin.

Clara stepped closer, shield slightly raised despite herself.

Victor placed a hand on the lid and pushed.

The wood creaked as it gave way.

The three of them looked inside.

Clara froze.

Lane’s fingers tightened around her bow.

Victor’s expression did not change—but his eyes sharpened.

Inside the coffin lay a body.

Fresh.

Not decomposed.

Skin pale but intact.

Clothes familiar.

It was the hunter.

The one who claimed to have seen the mountain ogre’s head.

Clara’s throat felt dry.

”He’s supposed to be alive,” she whispered.

Victor stood slowly.

”Open the others.”

They moved from grave to grave.

Each lid lifted.

Each coffin revealed another body.

Villagers.

Men. Women.

Familiar faces.

All of them preserved far too well.

All of them dead.

The air felt heavier with each discovery.

Lane’s thoughts spiraled.

If these are the villagers...

Then who did we speak to?

Her chest tightened.

Victor had considered two possibilities earlier—undead or blood-drinkers.

But this—

This complicated everything.

If the real villagers were here—

Then the ones in the village were something else.

”What is this?” Clara asked quietly, staring at the rows of unearthed coffins. ”They’re all dead... their bodies are here. So who are the people staying in the village now?”

Victor didn’t answer immediately.

His mind worked quickly.

The abandoned pilgrimage route.

Five months ago.

The anonymous request.

The fabricated ogre story.

The boy without blood.

Bodies buried.

Then exhumed.

”Something else is going on,” he said at last. His voice was calm—but colder now.

He looked at Clara.

”So what are we going to do? Does the quest sent to the guild still cover this?”

Clara exhaled slowly.

”It doesn’t anymore,” she admitted. ”At this point, we can return to the guild and report what we’ve found... or we can stay and solve this ourselves.”

She looked directly at him.

”You’re the party leader. You decide.”

Lane watched him carefully.

She knew that look forming in his eyes.

It wasn’t caution.

It wasn’t fear.

It was anticipation.

”Backing out isn’t really my style,” Victor said quietly.

He paused.

”And trying to solve a stupid mystery isn’t my style either.”

Then—

He smiled.

That sharp, vicious grin.

The one that surfaced when something dangerous stirred his blood.

Lane felt it immediately.

That familiar pull.

The reason she fell for him in the first place.

Not kindness.

Not stability.

But the hunger for confrontation.

For standing face to face with something monstrous—and not stepping back.

”Let’s take the direct approach,” Victor said.

His golden eyes reflected the floating light above them.

”And ask the villagers what the hell is happening in this village.”