Chapter 108: Golden Fortune City XIV
The third puzzle came alive.
The walls moved as if they weren’t solid stone but surfaces of water acting like mirrors. Shapes formed on them—reflections of Rhys, each one holding the Ruinous Darkness Blade. Some copied his moves, while others did the opposite. When he raised his sword, they raised theirs. When he stepped back, a few stepped forward.
It was a trick. A test of recognition.
Only one reflection was real. The rest were fakes.
Rhys steadied his breath and watched them carefully. The false ones gave themselves away—their eyes blinked too slowly, their shadows bent in the wrong direction, their blades gave off soundless hums. The real one—his true reflection—glowed faintly with the [Tidal Shard] at his side.
He lifted his sword and swung. The false reflections shattered like glass, the cavern echoing with the sound of rushing water. When the last illusion broke apart, a third shard of light floated into his hand.
The symbols on the gate flared brighter.
Then the fourth puzzle appeared. The most difficult of all.
The ceiling lit up, carved with the cycle of the moon—new, crescent, half, and full. Below, four altars rose from the floor, each etched with a rune: stone, water, light, and darkness.
The air grew heavier. The voice returned:
"Keep the balance, or this ruin will fall."
The altars glowed one by one, and the whole cavern began to collapse in slow, grinding movements. Chunks of stone fell from above, water burst from the walls, and shadows thickened until they felt almost solid.
This wasn’t only a puzzle. It was also survival.
Rhys ran between falling rocks, reading the runes as he moved. The shards in his pack pulsed strongly, as if guiding him. He realized the truth—each shard had to be placed on the right altar, but the moon phases above decided which altar would accept it. If he chose the wrong order, the ruin would crush him.
He pulled out the [Moonstone] first. The ceiling shone with the new moon. Darkness. He sprinted, dodging sprays of water, and set it on the darkness altar. It sank into place and glowed steadily.
Next came the [Lunar Shard]. The ceiling shifted to the crescent moon. The first sign of light. He raced to the light altar, just barely avoiding a collapsing slab, and placed it down.
Then he drew the [Mist Shard]. The ceiling turned to a half-moon. Balance between stone and water. Rhys paused only a moment, then chose water. The shard slid into the altar with a low hum.
Finally, the [Tidal Shard]. The ceiling shone with the full moon, bright and complete. Stone. He set it on the altar as the cavern roared around him.
The four altars glowed together. The carvings on the ceiling burst into silver fire.
The collapse stopped. Silence returned, broken only by the sound of water retreating into cracks. The pale stone gate slowly opened, spilling moonlight from within.
On the other side lay a chamber unlike the rest. It was wide and domed, its walls carved with waves, stars, and spirals of glowing light. Floating at its center was the final shard—larger, whole, and glowing with every element he had gathered.
But before Rhys could step closer, the light twisted.
The shard pulsed once, then broke apart, shaping itself into a figure—a knight made of shifting silver and black. Its armor was etched with waves and moon symbols, and in its hand was a sword of pure tide and shadow.
The last guardian.
It raised its blade. No sound, no roar. Only the heavy sense of final judgment.
Rhys tightened his hold on the Ruinous Darkness Blade. Shadows curled along its edge, but this time threads of water and moonlight joined them, answering the shard’s power.
"Alright," he muttered, lowering into a stance as the guardian stepped forward.
"No puzzles this time. Just a fight."
The final battle had begun.
The guardian moved without sound, its first step sending ripples through the floor like water under the tide. Streams rose from the cracks, circling it as if bound to its presence. Its silver-black blade swept outward—measured, steady, heavy enough to draw the air into its path.
Rhys met it directly. The Ruinous Darkness Blade darkened and shimmered with water, cutting upward to meet the strike. The impact gave no sound, but the chamber shook, fragments of light and shadow scattering through the air.
The knight advanced again. Each movement echoed what he had faced before—a reflection’s mimicry, the blur of illusion, the weight of falling stone. It was not only protecting the shard but recalling every step of his trial.
