Ancient Barrow Corpse

Having dealt with the Barrow-wight, Sylas finally let out a breath.

But the moment of peace was brief.

The clash of magic and the wight's final shriek had surely echoed across the hills, stirring the darkness that lingered in the Barrow-downs. If more creatures of shadow were awakened, they wouldn't wait long to strike.

He had to move fast.

Gripping his wand tightly, Sylas pressed onward through the fog-choked burial mounds, keeping a sharp eye on the ancient tombstones. Most were so weatherworn and cracked that their inscriptions had faded into nothingness, eroded by time and dark enchantment alike.

He was searching for a very particular grave, one that Tom had marked on his map.

It was the tomb of the last prince of Cardolan, the northern kingdom that had fallen to the Witch-king of Angmar. According to legend, the prince had died defending his homeland during the final siege and had been laid to rest with a blade sharp enough to carve even the ironwood hearts of ancient trees.

But before Sylas could locate the tomb, the Hogwarts Sign-in System activated with a familiar chime.

"Hogwarts Sign-in System: Location confirmed – Barrow-downs. Sign in?"

"Yes!" Sylas whispered immediately.

"Sign-in successful! Congratulations! You have obtained the Dark Arts tome Curses and Counter-Curses!"

A weathered, ominous-looking book shimmered into existence before him, its cover stitched with a grotesque relief of a twisted, anguished human face.

Sylas blinked.

"A Dark Arts book?" he muttered. "That's… unexpected."

He didn't have time to flip it open. No sooner had the book vanished a sinister chill swept through the air, and the mist thickened like a living thing.

Then came the sound.

A low rumble. Cracking stone. Something was clawing its way up from beneath the earth.

Multiple somethings.

Eyes narrowing, Sylas drew in a deep breath and began stacking protective charms around himself like bricks in a fortress. Over a dozen layers of magical protection shimmered faintly around him, like ripples on water.

Floating beside him, the cursed greatsword trembled faintly.

The fog stirred violently.

Then, without warning, a second Barrow-wight lunged from the gloom, its long arms outstretched, face twisted in a silent scream. It slammed into Sylas's shield and was flung backward with a bone-cracking thud.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Before Sylas could raise his wand again, three more Barrow-wights burst forth from the choking mist, each one clutching a massive, blackened greatsword.

They were swift. Too swift.

In an instant, they reached him, their cursed blades tearing through one of his magical barriers like parchment, a hiss of dark magic crackling in the air as they closed in for the kill.

"Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus!" Sylas shouted, his voice sharp with urgency.

One of the wights was caught mid-lunge and froze solid, limbs locked in place like stone.

But the other two had adapted.

With unnatural reflexes, they twisted away, evading the freezing spells with terrifying grace. Their glowing eyes flickered with cruel awareness, as if mocking him.

But Sylas wasn't done.

His cursed sword moved on its own, a blur of black mist and steel. It shot through the fog like a thunderbolt and impaled one of the dodging Barrow-wights through the chest.

The creature's body shuddered violently. In that moment of weakness, Sylas struck again, another spell fired like a lightning snap from his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

The greatsword was blasted from the Barrow-wight's grasp, clattering across the stones. 

The last wight tried to retreat, but it was too late.

The disarmed cursed blades, three of them now under Sylas's control, hovered for a heartbeat like vultures.

Then they struck.

From three angles, they closed in and pierced the final Barrow-wight with surgical precision, pinning it in midair.

It gave a silent, twisted shriek as dark mist burst from its form, then crumbled into ash.

Sylas wasted no time. Even before the last echoes of battle faded, he was already casting again.

"Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus!"

Spell after spell bound the fallen Barrow-wights in place.

Just as he had done with the final Barrow-wight, Sylas turned their own cursed swords against them. With precision, he wielded the blades to cut down the remaining undead. Strike after strike, black mist erupted from their bodies like smoke from smoldering coals, until finally, the wights gave a final screech and collapsed into lifeless heaps of crumbling bone.

Once the mist faded and silence returned to the burial field, Sylas moved quickly.

He gathered the cursed greatswords using magic, avoiding direct contact with their sinister surfaces.

As he moved to leave, something glimmered faintly beneath the remains of one of the Barrow-wights: a collection of ancient jewelry, ornate rings, brooches, and pendants that once adorned Dúnedain nobles. Though he was wary, Sylas couldn't ignore their potential magical value.

He wrapped the artifacts carefully in a strip of old cloth, sealing them tight without ever letting his fingers graze the metal. Cursed or not, they might one day prove useful… or need proper purifying.

With that done, he pressed on.

