Chapter 137: Before the Hero

Andras left Calista’s office and quietly closed the door behind him.

His leave had already been approved. Tomorrow he would officially leave Ambrose Academy for a few days, giving him enough time to attend the first showing of The Dreamweaver’s Labyrinth with Evelyne before returning to his classes.

There was, however, one person he wanted to inform before leaving.

He found Seraphina in one of the quieter corridors near the eastern wing. Most students had already dispersed after class, leaving only the occasional footsteps echoing through the passage. Afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting long golden strips across the polished stone floor.

Seraphina noticed him approaching and stopped.

Andras came to a halt in front of her.

"I’ll be leaving tomorrow."

She tilted her head slightly. "Leaving?"

"I’m returning to Darkmoor for a few days."

A hint of curiosity appeared in her sapphire eyes. "Why?"

"The first showing of The Dreamweaver’s Labyrinth is tomorrow. My mother wants to watch it with me."

Recognition crossed her face. "The Dreamweaver’s Labyrinth? The play you wrote?"

"Yes."

Her expression shifted with mild surprise. "It’s actually being made into a moving picture play?"

"It is."

"When did that happen?"

"My mother contacted the production company, and I gave them the script while we were there for Princess Aurelia’s birthday."

Seraphina was silent for a moment. She had read the script herself. She remembered the Astral Sea, the Dreamweavers, the Dream King, and Kael Veyrath’s final choice. What had initially seemed like an interesting story had remained in her thoughts longer than she expected. She simply hadn’t realized that it had already left the page.

"I suppose your mother must be excited."

"She is."

A faint smile touched Seraphina’s lips. "I can understand why."

The corridor fell quiet again. Neither of them seemed bothered by the silence.

After a moment, Seraphina asked, "How long will you be gone?"

"A few days."

"And you’ll return afterward?"

"Yes."

She gave a small nod. "Then take care."

Andras looked at her. The words were simple, yet they immediately brought back another pair of words she had spoken after the dungeon.

Don’t die.

For some reason, they had remained in his mind longer than they should have. There had been no political calculation behind them, no expectation of repayment. She had simply been concerned.

"I will."

Seraphina held his gaze for another second before nodding. "Good."

Andras turned and continued down the corridor. He did not look back.

---

That evening, Andras returned to his room and packed only what he needed. A few changes of clothes, essential documents, travel supplies, and a small amount of equipment went into his travel case.

Lyra helped secure it.

The following morning, a Darkmoor carriage waited near Ambrose Academy’s outer gate. Pale sunlight illuminated the academy’s stone walls, while a light breeze moved through the trees lining the approach road. Andras approached the carriage with Lyra at his side.

Before they could leave, two academy guards stepped forward.

"Identification and permission for departure."

Andras handed over the document bearing Calista Veyne’s seal. The guard inspected it, checked the registry, and returned the document.

"Everything is in order. You may leave."

Andras nodded before entering the carriage. Lyra followed, and the door closed behind them. The carriage began moving.

For the first part of the journey, they followed the familiar road leading away from Ambrose Academy. Fields stretched across both sides of the road, occasionally broken by clusters of trees, farmhouses, and small settlements.

Then the carriage turned east.

Lyra noticed almost immediately. "This isn’t the road to Darkmoor."

"No." Andras remained seated beside the window. "We’re taking a different route."

She looked at him. "Where are we going?"

"East."

The answer was deliberately incomplete. Lyra studied him for a moment. She knew better than to press when he had already decided not to explain, so she eventually settled back into her seat.

The carriage continued east, leaving the familiar roads around Ambrose behind. Cultivated fields gradually gave way to woodland, while the well-maintained roads used by merchants and noble carriages narrowed into rougher mountain paths. By midday, the landscape had changed completely. Rocky slopes rose between dense stands of pine, villages became increasingly scarce, and travelers disappeared from the road altogether.

Andras watched the terrain through the carriage window.

His destination was not Darkmoor. It was somewhere near Mount Vaelros. More precisely, he was searching for the Forgotten Tomb of the First Sword Saint.

In the original story, the tomb had been one of the opportunities that contributed significantly to Lucian’s early rise. A Legendary-rank sword was hidden within it. Lucian would eventually discover the tomb, overcome the trials protecting it, and claim the weapon. From that point onward, the sword would become one of the early foundations of the Hero’s strength.

The event was still several months away.

Andras had no intention of waiting that long.

He also wasn’t foolish enough to assume that the original story remained perfectly intact. The Ring of the Eternal Reservoir had already taught him that lesson. He had followed the information from the novel and reached the hidden chamber where the ring was supposed to be. The location had been correct. The clues had been correct. The ring had still been gone.