Rhys steadied his grip.
"Then I’ll answer with what I’ve learned."
Mana flowed into his blade. [Water Blade] curved along its edge, meeting [Fireball] in a burst of vapor as [Steamburst Edge] struck. The cloud rolled across the floor, pushing the knight back a step. Its eyes dimmed for a moment, as if noting his choice.
The guardian raised its sword. The chamber responded. Beams of moonlight fell like rivers of silver fire, the floor trembling as water surged and shadows pressed closer.
Rhys moved quickly, sliding across the stone to avoid the falling light. He turned, channeling [Whirlwind Slash]. Mist and shadow spun outward, cutting through one of the descending beams and breaking it into drifting fragments.
Puddle’s voice carried into him, calm and even.
"Do not fight the flow. Balance with it. Shadow and light, water and tide. Step within the rhythm."
Rhys slowed his breath. He watched the pattern—the rise of water, the fall of light, the cycle shifting above. He stepped with it, and when the knight’s blade descended, his own rose not in opposition but alongside. The impact scattered into a quiet harmony instead of chaos.
The guardian faltered. Its armor split, light spilling faintly through the cracks.
Rhys pressed forward. [Magic Missile] laced into [Swift Cut], arcs of dark-lit force crossing the chamber, striking against the knight’s frame until its form thinned.
It raised its weapon once more. Its body frayed into silver mist and shadowed tide. A single phrase echoed, low and fading:
"Prove... balance."
Rhys answered with a steady strike. Mana flowed through his sword, light and shadow carried together, the tide strengthening its edge. He stepped in and cut once, clean and direct.
The knight stilled. Its body dissolved into ripples, not broken, but released.
The shard reformed in the center, whole again, carrying the glow of all it held. When Rhys touched it, the light passed into him. The Ruinous Darkness Blade shifted, its edges clearer, its glow tempered, its flow steadier.
The gate ahead opened, spilling pale moonlight into the chamber.
Rhys lowered his sword, drawing one long breath. His steps were quiet as he moved forward.
"No more trials. Only the path ahead."
He walked into the light.
The light carried him forward, but unlike the harsh brilliance of the puzzles before, this glow was soft, steady—like the calm tide after a storm.
The passage beyond the gate stretched into a long hall. Its walls were etched with the same spirals of waves and moon phases, though here the carvings glowed faintly, guiding his steps without pressure or threat. For the first time since entering the ruin, the air was quiet, unshaken by shifting stone or rising water.
At the end of the hall, the floor widened into a circle. In its center stood a pedestal of pale stone, smooth and unmarked, except for the faint outline of a circle carved upon its surface. Around it, four recesses in the wall pulsed—the places where the shards he had gathered once belonged. Now, empty, they glowed only with their memory.
Rhys stopped before the pedestal. The Ruinous Darkness Blade vibrated faintly in his hand, the merged shard’s energy flowing through it. Shadows curved evenly with light, water’s pull balanced with the moon’s calm. It no longer felt like two forces fighting for dominance but like one blade carrying a rhythm of its own.
As he set the tip of his sword gently against the carved circle, the ruin stirred again—not with collapse or trial, but with release. The spirals on the walls lit one after another, carrying pale silver light upward until the dome above bloomed with a great, full moon.
The voice that had guided each puzzle returned, softer now, almost distant.
"You have walked through shadow and tide, through weight and light. You have not broken the pattern. You have carried it."
The pedestal sank slowly into the ground, leaving only a ripple of light. From the moon above, threads of silver fell, wrapping briefly around Rhys before fading into him. His steps felt lighter, his breath deeper, as though the ruin itself had marked him with quiet acknowledgment.
When the glow faded, the far wall of the chamber opened, stone shifting without strain. Beyond lay an exit—the ruin’s final threshold. Through it, he could see the faint outline of the sky outside, touched with starlight and the edge of dawn.
Rhys lifted his blade once, testing its weight. The balance was there. Sharper, calmer, steadier. He let it rest at his side and started forward, each step without hesitation.