One by one, the warriors of the "Black Squad" and the life-hussars, singed but alive, overcame the fiery barrier, joining the Lord in the mysterious hall. Hassan, pale and trembling, but with incredible speed, also dashed through the flames, his eyes darting feverishly across the walls, still searching for anything that glittered.
As the party caught its breath after the fiery breach, Father Tuk, surveying the majestic yet strange columns and statues, broke the silence.
"My lord," he said, his voice full of awe and wonder, "this room is clearly man-made. No natural forces could have created such symmetry, such perfect forms." He pointed to the inscriptions carved in the stone. "Even these symbols are the work of intelligent beings, not random erosion."
Green, standing nearby, nodded, his pragmatic mind agreeing with the priest's conclusions. "Such columns and this scale of work require meticulous, painstaking labor. This is not the work of a year, or even a decade. It's a minimum of several years of labor by hundreds, if not thousands, of workers and craftsmen. To build such a thing underground is a colossal task. This isn't just a temple or a shelter, it's... a city beneath the earth."
Their words only confirmed the Lord's own intuition. This hall was not an accidental cave but a grandiose creation of a forgotten civilization. The scale of the construction, its complexity, and its concealment spoke of the incredible resources and knowledge of its creators. The treasures that might be hidden here were likely not just gold and jewels, but something far greater—artifacts of a long-gone era, knowledge capable of changing the world. Now the task was to understand the purpose of this hall and to find what exactly was hidden in its depths.
The party, heartened by the relative safety and the scale of the new discovery, began a thorough exploration of the vast underground hall. Now that the most immediate threats were behind them, they could act more methodically. Green took overall command of the reconnaissance. He divided the remaining warriors into small groups that began to inspect different sectors of the hall. Their task was to identify any hidden niches, secret doors, or unusual features in the masonry of the walls and floor. The hussars, with their keen eyesight and attention to detail, felt the walls and columns, searching for any irregularities or hidden mechanisms.
Father Tuk immediately went to the nearest columns and statues, which were covered with incomprehensible inscriptions. His goal was not just to read, but to understand the context of these ancient texts and images. He carefully examined every detail of the statues, trying to guess what or whom they symbolized, and whether their poses or the objects in their hands could serve as a clue.
Hassan, despite the fear he had experienced, once again showed his irrepressible enthusiasm. He crawled on the floor, his torch snatching every shiny pebble from the darkness, but now his search became slightly more focused. He felt with his hands in any depressions, checking the empty pedestals, hoping to find something of value.
The Lord moved slowly, carefully examining every element of the hall. His gaze swept from the monumental columns to the mysterious mechanisms, from the ancient statues to the dusty floor. He was trying to grasp the overall logic of the place, to understand why it was built and where its true purpose or greatest secret might be hidden. The air in the hall, though fresh, carried with it a sense of deep antiquity, as if every stone held silent memories of past millennia.
While the warriors methodically explored the vast hall and Hassan rummaged in every corner for gold, the Lord's gaze kept returning to the enigmatic statues. They were silent witnesses of past eras, and he felt that the key to the mystery might be hidden in their silence. He turned to Father Tuk, who was still poring over the inscriptions, but his attention was also being drawn to the stone sculptures.
"Tuk," the Lord said, approaching one of the statues whose face was hidden under a massive hood. "Look at these statues. Who do they depict? Gods? Rulers? Or are they the very people who built this place and buried themselves here?"
Father Tuk looked up from the inscriptions and approached the statues. He walked slowly around them, peering intently at the details, running his fingers over the weathered stone.
"This... doesn't resemble any pantheon of gods I know," he finally said, his voice thoughtful. "Nor kings or emperors in the usual sense. Their robes are too simple, yet at the same time majestic. There are no signs of power or military distinction on them, only symbols similar to those we saw on the walls and the doors." He pointed to one of the symbols carved on the statue's chest. "I'm beginning to understand... these people, my lord, were not ordinary mortals. Judging by the inscriptions I've started to decipher, and by these images, they were most likely guardians. Perhaps priests, or sages, or those who possessed special knowledge. They didn't rule lands in our understanding, but they held great power over something else. Perhaps over what is hidden here."
Father Tuk glanced around the hall again, then returned his gaze to the statues. "Their poses... they are not praying, nor are they sitting on thrones. They are standing, as if waiting for something, or guarding the entrance to something that lies behind them. Perhaps a part of the answer is hidden behind each of them."
His words opened a new perspective: these statues were not mere decorations, but important elements pointing to the true purpose of this place and, possibly, to the path to the treasures.
While Father Tuk was sharing his theories about the purpose of the guardian statues, Green, who had been methodically inspecting the hall, drew the Lord's attention to another important detail. "My lord, look here!" he called out, his voice tense.
The Lord walked over to him and saw what he was pointing at.
