As the dust cleared completely, its form became visible—and Zachary's shock deepened.
"A-A-A…?" his voice cracked.
"A SKELETON!?" he blurted out.
But it wasn't entirely accurate.
What stood before them was something far worse.
Its body was partially skeletal, yes—but strips of decayed flesh still clung to its bones, hanging loosely as it moved.
Its hollow eyes glowed faintly with an eerie light. Draped over its frame was a robe made of a shadow-like material, shifting subtly as if it were alive.
It wasn't just a monster.
It was a mage.
The mana radiating from it was overwhelming.
Violent currents of energy swirled around the skeletal mage, manifesting as powerful winds that whipped through the corridor.
Its shadowy robe flowed unnaturally, as if it were alive, shifting with the mana rather than the air.
The pressure alone made it hard to breathe, like standing at the center of a storm with no escape.
Even the remaining dire wolves hesitated, their instincts warning them of something far more dangerous.
Then it stopped.
Right in front of Zachary.
Zachary's knees trembled slightly, a rare crack in his composure. His eyes locked onto the creature's hollow gaze, unable to look away.
There was something deeply wrong about it—not just its appearance, but its presence. It didn't feel like a mindless monster.
The skeletal mage slowly moved its jaw.
Up.
Down.
Again.
It was trying to speak.
Zachary frowned slightly, focusing intently, trying to make sense of the motion.
He attempted to read its "lips"—only to immediately realize how stupid that idea was. It didn't have lips. Just bone.
Then suddenly—
The creature raised its hands and began thumping its ribcage.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The sound echoed hollowly through the corridor.
And then—
"…ZaChArY…"
The voice came out distorted, broken, like something forcing sound through a body that wasn't meant to speak.
Each syllable dragged unnaturally, but it was clear enough.
Zachary froze.
For a moment, confusion overtook his fear. "How… do you know my name?" he asked, his voice cautious but steady.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Lucky guess."
The voice didn't come from the skeleton.
It echoed from behind it.
Footsteps followed, slow and deliberate, approaching from deeper within the dungeon.
Each step clicked softly against the stone floor, sending a chill down Zachary's spine.
The skeletal mage didn't move, as if it were merely a puppet waiting for its master.
Zachary's eyes shifted past it.
The voice echoed once more, calmer now—controlled, deliberate, and far more… aware.
"For your information, young traveler…" it began, each word carrying a quiet weight that pressed against Zachary's chest.
The footsteps grew clearer, no longer hidden by distance. "My name is… Kairoth Umbren."
The name lingered in the air.
Heavy.
Ancient.
Zachary felt something shift inside him.
Not fear.
Recognition.
His trembling stopped.
His eyes, which had been filled with shock just moments ago, slowly narrowed. The confusion on his face didn't disappear—but it changed. It deepened into something sharper.
Something dangerous.
"Kairoth… Umbren…" he repeated under his breath.
That name—
He knew it.