Blood Mausoleum

"Welcome, descendant. Son of Dracknum."

The man's voice echoed through the silence. The corner of his lips curled into an ironic smile, as if mocking my presence—or perhaps my very existence.

"It is a—"

"Who, not what the hell are you?!" I interrupted without thinking, my breathing heavy, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Where are we?! How do I get back?! Is this the Black Forest?! Or the Demonic Forest?!"

The flood of questions escaped before I could stop myself.

And then… "Silence." 

The word sliced through the air like a cold blade.

My mouth snapped shut instantly.

The man's golden gaze didn't waver. It showed no impatience, no irritation… not even a hint of emotion. Yet, it made me freeze.

"Does this generation truly not know that it is disrespectful to interrupt an elder?"

His tone was simple. Unhurried. It held no need for force.

And yet… the pressure it carried was suffocating.

I tried to open my mouth to respond. Nothing came out. I tried to move a finger. Nothing budged. It was as if something invisible was pinning my body to the ground. This wasn't like the overwhelming yet composed aura of the Patriarch. It wasn't an elegant surge of mana like Leopold's. Even the warrior of Dracknum, with his crushing presence, still radiated something perceptible.

But this man… He exuded nothing. No presence. No hostility. No sign of power. And yet… My body trembled against my will. My legs weakened. And I could not lift my head.

'Terrifying.' That was the only word my mind could form.

My gaze was locked on his feet, unable to rise any higher. I couldn't tell if it was fear, forced reverence, or something beyond my comprehension.

All I knew was… there was nothing I could do.

Then… the man let out a soft sigh.

"Better." The smile returned to his lips—subtle, carrying something I couldn't decipher.

"Now, as I was saying… It is a great pleasure, after centuries, to finally have someone reach the Hunter's Trial."

'Huh?' My eyes widened. Every muscle in my body tensed. But I couldn't say a word.

"Once more, welcome, descendant. This is the Blood Mausoleum—the pride of all Dracknum. The place where true hunters are forged."

'Blood Mausoleum?'

My heart jolted. Every word he spoke pulled me deeper into confusion.

The Blood Mausoleum… it was supposed to be destroyed. Lost to time. The family records stated it had been wiped out over three hundred years ago during the demonic invasion.

It was a legendary place, long thought to be nothing more than myth—mentioned only in the elders' tales and the oldest family archives. The place where the Hunter's Trial reached its peak. The place where the fate of the Dracknum was decided. It was said that no one could truly be a Dracknum until they had entered the Blood Mausoleum… and emerged victorious.

And now, I was standing inside it.

'The records were wrong.' I swallowed hard, my mind racing to process the weight of this discovery. But before I could piece it all together, the man spoke again.

His golden eyes locked onto mine—like they were peering straight into my soul.

"Young Dracknum, tell me…" His voice was calm. Too calm. "Why has it been over three hundred years since I have seen a descendant?" Each word carried genuine curiosity. "And how is it that you have come to be here?"

My throat went dry.

"What is happening in the outside world?"

He waited, expecting my answers. But… I couldn't respond. I was still trapped, as if an invisible weight was holding me down. Whatever he had done to me was still in effect. My body trembled slightly, muscles tensed against my will.

'What is wrong with the people in this world?' My irritation was growing. 'Do they just decide when someone can or can't speak?!'

Before my frustration could rise any further, he laughed.

A short, drawn-out chuckle, as if he had just remembered something. "Ha! I forgot."

The pressure on me vanished in an instant. My shoulders relaxed. Air filled my lungs more easily.

"It's been so long since I last did this…" He let out a lighthearted chuckle.

I exhaled a deep sigh. There was nothing I could do but accept that in this world, things simply worked in an arbitrary way.

I adjusted my posture, trying to regain some composure.

"Before I answer, how about introducing yourself first?" I crossed my arms, forcing myself to hold a firm gaze. "After all, it's not every day someone survives for over three hundred years."

I confronted him directly.

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, as if evaluating my nerve. Then, he smiled. "A brave boy, I see." He tilted his head ever so slightly, seeming satisfied with my boldness. "But first… I am not alive. You must have realized that by now."

A heavy silence filled the space between us. I didn't react. Because, deep down, I had already expected that answer.

"I can hardly even be called a person." I kept my gaze fixed on him. "No reaction?" He let out a sigh as he observed me. "I am merely a remnant of the will and soul of someone… embedded into a golem."

My thoughts halted for a moment. The revelation didn't completely shock me, but… it was still unbelievable.

I knew about golems. Artificial creatures made from stone, metal, or even flesh—sometimes formed from pure elemental mana, activated through magic. But a sentient, autonomous golem? That was unprecedented. Even in the modern age, no one would be capable of creating something like this.