"There are eight statues here, we've walked past them, but I just noticed... one of them is faceless."
Indeed. Among the other seven statues, whose faces were concealed by hoods or strange masks, the eighth stood out. Its head was the same shape, but the place where facial features or a mask should have been was perfectly smooth, as if it had never been there, or had been worn down to its foundation. Perhaps it was intentionally left unfinished, or the face had fallen off over time, but that seemed unlikely given the perfect condition of the statue's other parts. This faceless statue stood in line with the others, but its empty "face" gave it a particularly eerie and mysterious appearance. Compared to the others, each of which had some detail hiding or depicting features, this one seemed like a challenge.
Hearing Green's words about the faceless statue, Father Tuk flinched. His gaze left the inscriptions on the wall and fixed on the strange sculpture. He slowly approached it, running his hand over the smooth, featureless surface. His eyes reflected an intense train of thought, as if he were trying to grasp a fleeting memory. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and the Lord saw him turn inward, trying to find answers in the depths of his memory.
Finally, he opened his eyes, and they shone with understanding.
"Lectures... at the seminary," he muttered, as if speaking to himself, and then his voice grew louder. "Our teachers told us about ancient cults and forgotten beliefs that predated even the oldest religions we know. They spoke of the concept of the 'Unmanifested Face' or the 'Unformed God'."
Father Tuk turned to the Lord, his face serious. "In some ancient teachings, the Face, or the Name, or even the Form of a deity or spirit could not be manifested or carved until certain conditions were met. It could be an oath, or a ritual, or an offering that would activate them. Sometimes it meant that the entity had not yet fully manifested itself, or that it was too powerful to be depicted. These guardian statues, as I suspected, are not just images. They are possibly part of some activation ritual. And this faceless one... it is waiting for its 'face.' Or for that which must be placed in it. Perhaps this is the key to understanding this entire system," Father Tuk said, pointing to the faceless statue, then to the others.
Father Tuk's words shed light on the statue's purpose but also complicated the task. If the statue was waiting for activation, what exactly was supposed to "activate" it?
"Exactly so, my lord," Father Tuk confirmed, his gaze focused on the faceless statue. "If my theory is correct, we need to find something that serves as a 'key'. It might be a physical object that must be inserted into it or placed upon it. Or it could be a certain knowledge, action, or even a ritual that will 'manifest' its true face or purpose."
Green examined the statue from a practical standpoint. "If it's an object, it must be unique, perhaps made of an unusual material or having a special shape to fit this statue perfectly," he said, pointing to barely visible indentations on the "face" or pedestal of the statue that could serve as a place for such an object.
Now the goal became more tangible, though no less difficult. The Lord was faced with the task of finding this "key," which could be anything in this vast, mysterious hall. His expedition, having already lost many warriors, faced another trial that required not strength, but wit and attentiveness.
The Lord looked thoughtfully at the faceless statue, then at the ancient parchment that had led them here. The map, which had seemed to have served its purpose, might now have a new meaning.
"A physical object," he repeated, following Father Tuk's theory. "Perhaps it's something we are already carrying with us. What if this 'key' is the treasure map itself?"
The idea was striking in its simplicity and logic. The map had led the party to this cave, to this hall. What if its true purpose was not only to show the way but also to serve as the key to the final door? The Lord took out the ancient parchment. It seemed too ordinary for such a majestic repository, but its age and connection to the mystery were undeniable. The Lord began to carefully examine the map, searching for any clues that might indicate its role as a key. Perhaps it had hidden symbols, protrusions, or its shape matched some indentation on the statue.
The theory about the map being the key, which the Lord had just begun to voice, was interrupted by a sudden thought that flashed in his mind. Not the map itself, but what was marked on it, and in what sequence they had found it!
"The landmarks!" the Lord exclaimed, as if a lightning bolt had struck his mind. "It's the very landmarks by which we got here! The mountain, the mosque... and this entrance to the caves!"
This idea seemed absolutely correct. It connected everything the party had been through. The ancient creators, knowing that their descendants would seek the treasures, might have encrypted the key in the very path to them. Perhaps the order in which the landmarks were discovered, or their position relative to each other, was the missing piece of the puzzle.
Father Tuk, hearing the Lord's exclamation, looked at him with wide eyes, then at the map, and then at the statues. His face cleared. "My lord... that could be it! The 'Unmanifested Face' might require the 'memory' of the path that led to it. A sequence that was known only to them."
Green also looked intently at the map, then at the statues. "If that's the case, then each statue might symbolize one of the landmarks. And the faceless one is waiting to be 'shown' the whole path."
Now the task was clearer, though no easier. They needed to figure out which statue symbolized what, and how exactly to "manifest" the path.
The Lord's thought was clear and decisive. If the guardian statues symbolized the landmarks, and the faceless one was waiting for a "manifestation," then they had to start with the first, earliest landmark—the Watchtower. And, it seemed, some "action" or "offering" was required.
