NOVEL WEB Chapter 70: Corridor of Ghosts
In one of the far corners of the mansion, hidden behind an unassuming door, was a room that might as well have been forgotten by time. Nestled inside was a closet—dusty, narrow, and suspiciously plain. It looked more like a place where someone would stash a body or dump old junk than anything important.
The air inside reeked of neglect. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling like curtains, and rat droppings dotted the floor in a pattern that screamed abandonment. It was a stark contrast to the elegance and pristine condition of the rest of the estate.
"This is starting to feel like an RPG... moving from point A to point B," Corven muttered with a groan. He had long since stopped trying to make sense of his escapades in this new world.
Instead of questioning it, he simply accepted the map's vague instructions. At this point, blind faith seemed faster.
FWOOSH.
He tugged open the closet door. A thick cloud of dust exploded out, instantly filling the room. Corven gagged as it caught him off-guard, some of it even making its way into his mouth.
"Gah! How long has this thing been shut!?" He coughed violently, swatting the air with one hand. A few casual waves of his supernatural strength cleared the space quickly, but the irritation lingered.
Beyond the dust-covered doorway lay a narrow stone passage, descending deeper into the estate. The walls were dimly lit by sconces—each one burning steadily despite the absence of anyone for what seemed like centuries. The sconces were engraved with symbols and carvings that depicted the rise and fall of past rulers, scenes of bloodshed, rituals, and thrones long abandoned.
Corven didn't stop to admire any of it. He barely spared the engravings a glance.
He wasn't here to study history. He was here to get this over with.
He walked straight ahead, keeping his pace steady, but after five minutes, something felt... off. The walls hadn't changed. The torches looked identical. Even the air smelled the same—stale, unmoving.
He came to a stop.
"I've been caught in a loop," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "Still have the Archivist active, so this won't be much of a problem."
And he was right. With just a touch of focus, a faint layer of invisible text shimmered into view across the wall ahead—an arcane lock hidden in plain sight. All he had to do was recite it.
CRACK.
As the final word left his mouth, the space in front of him split open with a warped crackle. A rift tore through the air, revealing a deeper corridor beyond.
"Thought so."
He stepped through without hesitation.
The new hallway wasn't much different. The layout remained unchanged—more torches, more ancient engravings of long-dead rulers—but the details had shifted slightly. The faces on the walls were new. The weapons they carried older. Time seemed to move backwards the deeper he went.
"This has been uneventful so far." Corven let out a wide yawn, more from sheer boredom than fatigue.
"Trespasser!"
The sudden echo of a ghostly voice snapped through the silence behind him.
"What in the—"
CLANG.
[Gravewright Activated]
– Blood (55 Units)
Steel clashed with bone as a ghastly figure lunged at him. The attacker was shrouded in a glowing green cloak, its tattered robes fluttering unnaturally. What little of its body could be seen beneath the cloth showed emaciated limbs—skeletal and barely held together by withering sinew.
"So this is where the fun part comes in?" Corven said, almost amused.
[Bloodbolt Activated]
A ball of crimson energy formed in his hand, glowing ominously. Thanks to his new evolution, he could summon it indefinitely without draining himself.
SPLASH.
The bolt struck the apparition straight in the eye, making it stagger back with a shriek. Logic shouldn't apply to ghosts—he knew that. But somehow, it worked.
[Gravewright Activated]
– Blood (50 Units)
A sword of jagged bone materialized in his hand. Without hesitation, he delivered a horizontal slash aimed at the thing's neck.
FWOOSH.
The blade met resistance—more like tearing parchment than flesh—but the effect was immediate. The ghost's head detached, and its entire form dissipated into the air like mist.
"I guess that makes sense—"
"Thief!"
Another one.
CLANG.
A second apparition rushed him from behind. Same cloak, same wasted limbs, same eerie scream. A perfect clone of the first.
Corven spun, parried the strike, and drove his sword straight through its skull. It faded instantly.
"Two down…"
He turned sharply, cleaving through a third that had crept up silently. It didn't even get the chance to finish its warning cry.
Corven's movements were sharper now, faster than they'd ever been—his evolution made sure of that.
"And I guess there are infinitely more to go."
He glanced down the hall, tapping his foot once on the ground before realizing something important.
'This must be a test of attrition.'
Understanding that, he bolted forward.
Speed was his best option now. Fighting them endlessly wasn't efficient, and he wasn't about to waste his entire day in some haunted corridor.
But his escape didn't go unnoticed.
More ghosts began materializing ahead of him.
SLASH. STAB. SLASH.
Three gone in under a second.
Still no end in sight.
The Archivist ability wasn't giving him anything useful now. Either this was too advanced, or the hallway really was just that long.
Still—he needed confirmation.
[Crimson Eyes Activated]
A pulse of energy revealed something faint in the distance—a convergence point of magical energy kilometers away. Something subtle yet significant. A checkpoint. Maybe even the exit.
"I guess I was right."
It really was just a really long hallway.
CLANG.
Another ghost leapt at him. Corven sidestepped smoothly and plunged his sword into its chest, dissipating it with precision.
"This is going to be a test of endurance and attrition," he said, clicking his tongue in annoyance.
Behind him, ten more ghosts rose up from the ground, their voices a mix of curses and accusations.
[Bloodbolt Activated x10]
Ten spheres of blood floated behind his back, orbiting like crimson satellites.
"Stay dead!" he shouted, swinging his sword forward like a conductor's baton.
The bolts shot forward like bullets, each one striking its target with lethal precision.
All ten ghosts collapsed into mist, but before he could take a breath, three more clawed their way out of the walls ahead.
"No wonder why she wished me luck…" Corven smirked. "But I'm not going to need it."
He crouched slightly, shifting his weight into a sprinter's stance.
Then he dashed forward—no hesitation.
SWOOSH.
The wind howled in his wake as he surged through the corridor.
"I'm not gonna waste my time here!"