"Maybe you''re right," Mava said, her voice quiet but trembling with the weight of her admission. "Maybe the cycle of hate never ends. Maybe humanity is doomed to repeat its mistakes, over and over again."
She raised her head, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the flickering light of the burning ruins around her. But despite the despair that had consumed her moments ago, there was something else in her eyes now¡ªa spark, fragile yet unyielding.
"But you''re wrong," she continued, her voice gaining strength, each word laced with burning defiance. "You''re wrong to say it''s better to let it all end. If the world is cruel, if the cycle of hate is unbreakable, then someone has to be brave enough¡ªstrong enough¡ªto stand in its way."
She stepped forward, her body trembling but resolute. "Someone has to carry that burden, to bear the hate and the suffering, so others don¡¯t have to. If just one person can be strong enough to contain it all, to hold the weight of the world¡¯s pain... then the world would still be worth saving. And only one person would need to suffer."
Scorn chuckled, his smile twisted yet amused. ¡°Well, now... this is getting interesting. You¡¯re not ready to give in. Not yet.¡± His voice dropped, almost a whisper. ¡°But will you survive the path ahead? That, I¡¯m curious to see.¡±
He stepped forward, his presence commanding, his voice almost playful. ¡°So, you want strength, do you? To carry the weight of the world?¡±
Mava straightened, her voice trembling but firm. ¡°I¡¯ll carry it. No matter what.¡±
Scorn¡¯s grin widened, dark and knowing. ¡°Then let¡¯s see how far you¡¯re willing to go.¡±
Chapter 9 Echoes of Sanity, Whispers of Madness
Chapter 9 Echoes of Sanity, Whispers of Madness
Two years had passed since the man first entered this strange, brutal world, and over that time, he had learned to survive its savage rhythm. He had honed his skills¡ªhunting, making fire, foraging for fruits. His body was leaner, his instincts sharper. But even as he adapted to the relentless environment, something inside him felt heavier with every passing day.
Today, he crouched low in the underbrush, his makeshift spear clutched tightly in one hand and a coarse net in the other. His focus was absolute. He had laid out the bait¡ªfruits scattered nearby, luring the giant horned rabbit that had been circling this part of the forest. It had been hours, maybe more, and his muscles burned with exhaustion, but he didn¡¯t dare move. Not yet.
Patience. He reminded himself. His gaze never wavered from the motionless bush ahead. Just a little longer.
Then, a rustle in the undergrowth. His heart skipped a beat.
A massive rabbit¡ªits fur black as night¡ªemerged cautiously, its large, glowing horns dimming as it approached the bait. The sight of it sent a rush of excitement mixed with dread through him. This could feed him for days.
It was so close now. Just a little closer¡
He held his breath, every muscle in his body coiled tight. The rabbit sniffed at the fruits, its twitching ears flinching at every sound. Now.
In one fluid motion, he hurled the net over the rabbit, trapping it with a sudden, wild EEEEK!. The creature thrashed, its glowing horns flaring desperately as it fought against the mesh.
The panic rose in his chest as the rabbit struggled. No¡ you don¡¯t.
Leaning into the weight of the net, he tightened his grip, his hands trembling. The creature¡¯s frantic shrieks only made his pulse pound harder. He drew his spear and thrust it forward, the tip sinking into the rabbit¡¯s side. He muffled its cries by throwing a thick animal pelt over its mouth.
His hands shook. His breath came in ragged bursts. But he didn¡¯t stop. Not now. He had been surviving on his wits and strength for far too long to falter. Pinning the rabbit down with his knee, he drew a jagged knife¡ªa crude blade he had forged¡ªand moved to end its struggle.
¡°Just die already,¡± he muttered under his breath, the frustration creeping into his voice. His gaze darted nervously over the landscape. He couldn¡¯t afford to be distracted¡ªnot here, not now.
With one final twitch, the rabbit went still. Its glowing horns dimmed completely. The man exhaled deeply, sweat trickling down his brow as the tension slowly drained from his shoulders.
Hah¡ Looks like I¡¯m eating like a king tonight, he thought, though his voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. But the weight of the kill lingered in his chest, a knot of unease that wouldn¡¯t quite dissolve.
And then, the forest shifted. The rustling grew louder, closer. His heart skipped, his stomach churned.
No. Not now.
