“High Priest, those undead mages of yours...” Viktor asked, gazing at the figures atop the five towering pilrs in the arena. “They were also mages back when they were alive, right?”

  “Verily, Sovereign of the Dungeon,” Khenemhotep replied. “Each was once a wielder of the arcane, trained in different schools and blessed with different gifts. Yet death, as it has ever been, leveled all those differences.”

  “I thought as much,” Viktor said. Before his eyes, boulders of all sizes once again gathered around the two mages standing on pilrs to the left and right, then hurtled at Sebekton in a relentless barrage. “They’re using earth magic and death magic. Your magic. Not what they had used before.”

  “Verily, it is so. They hold only fragments of what they once were, and fragments they remain. Merely a spark of instinct, a shadow of old habits. No true will, no real thought lives within them. They are nothing but vessels, extensions of my own self. What you behold is not their magic, but mine, channeled through their forms.”

  “You’re saying that you’re directly involved in this fight, controlling your puppets to attack Sebekton?”

  “Nay, not truly. The only thing I did was raise them from the earth. Every move, every spell after that was theirs alone. Think of them like magical constructs, walking according to a set command, either inscribed by my own hand or engraved within them by the faintest trace of memory that still remains.”

  Basically, they were running on a script. The script could be complex enough to make them appear intelligent, but that was all there was to it. They could neither stray from the instructions, nor could they react to anything beyond the pn. There was no improvising, no real cunning in those walking dead.

  “Can they use all the spells you know?”

  “You are right to inquire,” Khenemhotep replied with a raspy chuckle. “Verily, in truth, I could have poured the full extent of my spellcraft into each vessel. Yet power must be tempered with purpose. For specialization brings forth efficiency. Thus, I have assigned each one a role suited to the demands of this battle.”

  In other words, the undead priest had the work divided up among his minions. Two of them were tasked with direct assault using earth magic, while the other two focused on dragging their fallen allies back to the fight. And the st one, Lahmia... well, let’s see what she can do.

  The phoenix of sand had taken its full shape now, wrought from sand and sun-scorched fury. Its colossal wings spread wide, blotting out the sun and casting a rge shadow over the arena floor. Then, it dove. The air howled in its wake as a storm of dust roared downward.

  Sebekton’s golden eyes tracked its descent. He shifted his stance, crouching low, axe gripped firm and ready. The bird fell toward him like a meteor, talons outstretched, long rock-bdes coated with hardened sand, trailing lines of dust like comet tails. At the st moment, the Crocodilian rolled to the side with surprising agility, far more than one would expect from someone his size. The phoenix’s talons smmed into the ground where he had just stood, carving deep gouges into the arena floor. Stone shattered. Dust exploded. The battlefield vanished in a choking cloud.

  Then, Sebekton burst from it, emerging like a monster from a sandstorm. On the bird’s fnk, axe came down in a brutal, two-handed arc, aimed dead at the joint of its wing.

  The bde cleaved clean through.

  For a heartbeat, the wing appeared to crumble. Unraveled. Disintegrated. A waterfall of grains pouring down like a ndslide off a cliff. But, of course, it didn’t stay that way. The particles halted, then reversed course, pulling back together as the wing reformed itself in an instant. The phoenix surged upward, veering away with renewed fury.

  “That headless mage,” Viktor said, eyes locked on the pilr at the center of the arena, high above all the others, seeming to hold up the sky itself. “Looks like she’s the strongest out of the bunch.”

  “Verily, among these five does she reign supreme.”

  “I seem to recall that there was another you once praised,” Viktor said. Rhea’s older sister, a member of the first party he lured into this dungeon, killed along with the rest by his goblins.

  “She bore much potential, yet potential unfulfilled is like a seed cast on barren stone. She died before her gifts could come to bloom.” Khenemhotep pointed toward a distant pilr, where a skeletal mage stood with a staff in hand, watching the battle raging below. “I found her unsuited for offensive magic, for her spirit was not inclined that way. Rather, her nature was better suited for support. Thus, I assigned her the task of raising the others.”

  The phoenix wheeled overhead, a bck smear against the sun. It fpped once, sending a gust of sand down toward Sebekton. At the same time, Rhea’s sister and the other staff-wielding mage remained focused on their task. The ground crawled with motion as shattered bones dragged themselves back together. Arms reached for torsos. Spines crept into pce. The skeletons were now halfway to whole again, and the battlefield was slowly repoputing.

  Sebekton darted sideways, evading the swirling sand. As he passed a skeleton lurching upright, he casually brought down his axe, shattering its skull before it could fully rise. Without breaking stride, he spun and cleaved another apart at the waist. He moved like a whirlwind, dispatching enemies left and right before they could stagger back into ranks. A limb here, a neck there. For now, he was staying just ahead of the resurrection rate. Yet with every passing moment, the burden grew. The phoenix circled above like a vulture, its gusts forcing him to keep moving, all while dodging debris and shrapnel raining down from the other mages.

  Viktor’s eyes narrowed. This battle of attrition was not in Sebekton’s favor. That much was clear. The mages had height and numbers, while he was alone, grounded, and tiring by the second. Viktor even caught the twitch of the Crocodilian’s throat muscle, a clear sign of overheating and a desperate need to cool down.

