MIGHT AS WELL BE OP-Chapter 415: The Temple of Binding Chains

Anthony's use of light magic had inadvertently drawn the attention of the monstrous horde.

Better, they all agreed without speaking, to move quietly, patiently, until they reached the second floor.

They moved as one, following the steady rhythm of Anthony's presence and the measured cadence of his footsteps.

Time seemed to lose meaning, each step stretching into an eternity of silent endurance.

And then, without warning, the staircase ended.

Before them sprawled a vast, ancient hall, half-swallowed by the slow, relentless weight of time.

Towering stone columns, their surfaces etched with faded, forgotten sigils, reached upward toward a ceiling swallowed by darkness.

Everywhere they looked, coiled around the pillars, sprawled across the fractured floor, and suspended like webs in the murky air, were chains, countless chains.

Forged of iron blackened by the centuries, they hung heavy and still… yet with a disquieting, almost imperceptible motion, as if breathing in the stagnant gloom.

"This place reeks of death"

Seraphim muttered, her voice low as her eyes narrowed against the oppressive darkness.

"Stay close, and be ready for anything"

Anthony ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

They advanced cautiously into the Temple of Binding Chains, the silence around them as heavy and suffocating as a shroud.

Every footfall against the cracked earth, every shallow breath they dared to take, rang out like thunder in the vast, forsaken emptiness.

At the heart of the temple loomed an ancient altar, cracked and weathered by the merciless passage of ages.

Atop it rested a set of broken manacles, their jagged edges rusted and worn, a grim testament to a being long-forgotten, once bound here to an eternal fate.

Anthony stepped forward, his gaze sharpened with caution.

But the moment his foot crossed an unseen threshold, the air shifted violently, the temperature plummeted to a biting chill.

A low, grinding rumble rolled out from the shrouded corners of the hall.

The chains stirred.

And then, with a deafening chorus of metallic groans, they sprang to life, like a thousand iron serpents slithering hungrily across the stone, converging on the intruders.

The first strike was ruthless.

A whip-like chain lashed out from the shadows, wrapping around Reynold's arm with terrifying speed and precision.

His expression twisted in surprise as he tried to yank his arm back, but the chain tightened with an unnatural force, pulling him inexorably toward the waiting darkness.

Without hesitation, Anthony's katana materialized in his hand, gleaming like a shard of light in the suffocating gloom.

In a single, fluid motion, he swung it, the blade cutting through the living metal with a resounding hiss, sparks flying in a brilliant arc as the chain fell in two, twitching violently on the floor.

"They're sentient"

Dale muttered, his voice tinged with a cold realization.

With a swift motion, his spear surged forward, cleaving through the chains that dared approach him.

Each strike was met with ease, the metal snapping under his precision.

But the more he severed, the more the chains seemed to multiply, sprouting from the shadows like a monstrous, living thing.

Seraphim shot into the air, the chains snapping at her heels in relentless pursuit.

Her fingers moved with graceful urgency, weaving intricate constructs of energy that sliced through the metal with sharp precision.

Yet for every chain she cut, two more emerged in its place.

The futile cycle wore on.

With a resigned flick of her wrist, she summoned a shimmering barrier around herself, a shield that encased her as she ascended further into the air.

The chains, unfazed, continued their assault.

They slammed into the barrier with bone-shaking force, rattling it as though they had no intention of stopping.

"Don't let the chains touch you. They can absorb vitality"

Reynold's voice rang out, strained with urgency as lightning crackled around him.

His form flickered like a bolt of pure energy, darting through the temple with precision, narrowly weaving past the oncoming chains.

The briefest contact had already siphoned his vitality, a sensation like his very life force being drained with every touch.

His muscles tightened as the chains sought to claim more.

Updated from freewёbnoνel.com.

Kingsley, however, remained eerily silent, his feet a blur as he danced across the earth, his movements fluid and precise like a tap dancer.

Each chain that came his way was deftly avoided, his body seemingly in tune with the rhythm of the assault.

