Absolute Cheater-Chapter 278: Fantasy Dungeon XVII

Above and below, the world trembled.

From the highest spire of Mimir's palace to the deepest stone root of the dungeon itself, a resonance passed like a thunderclap made of memory. The ancient soul-ward, buried beneath a thousand years of royal lies, gave one final pulse—

—and shattered.

Not with a sound of breaking glass, but a chorus of voices, weeping, screaming, whispering—all once part of her.

In the vault far beneath the earth, where Asher and Valeris walked the memory-haunted hallway, the air thickened. The walls groaned as if trying to contain a tidal wave of souls.

Then, at the end of the corridor, a lock like no other was revealed.

Set into the very foundation of the dungeon, it looked less like a mechanism and more like a living glyph—shaped like a spiral of eyes, teeth, and stardust, forged from soul-iron and frozen memory. It pulsed with a rhythm that matched Valeris's heartbeat.

The lock spun once.

Then cracked.

And from within burst a deluge of soul-fragments—blinding lights, smoky shadows, weeping laughter. Thousands upon thousands of fractured memories howled free, each shaped like a shard of life: a mother's lullaby, a lover's kiss, a scream on a battlefield, a child's first word—all memories that had once belonged to Valeria the Devourer.

The fragments collided, spun, and joined together in a storm of light and darkness. Threads of golden soul-silk laced through them, weaving with terrifying precision. The wind that rushed through the hallway was not wind at all—it was time, spiraling.

Asher gripped Valeris's arm. "Stay with me."

"I'm here," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Then the fragments pulled together into a single form.

A translucent woman coalesced at the far end of the hallway, seated upon a blackstone throne that hadn't been there moments before. She wore robes that shimmered like liquid dusk, and her hair floated around her as if underwater—woven with stars, serpents, and flame.

Her face… was Valeris's.

But older.

Timeless.

Wreathed in the sorrow and majesty of ten thousand lives lost and remembered.

Her eyes opened—void-black, rimmed with starlight.

And she looked directly at them.

"You have come far," she said, her voice echoing across the stone like a memory too heavy to forget. "To meet yourself."

Valeris took a step forward, her breath catching. "Are you… her?"

The figure smiled—not cruelly, but with infinite depth.

"I am who you were. Who you will become. And who you may yet defy."

Asher's hand went to his blade, not in threat—but readiness.

"Is this where the possession begins?" he asked coldly.

The spirit tilted her head.

"No," she said. "This is where the choice is made."

A flash of light illuminated the chamber—and suddenly the throne room expanded, becoming a liminal space, neither dungeon nor palace, but something deeper: a convergence point where past, present, and future met.

The ghost of Valeria gestured to the blackstone throne.

"Sit, and remember. Or turn, and forget. The soul remembers either way. But only one path makes you whole."

Valeris stood frozen.

The throne shimmered before her.

Asher stepped beside her, jaw tight. "Whatever happens next… I'm not leaving your side."

Valeris nodded, never taking her eyes off the throne. "Then we walk together."

And together, hand in hand, they stepped toward fate.

Each step toward the blackstone throne sent ripples through the air—time itself bending, folding inward. The translucent form of Valeria the Devourer sat motionless, watching them with a gaze older than language.

When Valeris reached the steps of the throne, her knees trembled.

The spirit rose slowly, descending toward her—not walking, but gliding, her soul tethered to the air itself.

"You fear the throne," Valeria said gently. "Not because of what it may make you become—but because deep down, you already know what you are."

Valeris swallowed hard.

"I'm not you," she whispered. "I'm not a tyrant. I'm not a goddess. I'm me."

Valeria smiled. "Then sit. And let the truth prove you right."

Asher stood only a pace behind her, his presence grounding, silent.

Valeris stepped up.

One.

Two.

Three stone stairs—each pulsing beneath her foot with ancient resonance. Each one bearing a word carved into its surface:

Remembrance. Reckoning. Rebirth.

She reached the seat.

The moment her body touched the cold soulstone of the throne, everything shattered.

The world went white.

Her mind cracked open like a shell.

Memories not hers and yet deeply hers crashed through her—unfiltered, unforgiving:

A girl in rags forging her first soul-blade beside a forgotten well.

A young queen crowned with blood, not gold.

Armies falling before her not out of hate—but awe.

Her brother smiling before he drove the dagger into her back.

A final spell, cast with trembling hands, pouring all she was into the very bones of the world.

And then…

A flickering flame. Reignited.

Valeris.

Her memories pushed forward—not erased, but rising like mountains to meet the old tide.

Her mother's laughter.

Her first duel.

Asher, reaching out to her in the dark.

The girl she chose to become.

She stood—within her own soul.

And across from her stood Valeria, cloaked in duskfire.

"You are not me," Valeris said, voice steady. "But you are mine."

Valeria smiled. "And you are mine."

Their hands touched.

Two souls, once one, rejoined—not in domination, but in harmony.

Golden light spiraled upward from their joined palms.

Then Valeria faded—not vanishing, but folding inward, becoming a silhouette of flame that melted into Valeris's chest, like a final puzzle piece clicking into place.

Back in the throne room, Valeris opened her eyes.

They were no longer hers alone.

They were deeper. Vaster.

Streaked with starlight.

The throne pulsed beneath her. The dungeon shifted around her.

She rose—slowly, power radiating off her in gentle waves.

Asher stepped forward, his eyes wide.

"Valeris…?"

She turned to him, smiling.

"It's still me," she said softly. "But now I know who I was… and who I choose to be."

Then the chamber around them trembled again—

But this time, it wasn't from memory.

It was from war.

Above, in the palace, the High Magisters screamed.

Soul-alarms blared across the sky.

The royal bloodline had felt it.

The true heir had returned.