The Lord approached the faceless statue. Its empty face seemed like a challenge. Recalling Father Tuk's lectures on the "Unmanifested Face" and his own interpretation, he decided that perhaps he needed to give the statue something that symbolized the first landmark or the path to it. The Lord looked at his party, then at the surrounding artifacts. A sword—a symbol of a warrior, of protection, of the path they had followed. And perhaps that was exactly what was needed. From one of the nearby hussars, the Lord took his sturdy but simple campaign sword, a symbol of their loyal service.
With caution and a certain reverence, the Lord approached the faceless statue. Its right hand was slightly raised, as if waiting for something. He carefully but firmly placed the sword in one of the statue's hands. The blade fit perfectly into its stone grip.
For a moment, a tense silence hung in the air. All eyes were fixed on the statue. Hassan froze, his eyes wide. Green gripped the hilt of his weapon. Father Tuk muttered a prayer. And then something happened. A low, vibrating hum emanated from the statue, rolling through the entire hall. The stone slabs on the floor seemed to tremble slightly. And on the statue's "face," thin, barely visible lines began to appear, as if being carved from within, forming the outline of something...
The humming from the faceless statue, into whose hand the Lord had just placed the sword, continued, and the first faint outlines appeared on its face. This was confirmation that his theory was correct. The next landmark was the mosque, the one half-buried in sand. What could symbolize it? The Lord's gaze fell on Father Tuk. His cross—a symbol of faith, worship, ancient shrines. The mosque, like the cross, is a place of worship, a symbol of the spirit. This could be it.
"Father Tuk," the Lord said. "Your cross."
The priest, understanding the Lord's plan, removed his simple but holy cross from his neck without hesitation. There was no fear or doubt in his eyes, only determination and faith in their mission. The Lord approached the statue, whose face was already beginning to take on clearer, though still indistinct, features. Its left hand, previously lowered, was now slightly raised, as if awaiting a second "gift." Carefully, but with firm confidence, he placed Father Tuk's cross in the statue's other hand. The symbol of an ancient, forgotten faith and the symbol of their own faith met in a single sculpture.
At that same moment, the humming intensified, shaking the stone. The features on the statue's face appeared even faster, becoming almost discernible. But the most surprising thing happened with the mosque on the map itself. A faint, pulsating glow seemed to emanate from it, moving slowly in the direction of the cave.
The hum from the statue grew louder, echoing in pulses through the vast cave. The face on the once-faceless statue became more and more distinct, as if sculpted from light and shadow. The last landmark remained—the passage hidden in the mountains, through which the party had entered this dungeon. What could symbolize it? Its essence is the earth, a path leading into the depths, hidden by sand and stone.
Suddenly, it dawned on the Lord. The symbol of the entrance, of the desert itself that had tested them for so long. He quickly bent down, took off his boot, in which, like in the boots of everyone in the party, remained the very sand from the outside world, from the dozens of dunes they had crossed. Without hesitation, he scooped up a handful of this sand and resolutely threw it onto the statue's face. The fine grains of sand settled on the emerging features, covering them in a thin layer.
At that same moment, the cave shuddered. The hum reached its peak, and a bright yet soft light emanated from the statue, slowly spreading throughout the hall. The sand on its face seemed to be absorbed into the stone, and the features became perfectly clear and complete. Now the statue looked at the Lord. Its face was not that of a god or a man, but rather an abstract yet deeply expressive representation of The Path. It conveyed the knowledge of hidden roads, of trials overcome, and of the invisible connections between the world above and this ancient sanctuary. The light from it illuminated the central part of the hall. The mechanisms on the floor, previously dark and lifeless, began to glow faintly. It seemed they had found the key.
The light emanating from the statue grew brighter, flooding the central part of the vast hall. The sand that the Lord had thrown on its face seemed to have been absorbed into the stone, and now the statue was no longer faceless. On it, as if carved from pure light, a face appeared. It was not just a human face, but an image full of power and wisdom. It conveyed an unbending will, forged in trials. It was the face of a warrior and a defender of the faith—not the faith preached in temples, but a deep, inner conviction that leads one through the impossible. Every line of its features, the expression in its eyes, seemed to reflect the experience of those who had overcome unimaginable obstacles. It was the face of one who had known the way of the desert, who had passed through its ruthless trials and emerged victorious. It was the face of the Lord, but one could also discern in it the features of all who had walked this path: the resilience of Green, the faith of Father Tuk, even the unrestrained energy of Hassan. It was the embodiment of their collective journey.
As the light from the statue became steadier, it illuminated the center of the hall. And there, beneath this radiance, they saw what they had been searching for so long.