Eventually, he arrived at a tall, solemn structure that rose from the mist like a monument of forgotten glory. Its outer walls were carved from pale white marble, streaked with age and time.

"This must be it," Sylas whispered, checking the map Tom had given him. Sure enough, the location matched, a great marble tomb, standing apart from the rest.

The stone inscriptions were eroded beyond recognition, but even so, the sheer scale of the tomb told him that this was no common burial, it belonged to a prince.

The entrance had collapsed long ago, blocked by a heap of cracked stones and weather-worn rubble. Sylas rolled up his sleeves and began clearing the path, stone by stone. It took effort, but eventually, he uncovered a narrow opening, cold air and damp mist drifted up from below like a breath from the underworld.

He gave a sheepish chuckle. "Well... never thought I'd end up raiding a royal tomb," he muttered, steeling his nerves.

And with that, Sylas stepped into the darkness.

The tunnel beyond was just wide enough for one person to walk upright. With a flick of his wand, he whispered, "Lumos Maxima."

A glowing orb of light floated from his wandtip and hovered ahead, casting a gentle white glow that banished the shadows from the walls.

Around him, four of the cursed Barrow-blades he had claimed swirled slowly in midair.

The passage twisted and turned, deeper and deeper into the tomb. Damp stone, silence thick as fog, and a strange pressure in the air gave the place an eerie weight.

Finally, he reached the burial chamber.

It was vast and empty.

In the center of the stone chamber stood a single, solemn coffin.

What surprised Sylas was that, since entering the tomb, he hadn't encountered any attacks from corpse creatures.

Rather than easing his nerves, this abnormal silence only made him more cautious.

His eyes turned toward the stone coffin at the center of the burial chamber.

If there were no corpse creatures lurking elsewhere, then the only possible place one might be hiding... was inside that coffin.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The stone lid began to rise slowly. Sylas didn't wait, he immediately cast several Petrificus Totalus spells through the gap, sealing whatever lay inside before it could react. Only after confirming there was no movement did he fully lift the lid.

Bathed in the soft glow of Lumos, the contents were revealed: a shriveled corpse creature lay within, its skin dried and clinging tightly to the bone, its face twisted and grotesque. Cold, bloodthirsty black eyes flickered faintly beneath half-lidded sockets, filled with eerie malice.

Had Sylas not cast his binding spells first, the creature would have likely burst from the coffin the moment it was disturbed.

This one looked different from the others. It wore a silver crown set with dull gemstones, and ornate jewelry adorned its withered frame. Across its chest rested a sword exuding dark, cursed energy.

Sylas sighed softly.

"To find no rest even in death… what a tragic fate."

From what he knew, this corpse creature had once been the last prince of Cardolan, a royal who fell defending his kingdom against the Witch-king of Angmar. After death, his body was defiled and twisted into one of the Barrow-downs' cursed guardians.

A noble soul, enslaved by shadow.

"Never mind. Since I'm such a kind soul, I'll help you find peace," Sylas said lightly, then deftly disarmed the creature's cursed greatsword. At once, he directed the blades hovering around him.

Just as the strike was about to land, a burst of dark, seething power erupted from the corpse creature's body. The magical bindings shattered like glass.

Its sunken eyes turned crimson, glowing like coals in a furnace—hellfire dancing within. From its decaying throat came a voice dry and ragged, yet filled with menace.

"Who are you… to defy the servant of the great Witch-king?"

A wave of black energy radiated outward, thick with despair, dread, and cold. Sylas staggered. His breath caught. His thoughts became clouded, and an overwhelming sense of doom gnawed at the edge of his mind. The floating blades began to tremble and falter in midair.

With resolve, Sylas bit down hard on his tongue, sharp pain surged through his senses, jarring him back to awareness. Through gritted teeth, he raised his wand and moved it as though conducting a symphony.

Golden notes burst from the wand's tip.

Cheerful, brilliant music filled the tomb, echoing with warmth and light. The musical magic pushed back the encroaching darkness, silencing the voices of dread.

The corpse creature flinched, momentarily stunned.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Sylas shouted, his wand flaring with white light.

The beam struck the creature squarely, locking its body in place once more.

Not wasting a second, Sylas gave the silent order.

The five ancient swords streaked forward like shooting stars, driving straight through the corpse creature's skull.

A guttural cry of unwillingness echoed from the creature's lips, and its crimson eyes dimmed.

Just before its spirit faded, a cold whisper lingered in the tomb:

"I remember you… Wizard…"

Then, all was still.

The dark mist unraveled and vanished. The creature's body crumbled, leaving behind nothing but a pile of cold, white bones.

...

Bonus @500 PS