The massive doors of the boss chamber creaked open with ponderous reluctance, ancient hinges groaning under the weight of centuries. A heavy, musty air rushed out to greet them, carrying the unmistakable metallic tang of old blood and something else—something that wasn't quite decay, but rather the absence of life itself. A strange, suffocating chill clung to Lucien's skin as he stepped inside, leading his team with measured confidence despite the recent assassin encounter.
Mana crystals embedded in the ceiling flickered to life as they entered, casting weak, bluish light across the chamber. The room was vast, circular, with walls of polished obsidian that reflected their distorted images back at them. Ancient runes carved into the floor pulsed faintly, resonating with the ambient shadow mana.
"Stay in formation," Lucien commanded softly. "This isn't a typical boss."
The light barely reached the center where a cotton-stuffed doll sat slumped on an old rocking chair. It wore a faded, torn checkered outfit, its round cotton face twisted into a permanent eerie grin. Button-like eyes gleamed in the dark, reflecting the weak illumination with unnatural intensity. A patch of rough, reddish yarn served as hair, individual strands occasionally moving despite the stillness of the air.
The rocking chair creaked slightly, though no breeze stirred in the sealed chamber.
"That's... unsettling," Elric whispered, tightening his grip on his dagger. The shadows at his feet coiled defensively, responding to his unease.
Danae's hands trembled slightly as she refreshed her barrier spell. "I've read about these. Enchanted constructs that house tortured souls. They're incredibly dangerous."
"It's just sitting there," Rhys observed nervously. "Waiting for us?"
Calen nocked an arrow, his enhanced vision scanning the room. "I don't like this. The shadows in here aren't behaving normally. They're... listening."
Lyra had gone completely silent, her face pale, eyes fixed on the doll. Something about it seemed to affect her more deeply than the others.
Lucien's gaze hardened as he assessed the situation. This wasn't any ordinary shadow construct. Intelligence radiated from those button eyes—ancient, patient, malevolent intelligence.
"[Eye of Data – Activate]" he murmured.
A transparent window floated before his eyes, digital information overlaying his vision—a skill he rarely revealed to others. The system analyzed the target, drawing on accumulated data from countless dungeons and grimoires Lucien had studied.
[Tatia Dichhu – Cursed Doll of Shadows]
Type: Shadow Construct – Boss
Rank: Peak C
History: Created by the shadow mage Rithvald as a vessel for collecting shadow essence. Contains fragments of 13 tortured souls.
Abilities:
• Shadow Blend – Merges with nearby shadows to become invisible
• Lethal Puncture – Launches sudden lethal strikes from the darkness
• Nightmare Echo – Creates disturbing illusions and noises to disorient opponents
• Soul Fragment – Can split into smaller versions of itself for brief periods
Weakness: Direct exposure to concentrated light mana
Even as Lucien watched, the doll's body flickered—a subtle distortion like heat rising from summer pavement—and melted into the floor, vanishing entirely. The rocking chair continued its gentle motion for several seconds before gradually stilling.
"It's hiding," Lucien announced, his tone untroubled. "Prepare for disorientation tactics. Danae, maintain our barrier against mental interference. Elric, try to sense the shadow displacement. Everyone else, back-to-back formation."
The team moved instantly, forming a defensive circle. Just in time.
A whisper of fabric brushing against stone echoed around them, coming from everywhere and nowhere. The sound of childish giggling followed, innocent and chilling at once. Shadows warped and twisted unnaturally along the walls, concealing the threat within their depths.
"I see dead children," a sing-song voice whispered directly into Lyra's ear, though nobody stood near her. She flinched violently, almost dropping her weapon.
"Don't listen," Lucien commanded. "It's using our fears against us."
The temperature in the room plummeted. Frost began forming on their weapons and armor. Their breath clouded before them, obscuring their vision further.
But Lucien remained calm, unaffected by the psychological warfare. The Eye of Data flickered faintly in his mind, highlighting distortions invisible to the others—tracking shadow density, movement patterns, and mana fluctuations.
He caught a subtle shift to his right—a deeper darkness sliding along the wall.
Without warning, he suddenly darted forward, sword flashing with precise, economical motion.
SHIKK!
His blade pierced into empty space—or so it seemed, until a ragged scream rang out. Black blood sprayed, staining the floor with droplets that hissed and evaporated like acid. The shadows convulsed where his sword struck.
Tatia's cotton body half-formed out of the wall's shadow, grotesquely twisted, yarn hair fluttering wildly as it shrieked in pain and outrage. Button eyes rotated independently, focusing on Lucien with hateful intensity.
"How?" it rasped, voice like sandpaper on stone. "You shouldn't see me!"
Lucien didn't respond, didn't pause. He pressed the advantage, driving Tatia backward with relentless precision. Each time the doll tried to blend and sneak attack from another angle, he countered precisely—reading its patterns, predicting its movements, hunting it like a wolf hunting a rabbit.
"Elric, cast shadow barrier at three o'clock," Lucien called, not taking his eyes off the fleeing construct.
Elric responded instantly, using his shadow manipulation to block Tatia's escape route. The doll collided with the barrier and recoiled, hissing in frustration.
"Rhys, disruptive pulse on my mark," Lucien continued, herding the doll toward an open section of floor.
Rhys gathered mana in his palm, preparing his specialized disruption technique that would temporarily prevent the doll from melding with shadows.