And more than that… He had been active for over three hundred years.

"..."

I remained silent.

Not because I had nothing to say, but because I was forcing myself not to show surprise. My mind was racing, analyzing all the possibilities.

'If he's been here for so long, beyond just a core, he must have his own mana source…'

'Could he be capable of accumulating mana on his own?'

'Or maybe he hibernates to conserve energy…?'

'That would mean…'

My thoughts were tangled in theories, but before I could get lost in them, I forced myself to refocus.

I took a deep breath and centered on the essential. "And this 'someone'… would that be Abel Dracknum?" I asked,I asked, after all I didn't know that name, it wasn't even in the family records that I had spent years reading. 'When I get back to the mansion I'll have to rummage through the library, or even the Patriarch office'

The golem's smile grew slightly. "I see you're not entirely ignorant." He tilted his head almost imperceptibly, as if acknowledging my merit for knowing at least that much.

"Yes." His golden eyes gleamed faintly, as if testing my reaction.

I held my firm stance. "In that case, how should I address you?"

He remained silent for a moment, as if evaluating my question, then finally answered: "You may call me Galdric Audinstein."

'Audinstein…?' The surname felt distant, almost familiar, but before I could dwell on it, he didn't give me the chance.

"I have answered your question." His tone was firm. "Now, it is your turn to answer mine."

I wanted to argue. But… there was nothing I could do. My expression betrayed a childish frustration, but in the end, I accepted the rules of this game.

"Okay, okay, I'll answer." I sighed, crossing my arms. "First of all, my name is Alexander Wolfgang The Dracknum, in case you forgot to ask."

There was a slight touch of irony in my voice. After all, if he wanted answers, the least he could do was ask who I was first.

He didn't react, simply waiting for me to talk.

"Now, as for the rest… here's the deal..."

✦ ✦ ✦

I spent hours recounting everything I knew about the outside world to the golem, Galdric Audinstein. From the last four centuries to the present day.

— The Great Demonic Invasion, which nearly wiped out the entire continent.

 — The fall of the Vinland Empire, now nothing more than a small kingdom, a mere echo of what it once was.

 — The aggressive expansion of the Ragnar Empire, solidifying itself as one of the greatest powers in history.

 — The ruin of entire cities like Ulthar, Eldershade, and Falkreath—once thriving, now mere memories on old maps.

 — The creation of the Principality of Magnum, a consequence of Allythéon's internal conflicts, reshaping the balance of power.

 — The Duchy of Silvermoon, once an independent kingdom, now under the rule of the Kingdom of Allythéon.

And countless other changes.

The most recent, however, was the exploration of the Sea of Darkness, undertaken by the Dracknum family 45 years ago—an absolute disaster.

The failure not only claimed the lives of countless elites and elders but also left the patriarch at the time gravely wounded, teetering on the brink of death. A family that had stood as an unshakable pillar for centuries suffered a devastating blow—a decline from which it never fully recovered.

Still, Galdric remained motionless.

His eyes didn't blink. His expression was cold, distant. It was like telling history to a statue—one that absorbed information but gave nothing in return, not even a flicker of emotion.

But then… for the first time, he reacted.

When I mentioned that the Blood Mausoleum had been destroyed during the demonic invasion, his brow furrowed.

And with a voice laced with incredulity, he countered: "Wrong."

My body instinctively tensed.

"How could the Mausoleum be lost? It cannot be destroyed. After all, we are inside it at this very moment." His voice, once cold and measured, now carried absolute conviction.

"Perhaps the access was lost… perhaps the key. But the Blood Mausoleum never moved, nor was it invaded or plundered."

"It has always remained where it was built."

My eyes widened slightly. "Where…?"

Galdric looked straight at me. "At the Threshold. Between the Black Forest and the Demonic Dimension."

My breath hitched for a moment. 'So I really am… at the boundary between the planes.' That revelation brought a strange sense of relief.

If the Mausoleum had never moved… then I had never truly left Dracknum territory. Which meant… there was still a chance to escape.

I continued my account, telling him everything that had happened since I entered the Black Forest—the Trial, the mercenaries, the fight, and how I ended up here.

When I finished, Galdric remained silent for a long moment.

And then… he smiled slightly. "Interesting." He leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes locked onto mine.

And then, with a cutting calmness, he asked: "I've heard your account. Some facts are intriguing, others… truly lamentable. To think that the family has declined in the past three hundred years… But it's not unheard of. Times of glory are always followed by periods of decline."

He paused briefly, his golden eyes glinting in the silence. "I have also answered your questions. And yet… something doesn't add up."

The tension in the air thickened. Then, with a piercing gaze, he questioned:

"Boy… are you truly a Dracknum?"