  Sebekton had to do something. Fast.

  But do what? The mages were perched up high, safe on their towers, far away from his reach. Sure, he could unch a crescent of destruction at their positions, or try to break the pilrs, but doing so would drain a lot of stamina, and Viktor had no doubt the undead already had countermeasures for such an assault.

  Yet staying the course wasn’t an option either.

  Down in the arena, Sebekton seemed to come to the same conclusion. He turned sharply and charged, straight toward the pilr where Rhea’s sister stood. He raised his axe mid-sprint, both hands gripping it tightly, and then swung with all the force of his charge behind it. A devastating crescent shot forward and struck the pilr dead on. Stone cracked, buckled, and then crumbled. The entire structure split down the middle and colpsed in a thunderous crash, carrying the skeletal mage with it in a rain of debris and dust.

  It looked, for a moment, like Rhea’s sister was going to crash to the ground. But then, the phoenix of sand dove. It veered to intercept her, catching the falling mage on its back, before ascending again, wings spreading wide as it soared back into the sky.

  Viktor wondered how Sebekton felt. He felled the pilr, yet his prey managed to get away. No time to dwell, though. His opponents were already on the move.

  The two assault mages, standing on pilrs to the left and right, raised their hands at the same time. They chanted, their skeletal jaws ccking in unison. All the stones floating in the air, most from the very tower Sebekton had just toppled, clustered together and fused, forming one massive boulder. With a final gesture, the mages brought it down like the fist of a god, aimed straight for the Crocodilian’s head.

  Sebekton moved to evade. But he couldn’t. He looked down and saw that his feet were no longer on solid ground. The earth beneath him had become soft and loose.

  Quicksand.

  It clung to his legs like grasping hands, slowly dragging him downward.

  In such a predicament, the Guardian calmly made his choice. He let go of his axe and spread his arms wide. To catch the falling mountain that screamed down from above.

  It struck him dead center. There should have been a deafening boom, a shockwave of dust and wind created by the impact. But no, nothing like that happened. Because Sebekton had angled his body just so that he was hit at his chest, right where his breastpte—his Reliquary—sat. The artifact drank in the force, swallowing all the momentum. The boulder was stopped dead.

  Sebekton’s cws gripped the now motionless stone’s surface. With a roar, he twisted his hips, summoned all of his strength, and threw it to the side.

  Redhead’s upper half, still writhing on the ground, happened to be exactly where the boulder dropped. She had been crawling, dragging her mangled body forward with her skeletal arms, her spine trailing behind like the tail of a serpent. Her fingers reached toward her axe, the one Sebekton had seized earlier, as if she still thought she had one more swing left. But she never got the chance. Every bone in her body shattered as she was fttened, her broken ribcage crunching like dry twigs beneath its immense weight.

  Viktor whistled. “Now that’s how you throw a rock,” he said with a grin, wondering whether Khenemhotep could fix her at all, considering her current state.

  On the other hand, the battle was practically over. Both of Sebekton’s legs had disappeared beneath the ground, swallowed by the quicksand. Above, stones levitated once again, orbiting the assault mages. Below, broken bones clicked and cttered as more and more skeletal warriors came back to life.

  “That’s enough,” Viktor said. “We end the test here.”

  Khenemhotep nodded, raising one hand. At his gesture, the floating debris dropped harmlessly to the ground, the remaining pilrs rumbled as they sank back into the earth, and the enchantment on the arena floor reversed, gently pushing Sebekton’s massive body back to the now solidified surface.

  The freed Guardian reached down and retrieved his axe. He turned and walked back toward the shaded throne, dust and blood clinging to his scaly hide.

  “Master,” he said as he approached.

  “Thank you for your hard work,” Viktor replied, gazing at Sebekton’s frame. He had held up well, but not without cost. There was a nasty cut near his temple, and a thin red line traced its way down past his slit-pupiled eye.

  As if he knew what Viktor was thinking, the Crocodilian guffawed. “Master, it’s not a proper fight unless you bleed a little.” His grin widened. “Too bad I didn’t win, though.” He then turned to Khenemhotep and inclined his head. “Your warriors and mages are very strong, High Priest.”

  “They were like this in days long gone, and behold, they are like this once more,” replied the other Guardian.

  Indeed, they were. The tomb guards had proven themselves as a formidable fighting force. And this wasn’t even the full extent of Khenemhotep’s power. He had barely lifted a finger himself.

  Viktor’s gaze shifted to the mummy again. So this was an ancient priest of a death god. Definitely not someone to underestimate.

  “You fought well yourself,” he told Sebekton. “What you cked wasn’t strength. You just didn’t have the tools to deal with these kinds of enemies. Once I get my hands on some stronger Reliquaries for you, we can have a rematch.”

  The Crocodilian bared his teeth, eyes gleaming. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Alright, gentlemen. Now that the test has concluded, we—”

  [Master.]

  What’s the matter, Celeste? Viktor asked.

  [Brynhildr and Dagnar have just entered the dungeon.]

  Oh? Viktor chuckled. Finally.