His memories were useful, but they were not absolute. Someone could have reached an opportunity before him, his own actions might have altered an event, or the sudden appearance of dungeons and concentrated mana could have disturbed ancient structures that had remained untouched for centuries. There were too many variables to ignore.

The sword might still be waiting inside the tomb, but there was no way to know until he reached it. Andras intended to find out.

He reached into his travel case and removed a folded map. The original novel had never provided the tomb’s exact coordinates. Instead, its location had been established through three landmarks: the Silverflow River, an abandoned fortress overlooking a valley, and a broken statue of the First Sword Saint.

None was sufficient by itself. The eastern mountains contained several abandoned fortifications, countless streams, and old monuments dedicated to the legendary swordsman. Only their positions relative to one another could identify the correct location.

Andras traced the Silverflow River across the map. According to the novel, it disappeared beneath the mountains before emerging farther east. The fortress was supposed to overlook the valley surrounding that underground section, while the statue stood near the old approach.

He studied the terrain for another moment. Three valleys could potentially fit. Two were easy to eliminate. One was too open to match the fortress’s described position, while another forced the river into the wrong direction. The remaining valley was the only one that satisfied all three geographical conditions.

It wasn’t certainty, but it was enough.

Andras folded the map. The rest would have to be done on foot.

---

Several hours later, the carriage entered a narrow mountain trail. The wheels struck loose stones as the driver slowed to keep the carriage stable. Dense pine trees surrounded the road, their branches blocking much of the afternoon light.

Andras finally looked toward the driver. "Stop here."

The driver pulled the reins. The carriage came to a halt. Andras stepped down, followed by Lyra.

"Young Master?" the driver asked.

"Stay here with the carriage."

Lyra glanced toward the forest. "You’re going alone?"

"Yes."

"Is there something dangerous ahead?"

"Possibly."

Her expression tightened. Andras looked at her.

"Wait here until I return."

Lyra hesitated, then nodded. "Understood."

Andras turned toward the forest. He entered the forest alone.

---

The trees quickly swallowed the road behind him.

Andras relied on the map, the position of the sun, and the shape of the ridges to maintain his direction. The first two valleys he investigated confirmed that his initial assumptions had been sound: neither matched the necessary combination of river, elevation, and terrain. He moved on without wasting time.

By the time he reached the third valley, the sun had begun its descent, and the terrain finally opened before him.

The Silverflow River appeared in the distance, a broad silver line cutting through the valley.

Andras unfolded the map once more, but this time he didn’t need to compare every detail. The river’s course, the surrounding ridges, and the valley’s elevation aligned with the information he remembered.

He descended.

The forest thickened as he approached the valley floor. After crossing two narrow streams, he noticed something unusual beneath the vegetation—a line of stones running almost perfectly straight through the trees. He crouched and brushed away the leaves.

An old road.

Most of it had been swallowed by the forest, but enough remained to show that it had once connected the valley to something farther uphill.

Andras followed it.

The trees gradually thinned.

Then the ruins emerged.

An abandoned fortress stood across the slope. Most of its outer walls had collapsed, one tower had fallen completely, and thick roots had split sections of the remaining stonework. Time had reduced what was once a fortified structure to a weathered shell, but its position mattered more than its condition.

It overlooked the valley.

Andras stopped at the edge of the ruins and looked beyond them. The Silverflow River wound through the valley below before disappearing beneath the eastern mountains. The location matched. More importantly, the old road leading into the ruins continued beyond the fortress.

That was the direction he needed.

According to the novel, the statue had stood somewhere along the original approach. Andras left the fortress behind and followed the road downhill. The path gradually vanished beneath leaves and soil.

He continued another dozen steps before stopping.

Something had caught his attention.

The trees were growing around an unnatural rise in the earth. Andras crouched and pulled away the leaves.

Stone.

He cleared another section. A carved surface emerged beneath the soil. With greater care, he brushed away the dirt surrounding it until a foot appeared, then the curve of a leg, then the damaged line of a shoulder. The lower body emerged first, followed by the remains of a broken arm and a section of the torso. At last the sword appeared, its weathered hilt still locked in the figure’s stone grip.

Andras stopped.

The missing head, the damaged shoulder, the stone sword, and the position beside the ancient approach left no real doubt. He rose and looked from the half-buried figure to the ruined fortress above, then followed the Silverflow River until it vanished beneath the mountains.

Everything aligned.

He crouched beside the statue and examined its base. No staircase. No visible doorway. Nothing revealed how the tomb had been sealed. His memories had brought him this far, but they had not given him the answer. For once, that was almost preferable. If the original story had not handed him the solution, then no one else had been given an advantage by knowing it either.

His gaze shifted toward the mountainside.

Somewhere beneath those ancient slopes was the tomb. The sword was supposedly still inside—but until he found the entrance, that remained only an assumption.

Andras rose.

Now he would find the entrance.