Dispatched

Herbert’s expression grew increasingly grim.

He seemed to have thought of something but didn't dare to be completely certain. Matthew saw this hesitation, and his own heart sank. The more uncertain Herbert was, the more trouble this situation promised to be.

“Clack...” Another sound of friction echoed.

The sarcophagus lid shifted once more. This time, the gap was significantly wider than before. A chilly aura slowly seeped out from the sarcophagus.

It didn't feel like ordinary cold. The tomb was already cold—the stone walls, the ground, and the air were all imbued with a chill from years without sunlight. But the cold seeping from the sarcophagus was different.

It didn't just press against the skin; it felt like it was crawling into one's nose, ears, and eye sockets, slowly seeping into the brain. The expressions of the several Class holders standing slightly closer changed almost simultaneously.

The young crossbowman couldn't help but shiver. His raised mechanical crossbow wavered slightly, the bolt’s tip sweeping across the edge of the sarcophagus as he struggled to find a target to aim at.

The tall, thin scout immediately took half a step back. But just as his foot lifted, he forced it back down, suppressed by Sutton’s earlier command to stay still. He remained frozen in place, his fingers tightening around his short blade as his eyes instinctively darted toward the surrounding passages.

The shield-bearing adventurer raised his shield a bit higher, but his gaze did not grow any more relaxed. He could block swords and spears. He could block lunging beasts. But he didn't know if the shield in his hand could block the chilly aura seeping from the sarcophagus.

The female axeman remained silent, her hands gripping the axe handle tightly as her shoulders and back tensed. Her face appeared relatively calm, but her gradually slowing breath revealed that she wasn't as composed as she looked.

The old adventurer instinctively reached for the small leather pouch at his waist, which contained fire oil, medicinal powders, ropes, and a few iron nails used for disabling mechanisms. This time, however, his hand stopped at the pouch's opening, and he hesitated to take anything out.

He didn't know how useful these tools for dealing with ordinary tomb traps would be against the change before them. The cold-light stones above the burial chamber began to flicker.

The cold white light dimmed and brightened intermittently, stretching everyone's shadows, casting them distorted and elongated against the floor and walls. Matthew glanced down at his own shadow.

With just one look, he felt a wave of unease. The edges of the shadow seemed blurrier than usual. It wasn't the ordinary wavering caused by flickering light; it was as if the darkness itself was being gently tugged by something.

Matthew immediately looked away. He didn't continue to stare. In the wizarding world, many dangers didn't require direct contact.

Sometimes, staring at certain things for too long was a connection in itself. Matthew didn't know if the change in his shadow was such a case, but he didn't want to take the risk.

He trusted his own caution. Caution might not get him the most items, but it would keep him alive longer. The sarcophagus lid was still moving.

No one spoke in the burial chamber. Time seemed to slow down exceptionally at this moment. Every breath was drawn out; every heartbeat felt heavy.

Matthew could even hear the sound of someone swallowing in the distance. The sound was faint, but it was jarringly sharp in the deathly silence.

Finally, the lid stopped. It didn't crash to the floor, nor did it suddenly shatter. It simply slid to the side and came to a halt at a certain position.

In the center of the main burial chamber, the massive sarcophagus was now completely open. Everyone's nerves tightened in that instant.

A faint, grayish-white light appeared at Herbert’s fingertips, though he didn't release it immediately. Sutton’s single eye narrowed, his center of gravity lowering slightly as mana fluctuations faintly surfaced on his body, showing he was ready to strike at any moment.

Matthew hid half of his body behind a stone pillar, his grip on his short staff tightening. Meanwhile, Sutton’s five subordinates almost simultaneously entered combat stances.

The shield-bearing adventurer held his round shield in front of him with his short axe tucked behind it, leaning forward as if he would charge the moment something leaped from the sarcophagus. The female axeman lowered her stance, hands gripping her axe handle with the blade hanging by her side, ready to swing at a moment's notice.

