The Extra's Rise-Chapter 113: Nimran (8)

The mansion doors shut behind me with a quiet thud, sealing me off from the warmth and relative safety of Nero’s watchful gaze. Outside, the stars pierced the night like tiny, frozen pinpricks in the velvet sky. The air was sharp, every breath crystallizing as it left my mouth. I pulled my coat tighter and began the journey.

The Temple of the Serpent was no ordinary ruin. It was a monument of forgotten ambition, a structure left behind by a civilization that once mingled magic and madness with equal fervor. Built on the outskirts of Nimran, it stood as a relic from an era where serpentine beings were venerated as divine arbiters of power and enlightenment. And in the labyrinth beneath its ancient stones, the Basilisk Heart lay waiting—guarded by trials that were, if the legends were accurate, "designed to test one’s worth." Which, in practical terms, meant "designed to kill you in increasingly inventive ways."

After ditching my phone with a very confused courier—who was far too thrilled about an unearned tip to ask questions—I headed for the outskirts of the city.

The temple wasn’t visible on any map, nor did it loom ominously in the distance as some mythical relic might. Instead, it lay hidden, buried deep beneath the surface of Nimran, concealed by both time and powerful enchantments. Reaching it wasn’t a matter of walking up to an ancient doorway; it required knowledge, precision, and just the right amount of insanity to even attempt.

I stood in the heart of a frosted grove, surrounded by towering trees whose skeletal branches stretched toward the heavens like desperate fingers. Their trunks bore faint, winding patterns—serpentine carvings so subtle that you’d miss them without knowing what to look for. But I knew. The novel had described this exact grove, and now, standing here, I felt the faint thrum of magic in the air. It was like a low hum at the back of my skull, urging me to move forward.

The ritual was deceptively simple in theory, but in execution, it was anything but. I approached the nearest tree, its bark rough and brittle under my fingers, and tapped it three times in a specific rhythm—slow, slow, fast. The carvings seemed to shimmer briefly, as though the tree itself had sighed in response. Then I moved to the next tree, repeating the sequence.

There were twelve trees in total, each requiring the exact same rhythm but in a precise sequence. One misstep, and the enchantment would dissolve, locking me out of the temple’s location for hours, if not days. Worse, the grove itself would retaliate—misaligned magic was never kind. I’d heard stories of people attempting rituals like this and ending up as statues, frozen in time by spells they didn’t fully comprehend.

The air grew colder as I worked my way through the grove. By the ninth tree, frost clung to my gloves, and my breath formed clouds in the air. The thrum of magic grew louder, more insistent, vibrating through my bones. My hands were steady, but my mind raced. One mistake, and all of this would be for nothing.

When I reached the final tree, I hesitated for a fraction of a second, my hand hovering over its gnarled surface. The air was so charged with mana now that it felt alive, buzzing like a swarm of unseen insects. I tapped—slow, slow, fast.

The ground beneath me shuddered violently, and a deafening silence fell over the grove. For a moment, I thought I had failed. Then the air rippled, and the world around me dissolved into darkness.

I didn’t fall, nor did I feel the rush of teleportation I’d experienced with Mythos Academy’s gates. Instead, it was as if reality itself bent, folding me inward until I found myself standing in a vast, dimly lit cavern. The air here was heavy with moisture and the scent of ancient stone. Bioluminescent moss clung to the walls, casting an eerie green glow that barely illuminated the massive temple ahead. It loomed not like a sleeping beast, but a sentinel, watching over the centuries with unblinking vigilance.

This was it—the Temple of the Serpent. Hidden, buried, and sealed away from the world above. And now, it was waiting for me.

I found myself in front of a massive stone door, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly in the darkness. This was it—the threshold to the trials. I placed my hand against the door, and the runes responded with a faint hum, as if assessing my worth. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a low groan, the door creaked open, revealing the first chamber.

The Hall of Venom. I wasn’t thrilled by the name.

The moment I stepped inside, the air changed. Floating orbs appeared, each pulsing with a sickly green light. They began to emit a toxic miasma that spread rapidly, thickening the air with every second. These were no ordinary traps—they were living, sentient hazards, designed to react violently to reckless magic use. If I so much as miscalculated a spell by a fraction, the entire chamber would likely explode in a cloud of venomous gas that not even Lucent Harmony could save me from.

I closed my eyes, focusing. Wind mana to disperse the miasma. Earth mana to stabilize the floor beneath me, which was slowly starting to dissolve into a tar-like substance. It was like threading a needle while balancing on a tightrope—and that tightrope was also on fire.

I carefully released a stream of wind mana, using it to create narrow, controlled currents that pushed the miasma away from my immediate path. At the same time, I solidified the floor under my feet, inch by painstaking inch, with precise applications of earth magic. The orbs began to react, their pulsating rhythm quickening as if sensing my intent. I had to maintain a delicate balance—too much mana, and I’d trigger them; too little, and I’d suffocate.

After what felt like an eternity, the miasma thinned, revealing a clear path to the exit. I exhaled slowly, the tension in my body easing as I stepped through the archway into the next chamber.

The Basilisk’s Reflection was no less terrifying than its predecessor. The room was a kaleidoscope of reflective surfaces—walls, floor, ceiling—all of them covered in an endless array of shimmering mirrors. From each surface, distorted reflections of Basilisks emerged, their forms flickering like static on an old television. Their eyes glowed with a paralyzing light, and I knew instinctively that looking directly at them would result in my immediate doom. The real exit was hidden behind one of these mirrors, but striking the wrong one could unleash an army of these spectral predators.

I took a moment to assess. This wasn’t a trial of brute force; it was a test of perception and precision. My dark mana would be crucial here. With Lucent Harmony activated, I could see the subtle distortions in the reflections—the way the light bent unnaturally, the faint inconsistencies in their forms. I manipulated my mana, injecting controlled ripples into the reflections to see how they reacted.

It was a game of patience and observation, each move calculated to provoke a response. Eventually, I found it—the one mirror that didn’t ripple, the one reflection that remained unnervingly still. With a surge of dark energy, I shattered the mirror, the shards dissolving into nothingness as the true exit revealed itself.

The final chamber was the Heart’s Keeper. The room was vast and dome-shaped, its walls adorned with carvings that seemed to move when you weren’t looking directly at them. At the center of the chamber floated the Basilisk Heart, encased in a shimmering barrier of raw magic. Guarding it was a spectral Basilisk, its form translucent yet imposing. Its eyes glowed with a deadly light, and I could feel its gaze pressing against my mind, an almost tangible weight that threatened to overwhelm me.

This wasn’t a beast I could fight directly. Its gaze alone was enough to paralyze me if I wasn’t careful. I had to outthink it, outmaneuver it.

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I began by using gravity magic to distort the space around the Basilisk. The creature roared, its form flickering as it struggled to adapt to the shifting gravitational field. At the same time, I conjured a burst of light mana—just enough to blind it temporarily without destabilizing the chamber.

With the Basilisk momentarily disoriented, I activated a short-range teleportation spell, placing myself directly in front of the heart. The barrier pulsed violently, its magical seals reacting to my presence. I placed my hand against it, channeling a steady stream of dark mana to harmonize with its frequency. Slowly, painstakingly, the barrier began to dissolve.

The Basilisk roared again, recovering from its disorientation. I had seconds, maybe less. With a final push of mana, I grasped the Basilisk Heart, its surface cool and pulsating with life.

Now, this was going to be the hardest part.