Regaleon: The Forgotten Knight

Moments after Regaleon disappeared into the tunnel, the pursuing Terracottas finally reached the entrance. Then suddenly, they stopped...

This was not because an obstacle barred their path nor because they lacked the means to continue the pursuit, instead, they simply halted unnaturally...

Dozens of crimson visors stared silently into the dark passage where the eight exiles had vanished only moments earlier.

Time itself seemed to stand still for several heartbeats. Then finally, as though responding to an inaudible command, every Terracotta moved in perfect unison as without the slightest hesitation, the constructs turned around...

Their armored footsteps echoed rhythmically through the vast crypt as they marched back the way they had come.

There was no urgency in their movements. Instead, it was mechanical and precise. One after another, the Terracottas returned to their assigned platforms...

The spear bearers resumed their disciplined ranks along the obsidian avenue, sword bearers planted themselves exactly where they had stood centuries before, gauntleted hands resting motionlessly upon the hilts of their ancient weapons while shield bearers lined the pathway leading toward the dais, forming an unbroken wall of stone and steel...

And within mere moments, it was as though they had never moved in the first place...

Only the fractured floor and broken remains of fallen Terracottas testified to the ferocious battle that had unfolded within the ancient chamber.

High upon the raised dais, the six-winged guardian remained standing before the three ancient sarcophagi.

Surprisingly, despite the devastation surrounding them, the stone coffins themselves remained untouched. It was almost as though they existed within a different layer of reality, a place beyond the reach of violence, where the battle had never occurred.

For several long moments, the guardian’s crimson gaze remained fixed upon the tunnel entrance. Then finally, it slowly turned away...

Each armored footstep reverberated throughout the crypt as the colossal guardian returned to its original position behind the three sarcophagi.

The tip of its Greatsword settled gently upon the fractured obsidian floor, both gauntleted hands rested upon the weapon’s pommel and its six metallic wings folded neatly behind its back with mechanical precision...

Gradually, the crimson radiance burning within its eyes diminished as the brilliant glow faded until only faint embers remained beneath the winged helm.

Then, the guardian finally closed its eyes and silence reclaimed the ancient crypt once more; this was not the oppressive silence of forgotten tombs nor the dreadful stillness that heralded slaughter, but the solemn silence that always followed war.

The kind that is left behind after steel had ceased clashing and after cries of battle had faded into memory...

Once again, the ancient guardians resumed their eternal vigil; patiently awaiting the next souls bold, or perhaps foolish, enough to disturb the sacred resting place...

Meanwhile, the eight exiles continued running with none of them daring to slow their pace.

Their footsteps thundered through the narrow stone tunnel while ragged breaths echoed endlessly against the ancient walls; every heartbeat drummed painfully within their ears and every labored inhale felt inadequate.

Although none of them looked behind, each carried the same terrifying illusion, that at any moment the relentless Terracottas would emerge from the darkness behind them...

Even the tunnel itself did little to ease their fears because lining both sides of the passage were rows of weathered stone statues.

Each resembled the Terracottas they had barely escaped from and for several agonizing moments, every member of the group had expected those statues to awaken as well.

The battle within the crypt had carved itself so deeply into their minds that every silent figure appeared moments away from springing to life...

Even Regaleon found himself tightening his grip upon his halberd each time another statue entered his field of vision. But fortunately, nothing of that sort happened as the statues remained exactly as they had been for countless ages...

The eight exiles continued racing through the tunnel without uttering a single word and it was only when they finally reached the familiar intersection where the passage divided into multiple branching corridors that Regaleon raise a hand.

”Stop...”

The word came out little more than a hoarse whisper, but even so, everyone listened almost immediately...

And the moment they halted, whatever strength remained within their bodies seemed to vanish all at once.

Several of them bent over instinctively, hands braced against their knees as they desperately fought to draw enough air into burning lungs while others simply stood frozen in place, their chests rising and falling violently.

For a long while, the only sounds filling the intersection were ragged breathing, pounding heartbeats, and the occasional cough echoing softly through the ancient tunnels.

It was only now that they were no longer fighting for their lives did they truly realize just how close to death they had come...

