From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman-Chapter 108: Mountain Gate

It wasn’t a creature that emerged.

It was a limb.

Twisted and jointless, the colour of dead roots soaked in ink. The skin—or what passed for it—shimmered like wet bark, and thin strands of green light ran beneath the surface. It reached forward, fingers ending in soft, rounded tips that unfurled slowly.

Not claws.

Feelers.

Leon stepped back instinctively, sword up. Mira grabbed a handful of salt ward from her belt pouch and flung it in a wide arc. The powder sizzled in the air as it struck the limb, and for a moment, the cocoon recoiled.

But it didn’t burn.

It absorbed.

The limb thickened. Grew.

Leon moved.

He darted forward before the second limb could emerge. His blade struck the membrane around the cocoon with full force—but instead of cutting, the steel bent. A tremor ran through the ground. Tomas fired his arrow. Direct. Clean. It struck the hooded figure in the chest.

And passed through like mist.

The figure laughed.

Not a real laugh. A rhythm. A cough. A dry wheeze stitched together to resemble something human.

"You can’t kill what remembers its death," it rasped.

The cocoon tore open.

A shape stepped out.

Tall. Slender. Limbs too long. Spine arched. Its head was partially formed, features soft and undefined, as if still deciding what face to wear. The green veins along its body pulsed slowly, like a heart finding rhythm. When it looked at Leon, its eyes mirrored his own.

Not similar.

Identical.

Mira backed into him. "It’s copying us."

Leon exhaled slowly. "No. It’s choosing."

The spawn tilted its head.

Then it moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Leon raised his blade but barely caught the swipe. Metal sparked. The creature recoiled, hissing like boiled air escaping stone. Tomas fired again, but the arrow veered left, snapped mid-air by an unseen pressure. Mira lunged in low, driving her silver blade at its knee.

It bent backward, unnatural.

Then retaliated.

A backhanded strike sent her flying into the far wall. Her wards scattered, extinguished on impact.

Leon took her place.

He struck three times. The creature dodged two. The third bit shallow into its side, and thick sap bled out, steaming on contact with the floor. It didn’t scream.

It watched.

Learning.

Adapting.

The hooded figure whispered again.

"This is only one. The hollow spire waits."

Leon ignored it. He grabbed the last crystal from his pouch—the smoke type—and shattered it at his feet.

A thick black haze exploded outward.

He moved through the fog, low and fast, grabbing Mira and hauling her to her feet. Tomas covered the rear, his next shot aimed not at the creature, but at the ceiling above. He fired.

The stone cracked.

A cascade of dust and debris fell, momentarily blocking the chamber.

They didn’t wait.

They ran.

Upward. Outward. Through winding tunnels that began to shift as the mountain itself reacted. The mist followed. The glyphs returned.

Behind them, the laughter continued.

But this time, it was layered.

Not one voice.

Dozens.

And beneath it all, a heartbeat.

Not theirs.

The mountain’s.

Leon didn’t look back.

The walls narrowed as they ran, then widened again without pattern, as if the mountain itself couldn’t decide on its shape. Veins of green light pulsed behind the stone like something buried just beneath the surface—moving with them, mimicking their pace.

Mira limped, one leg dragging. Blood trickled from her temple where she’d hit the wall. Leon supported her with one arm, sword in the other. Tomas stayed behind them, wincing with each step, but never lowering his bow. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

They didn’t speak. There was no time.

The tunnel curved upward into a dome of stone. At the peak, a narrow shaft rose, just wide enough for one person. Natural light seeped from above—moonlight, pale and distant, filtering through layers of mist and root-veined stone.

Leon let go of Mira and pointed upward. "Climb. Now."

She nodded, too breathless to argue.

He helped boost her up, then Tomas.

Just as Leon prepared to follow, a ripple passed through the tunnel floor.

A root burst through the stone at his feet.

He leapt back as more erupted in a spiral, blocking the path like bars of a cage. From below, the laughter deepened. It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t madness.

