Diana and Kaelira remained silent, their eyes locked on the valley below. Beside them, thousands of assassins crouched low like panthers in the brush—ghosts in flesh, completely still, not even their breaths betraying their presence. Each of them was a trained killer, and under Arthur's command, they waited in perfect, chilling silence.
Below, the silver vault shimmered beneath the pale glow of mana-crystals embedded in the earth, casting a soft illumination across the crude goblin-kobold encampment. Dozens of tents lined the edges of the dig site. Weapons leaned against stone barricades. Patrols moved in predictable, lazy patterns. Some sat around makeshift fires, muttering in low growls or chewing on dried monster meat. Others stood guard near the vault's edge, spears in hand, unaware that death watched them from the dark.
Arthur stood at the crest of the hill, arms folded across his chest. The moonlight reflected faintly off his assassin's garb, and his eyes glowed faintly with a steel-edged resolve.
He turned his gaze to Diana and Kaelira, both of whom immediately stood a little straighter. His voice was quiet—softer than a whisper—but it carried like a blade through fog.
"Kill them all at once," he said. "Don't give them a chance to scream. Don't let them even realize they're dying."
Diana's lips curled into a faint smile, her eyes narrowing with anticipation. "Understood, my lord."
Kaelira's expression was colder, but she bowed her head slightly. "We will erase them from the shadows."
Arthur's gaze returned to the camp, sharp and unblinking. The creatures below didn't even know they were already dead.
Without a spoken word, Diana raised her right hand and closed her fingers into a fist. It was the signal.
The assassins moved.
No footsteps. No rustle. Only motion—like ripples of shadow flowing down the hillside.
In an instant, the night air grew colder. The aura of death descended like a silent shroud over the goblin-kobold fort. Dozens of black-clad figures glided through the darkness—slipping past lookout points, weaving through tents, merging with stone and shadow.
Then, like synchronized specters, they struck.
One by one, the sentries were slain—blades sliding into throats, daggers piercing hearts. There were no screams. Only faint gasps and soft thuds as bodies dropped silently to the ground.
A goblin officer stood near the vault, grumbling to a kobold sergeant about night watch rotations. He turned to light his pipe—
—and a shadow passed behind him. He blinked, confused. Something cold touched his neck. Then nothing.
His body hit the dirt before the pipe even touched the ground.
Across the camp, chaos never came. No alarms. No shouts. The assassins moved like a coordinated storm of death, extinguishing life in complete silence. One unit slipped through the barracks tent, slitting the throats of every resting soldier in under fifteen seconds. Another scaled the watchtower, eliminating the guards before they could even blink.
From the hilltop, Arthur watched it all with a calm, impassive gaze. The precision. The timing. The merciless efficiency.
Seraphina stood beside him, her eyes locked on the vault. Though she said nothing, her fingers curled tightly into fists, trembling with emotion—not fear, but something deeper. A silent vengeance being repaid through Arthur's shadow blades.
Within minutes, it was over.
The fires still burned. The tents still stood. The illusion of life remained in the camp—except that every living thing within was now a corpse.
Diana reappeared beside Arthur, kneeling once more. Her blade was clean, as if it had never tasted blood. Kaelira mirrored her, her breathing even.
"All threats neutralized, my lord," Diana said.
"No casualties," Kaelira added. "The vault is secure."
Arthur nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Good."
He looked once more at the vault—its silver sheen untouched, surrounded now by the bodies of the greedy and the damned.
"Then we move forward," Arthur declared, his voice steady with authority as he turned toward Kaelira. "Kaelira, stay here with the entire Shadow and Ghost Walker Unit. Guard this area. If you feel even a hint of something unusual—even the slightest ripple in the air—I want to know immediately."
Kaelira lowered her head slightly, her violet eyes flashing with resolve. "Understood, my lord. No one will come near without my knowing. This place will be a graveyard for anyone who tries."
Arthur gave a slight nod, then gestured toward the dozens of corpses scattered like broken leaves across the camp. "Also, gather the bodies. Stack them together near the base of the vault. I'll store them in my inventory once we return."
"As you command." Kaelira turned sharply, snapping her fingers. Shadows stirred around her as the assassins moved once again, obeying without a single word. They began dragging the fallen goblins and kobolds with mechanical precision—quiet, swift, and seamless.
Arthur didn't linger.
With Seraphina and Diana at his side, he descended the stone steps that led down to the vault floor. The closer they came, the more he could feel it—the weight of the air, the subtle pulse of ancient magic, the sheer pressure that radiated from the massive silver construct embedded in the earth.
The vault stood like a monolith, its surface inscribed with complex geometric patterns and faded royal crests. Though partially buried, it still loomed over them—about fifty meters long and ten meters high, composed of thick, reinforced silver alloy that shimmered faintly even in the dark. There were no visible locks, no handles, no seams. Just a large circular indentation at its center—crafted in the exact shape of a key.
Arthur reached into his inventory and pulled out the key—a golden artifact about the length of his palm, shaped like a lightning bolt entwined with the crest of a hurricane. He turned to Seraphina and held it out, his eyes calm but respectful.
