Deep within a cave at the summit of a mountain, faint whispers echoed from a heated discussion. A group of people gathered around a round stone table, their faces marked by indignation and pain.
One of the older adults—a tall, broad man with graying hair streaked with brown, a wrinkled face, and a long ultramarine-blue robe with gray tones—exclaimed in a hateful whisper, as if not wanting to be overheard:
"Ah! Damn vile young demon! Since when can such a twisted mindset exist? Even in the dark ages, deep sorcerers wouldn't defile a corpse so disgracefully."
Everyone looked silently at the elder. Some opened their mouths as if to add more to his words of hatred, but their expressions remained grim, haunted by recent memories.
The youngest adult, a short man with an average build, curly black hair, and dressed in a faded sky-blue robe with white patterns, spoke up with a glimmer of hope:
"We should warn the nearby settlements. Maybe we could join forces to defeat that vile demon."
An older man sitting beside him scoffed and responded with bitter sarcasm:
"You think we're in any shape to fight? Most of us can barely walk to the next village. And that's a stupid idea. No one will help without demanding a high price—land, resources. We'd lose our identity and the legacy of our magic. Besides, who's to say they could even stop that demon?"
The younger man glared with frustration and raised his voice briefly:
"Then what's your solution?! We'll have to sacrifice our pride to survive. When that demon finishes us, what will remain of our—"
Before he could finish, a fist crashed into his face, slamming him to the ground. His lips split from the impact, blood spilling across his face.
The man who hit him rushed over, grabbing him by the neck to silence him. With clenched teeth, he whispered fiercely:
"I understand what you're saying, but it makes no difference. Whether we live or die, we'd lose everything generations before us studied. And for what? To hand it over to outsiders? That would insult every sacrifice made to protect our heritage."
He calmed down, released his grip, and conjured a small stream of water from his hand to wash the blood. Wiping himself on his robe, he sat back down in silence.
No one helped the beaten man. Instead, the group resumed their hushed debate, searching for any detail that might save them…
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Thousands of years ago, stone manuscripts were discovered containing the ability to reshape reality through words. Those who could speak them properly could bend reality at will.
The original owners of these texts had long since been forgotten, and their work scattered without order. However, those who studied the fragments managed to restore their meaning.
These magical legacies granted incredible power. The more a sorcerer knew, the stronger they became. That's why no one ever shared their knowledge—doing so meant strengthening a potential enemy.
Sorcerers were the backbone of every city. Without them, people were defenseless.
Now, in that cave, their situation was desperate. Everyone was wounded. Knowledge was power, but not all knowledge was useful in battle. And not knowing your enemy? Even worse.
Each settlement developed its own magical legacy—combat techniques, defense systems, and hidden spells. In a duel, sorcerers didn't know each other's tricks. That balance kept things even. But if the enemy knew everything about you… and you knew nothing about them… defeat was inevitable.
Their greatest fear was that the demon they faced knew all their secrets. The most terrifying part? They had never seen him speak a single word.
It made no sense. Maybe he was a mythical beast? But that was impossible. Such creatures didn't roam the surface randomly. And if he were one, none of them would've survived the first encounter.
They couldn't accept that a sorcerer could use magic without speaking. Or that they couldn't even sense it.
Theories flew around. The most likely was that he was an immortal. But why would someone so powerful bother with mortals?
Time was running out. Some argued for escape. Others, for a final stand. Maybe if they showed courage, they'd earn his mercy.
Only the young man had suggested offering their legacy—but everyone ignored him.
Before they could decide, a third presence entered the cave.
Footsteps echoed against the stone. A pale figure appeared at the entrance. Narrow eyes. Emotionless expression. Wearing a robe of black and white stripes. Long albino hair falling freely over his shoulders. He slowly approached the table.
All the sorcerers stood, horrified, muttering curses under their breath.
The albino ignored them and locked eyes with the elder. At that moment, the man felt his body grow heavier. Breathing became difficult.
The others weren't any better. It was like gravity itself had turned against them.
With effort, the elder yelled:
"Vile demon! What do you want from us? What did our ancestors do to make you rise from the underworld to torment us?"
The albino didn't answer right away. He unhooked a gourd from his waist, drank some water, and finally spoke with eerie calm:
"None of you have done anything to me. I don't even know you. I'm only interested in your magical path. I tried interrogating your people, but none were useful. Only your great master might give me what I need."