A large group of horned rabbits emerged from the trees¡ªat least a half-dozen¡ªcharging toward him, their glowing horns flashing with deadly intent.
Shit.
His mind raced. There was no time to think. He quickly hoisted the massive rabbit onto his back, clutching the spear in trembling hands.
"They¡¯ve come for me," he muttered, his voice tight. He ran, his legs burning, his heart pounding in his chest. Ahead, he saw it¡ªthe glowing line in the dirt. The safety barrier.
"Uoooo..." he grunted, pushing himself harder, his breath ragged in his throat. The rabbits were closing in, their eerie growls echoing behind him. Closer. Just a little closer.
The ground trembled beneath his feet as the herd bore down on him. He could feel their eyes, their rage.
¡°Damnit they¡¯re getting close¡± he proceeded to pull a strange bag from his side and threw it at the pack, it exploded into a thick fog of powder blinding a few on the front¡± HAH that will slow them down¡±
He hurled the dead rabbit ahead of him crossing the line in a desperate bid to make his sprinting faster.
¡°Wooo!¡± he howled, throwing all his remaining strength into one final burst. With a desperate lunge, he leaped across the glowing line just as the first of the rabbits leapt toward him.
The creatures halted suddenly, their horns striking uselessly against the invisible barrier¡ªone only he could cross. Panting, he stood there, chest heaving, staring back at them.
Hah! He let out a manic laugh, exhaustion and triumph mixing in his voice. You slowpokes can¡¯t get me!
For a moment, he just stood there, letting the adrenaline settle. His gaze fell to the dead rabbit at his feet, and the gnawing weight of loneliness crept back into his chest.
Better get home before dark, he muttered, the familiar unease curling inside him. Don¡¯t want to lose my way... again.
He trudged back to his burrow, the large rabbit still slung over his back. The path seemed longer now. Every step was a reminder of how far he had come¡ªand how far he had fallen.
When he finally reached his shelter, he dropped the rabbit to the ground and set about building a fire. The familiar crackling sounds filled the quiet night. He began the slow, methodical process of dissecting the rabbit, setting aside its meat and placing the horn in the corner of the burrow. The firelight flickered in the darkness as he prepared his meal, puncturing the meat with a sharp stitch and nailing it close to the flames to cook.
As he waited, his mind wandered. He remembered a time when survival wasn¡¯t a daily battle¡ªa time when walls protected him, when comfort and rest weren¡¯t luxuries. The memory of his apartment was faint now, but compared to this dirty hole in the ground, it felt like paradise. This burrow, no more than a shabby excuse for shelter, barely passed as a bird''s nest.
If I ever get out of here¡ I hope there are people outside this forest.
¡°Why would you leave?¡±
The voice, velvety and teasing, came from the corner of the burrow. He turned, and there was Jeffry¡ªthe large floating blue cat with his ever-present cosmic yarn ball, drifting lazily in the air like a shadow that had learned to smile. Jeffry¡¯s grin widened, stretching impossibly, his eyes glinting with an unsettling playfulness. The man had started hallucinating this creature eight months ago, and its image had never left him since¡ªlike a specter of his unraveling mind.
¡°You¡¯ve built such a cozy little nest here,¡± Jeffry purred, spinning his yarn idly. ¡°Why leave all this behind?¡±
The man sighed, rubbing his temples. ¡°Jeffry, not now. I¡¯m tired, and I¡¯m not in the mood for your nonsense.¡±
¡°Oh, but nonsense is all we have,¡± the cat replied, circling him in the air. His voice carried a strange weight, like a whisper that wrapped itself around his thoughts. ¡°Think about it. Out there, there¡¯s no guarantee. No one waiting. No one caring. Here, though, you¡¯ve got me... and all this.¡± His paw swept theatrically over the burrow, the rabbit, the dim firelight. ¡°You¡¯re thriving, my friend.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
The man frowned. ¡°I¡¯m surviving, not thriving. There¡¯s a difference. I need to get out of here before this place drives me insane.¡± He muttered the last part under his breath, but Jeffry¡¯s ears perked up as if he¡¯d heard every word.
¡°Insane? Oh, you wound me,¡± Jeffry said, his grin never faltering. He drifted closer, his voice soft but with a sharp edge beneath the words. ¡°I¡¯ve kept you company, haven¡¯t I? Kept you sane in this lonely little world? Who else do you have to talk to? The trees? The beasts? The rabbits?¡± He gestured dramatically to the cooking meat, his grin twisting slightly, teeth glinting in the firelight.
