Kael stood before the golden-glowing chest, breath shallow, body bruised. The light it emitted wasn’t just radiant—it was alive. It shimmered and pulsed like a heartbeat, warm and cold all at once, a beacon buried in the rot.

  With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached out—

  Fingers curled beneath the cold edge—

  And lifted the lid.

  A wave of pressure spilled out. Not air. Not magic. Something older. Legacy.

  Inside, nestled in black silk stitched with gold thread, was a single item resting atop a folded scroll and a cluster of smaller treasures.

  [Legendary Item Acquired: Gravetongue Sigil]

  A medallion of obsidian glass wrapped in twisting strands of soulmetal. Carved into its center was a symbol: an open skeletal mouth exhaling wisps of spirit. The chain shimmered faintly, like it existed in two planes at once.

  Kael picked it up, and the Hollow Grimoire purred at his side.

  [Gravetongue Sigil – Unique Item]

  Slot: Amulet

  Type: Necromantic Conduit

  Effect: Allows communication with intelligent undead or stored souls within the Soul Vault.

  Passive: Undead under your control gain +5% intelligence and retain partial memory of speech or past skills.

  Special: Unlocks access to “Soul Echoes” in powerful corpses, granting memories or whispers of their final thoughts.

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  Bound to: Kael Vire

  Kael turned the medallion over in his hand, lips curled into a grin. “Perfect,” he muttered, slipping it around his neck. He felt it bind to him instantly—like cold water running down his spine and settling between his ribs.

  The Grimoire fluttered open, glowing slightly.

  Kael tilted his head. “Why the hell am I this lucky?”

  “Statistical anomaly,” it whispered. “Average mortal luck rating is between 1 and 3. Exceptional individuals reach 4. You possess 8. Unnatural. Unexplained.”

  Kael blinked. “…Wait, that’s high?”

  “Impossibly. Unfairly. Irritatingly.”

  He chuckled. “So what you’re saying is, even the gods would hate me at dice.”

  The tome growled softly.

  Kael glanced at it, thoughtful. “You’re getting more coherent the deeper we go… but I still need to find a way to make you smarter. I want conversations, not cryptic poetry.”

  The Grimoire shuddered once in response. Not refusal—anticipation.

  He dug deeper into the chest.

  The scroll was sealed with bloodwax—an old summoning formula he didn’t yet recognize. Two pouches of coin glinted gold and black, and three vials of viscous dark red potion—marked with necromantic sigils for Mana Fortification, Boneflesh Hardening, and one with no label at all.

  Then… he stood.

  The dungeon was still. Silent. And the corpse of the Mourning Knight was no longer just a memory—it was his to command.

  Kael stepped into the center of the room and extended his hand.

  “Let’s see what you look like under my leash.”

  The air split as he cast Raise Lesser Dead—but this was no lesser corpse.

  A deep rumble echoed from the stones, and the ground beneath the boss’s deathsite trembled. Mist poured upward in a spiral as the Hollow Grimoire howled with delight.

  The Mourning Knight rose again.

  But now, it was changed.

  The metal that once grafted into its body had fused smoothly into the bone. Its greatsword no longer screamed—it hummed, low and deadly. Its eyes, empty before, now flickered with violet flame. The cage on its head was gone, replaced with a crown of fractured bone.

  And carved across its chest, glowing like firebrands, was Kael’s Soulbrand sigil.

  It dropped to one knee before him.

  Silent.

  Obedient.

  “Good,” Kael said. “You’ll be the first of many.”

  He turned and made his way back up the dungeon’s spiral maw, the Grimoire floating beside him, the boss now trailing silently behind like a monstrous knight-guardian. The dungeon no longer growled. It had been conquered.

  As Kael passed the cracked bones and rotting hallways, he whispered under his breath:

  “Now… let’s see what Crimson Hollow has to offer.”