The light from the transformed statue, on whose face was now imprinted the image of a warrior and defender who had known the way of the desert, illuminated the center of the vast hall. And there, in its very heart, the Lord saw it. Not piles of gold, not mountains of precious stones, but a single artifact, resting on a modest yet majestic pedestal made of the same dark stone as the columns.
It was the Spear of Longinus.
It did not shine with magical light, nor did it sparkle, but an invisible, almost palpable aura of power and antiquity emanated from it. Long, with a tip darkened by time, it was devoid of any embellishments, but its every curve, every mark on the shaft, spoke of its incredible history. The tip, which had once pierced the flesh of the Savior, seemed at once ordinary and inexplicably compelling. This was not a treasure in the conventional sense, but its historical and spiritual value surpassed all imaginable riches.
Silence filled the hall, deeper than ever before. The party, singed, exhausted, having suffered heavy losses, had finally reached its goal. Hassan, his eyes wide, stared at the spear in amazement, probably not understanding its true value but sensing its power. Green's face was full of awe and understanding. Father Tuk, falling to his knees, began to pray, his voice trembling with shock and profound faith. Their path, so difficult and dangerous, had led them not to piles of gold, but to the greatest of relics, whose power and history could change the course of history.
Without a moment's hesitation, the Lord approached the pedestal. His hand reached for the ancient relic of its own accord. The Spear of Longinus, majestic and simple, awaited him. His fingers touched the cool, but not icy, shaft. And in that moment, something amazing happened. The spear seemed to leap into the Lord's hands, as if it had been waiting for just that. No blinding light or thunderous voice came from it, but he felt a powerful surge of energy pass through him, like an ancient current. It was not physical strength, but something far deeper—an awareness of history, power, and destiny.
Time seemed to stand still. In the Lord's hands, the Spear of Longinus felt not just like an artifact, but like a living extension of his will, an instrument of fate. Its weight was perfect, its balance flawless, as if it had been created just for him. All the trials, all the losses, all the inhuman struggle he had endured found meaning in this moment. The party, watching in reverent silence, saw the Lord holding the Spear. Green's face showed deep understanding. Father Tuk's prayer was now filled with triumph. Even Hassan seemed to sense the greatness of the moment, though he did not understand its essence. The Lord held in his hands not just a relic, but a symbol of power that could change the world.
When the Spear of Longinus settled in his hand, it was more than just the touch of an ancient artifact. He felt a wave of energy pass through him like a mighty current. It was something more than ordinary power. The Lord felt himself overflowing with supernatural power, but it was not a chaotic surge, but an ordered, deep resonance. Along with this power, images, sensations, and knowledge flooded into the Lord's mind. It was the power and wisdom of all the Spear's owners, stretching back through millennia. He saw flashes of the battlefield where it first drew blood, felt the determination of the emperors who held it, the wisdom of the sages who studied its secrets. He perceived the greatness and the tragedies of those who had shaped destinies with its help. Not voices, but a deep, intuitive understanding of their decisions, their goals, their sacrifices.
The Lord's mind expanded, accommodating knowledge he had never possessed and experiences he had never lived. He felt not only power, but also immense responsibility. This Spear was not just a weapon; it was a key to understanding the past and, perhaps, a tool for shaping the future.
Green and Father Tuk looked at the Lord with reverent awe. They saw his expression change, saw something new, deep, and ancient ignite in his eyes. This was not just the joy of a discovery, but a transformation. The Lord held in his hands not just a legend, but the very essence of its centuries-long history, becoming a part of it.
He stood, tightly gripping the Spear of Longinus, feeling the stream of ancient power and wisdom flowing through him. His consciousness expanded, containing millennia of history. This feeling of omnipotence, this union with destiny, was both exhilarating and overwhelming.
The Lord looked at Green and Father Tuk. Their faces, lit by the dim light of the torches and now by the radiance emanating from him, expressed not just respect, but also reverent awe. They saw how he had changed, felt the aura emanating from him, understanding that they had witnessed something incredible, beyond the scope of ordinary human experience. In their eyes, awe of the power mingled with deep concern for him.
On Hassan's face, however, there was only bewilderment. He had come here for untold riches—for shining gold, for shimmering precious stones. All he saw now was an ancient spear and an incomprehensible glow. His greedy mind could not comprehend the invisible, spiritual value of the relic, and the scale of what had happened was too great for his primitive understanding. He had expected chests of gold, not the transformation of his Lord.
Suddenly, at the peak of this supernatural surge of power, the Lord's body could not take it. The human mind is not adapted to such a volume of information and energy. The world around him began to swim. Images, sounds, knowledge—everything merged into one deafening torrent. He felt dizzy, his legs gave way. The last thing he saw were the alarmed faces of Green and Father Tuk rushing towards him.
The Lord lost consciousness, plunging into darkness, still holding the Spear of Longinus, the key to the secrets of millennia.
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