Chronicles of the Hidden Crown: The System's Gentle Tyrant-Chapter 79: The Path Forward: Truths Beneath the Surface

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The hidden passage stretched downward into darkness, rough-hewn and ancient. The walls were carved stone, worn by time and pressure, etched with faded glyphs half-swallowed by creeping moss. A damp, cold breeze flowed from the depths below, carrying a scent that was neither rot nor earth—something older, heavier, as though the very air bore the memory of a forgotten age.

Kieran led the way, a faint orb of light floating above his open palm. The others followed silently, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust covering the stone floor. Every sound—their breathing, the creak of armor, the faint whisper of their clothing—seemed unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence.

Behind them, the rumble of the godslayer's fury echoed faintly through the sealed entrance, growing more distant with each cautious step forward.

"Stay close," Kieran murmured under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper. Even the sound of his own words seemed disrespectful here, in this ancient artery of the world.

The passage twisted and turned, winding like a serpent through the bowels of the earth. Strange murals occasionally broke the monotony of the stone walls—faint depictions of battles between beings too massive and grotesque to be human. Some murals showed towering figures clad in starlight, others monstrous shapes writhing in darkness.

Each image was faded, as if the very history they depicted had been erased by time.

After what felt like hours, the narrow tunnel opened into a cavern—vast, hollow, and silent. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like jagged teeth. A shallow, still pool of water stretched across most of the cavern floor, perfectly reflecting the dim light of Kieran's orb.

But it wasn't the size of the cavern that held them frozen in place—it was what lay at its center.

A tower.

Or perhaps, what remained of one.

It rose out of the water, its base submerged, its cracked and weathered spire leaning precariously toward the cavern ceiling. Vines and dark moss crept along its surface, clinging to broken stone and rusted iron braces. Strange glyphs spiraled up its sides, pulsing faintly with a soft, unhealthy green light.

The atmosphere shifted the moment they saw it. A heavy, cloying sensation settled on their shoulders. The tower watched them, though no eyes could be seen. It was a presence, an awareness embedded in the stone itself.

Elira shuddered and instinctively knocked an arrow to her bow.Rhea's hand went to the hilt of her sword, her body tense.

Kieran narrowed his eyes, stepping forward slowly, feeling every instinct inside him bristle in warning.This was no ordinary ruin.

This was a relic from the First Era.An artifact from before recorded history—a time only whispered about in forbidden tomes.

He could feel it: the tower was sealed. Not abandoned or destroyed—but bound. Trapped by rituals so old and so vast that even the glyphs used to weave them were foreign.

"This place..." Elira finally broke the silence, her voice barely a breath. "It's... cursed."

Kieran nodded."Not cursed," he murmured, studying the swirling glyphs on the tower's base. "Guarded."

There was a distinction—a critical one.

Something was locked within.Or something had been built around a wound so deep that it bled into reality itself.

He moved carefully around the edge of the pool, the others trailing him with wary eyes. As he approached the tower's entrance—a jagged archway barely wide enough for a person to pass—he noticed a small pedestal near the doorway.

Upon it rested a book.

It was smaller than the Codex they had found before—about the size of a man's palm. Its cover was wrapped in dried, flaking leather, stitched with thread so black it seemed to drink the surrounding light. Unlike the Codex, this tome had no title, no markings—only a sigil burned into the front.

The sigil resembled an eye—slashed through by a jagged line.

The moment Kieran laid eyes on it, his mind reeled.A sensation like vertigo gripped him, a rush of incomprehensible memories that were not his own—wars under black suns, oceans turned to ash, stars falling like rain.

He staggered slightly, catching himself with a hand on the pedestal.

Elira was at his side immediately, her face tight with concern."Kieran?"

He shook his head, regaining control with an effort of will. "I'm fine. Just... this place. This book. It's dangerous."

Of that he was certain.The book wanted to be read.

It hungered for it.

He summoned a protective veil of magic around his mind, a shield against external influence. Only then did he carefully lift the tome from the pedestal. The moment he touched it, the glyphs on the tower's surface flared briefly, then dimmed again, returning to their sluggish, pulsing glow.

The tome was ice-cold to the touch.It vibrated faintly, like a heartbeat.

Kieran opened the first few pages cautiously.

Inside, the writing was jagged and sharp, penned in an ink that shimmered green-black under his light. The language was ancient, but to his surprise—and growing unease—he could understand it. Not because he had learned it, but because something in the book made him understand.

The first few lines burned into his mind:

"Thus fell the First Gods, devoured by their own progeny. Thus rose the Cursed Ones, bearers of the End's Seed, the Silent Watchers beneath the Black Tower."

"When the Seal breaks, the Awakening begins."

"Only the Crown of Shadows can bind the Remnants once more."

Kieran snapped the book shut, breathing heavily.The Awakening? The Crown of Shadows?

Everything they were uncovering—the Codex, the cursed forest, the godslayer, the ancient cults—it was all tied together.

And it was far bigger than anything they had prepared for.

Rhea glanced around uneasily. "We shouldn't stay here long. That godslayer might still be tracking us."

Kieran nodded grimly.This was only the beginning.They would need to regroup. Study the book carefully. Prepare for what was coming.

And find the "Crown of Shadows"—whatever it was.

Because somewhere, deep beneath the surface of the world, the ancient enemies of existence were beginning to stir.

And if they did not act, it would not be a dark age that came upon the world.It would be the End itself.