The man ignored him, returning his attention to the fire. ¡°Jeffry, I don¡¯t have time for your games. I need to prepare for tomorrow.¡±
¡°Fine, fine,¡± Jeffry said, his voice laced with mock exasperation. He floated higher, his silhouette framed against the dim light. ¡°But if you¡¯re so determined to leave, at least finish your meal first.¡±
Something about the way he said it made the man pause. The words were simple, but there was an undercurrent to them¡ªa suggestion, almost a command. He glanced at the cat, whose eyes gleamed with a peculiar intensity, the yarn ball in his paws spinning faster and faster.
¡°Finish everything,¡± Jeffry continued, his grin splitting wider, his voice dipping into a sing-song tone. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t want to leave anything behind, would you? Everything here is yours. You¡¯ve earned it. Take it. Devour it.¡±
The man¡¯s stomach twisted, and unease prickled at the back of his mind. Jeffry¡¯s words, though playful, felt heavier than usual, carrying a meaning he couldn¡¯t quite grasp. He forced a hollow laugh. ¡°Yeah, sure. I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡±
Jeffry tilted his head, his grin frozen, his eyes unblinking. ¡°Good,¡± he purred, his voice like a caress and a threat all at once. ¡°I¡¯ll be watching.¡± And with that, he vanished, leaving behind only the faintest shimmer in the air.
The man stared at the empty space where Jeffry had been, a heavy unease settling over him. Shaking his head, he turned back to his meal, but the firelight seemed dimmer now, the shadows around him darker, more oppressive.
¡°I need to get out of here as soon as I can,¡± he muttered to himself, trying to shake the cat¡¯s words from his mind. But as he bit into the rabbit, the taste was different¡ªricher, almost cloying. He swallowed with a shiver, as though something within him had stirred.
After eating his meal he then picked up the rabbit¡¯s horn and walked to another burrow¡ªa storage area filled with hides and trophies from his hunts. The walls were lined with the remnants of his survival: horns, skulls, animal pelts¡ªproof of his persistence through the years.
He placed the horn on a table beside a pile of dried leaves, the words scrawled across them marking his research¡ªa makeshift diary of sorts.
Two years ago, after his brutal encounter with the giant bird capable of using magic, his interest in this strange, elusive power had grown. With no one to teach him and no books to study, he had turned to the animals he hunted, dissecting them to study their so-called "magic organs." Over time, he had discovered strange runes etched within these organs¡ªmysterious, cursive markings he couldn¡¯t quite understand.
Let¡¯s see... he thought, picking up a leaf with notes scribbled across it. So this rune acts as some kind of temporary mana storage¡ like a capacitor?
He had limited knowledge of electronics¡ªjust enough to grasp the concept. Through trial and error, he had come to realize that magic, in this world, was like electricity. Mana was energy, and the runes were like electrical components. Each rune had its own properties, and when connected in certain patterns, they created new effects. He was certain of it.
The man turned the horn over in his hands, tracing the curving runes with his finger. His mind focused, honing in on the energy he had only recently begun to understand. He had seen the rabbits pour mana into their horns, activating the runes. He was determined to do the same.
With steady hands, he mimicked the movements of the creature. His fingers traced the intricate cursive runes, one end to the other, like he was connecting a circuit. He closed his eyes and focused, willing the mana to flow, determined to summon the power within him.
Then, something shifted.
The horn began to glow.
BOOM!
The horn shot from his hands, piercing the ceiling of the burrow with a violent explosion that sent dust and dirt raining down around him.
COUGH COUGH! HAAACHOO!
The man stumbled back, coughing and sneezing as the room was filled with smoke and debris. He stood frozen for a moment, shock coursing through him. But quickly, it was replaced by something else¡ªsomething far more exhilarating.
At last! He exhaled sharply, grinning despite the mess around him. I did it!
After hundreds of failed attempts, this was the breakthrough he had been waiting for. Magic. He could finally use it.
"At long last, I have a fighting chance against that bird," he muttered, a new fire igniting in his chest. After that, I¡¯ll get out of this damn forest...
But as he stood there, a small, unsettling thought flickered through his mind.
What else could this magic do?