The tall, thin scout silently drew a short blade while his other hand reached for the pouch of throwing knives at his waist. His eyes darted rapidly between the sarcophagus and the passages on either side, clearly looking for an escape route.

The young crossbowman raised his mechanical crossbow, aiming it at the sarcophagus, but his fingers trembled slightly from tension. He clearly wanted to pull the trigger but didn't know where he should be shooting.

The old adventurer took out a small glass bottle filled with dark red fire oil. He didn't throw it immediately, just gripped it tightly, clearly prepared for the worst.

Matthew was also prepared for the worst. If a corpse sat up in the sarcophagus, he would retreat immediately. If black mist sprayed out, he would use the stone pillar to block the first wave of impact.

If a monster leaped out, he would see who it attacked first before deciding which way to dodge. He didn't plan on being the first to act, nor did he plan on being the most visible person.

In a place like this, the first to react might not survive, but the first to be exposed was very likely to die first. However, nothing happened.

After the sarcophagus opened, no corpse sat up. No withered hand reached out. No black mist surged, and no monster roared. There wasn't even a stronger burst of mana fluctuations.

It just opened and then sat there quietly, like a silent, giant mouth. One breath passed. Two breaths. Three. Still, there was no change.

The tension didn't decrease; instead, it deepened. It was too quiet—abnormally quiet. If something had actually rushed out, everyone could have reacted.

But now, with the sarcophagus open and nothing happening, everyone was forced into a state of unresolved dread. No one knew what would happen next.

No one knew if the danger had already appeared and they just hadn't noticed it yet. Finally, the young crossbowman couldn't help but whisper, “Is there... nothing inside?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. In a scene like this, the idea of “nothing” didn't sound much safer than “something.”

The shield-bearing adventurer glared at him, seemingly blaming him for speaking out of turn. But the shield-bearer himself was uncertain.

The wrinkles on the old adventurer's face deepened as his grip on the fire oil bottle tightened. He had seen many tombs and many people who died in them due to greed, but he had never seen a sarcophagus open on its own like this.

The female axeman remained silent, her eyes fixed on the opening of the sarcophagus, her breathing kept very low. The tall, thin scout instinctively looked toward the surrounding passages, judging which path to take if things went south.

Matthew also stared at the sarcophagus, a deeper chill slowly rising in his heart. He would have preferred if a corpse had actually crawled out. Even a twisted monster would be better than this.

At least corpses and monsters could be seen. Their direction could be judged, and one could know where they came from and who they were attacking.

But this empty silence felt like danger itself was being hidden. It didn't show its face, didn't make a sound, and didn't attack. It just made everyone stand there, waiting, guessing, and fearing.

This was far more agonizing. Matthew’s fingers twitched slightly. He desperately wanted to retreat now, but he knew he couldn't be the first to move.

While everyone was staring at the sarcophagus, the first person to conspicuously pull back would likely draw everyone's attention—especially Sutton’s.

So, he could only remain still while using his peripheral vision to observe potential escape routes. There were three stone pillars at the edge of the main burial chamber.

Behind the pillar to his left was the direction he had come from. To the right was a passage leading to the outer area, but that passage was too close to Sutton and his subordinates.

There were also several half-collapsed stone walls behind him that offered more cover. If chaos truly broke out, he could use those walls to circle around the edge of the burial chamber. Matthew silently noted these routes in his mind.

This had almost become his instinct. Whenever he entered a dangerous place, the first thing he looked for wasn't treasure, but an exit. Treasure could only be taken if one was alive.

Herbert finally moved. He took a step forward. It wasn't a heavy step, but it drew everyone's eyes to him.

He didn't continue to approach the sarcophagus; instead, he stopped at a distance. He raised his right hand, and the grayish-white light at his fingertips slowly condensed, gradually turning into a thread-like Detection Spell.

The thread vibrated slightly in the air, like a strand of spider silk caught in the wind. Herbert’s expression was focused. He didn't let the Detection Spell dive straight into the sarcophagus.