Silence filled the cave. Everyone turned to look at the elder.
He gritted his teeth, forcing a bitter smile.
With tense resolve, he replied:
"Of course. It's obvious what you want. I'm the only one who knows the combination words of our legacy. But I would never betray it, you damned demon."
The albino's face remained blank. Then, with cold detachment, he replied:
"Are you really in any position to negotiate?"
The elder's face darkened. He paused, but spoke again with pride:
"If you kill us all, you'll only get fragments of our knowledge. You'll never access the complete legacy. No matter how powerful you are, you won't open the vault protected by our previous masters."
The albino raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk on his lips.
"No one truly wants to die, no matter how much they pretend otherwise. That's foolish. It's only a matter of finding the right pressure point."
The air grew heavier still. No one dared speak.
The elder inhaled deeply and, with sorrow in his voice, said:
"Lord demon… I won't change my stance on the legacy. I know that means little to you, but those documents hold more than magic—they carry our history, the sacrifices of generations. Still… that doesn't mean I can't be useful to you in other ways."
The albino squinted slightly. For the first time, he seemed interested.
"Oh? What could you really offer me?"
The elder forced a smile, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Oh, many things. I lead this village. I have contacts in other settlements. I can get you rare resources, favors from artisans and weavers… or, if your desires lie elsewhere, something more… personal."
His voice dropped into a venomous whisper:
"What would a man like you want? Women? Tall, large-breasted, wide-hipped… or perhaps something more refined, younger… even more innocent. I can provide whatever you desire."
The albino stared at him, expressionless.
A chill ran down the elder's spine. Cold sweat soaked his robes.
"That's all you really have to offer?"
Silence. The elder's smile slowly faded.
Before he could respond, a voice rang out across the chamber.
"I offer you my legacy, sir."
The young man stepped forward, pale but resolute. The others turned toward him in shock and rage.
"Shut up, fool! The elder is negotiating—"
He never finished. His head burst like a melon, splattering blood and brains across the table and floor.
Silence.
The albino's icy gaze locked on the young man.
"You're willing to share your legacy? What makes you think it's worth anything?"
The youth swallowed hard. Despite trembling, he answered:
"No one else is willing… and I know I'm far beneath the elder in knowledge. But I'd give up my legacy just to survive."
An eternal silence.
The albino raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"I may consider your offer… but since it's the only one, you'll be the only one who lives."
The elder cried out:
"Wait! We can reconsider. I can personally give you more advanced knowledge—beyond that of a master—if you let some of us go."
One by one, the others began to beg:
"I can give you my secret techniques!"
"I'll teach you my water mastery!"
"I'll share my interpretations of the ancient texts!"
The cave filled with desperate offers.
The albino was silent. Then he asked:
"Elder… are you truly willing to give up the legacy's secrets?"
The old man nodded eagerly.
"Yes… Yes, of course!"
The moment the word left his mouth, a spectral hand pierced his chest.
The elder floated midair, his face twisted in unspeakable agony.
The other sorcerers followed. Bodies lifted and twisted as if drained from within.
Spectral hands reached into their chests, ripping out their life force. They didn't die quickly. They were forced to endure a torment beyond comprehension.
Only one remained on the floor.
The young man curled up in a corner, horrified.
His companions floated around him, screaming, their eyes pleading.
The albino whispered a single, cryptic spell.
"Liars."
That was the only word anyone understood.
Their bodies collapsed like puppets with cut strings.
Small white orbs floated in the air. The albino reached out and absorbed the largest one. The rest were stored in the orbs on his belt.
The young man trembled, speechless.
At the cave's entrance, the albino paused and gave him one last glance.
"You were the only one I sensed no malice or deceit from. That honesty saved your life. I didn't need the elder's help to get the legacy. Devouring him gave me all I needed."
He turned to leave. Just before disappearing into the darkness, he said:
"Lost in the seas, lost from the seas. That is the legacy's password. Don't forget it when you return."
And with that, he vanished into the shadows.
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Hours later, the village was slaughtered in a pointless massacre. The mortals protecting the legacy were no match.
The chaos ended as quickly as it began.
Only one master survived. But outside those lands, no one would ever know what truly happened.
It remained only as a memory.