But despite their best efforts, the time came when retreat was no longer an option.

The chains closed in, and there was no choice but to fight.

With a decisive strike, they began to destroy those closest, but in doing so, they only fed the frenzy.

Each severed chain multiplied in its wake, as if the very act of destruction had given them life anew.

"We can't fight everything. There's too many!"

Dale shouted, his voice strained as he parried a relentless barrage of chains, each strike ringing out with a metallic hiss.

Meanwhile, Anthony remained eerily still, his body unmoving as the chains passed harmlessly through him, distorted by his control over space.

Where the others scrambled and fought, Anthony knew he had other methods.

There was no need to waste energy running about like the rest of his team.

His mind raced, calculating, searching for the missing piece.

There had to be a purpose here, a goal, something hidden beneath the chaos.

Just like on the first floor, there was always a key, a weakness, a flaw in the design.

His eyes snapped back to the altar, to the broken manacles resting upon it.

The chains… they were not just guardians, they were prisoners, bound to this place by some ancient force.

A realization surged through him like a wave.

If they could shatter the manacles entirely, destroy the source that anchored the chains, perhaps they could break the enchantment, sever the grip that held this cursed place in thrall.

"Dale, Seraphim"

Anthony's voice cut through the chaos, firm and commanding.

"Cover me! Reynold, Kingsley, fall back and defend the rear"

Without waiting for a response, Anthony surged forward, his body a blur as he sprinted toward the altar, deftly weaving through the forest of writhing chains that lashed out in every direction.

Sparks erupted around him as his katana flashed, deflecting chains with calculated precision.

Each movement was a seamless blend of skill and precision, his blade cutting through the oppressive darkness.

Above him, a massive chain, thicker than a tree trunk, hurtled down like an executioner's guillotine, its weight and speed a deadly promise.

Anthony's instincts flared.

He slid beneath the descending chain, his body a fluid shadow against the floor.

In an instant, he rolled across the cracked stone, springing back to his feet in one graceful, practiced motion.

He reached the altar.

Before him, ancient runes glowed faintly along the surface of the manacles, their ethereal light pulsing with an ominous rhythm.

Wards of binding. Wards of imprisonment.

Without hesitation, Anthony placed his hand upon the manacles.

The instant his skin made contact, a searing, burning sensation flared into existence.

It was as though the very air around him turned to flame.

Yet, before it could take hold, the pain dissipated like smoke in the wind.

Anthony, immune to any flame that sought to harm him, stood unaffected.

In a single, fluid motion, blue flames erupted from his palm, crackling with raw power.

The flames danced and spread, consuming not only the manacles but the entire altar.

As the altar blazed with the intensity of the Eternal flames, the chains reacted violently, as though writhing in agony.

They lashed out, flailing like creatures in their death throes, their movements erratic and frantic.

But it was all in vain.

The flames, relentless and undying, consumed the manacles and altar in the blink of an eye.

The heat was so intense that the very air around them seemed to crackle and tremble.

With a final, resonant roar, every chain fell to the ground, clanging and thudding against the stone floor with a thunderous impact, their life force extinguished.

"Is everyone okay?"

Anthony's voice echoed from the side, steady and calm despite the chaos.

"We're fine"

Seraphim responded, her voice calm.

"But seriously, what is this place?"

Reynold interjected, his frustration palpable.

"What's the voice's goal? What's the purpose of all these floors, this trial?"

"If we'd been caught by those chains"

Kingsley remarked with a disinterested tone, his eyes half-lidded as he floated effortlessly,

"We would've been trapped here for who knows how long, with those chains draining our vitality and sealing away our mana"

His words were casual, almost detached, as though he were commenting on an inconvenience rather than a life-threatening danger.

To most, this would have been a terrifying trial, but to anomalies like him, it was little more than a mundane obstacle.

As if to reinforce his point, another staircase, this one spiraling downward, materialized before them, its steps stretching into the unknown depths below.