Instead, he let it hover near the edge, slowly moving along the surface of the coffin. Everyone’s breathing grew light. Everyone hoped Herbert could see something.

Even a bad result was better than knowing nothing. The grayish-white thread approached the edge of the opening bit by bit.

Just as it was about to cross the threshold of the sarcophagus, an anomaly occurred. The previously stable light suddenly trembled violently. Immediately after, its brightness rapidly dimmed.

It didn't feel like it was being attacked; it felt more like it was being sucked in by something invisible. Herbert’s face changed sharply. Without any hesitation, he immediately cut the Detection Spell.

The grayish-white thread snapped instantly, dissolving into a few scattered specks of light in the air before vanishing. Herbert took half a step back.

Although it was only half a step, it was enough to highlight the problem. Sutton immediately looked at him. “What did you see?”

Herbert didn't answer right away. His gaze remained on the edge of the sarcophagus, his grim expression deepening into something even darker. A moment later, he spoke.

“Something inside is absorbing mana.” The expressions of the Class holders shifted instantly. “Absorbing mana?” the young crossbowman’s voice was strained.

He wasn't a wizard apprentice and didn't have a deep understanding of mana, but he at least knew that anything capable of actively absorbing mana could not be an ordinary trap.

The old adventurer also whispered, “Lord Herbert, what does that mean? Is it something inside the coffin?” The shield-bearing adventurer didn't speak, but he raised his round shield higher, his eyes visibly tighter than before.

The tall, thin scout’s throat bobbed as his gaze moved back and forth between Herbert and the sarcophagus. The female axeman remained silent, her fingers tightening even more around her axe handle.

But Herbert didn't explain much. He just stared at the sarcophagus, his voice dropping a few more octaves. “It’s possible it’s not just mana.”

The burial chamber fell silent once again. Not just mana. What else could it be? Life force? Spirit? Souls? No one dared to voice these guesses.

Once spoken, the fear would become far more concrete. Sutton’s expression grew increasingly foul. Herbert’s reaction, the sarcophagus’s anomaly, and the mana-absorbing power inside all failed to match the intelligence he had obtained.

He had originally thought the central sarcophagus would contain the most important remains of this Official Wizard’s tomb. Perhaps the Official Wizard’s remains, a powerful wizard artifact, or some sealed legacy.

But now, the sarcophagus had opened on its own, yet nothing had appeared, and it was exhibiting mana-absorbing properties. This didn't look like a treasury. It looked like a trap.

Sutton’s fingers slowly tightened. An image of a person involuntarily surfaced in his mind—the one who had given him the information. Back then, the person had been very clear.

This tomb belonged to an Official Wizard. Although it had been dormant for many years, it still contained resources, and the central sarcophagus in the main burial chamber most likely held the core legacy.

Sutton was not a man who easily trusted others. He had tested the information repeatedly and verified parts of it through his own channels.

It turned out that much of the intelligence was true. The entrance location was real. The patterns of the outer traps were real. The distribution of the hidden chambers was also largely correct.

Because everything before had been true, Sutton had walked here step by step. But now he suddenly realized that the most critical part of the intelligence might have been deliberately concealed.

That person told him how to get here, but they didn't tell him what this central sarcophagus actually was. If it was an unintentional oversight, that was fine. But what if it wasn't?

What if the other person knew from the start that this sarcophagus would be a problem and intentionally sent him here? A cold fury surged in the depths of Sutton’s heart.

He hated being used as a pawn. He hated even more being led into a trap without knowing it. But he didn't show it—at least, not now.

There were still many people watching him. Herbert was there, and Matthew was there. If he let others realize he had already possessed some intelligence, the situation would immediately become complicated.

Sutton forced down his emotions and scanned the group once more. The problem now was that the coffin was open, but no one knew the situation inside.

Herbert’s Detection Spell being absorbed meant they couldn't easily test it with spells. That left only one option: someone had to go and look.

Sutton couldn't go himself. And Herbert wouldn't go either.

...