Dawnblade (Fan-Translation)

Miss Amber—master of stealth, shadow magic specialist, grave-robbing enthusiast—had a personal motto:
"The path is always there; doors are just an illusion. Once you abandon your hang-ups, even the Royal Treasury's vault is just a vegetable stick away."

(Alright, maybe there weren't vegetables like celery in this world, but you get the idea.)

For Amber, picking open the sealed gates of an ancient tomb didn't even require a stick.
A little shadowcraft, a touch of old-world ward knowledge, and a sprinkle of sheer dumb luck—
That was all it took to bypass the ancient defenses of the Seawright crypt.
Before long, a hidden passage was revealed—one even Hestia and Rebecca had no idea existed.

Everyone followed Amber into the newly revealed corridor.

To their relief, the passage was wider than expected—even the heavily armored Gwayne and Byron, both towering near two meters tall, could walk without feeling cramped.

The walls, built of soulstone and solid masonry, still held ancient mage-lamps, though long since dimmed.
At a few casual flicks of Hestia’s hand, basic restoration spells reignited the old lamps one by one, bathing the corridor in a ghostly blue light.

"I swear, I'm just a humble little thief," Amber said cheerfully, leading the way.
"I’m part wood elf, you know—deep respect for the dead! Grave-robbing’s totally against my nature."

Gwayne snorted.
"Yeah, you look real respectful, the way you popped that tomb open."

Amber shamelessly grinned.
"Hey, picking locks and breaking wards is part of the job! Can I help it if I’m good at it?"

From the middle of the group, Rebecca suddenly asked:
"Are you a citizen of Seawright territory?"

Amber tilted her head in thought.
"I mean… I’ve lived here for a few years, but I never officially registered. But if I remember your laws right, anyone who lives here for over three years and pays taxes counts as a citizen… so maybe?"

Rebecca shook her head firmly.
"No registration, no citizenship."

Amber elongated her voice in mock offense.
"Oohhh. And why’re you asking me that?"

"I’m the lord of this land," Rebecca said seriously.
"If you were my subject, I’d be duty-bound to protect you."

Amber stared at her blankly—then blurted out:
"Wait, wait! Can I register now?!"

Rebecca answered, stone-faced:
"Too late."

Gwayne watched the exchange, chuckling inwardly.
For all the mess he'd woken into, it felt good to be among people again—to walk, to speak, to live.

His gaze shifted to Hestia, who had been throwing him side-glances for some time now, her face a carefully arranged mask of calm.

Finally, Gwayne spoke:
"You’ve been dying to ask something. Out with it."

Hestia stiffened, but after a deep breath, she met his gaze squarely.
"Ancestor... is it truly you?"

Gwayne smiled faintly.
"Yes. Gwayne Seawright—the same one who lived seven hundred years ago. I could recite every moment of my life if you wanted. Hell, I could lecture you on the Second Pioneer Era if you’re bored. But honestly, words prove little. A talented historian could tell the same stories better than I could."

"You have my apologies," Hestia said quickly.
"It’s just... legends of revenants and restored heroes abound, but witnessing it... that’s another thing entirely. Some holy knights and silver elves have been known to use divine stasis to survive for decades... but a human knight, dead for seven centuries—?"

"Trust me, I’m as confused as you," Gwayne shrugged.
"Maybe it’s connected to the blessings I received during the founding days—back when we led the survivors into the wilderness, I was touched by elemental forces. Maybe it altered me in ways I didn’t understand."

"I see…" Hestia said, still looking skeptical, but less hostile.

Suddenly, she perked up, her senses sharp.

"There’s airflow," she murmured.
"And a change in the magic flow ahead. We’re nearing the edge of the tomb."

Gwayne nodded grimly and tightened his grip on the Pioneer’s Blade.
Something ahead was wrong

"Stay alert," Ser Byron ordered, drawing his broad steel blade.
A soft glow of blessed silver rose along its edge.
"You three—cover the rear!"

The soldiers moved in perfect unison, their calm and discipline giving confidence to Amber and the young maid Betty, both of whom were visibly tense.

The ancient corridor stretched forward—and then opened into a broad crossroad chamber.
The walls of enchanted soulstone that marked the tomb proper ended here—this was the boundary between the tombs and the castle’s forgotten underground.

Amber pointed toward one passageway:
"I came in from that way—a dry well outside the castle. Pretty sure it's crawling with monsters by now, though."

Gwayne turned to Hestia.
"Which way is west?"

Hestia traced a glowing sigil in the air. A thin ribbon of light formed, floating westward.

"That way," Gwayne confirmed—
but even as he spoke, his instincts screamed danger.

Without thinking, Gwayne lifted his blade.

An instant later, a thunderous impact struck the sword.
He staggered, absorbing the force—but held his ground.

Figures emerged from the darkness.

Three monstrous shapes lumbered forward, grotesque and malformed—
Towering nearly three meters tall, their bodies were masses of sludge-like flesh crawling over warped skeletons, their blood-red bones visible through gaping holes in their shifting forms.
They exuded a foul stench of death and corruption.

Rebecca gasped, and Betty bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.
Hestia slammed her staff against the ground, casting a low-grade Mind Shield spell to stave off the monsters’ fear aura.

"Ancestor!" Hestia cried out.
"These are the creatures that overran the castle!"

Gwayne recognized them now—
Memories surfaced from Gwayne Seawright’s mind.

"Others."

Twisted mockeries of life—part demon, part nightmare.

The monsters moved.

Two charged forward, massive forms thundering down the corridor, while the third raised a dripping arm and formed a seething ball of black energy—
An Umbral Bolt, aimed straight at Amber.

"Yikes!"
Amber yelped and blinked into a shadow across the room just as the dark bolt scorched the air where she had been.
Byron roared, raising his blessed sword and hurling himself at one of the charging beasts.

"Hestia! Rebecca! Deal with the caster! No arcane magic—pure arcane has no effect on these things! Amber, soldiers, protect the mages!"
Gwayne barked orders without hesitation, then surged forward, blade in hand.

He had never fought monsters.
Never swung a sword in true battle.
Never faced true death at such close quarters.

Until now.

Today, standing on his own two feet in this alien world for the first time—There was no room for hesitation.

He didn’t know what he was capable of with this ancient, depleted sword. Didn’t know how much of the legendary Gwayne Seawright’s strength still lived in these muscles.

But fate didn’t wait for answers.

There was no way out, no retreat.
Just him, a battered relic of a sword, and monsters closing fast.

No shield. No backup.

Just fight.

Just fight.

Seven hundred years ago, Gwayne Seawright had stood against horrors like these and carved a kingdom from chaos.

Today?
Three monsters.

No problem.