"This belongs to your kingdom. Only your blood can open the gate."
Seraphina took the key with both hands, reverently. Her fingers trembled slightly, not out of fear, but from the enormity of the moment. Her face was masked, but Arthur could see the flicker of emotion in her silver eyes—pain, memory, pride.
Diana stood back, her arms crossed, eyes scanning the surroundings like a sentinel. But even she seemed to soften slightly, sensing the sacredness of what was about to happen.
Seraphina stepped forward, slowly, each step echoing softly against the metallic floor beneath them. She raised the golden key and pressed it into the vault's keyhole. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—
**Click.**
The entire vault vibrated with a low, resonant hum.
Glowing runes ignited across the silver surface, one by one, in flowing sequences that formed a sprawling web of light. Dust lifted off the metal as if repelled by the sudden surge of magic. A faint breeze stirred, despite the still air.
The massive door in front of them didn't swing open.
Instead, it **folded inward**—silver plates sliding apart with precision, like shifting pieces of a puzzle, revealing a dark corridor lined with blue and violet crystals that glowed faintly. A blast of ancient, cool air swept out from within, carrying the scent of sealed time and forgotten history.
Seraphina lowered the key, staring into the revealed depths with wide eyes. Her voice was low, almost a whisper.
"This is it… The heart of the Hurricane Kingdom… untouched for decades."
Arthur stepped beside her, his gaze sharp and calm. "Then let's reclaim what is yours."
He drew his short blade from its sheath—not in preparation for battle, but as a habit of readiness. Diana moved up beside him, wordless and composed, shadow already trailing her figure.
Together, the three of them stepped into the vault, the crystalline corridor swallowing them in a glow of magic and mystery as the entrance began to slowly seal behind them—locking out the world once more.
Arthur stepped deeper into the vault, boots echoing softly against the crystalline floor. What greeted him stole even his breath for a moment. Mountains of gold coins shimmered in neat piles, casting glints of reflected light against walls lined with rare metals—black iron, stardust ore, and mithril ingots arranged in sealed crates and polished chests. At the far end, glowing with inner radiance, were monster stones, neatly packed and categorized by tier.
The wealth before him wasn't just immense—it was ancient, majestic. A kingdom's lifeblood, frozen in time. There were millions of rare resources.
He turned slightly, gazing at Seraphina who stood still behind him, her face tilted toward the vault's heart, silver eyes misted in quiet reflection.
"Seraphina," Arthur began, voice softer now, "you've given me the treasure of your kingdom… entrusted its legacy to my hands." He took a slow breath and continued, his tone firm with promise. "So I swear to you—under my rule, you will always be safe. And one day, when I've built not just a territory but an empire… I will bring the Hurricane Kingdom back to life. Stronger than ever."
For a long heartbeat, Seraphina said nothing.
Then she stepped forward, her hand lightly pressing against her chest, over her heart. "My lord… I gave you my kingdom's past because I believe in your future. If the Hurricane Kingdom must rise again… then let it rise under your banner. You have my loyalty. Not as a princess… but as your sword and storm."
Her words carried the strength of a vow—quiet, but unshakable.
Arthur gave her a nod of gratitude, then turned back to the treasure. With a wave of his hand, he summoned his inventory menu. One by one, he began storing the resources—gold melted into light and vanished, iron and mithril disappeared in neat bundles, stardust shimmered as it flowed into the spatial fold of his storage, and monster stones flickered like stars as they were absorbed.
In minutes, the massive chamber—once filled to bursting—was nearly empty. The treasure of a kingdom reduced to organized silence.
But not everything was gone.
Near the rear wall, rows of ornate armor and weapon racks remained. Blades with curved hilts etched in runes, spears with gleaming tips, shields carrying the faded crest of a storming eagle. And beside them… shelves packed tightly with glowing scrolls, aged manuscripts, and ancient blueprints.
Arthur narrowed his eyes, intrigued. He walked over, inspecting one of the documents—its script was tight and delicate, filled with diagrams of magical buildings, defensive formations, and unfamiliar enchantments.
Seraphina walked up beside him, noticing his expression.
"My lord," she said softly, brushing a gloved hand over the edges of one blueprint, "our kingdom was not just strong through arms or legacy. We were innovators. Pioneers. These blueprints… they're the product of decades—no, centuries—of research. Enchantments, siege designs, magical facilities, artifact refinements… many of these you won't find anywhere else in the realms."
Her voice carried a mix of pride and sorrow—pride in her people's brilliance, sorrow that so few remained to remember it.
"They are the true specialty of our kingdom. Not just strength—but advancement."
Arthur looked at her, then at the blueprints once more, his expression thoughtful. "Then I'll honor them as such. These aren't just relics—they're foundations for the future."
Without hesitation, he stored the weapons, armors, and every single blueprint into his inventory with careful precision.
The vault was now bare, save for its walls—a shell that had protected a kingdom's soul for so long. But now, that soul had a new guardian.
.
..
...
.....
(I will tell exactly what did Arthur get in the vault when he returns to his territory.)