Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 115: Foyer of Lost Breaths

After listening to Drigurd’s story, Percival now stood at the precipice of a new reality; a reality he wasn’t even certain was true.

He had died in his former timeline believing that there were only five Gods. There had never been a reason to challenge that, it was as true as the sky was blue.

However, if Drigurd was to be believed, there were six. Asmodea. This Goddess of Creation and Damnation. Why was she showing her ugly head in this timeline? Where was she in the last?

Everything was mostly the same from the last timeline. The only thing that had changed was him. He had refused to be the Hero.

Percival’s eyes widened. Did his refusal have anything to do with it? Had he somehow caused a chain of actions and reactions that led to this ancient goddess escaping Purgatory?

He’d read many time travel stories to know that messing with the past even in the slightest way could create a completely different outcome.

If that was the case—Percival’s eyes narrowed—was this Demon Gate World his fault? His responsibility? If his actions had led to Asmodea being unleashed into the world, then shouldn’t he be the one to stop her.

It was too simple to put it like that, Percival thought. His refusal was a reaction to his betrayal. It was not fair on himself to take blame for defending himself simply because it affected others as well.

Nevertheless, the Demon Gate World was here, the Haunting of Suicide Manor. And since Gate Worlds were created from the essence of the gods as well, Drigurd’s story of Asmodea seemed to hold true.

Demons were in Evernia.

Percival stood before the Gate, watching the redness swirl around in an oddly inviting manner. He was prepared. At least, he was more prepared than the first team had been.

"Hero Percival."

Percival looked over his shoulder. Duke Ithalan and Elara were several feet behind him. With them was a team of local Awakeners who appeared completely terrified.

"If you seek assistance. These are some of our simple awakened forces. An Archer, A Healer Mage, and even a Druid. They can join you," the Duke offered.

Percival’s eyes swept over the Awakeners then returned to the Duke. "Save your men, Lord Ithalan. This Gate World won’t be the last one that will appear in your province."

Ithalan, surprised, nodded his head. "Very well," and stepped back.

Percival returned to the swirling crimson, after reading the description one last time—

⸢Description: A house that stands at the edge of reason. Is it the origin of evil? The end of it? Or is it neither?⸥

—he stepped inside.

The moment his boot crossed the threshold of the swirling red vortex, the gravity of the physical world sheared away, replaced by a suffocating, cold pressure that felt like diving into deep water.

The crimson light was brighter than normal Gate’s. It almost blinded him, with a howling sound of the wind and shrieking steel piercing into his ears.

Then, stillness.

Percival’s greaves stepped carefully into the first Encounter Zone of the Gate World, hitting a hard, wooden surface.

He tried to remain calm. The truth was, Percival wasn’t fully free of his emotions. He knew when fearful anticipation was taking a hold at him. But, pretending to be otherwise uncaring had started to bleed into his personality.

Despite all that worried him, he did not speak, he didn’t flinch. He carefully stood still and ready, moving his eyes to register where he was.

The Haunting of Suicide Manor.

With a ding, the Gate World’s map appeared before him, alongside the quest informing him to clear the Suicide Manor and defeat the Boss.

He studied the map with silent eyes. His present location was the first Encounter Zone called the Foyer of Lost Breaths.

Foyers were usually pretty. This one was haunting.

The air here was very dead. It didn’t circulate. It hung heavy and stagnant, smelling of old dust, dried lavender, and the metallic copper tang of blood that had been spilled a long time ago.

Percival felt a knot in his throat and cleared it, straightening as his eyes scanned the environment.

It didn’t seem like there was a Beast Source here. Or a Demon Source, rather. This Encounter Zone must share it with the other one.

As a A-Ranked Gate World, the max amount of Encounter Zones that could share a Source was two.

S-Ranks had one per Zone.

It was slightly unsettling being inside a seemingly ordinary house rather than the caves like in Worm World or the swamps of the Rending Marsh.

But to be fair, the foyer felt more like a palace of grief than any ordinary house.

It was cavernous, easily the size of a cathedral nave. The floor was a checkerboard of black and white marble, cracked and covered in a layer of grey dust that looked disturbing like ash.

Above, a massive crystal chandelier hung by a single, rusted chain, its candles unlit, yet the room was bathed in a dim, sourceless luminescence that seemed to bleed from the walls themselves.

To his left and right, grand staircases curved upward into the gloom, their banisters carved from dark mahogany that looked like twisted vines.

He saw portraits. They were beautifully made, with ornaments and glyphs. They hung along the walls, hundreds of them.

But every single canvas had been slashed violently across the face, leaving the subjects unrecognizable, their painted eyes staring out from behind tattered ribbons of oil and canvas.

Percival felt like he was in a horror movie. He had wandered into the haunted house against the warnings of the town members and now found himself unable to leave.

He could leave, but he wouldn’t. The rewards were far too precious. In clearing this Gate World, he would also level up to Lvl 50. That level was very important to Awakeners.

It decided truly how powerful they were going to be.

Percival took a step. Click.

The sound echoed too loudly causing him to freeze.

Whatever Demons that were in this Encounter Zone certainly heard that. To avoid being blind-sided, he expanded his senses.

Closing his eyes, he used his high Perception attribute to listen for movements, to sniff scents, to feel auras.

The dread suddenly felt more palpable. It wasn’t just the architecture; the very mana in the air felt mournful and enraged. He could sense something—somethings—not too far away, gathered and watching.

He could smell blood. Not their own. It smelled like human blood, yet it didn’t feel like humans were alive in this place.

Percival activated ⸢Grave Sense⸥.

It didn’t take long for him to find four bodies laying on the floor, hidden by the shadows that coated this dark theater.

His head spun to the base of the left staircase. They were huddled in what looked like a final, desperate defensive circle.

From first glance, Percival recognized that they were Awakeners. Undeniably, these were the corpses of Baron Eutheo’s vanguard.

Percival hesitated, then moved toward them silently, his armor creaking, the Sword Case behind him ready to eject in weapon if danger appeared.

He stopped when he was close enough to smell their rotting skin.

They were clad in heavy, high-Grade armor worth a kingdom’s ransom. The Awakener with the lowest level amongst them was at Lvl 107. The highest, Lvl 122.

These Awakeners were strong enough to shatter mountains, now they lay as hollow sculptures of terror.

He knelt beside the first corpse, a female Knight propped against the grand staircase’s newel post as if resting, though her repose was a grotesque mockery.

Her greatsword lay several feet away, as if knocked from a grip gone slack with something worse than weakness.

Her helmet had been ripped away. Not carefully removed, but torn off with violent force, the straps snapped.

The face beneath was a monument to pure, unadulterated fear. Her skin was the color and texture of dry clay, stretched taut over her skull, mouth agape in a silent, endless scream.

Her eyes were wide, clouded with a milky film, fixed on some horror only she could see. It was as if her very essence—her vitality, her mana, her soul—had been violently siphoned out through her pores, leaving a brittle shell.

Percival saw bite marks on her neck. His eyes narrowed. Vampires.

So this... this was truly happening.

Evernia was turning supernatural.