From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman-Chapter 25: The Bone Chamber

The door groaned open, hinges straining.

Leon stepped in first.

The cold hit like a blade—sharp down the spine. Stone walls closed in, torchlight flickering from iron sconces shaped like ribs. The air stank of old steel and older rot. Deeper still, magic. Buried. Watching.

The Bone Chamber lay beneath the main barracks—sealed behind double wards, always under guard. Not because it was sacred.

Because it was dangerous.

No windows. No exit but back.

Inside, the light bent wrong.

Fena followed, torch in hand. Her face didn’t move, but her knuckles were pale against the grip.

Leon didn’t speak.

They descended in silence.

No instructors. No guides.

That was the rule.

The chamber tested what you brought with you.

And what you couldn’t leave behind.

At the bottom, a wide stone pit opened before them. Bone-white symbols carved into every surface, glowing faint as ivory in shadow. In the center—one platform. Black. Smooth.

Enough for one.

Fena nodded.

Leon stepped forward. His boots echoed.

He paused at the edge.

One breath.

Then another.

He stepped on.

The torches blew out.

Dark.

Complete.

Then—CRACK

The world twisted.

The ground folded sideways.

He dropped to one knee—Opened his eyes—

And found fire.

Ash drifted like snow. The sky black-veined with red. Bodies everywhere—some human, others not. The air hummed with ruin.

His sword was in his hand.

And something waited.

A knight. No—something larger.

Its armor was fused to skin. Glowing from within. Its helm was mouth, not eyes—teeth too long. Too many.

Leon backed up.

The axe it held was massive. Jagged. Wrong.

It moved. No rush. Just weight.

When it spoke, it didn’t use words.

It used memory.

"You faced me once before."

Leon froze.

The axe came down.

He rolled—barely clear.

Stone exploded behind him.

He rose, struck from behind—aimed for the weak joint.

Metal screamed.

Didn’t cut.

It turned fast—swung again.

This wasn’t a fight.

It was a reckoning.

He ducked low, drove for the knee. Light pulsed beneath the plate—he hit it.

A stumble.

Then the axe came again.

And took his blade with it.

Shattered.

Leon hit hard. Rolled. Hands burned. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

Unarmed.

It kept coming.

"You begged!"

His breath caught.

He didn’t run.

He reached into the ash—

Found bone.

Heavy. Old.

He stood.

Faced the thing.

"I’m not him anymore."

He ran.

The knight roared.

Leon slipped under the swing, jammed the bone behind its knee.

CRACK.

It dropped.

He climbed—grabbing armor, dragging himself up toward the neck.

It thrashed.

He held on.

Saw the seam at the collar.

And struck.

Again.

And again.

Until the helm cracked open—And fire screamed out.

White. Blinding.

Then silence.

—

He was on the floor.

Back in the chamber.

No ash.

No monster.

Just cold sweat. A heartbeat like thunder.

The torches lit.

Fena stood waiting, arms crossed.

"You were gone ten seconds," she said.

Leon sat up, ribs tight, lungs burning.

"It felt longer."

She offered her hand.

He took it.

"You passed."

He said nothing.

He didn’t have to.

Leon didn’t go up right away.

Fena waited near the stairs, torch still in hand. She didn’t speak. Didn’t rush. Maybe she understood. Or maybe she’d seen this before—someone walking out of the Bone Chamber with their jaw clenched and hands still twitching like they were gripping a blade.

He looked down at his fingers.

They were shaking.

Not from fear.

Not exactly.

More like his body hadn’t realized it was still alive.

"You’re not the first to see something in there," Fena said, finally. "That doesn’t really make it easier."

Leon swallowed. His throat scraped like sandpaper.

"What did you see?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Fena didn’t meet his eyes. "Someone I buried a long time ago."

He stared... then nodded.

Didn’t ask again.

The climb back up was slow. Every step dragged. The silence between them sat heavy, unspoken. When they reached the top, sunlight spilled into the hall from the open courtyard. It felt wrong—too sharp, too bright.

Leon squinted.

Outside, nothing had changed.

Students sparring. Servants moving water and firewood. The sound of practice blades rang through the air like it always did.

The world hadn’t paused.

It never did.

Fena reached out and tapped his shoulder—light, but steady.

"You’ve got the mark now," she said. "Next time someone doubts you, let them look at your eyes. That’s where it stays."

Leon looked at her.

"I saw what I could’ve been," he said.

Fena gave the faintest smile. "Then you’re already ahead of most."

She turned and walked off.

Leon stayed there a moment longer.

Let the sun hit his face. Let it burn a little.

Then he turned toward the dorms—slower than usual, the fire opal charm tucked deep in his pocket and the echo of a giant still burning beneath his ribs.

Leon didn’t go back to the dorms. Not right away.

He walked past them—cut straight through the courtyard and down the side path that wound along the southern wall, where the stone faded into overgrown garden beds and forgotten training rings no one bothered with anymore. The edge of the grounds. Quieter here.

His body still hurt.

Each breath pulled at his ribs, and his right shoulder—bruised deep from the Flame Trial—throbbed like it hadn’t forgotten what hit it.

But he kept walking.

Not to escape anything.

Just to hear the sound of his own steps.

The Bone Chamber hadn’t broken him. But it had scraped something raw. That knight—it hadn’t been fear made flesh. It had known him. Or what he might’ve become.

The thought made his skin crawl.

At the far fence line, he stopped and leaned against the cold iron.

The wind carried forge smoke and something sharp—maybe leftover magic from morning drills. From somewhere down near the training fields, voices drifted up, soft but clear.

"...didn’t even scream."

"Grabbed the spear like it was nothing."

"That’s two trials passed. He’s probably ahead now."

Leon closed his eyes.

So they’d seen.

Or heard.

He wasn’t sure if it mattered.

Footsteps approached—light, familiar.

He didn’t turn.

"You could’ve told me," Elena said.

"Told you what?"

"That you were taking the Chamber today."

Leon turned. Her arms were folded. Her eyes sharp.

"I didn’t think it mattered."

"I could’ve cast a ward," she said. "A mind anchor—even a weak one might’ve—"

"It wouldn’t have held." His tone wasn’t hard. Just certain. "The Chamber doesn’t test flesh. It pulls from what’s already there."

She looked away, jaw tight. Then stepped beside him, cloak brushing his arm.

"What did you see?"

He didn’t answer.

Not because he didn’t trust her.

Because saying it would make it more real.

She didn’t push. Just exhaled and leaned forward against the railing.

"You’re pushing too fast."

"I have to."

"No, you don’t," she said quietly. "You think you do, but you don’t. You’re already ahead of most. You don’t have to climb the whole mountain in a week."

"I’m not climbing it for them."

She didn’t speak for a while.

Then.. "You should rest."

"I will."

"You won’t."

He looked over at her.

She gave him a look—a half-smile that didn’t quite settle. "You’re too damn stubborn."

He let the silence stretch. Watched the clouds crawl slow across the sky—dark, heavy things.

But she didn’t walk away.

She stayed beside him until the bell rang again.

Then they headed back together.

Not touching.

But closer than before.