It was invitation.

Leon turned to run, but the tunnel behind had already sealed.

A voice echoed through the roots.

"You left one behind."

Leon raised his blade, heart pounding. "Come get me then."

The roots stilled.

Then a whisper behind him.

Not carried on air. Inside his head.

"We already have."

He spun—

And the child-like projection stood there again.

Same face. Same pale glow.

Only this time, it didn’t vanish.

It stepped forward, slow and deliberate, mouth opening again.

"Come get me then," it said in Leon’s voice.

Then it blinked—and this time, its eyes were wrong.

Not black.

Human.

Brown.

His eyes.

Leon swung. A direct cut.

The creature didn’t dodge. The blade passed through—and something cold stabbed into Leon’s mind. A flash of memory. A corridor. Blood. A scream. His own voice, begging—

He staggered back, vision blurring.

More of them appeared. Five. Ten. Each identical to the first, all with his face.

Some wore his old cloak. Some bore his scars. One even had his mother’s pendant around its neck.

The whisper returned.

"We are what’s forgotten."

Leon dropped into a low stance. Focused. Cut through the noise.

He charged.

The first two vanished as he moved through them. The third caught his blade—and held it. Not solid. Not real. But it halted him just long enough for the others to swarm.

Not to attack.

To surround.

To show.

Visions slammed into him. A night he’d run. A man he didn’t save. The hand he let go.

All the faces he never looked back to find.

Mira’s voice broke through the spiral.

"Leon!"

He blinked.

Above. Her hand reaching down the shaft.

He jumped.

The illusions lunged, but couldn’t follow. His fingers closed around Mira’s hand and she hauled him up, Tomas grabbing his other arm.

They tumbled onto a ledge under open sky.

No words.

Just breath.

Just silence.

The gate below sealed shut.

Leon lay back, staring at the green-tinged stars.

The mountain was alive.

And it knew his name.

The stars above twisted faintly, as if the sky were caught in the same breathless rhythm as the mountain below. Leon sat up slowly. His back ached. His knuckles were scraped raw. He felt his pulse in his teeth.

Mira crouched beside him, still breathing hard, but her hands were steady now. "You were gone too long," she said quietly.

Leon didn’t answer. He scanned the ledge. Tomas sat at the far edge, arrow ready, but his eyes were locked on the horizon—where the aurora still flickered behind the mountain peaks, warping like veins beneath flesh.

"They tried to use my memories," Leon finally said. "They weren’t illusions. They were... pieces. Of me."

Mira looked away, wiping blood from her brow. "That’s how they grow. That’s what the nursery is for."

"No," Tomas murmured. "The nursery feeds. The spire... that’s where it builds."

They fell silent again.

Below, nothing stirred. The gate had sealed without a sound, no trace of the roots or the hollow-faced figure. The only proof of what had happened was the lingering taste of ash and sap in the air.

Leon stood slowly, stretching his shoulder. "We keep moving."

"You sure?" Mira asked.

He nodded. "It’s adapting. It’s learning faster than we are. If we stop now, we won’t get a second chance."

Tomas looked at him, frowning. "Do you even know where we’re going?"

Leon turned toward the next peak. The path ahead was narrow, carved into the cliff’s edge. But it was there. And the mist was lighter here, though the green hue never quite faded.

"I know where it ends," Leon said. "We follow the spine. Until we find the Hollow Spire."

Mira rose, wincing as she sheathed her knife. "And then?"

Leon glanced over his shoulder—once—toward the sealed gate.

"Then we break it. Before it remembers how to walk."

He didn’t wait for a reply. His legs still trembled, but his steps were certain. With every footfall, the mist shifted. It curled away from him now, as if the mountain recognised something in his stride.

Or someone.

They moved in single file. No more words passed between them. Whatever was ahead had no name—only shape and echo. And at the edge of the sky, where the stars met the jagged spines of the mountains, something pulsed faintly.

A tower.

Alive.

And waking.

The Hollow Spire.

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