Tatia realized the trap too late. "Clever little humans," it crooned, its voice shifting to that of a young child. "But I have playmates too!"
The doll's body shuddered violently, and suddenly small pieces of it—a button eye, tufts of yarn, scraps of fabric—tore away from the main body and formed into miniature versions of itself. Six tiny dolls scattered across the chamber, each giggling with childish malice.
"Danae, barrier extension now!" Lucien commanded.
Danae expanded her protective spell to cover the entire team as the mini-dolls launched themselves toward them, their tiny cloth hands elongating into needle-sharp claws.
"Calen, area suppression," Lucien ordered.
Calen drew three arrows at once, each tipped with light-infused crystals. He loosed them in quick succession, the arrows splitting mid-flight into smaller projectiles that rained down upon the mini-dolls, pinning several to the floor where they writhed and smoked.
Throughout the chaos, Lucien never lost track of the main body. Every movement he made was calculated, each command issued with perfect timing. He wasn't just fighting the boss—he was reading it, analyzing it, learning its patterns and limitations.
Finally, seeing its fragments being decimated, Tatia lunged from the ceiling in a desperate final strike, its body elongating impossibly, button eyes blazing with hatred as it aimed straight for Lucien's heart.
Lucien caught it midair with a powerful upward slash, his blade glowing faintly crimson—not from any enchantment, but from his own innate power feeding into the steel.
The doll dropped lifelessly to the stone floor, its seams unraveling, dark mist leaking from its broken form. The fragments around the room simultaneously collapsed, turning to ordinary scraps of cloth and thread.
"Is it... dead?" Rhys asked cautiously, stepping forward.
Lucien stood over the fallen doll, studying it with clinical detachment. "Not yet."
Then, soft enough that only he could hear it, he whispered, "Devour."
The corpse shivered and was pulled into Lucien's shadow, disappearing without a sound. The team, focused on their own wounds and recovery, didn't notice the subtle absorption—all they saw was the boss's body dissolving, as dungeon creatures typically did upon defeat.
Within Lucien's consciousness, a system notification appeared:
[Devour Successful]
[New Shadow Soldier Created – Tatia Dichhu]
[New Trait Acquired: Shadow Travel – A Rank]
Allows instantaneous movement between connected shadows within line of sight.
[Assimilation Detected]
[Merging Shadow Travel with Shadow Soldier Trait…]
[Trait Evolution: Shadow General – SSS Rank]
Commands elite shadow soldiers with strategic intelligence. Gains full mastery over battlefield shadows and can teleport between them at will.
Lucien smirked faintly, satisfaction coursing through him. "This will be useful."
He turned to the team, noting their exhaustion. Danae was helping Rhys bandage a nasty cut on his arm. Calen was retrieving his usable arrows. Lyra sat against a wall, still pale but recovering her composure. Elric watched Lucien with that some measuring look .
"Let's head out," Lucien announced. "The trial is complete."
"What about the treasure?" Rhys asked, gesturing toward a small alcove that had opened in the wall, revealing the customary reward chest.
"Gather it," Lucien instructed. "Fair distribution as per family protocol."
As they collected the rewards—enhanced shadow gear, rare materials, and a few skill books—Lucien maintained his composure despite the profound changes occurring within his system. The SSS Rank trait was exceptionally rare, especially for someone who has two sss rank or higher. The fact that he had managed to evolve it through strategic absorption rather than blind luck or resources set him apart from normal prodigies.
Everyone, though exhausted, followed him out of the dungeon, no one left behind despite their injuries. The return journey was mercifully uneventful, the dungeon seemingly pacified by the defeat of its guardian.
The portal shimmered and ejected them back to the waiting hall where family members and branch heads stood, expressions serious. The news of the assassination attempt had already reached them—a violation of sacred family trial territory that hadn't occurred in generations.
As the team reported their success, angry discussions broke out among the elders.
"How could an assassin from the Liberation Organization infiltrate the family's portal?!" demanded Elder Hazan, his wizened face flushed with indignation. "Our security protocols are among the strongest in the continent!"
"There must be a traitor!" accused Elder Miriam, her sharp eyes scanning the gathering with suspicion. "Someone with internal knowledge of our ward patterns."
"Who planned this?" Grandfather Dorian's voice cut through the cacophony, calm but with an edge of steel. "And more importantly, why target a youth trial specifically?"
Suspicion and tension spread like wildfire among the gathered family members. Branch heads eyed one another warily. Even among the younger generation, accusations were whispered behind raised hands.
Lucien's father, Raelan, approached his son, examining him with critical eyes. "You're injured," he observed flatly.
"Minor wounds," Lucien replied. "Nothing that impeded the mission."
"And the assassin?"
"Escaped." The lie came easily. "B-rank at minimum. Specialized in shadow manipulation."
Raelan's expression darkened. "The Liberation Organization grows bolder. First the attack on the Southern Merchant Guild, now this." He placed a hand on Lucien's shoulder—a rare gesture of approval. "You handled it well. The team returned intact."
"Luck favored us," Lucien said modestly, though they both knew luck had nothing to do with it.
As the debriefing continued, theories multiplied. Some believed it was a message—a warning that no one, not even the youth of prominent families, was beyond the Liberation's reach. Others suggested it was an opportunistic attack, targeting Lucien specifically as the heir apparent.