[Featured ×4]
Du Rui, an exceptionally forgetful reader, finds himself transmigrated into one of the top male harem stallion novels, but as the antagonist. Now inhabiting the role of Xue Xinyu, the cunning villain, Du Rui struggles to maintain his s...
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Walking through the labyrinthine expanse of the seemingly interminable halls, the illumination waned with each passing moment, casting elongated shadows that stretched and contorted like spectres dancing in the twilight. Even the undead creatures guiding their path appeared to falter.
"Where are they leading us, Shizun?" inquired Liang Zhiguan, his attempts at navigation hampered by the encroaching darkness. Sensing his struggle, Xue Xinyu gently clasped Liang Zhiguan's hand, guiding him with a reassuring touch. "I cannot say for certain, but their urgency is palpable," Xue Xinyu replied, his voice betraying a hint of concern.
In the dimness, Liang Zhiguan couldn't help but notice the warmth emanating from Xue Xinyu's touch, a sensation that kindled a subtle blush upon his cheeks. Grateful for the obscurity offered by the shadows, he concealed his embarrassment from Xue Xinyu's perceptive gaze.
Undeterred, Xue Xinyu pressed onward, following the faltering footsteps of their undead guides.
After what felt like an eternity of stumbling through the enshrouded darkness, the corridor yielded to a vast chamber, aglow with the radiance of countless flickering lights.
At first glance, the chamber bore the semblance of a sepulchre, its walls lined with rows of ornate coffins, each bearing silent witness to the passage of time. At the farthest reaches of the chamber, a staircase ascended to a raised dais, upon which rested a single coffin adorned with intricate carvings and delicate filigree.
In an instant, Xue Xinyu's grip on Liang Zhiguan's hand loosened, his body tensing as he slipped into a defensive stance, his eyes scanning the room for threats. The chamber filled with the sound of creaking bones, the skeletal horde moving in eerie unison.
Liang Zhiguan, heart pounding, braced himself, ready to follow Xue Xinyu's lead, but he couldn't shake the lingering warmth from Xue Xinyu's touch—a fleeting moment of calm before the storm.
"Fren'ka vel'drak shaz, zex'deth'karin*" one of the undead creatures spoke, its hollow voice reverberating through the chamber like a distant echo. The words were foreign yet laden with a sense of urgency. Translated, they meant, "Please, do not attack them. They are of us."
Xue Xinyu, ever cautious, relaxed his stance but kept his guard up, his sharp eyes studying the skeletal figures. He waited, heart steady, as silence stretched between them.
The creature continued, its tone almost apologetic. "Drek'sha fren'ka vel'dor'zul'dor"—*We apologize for not explaining earlier.* There was an ancient weariness in its voice, as though centuries of regret had weighed it down.
Then, the creature's gaze seemed to drift, as though peering beyond the veil of time itself, lost in memories that no longer felt like its own. In the mists of time, those distant days evade my grasp, it began, speaking now more to itself than to Xue Xinyu, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Centuries, perhaps epochs, have passed since then, shrouding the memories in a veil of uncertainty.
