Chapter 2: What Kind of Nonsense Is Crawling Out of a Coffin After Time Traveling?

As the heavy stone door slowly closed under the influence of an ancient spell, magical energy coursed through the grooves etched into the walls and floor, forming a sealed loop of power. Outside, the nightmare world seemed utterly cut off.

No longer could they hear the captain’s furious shouts, the agonized screams of the wounded, or the terrifying roars of the monsters. All sounds were muffled by the thick stone and steel. Though everyone knew this barrier was only temporary, in this brief moment of peace, Rebecca couldn’t help but exhale deeply—if only the hell outside were just a bad dream.

But the next second, Rebecca shook her head vigorously, banishing the weak thoughts that had crept into her mind. Heavy stone and steel might offer temporary safety, but they could never provide lasting security. Worse, they might dull her resolve, lulling her into a false sense of comfort. With that in mind, the young heir of the Cecil family clenched her now-dimmed staff tightly, hoping it would grant her the courage she needed.

Behind her, the voice of the family knight Byron Kirk came steady and reassuring: “Viscountess, the passage is sealed. Those monsters won’t get in anytime soon.”

Rebecca glanced back at the loyal knight. His steel armor was scarred and battered, a dent marked his breastplate, and a patch of singed gray-white hair revealed the remnants of a fireball—an inferno conjured by Aunt Hetty to rescue him from a monster’s jaws. That moment had been harrowing; the fireball had exploded mere inches from his scalp. Without luck on his side, the knight who had served the family for twenty years might have become nothing more than a corpse.

Of course, Rebecca wasn’t sure if Aunt Hetty’s infamous “magic never hits me” trait had something to do with his survival…

“Thank you for your efforts, Knight Byron,” Rebecca said, lowering her eyelids to mask her exhaustion. “At least we can catch our breath for now.”

She turned to survey the few remaining companions: three soldiers holding torches stood guard, Aunt Hetty cradled a burning fireball in her palm as she studied the far wall of the stone hall, and the bewildered young maid Betty clutched the frying pan she’d been carrying all along, shrinking behind the soldiers with wide, curious eyes.

Counting herself and Knight Byron, these seven were likely the last survivors—those left on the surface had no chance.

After checking on everyone, Rebecca’s gaze drifted around the stone hall.

The place was ancient. The rectangular chamber was thick with cobwebs and dust. Decayed artifacts were piled at one end—though worn, their former elegance was still evident. Around the walls, murals and bas-reliefs remained remarkably intact. Though faded and weathered, they still told their stories.

Aunt Hetty studied the murals and carvings intently. Compared to the flashy, frivolous styles popular in the northern kingdoms, this hall’s decorations were solemn and austere, unmistakably from the “First Dynasty.” The murals depicted heroes and local customs, while the bas-reliefs illustrated mythic scenes and abstract divine symbols. As a learned spellcaster, Hetty was skilled at extracting useful knowledge from such ancient art.

Placing her left hand over her chest, Hetty whispered, “May our ancestors forgive us…”

“Hetty,” Rebecca approached, staff in hand, a trace of nervousness on her young face. Only now did she seem to grasp the gravity of where they stood. “This place…”

“This is the resting place of the Cecil family’s ancestors,” Hetty said solemnly. “Do not show them disrespect.”

Rebecca swallowed hard and looked around. “It seems no one’s been here for a very long time…”

“Since a century ago, when Marquis Gruman stole relics from the ancestral tomb and sparked the rebellion that nearly destroyed our family, this place has been sealed tight. Every Cecil descendant knows how to open it, but family orders forbid entry except in life-or-death situations,” Hetty said, locking eyes with Rebecca. “We are the first to step inside in a hundred years.”

“Well, it’s definitely a life-or-death moment now…” Rebecca took a deep breath. “Do you think our ancestors will forgive us?”

Hetty forced a stiff smile but couldn’t answer. Instead, she followed the clues in the murals to find the mechanism that would open the deeper crypt.

It didn’t take long before she found a special stone pillar. Pressing her hand on its top and applying slight pressure, the stone door to the inner tomb trembled, then slowly slid upward with grinding sounds.

But as the door rose, Rebecca heard something strange—a clatter of objects falling inside, followed by a stifled cry.