The first to collapse completely was Veyrath.

The failed Alchemist let the enormous bronze cauldron slip from his grasp before it struck the stone floor with a heavy clang that echoed throughout the intersection. Then he followed it a heartbeat later...

Dropping onto the cold ground with an exhausted groan, he spread himself flat against the stone ceiling of the tunnel as though he had no intention of moving ever again.

His chest rose and fell violently while every breath sounded like a man who had sprinted for miles without stopping.

”I swear...” he wheezed between ragged breaths. ”I’m never doing something like this again.”

Despite the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm them, a few tired smiles appeared on several faces at his words...

Valmyr leaned heavily against his battered shield.

The failed Vanguard allowed himself a crooked smile before replying between uneven breaths. ”You are not alone in that.”

His voice was strained almost beyond recognition when he spoke.

Every muscle in his body throbbed relentlessly after repeatedly smashing into constructs whose strength rivaled Rank One Animas. His palms had long since been rubbed raw from gripping his shield without pause, while his shoulders burned as though molten iron had been poured into them.

Bruises spread beneath his beastskin armor wherever Terracotta weapons had struck, and each breath sent sharp pain coursing through his ribs. Yet despite everything, relief flickered across his weary face, for he had fulfilled the duty entrusted to him.

Among everyone present, no one had borne a heavier burden because he had been the spearhead of their escape.

Had he failed to break through the Terracottas’ ranks even once, the group would have been trapped upon the dais and overwhelmed by the endless tide of constructs and that knowledge alone had driven him to push far beyond his limits.

Nearby, Vaelorin simply lowered himself onto the dusty floor where he stood. He didn’t care about the centuries of dust coating his clothes as he rested his Staff across his lap while staring blankly into space.

Every bone in his body ached as though they had been hammered apart one by one and even lifting a single finger felt like a tremendous effort.

Repeatedly forcing Aether through his Soul Essence had left his pathways burning with pain, and the lingering backlash caused faint tremors to run through his arms...

Not far away, Kaeloris slowly removed his crooked spectacles with trembling hands before he carefully wiping away the thin trail of blood running from beneath his nose. Fortunately, he had somehow managed to retrieve the cracked glassed during the course of their escape.

His face was frighteningly pale.

Dark circles had formed beneath his weary eyes, while countless beads of sweat clung to his forehead despite the cool air within the tunnel. His fingers trembled uncontrollably from exhaustion, making something as simple as cleaning his glasses surprisingly difficult.

Even the once-radiant Scroll in his grasp had become an ordinary sheet of parchment, its brilliance extinguished after consuming nearly every fragment of strength he possessed...

Several paces away, Caelestra quietly rested her enormous Treasure Chest upon the ground before sitting beside it. Her arms trembled uncontrollably from repeatedly swinging the cumbersome Soul Essence throughout the battle, while crimson stains had spread across the sleeves of her clothes where blood continued to seep from shallow wounds.

Strands of silver-blonde hair clung to her sweat-soaked face, yet despite her exhaustion, relief gradually softened her expression. She leaned against the Treasure Chest and closed her eyes for a brief moment, silently grateful that they had all escaped alive...

Finally, there was Regaleon.

The failed Knight remained standing only because his Halberd supported nearly half his weight.

His once-proud armor had become little more than a battered shell, riddled with dents, deep scratches, and fresh cracks from the relentless punishment it had endured. Blood slowly trickled from the corner of his lips, while dried crimson stains marked countless joints in the armor where old wounds had reopened during the battle.

Every breath sent sharp pain through his chest, and his trembling legs threatened to give way beneath him at any moment. Even so, his golden eyes remained alert as they quietly swept across each member of the group, reassuring himself that every one of them had survived...

For a long while, no one spoke as they all lingered in the comforting silence hanging over the intersection.

Each of them quietly reflected upon the battle they had just endured; the six-winged guardian, the endless Terracottas and the desperate retreat.

Any one of those events could have claimed all of their lives. Yet somehow, against every expectation, they had survived. It almost felt surreal to some extent...

Suddenly, while they were reeling in all of that, a small, trembling voice echoed softly through the tunnel.

”I’m sorry...”