Barton, the Grave Digger

Matthew listened and observed quietly, like a detached chronicler.

He noticed that Herbert's “slightly better” attitude did not stem from any actual goodwill or appreciation. Instead, it resembled a near-instinctive rule of categorization rooted in a deep-seated worldview: apprentices who had awakened their Spirit, regardless of their origin or strength, had at least stepped onto the threshold of that invisible door, barely qualifying to be grouped into the lowest ranks of “us.”

Those who had not awakened, no matter how physically robust they were or how exquisite their combat skills, remained in essence things of the “other world.” They were no different from the roadside vegetation or the beasts of the forest, utterly unworthy of any extra thought or emotion.

This categorization was cold and absolute, devoid of personal likes or dislikes, which made it seem all the more strict and terrifying.

“So that's how it is...” Matthew murmured in his heart. A cold realization, like the frosty breath of early winter, slowly washed over his mind.

Though Sutton usually seemed solitary and taciturn, he at least maintained basic superficial courtesy and was willing to engage in limited communication.

What Herbert displayed at this moment was the more common, naked law of that path—a complete disregard for mortals. This was not the arrogance of an individual's personality, but a deep-seated worldview arising from the fundamental chasm in power.

In the eyes of a true wizard, or those who had walked the path of a high-grade apprentice for a long time, all the prosperity, struggles, emotions, life, and death of the mortal realm—including these battle-hardened Class holders who were considered elites among mortals—held a status probably no different from pack animals or digging tools. They were driven when needed, ignored when useless, and discarded without a shred of regret if broken.

That utter indifference, like looking down upon dust, was far more shocking than direct contempt or hostility. It revealed a cold, almost cruel fact: on the path of pursuing truth and eternal power, creatures who had not stepped through this door and touched the mysteries of Spirit were perhaps never viewed as complete “humans” from the very beginning.

He hid this heavy insight deep in his heart, as if swallowing a block of ice. The coldness was contained within, yet it pierced through to his very core.

His face remained as calm and rippleless as before, even gaining a touch more solemnity. However, he now had a deeper understanding and an engraved-in-his-bones vigilance toward Herbert and the strict, cold hierarchy of the wizarding world he represented.

This path was far more lonely and cruel than he had previously imagined.

In this manner, the team traveled silently and resolutely at a steady, cautious pace toward the deep region indicated on Sutton's map—an area shrouded in denser, older trees and steep, rugged crags.

The light in the forest grew dimmer and dimmer, as if they were stepping bit by bit into the quietly opening throat of a giant beast.

The group galloped on horseback, and several hours flew by in the sound of hooves.

The glow on the horizon faded from golden-red to dark purple, finally sinking into a deep, pale-blue twilight. The light in the forest was the first to thin out, as overlapping branches and leaves cut the remaining sky light into fragmented shadows, dappling the ground covered with rotting leaves. When the wind swept through the treetops, it no longer brought the afternoon heat, but a cool chill mixed with the scent of soil and night dew.

The dull thuds of hooves treading on the soft ground echoed with exceptional clarity in the forest, startling a few weary birds returning late to their nests in the distance. This only served to emphasize the emptiness and silence as twilight descended from all sides.

Sutton and Herbert were the first to pull their reins. Their horses slowed down from a gallop to a walk, eventually coming to a halt in the deepening twilight.

The others behind them also brought their horses under control, and the team gradually came to a standstill in a forest clearing.

As the sound of hooves died down, only the heavy breathing and snorting of the horses remained, exceptionally clear in the dim, quiet forest.

Matthew stopped along with the team. Looking up, he saw a rather steep mountain ridge stretching across his path.

Here, the trees grew increasingly sparse, replaced by large expanses of exposed greyish-brown rock layers, heavily furrowed by time and weather.

The terrain was steep and rugged, filled with bizarrely shaped rocks. Many of the stones displayed an unnatural, dark hue, as if they were saturated with too much moisture and subterranean chill.

Sparse shrubs and tenacious moss dotted the landscape, adding a touch of desolation and antiquity.

The scent of soil and rotting leaves in the air faded, replaced by the characteristic coldness of rock and a faint, indescribable dullness, as if the ridge itself were a massive, silent tomb.

Matthew withdrew his gaze from the surroundings and thought to himself, 'The terrain and layout of this ridge share some similarities with the entrance described in the spiritual map in my mind, but the details are quite different.'

'The entrance marked on the map is more concealed, and the distribution of vegetation is also more unique... It seems the tomb from the map Nathan obtained is not the same place as this "fall site of a Fifth-Grade Apprentice" that Sutton invited us to explore.'

This realization caused the slight, secret expectation he had harbored from obtaining the "full map" to quietly pop like a bubble pricked by a needle.

'It turns out it was just a false hope,' a faint trace of self-mockery drifted through his mind, 'but on second thought, this is only normal. Nathan's primary area of activity was far away on the grasslands. How could clues found there easily point to this distant, completely different mountain ridge? The two tombs are likely completely unrelated.'

But then, another thought occurred to Matthew.

This possibility was not absolute, either.

After all, the tomb map in his head depicted the interior of the tomb, not the exterior...

At this moment, Sutton turned around in front. His single eye swept over everyone, finally landing on the adventurers in the back. His voice was clear but not loud:

“Barton, come here.”

A short, stocky, dark-skinned adventurer with a short-handled pickaxe tucked into his waist immediately stepped out of the ranks upon hearing his name, quickly walking over to Sutton and Herbert.

His face bore the weathered marks of a life spent outdoors, but his eyes revealed a seasoned, steady calm.

“My lord,” Barton said, bowing slightly.

Sutton pointed toward the rugged mountain ridge before them:

“According to the records and my calculations, the entrance should be somewhere hidden on this mountainside. It might be related to a rock crevice, a cave concealed by vines, or some sort of artificial disguise that blends into the surrounding environment. You are skilled in this area. Investigate carefully.”

Herbert's gaze swept indifferently over Barton. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes, but it vanished in an instant.

...

...