“Someone’s in there?!” Hetty immediately reacted, whispering sharply, “Byron!”

Without waiting for orders, Byron gripped his longsword and charged toward the door. The three soldiers followed close behind, and after a brief hesitation, Rebecca ran after them, shouting over her shoulder to the confused maid, “Betty! Find somewhere to hide!”

Inside the tomb, Rebecca saw Byron swinging his sword at a small, agile figure.

The figure darted like the wind, weaving left and right around Byron, occasionally dissolving into a swirl of black smoke to vanish into the shadows that cloaked the chamber. The way she manipulated shadows and moved with such speed amazed Rebecca—few could hold their own against Byron for so long. But with the three soldiers closing in and Hetty blocking the tomb’s entrance with a fiery barrier, the nimble intruder was cornered and collapsed to the ground, utterly defeated.

Only then did Rebecca get a clear look at the intruder—a girl about her own age, but shorter. She wore worn leather armor and had short, ear-length hair. Despite dirt smudging her face, her delicate features revealed a natural beauty. Most striking were her pointed ears—not as long as an elf’s, but enough to mark her as a half-elf.

Her other half’s lineage was impossible to tell. Elven blood was so potent that whether mixed with human or orc, the traits were often similar.

As soon as she hit the ground, Byron stepped forward, pressing his sword against her throat. The other soldiers closed in, their blades sealing off any escape.

“Who are you? How dare you trespass in the Cecil family’s ancestral tomb?!” Hetty strode forward, fury barely contained. For a noble like her, having grave robbers in the family crypt was an unforgivable disgrace—if word got out, the Cecil family’s already shaky reputation would be ruined.

Rebecca glared at the half-elf. Though still stunned by the sudden turn of events, the presence of an outsider in this forbidden place was enough to enrage her.

The half-elf’s voice trembled as she stammered, “W-wait! I haven’t stolen anything yet!”

Byron pressed his sword down an inch. “You’ve got some nerve!”

Before he could say more, a strange rattling noise echoed from the black steel coffin in the center of the tomb. The sound pierced the silence, and everyone froze.

Rebecca was the first to react. A fist-sized fireball sparked at her staff’s tip, aimed at the half-kneeling half-elf. “What have you done to our ancestors?!”

The half-elf’s voice cracked with tears. “Don’t… don’t kill me! But your ancestor’s coffin is about to break open!”

The rattling grew louder, the coffin lid visibly shaking.

“Ancestors!” Hetty’s face drained of color. The usually composed noblewoman was visibly shaken. “Please rest in peace! Those who disturb you will be punished…”

The half-elf panicked, shouting, “Now’s not the time for prayers! You need to hold down your ancestor’s coffin lid!”

The three soldiers exchanged uncertain looks, and even Byron seemed stunned. But Rebecca snapped into action, sprinting to the coffin’s platform just as the lid was pushed open. A hand reached out from the gap.

Without hesitation, Rebecca swung her staff in a wide arc and struck down hard. “Rest in peace, ancestor!!”

The hand was slammed back inside, accompanied by a pained shout from within the coffin: “Damn it, who just smashed my hand?!”

Rebecca blinked in shock as her family knight, aunt, and the soldiers stared at her in disbelief.

Looking down at her staff, tears welled in her eyes. “Aunt Hetty… did I just disrespect our ancestor…?”

Suddenly, Hetty shouted, “Rebecca! Get away from there!”

“Why? Aunt?” Rebecca froze.

“This could be a resurrection of the undead!” Hetty’s face was pale. “Or those monsters on the surface have corrupted our ancestor’s sacred remains!”

The possibility sent a cold sweat down Rebecca’s spine. As she prepared to jump off the platform and hide behind the soldiers, the heavy coffin lid was pushed up again—this time with such force that it flew off entirely.

A man with short light brown hair, a commanding and noble face, dressed in ancient aristocratic robes, sat up inside.

The half-kneeling half-elf girl turned her head to see the scene and couldn’t help but let out a long sigh. “See? Your ancestors have completely come back from the dead this time.”

(Posting two updates today for the first day, then I’ll probably stick to every other day with two updates… after all, I’m the type who writes a bit slower…)

(End of chapter)