The answer, he feared, might be even more dangerous than the creatures of the forest. And he wasn¡¯t sure if he was ready to face it.
-Break-
After their encounter with the adventurers and bandits, Scorn and the young girl set out for the nearby city of Terramill. Gaining entry through the city gates proved straightforward, thanks to Scorn¡¯s connections. This time, their cover story painted the girl as the son of a deranged man, traveling to procure medicine to cure his supposed mental illness.
The duo wandered through the bustling market, where the air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, smoke, and sweat.
¡°Ahhh, the city of Terramill¡ªland of minerals, trade, and political corruption!¡± Scorn declared with theatrical enthusiasm, throwing his arms wide as if embracing the chaos around them. He inhaled deeply, feigning bliss. ¡°Smell that, Mifa? That¡¯s the sweet aroma of moral decay!¡± Pretending to be an insane man allowed him to say outrageous things without consequence¡ªor perhaps he truly was a little unhinged.
¡°Lower your voice! And why are we even here?¡± the girl hissed, glancing around nervously.
¡°We¡¯re here because we finally have a lead on whoever¡¯s spreading those purple bottles filled with the witch¡¯s piss!¡± Scorn replied with a smirk.
¡°It¡¯s not piss! And don¡¯t call me by my name!¡± she snapped. ¡°We¡¯re father and son right now¡ªcall me Robert.¡±
¡°Robert, Mifa, Paimon¡ªwhat¡¯s the difference? I¡¯m just a crazy old man rambling nonsense! Besides, who names their kid Robert? Parents like that should be tried for crimes against taste,¡± Scorn cackled, clearly enjoying himself more than she was.
From his pocket, Scorn pulled out a cloth-wrapped object no longer than a pen and thrust it toward her face. ¡°Here, Robert, take a sniff of this!¡±
The girl recoiled instantly, coughing as the putrid odor assaulted her nose. A primal unease gripped her; the smell was familiar¡ªterrifyingly so.
¡°Cough, cough! What the hell is wrong with you?!¡± she spat, glaring daggers at him.
¡°Cool, huh?¡± Scorn said, his grin widening as if he¡¯d just unveiled a masterpiece. ¡°I swiped it from the adventurers¡¯ carriage we stopped eight days ago. It was hidden under the floorboards.¡±
¡°Cool. A severed finger. So original,¡± she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Let me guess: it¡¯s infected by the witch¡¯s poison?¡±
¡°Wrong, my sharp-witted apprentice! Take a closer look.¡± He waved it near her again.
She flinched back, keeping her distance. ¡°It¡¯s¡ moving?¡± she asked hesitantly.
¡°Exactly!¡± he said, clearly delighted. ¡°This bad boy is from a corpse revived through necromancy. Isn¡¯t it fascinating?¡±
¡°Why would anyone do that?¡± she asked, her tone more baffled than curious. ¡°Can¡¯t they just reanimate corpses without the miasma component of witch¡¯s poison?¡±
¡°They could,¡± Scorn admitted, twirling the finger like a grotesque baton. ¡°But this¡ªthis is something special. The poison¡¯s involved for a reason. And you¡¯ll notice,¡± he added, holding the finger aloft, ¡°that we only found this little piece.¡±
He paused, his gaze sharpening despite his air of madness. ¡°Do you remember what I told you about residual mana? Every living creature radiates it, and everyone emits it at a specific frequency like a fingerprint of vitality. Now, when witch¡¯s poison is used on a reanimated corpse which has very little vitality, and I mean in small concentrations. The mana it gives off becomes so faint, so subtle, that it¡¯s practically undetectable.¡±
Her brow furrowed as she followed his explanation. ¡°Practically undetectable¡ to most people?¡±
¡°Exactly,¡± Scorn said, tapping the side of his head with the finger. ¡°But for someone like me, who¡¯s attuned to the witch¡¯s poison¡¯s specific mana frequency, it¡¯s like a shining beacon. That¡¯s why I stopped the carriage back then. The adventurers didn¡¯t know they were carrying a homing signal.¡±
Her eyes widened. ¡°So that¡¯s also how the bandits found them? Someone set them up.¡±
¡°Bingo!¡± Scorn exclaimed, pointing the finger at her as if awarding her a prize. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re here¡ªto figure out who orchestrated it all. Someone with a keen understanding of how witch¡¯s poison works planted this on the adventurers.¡±
She nodded slowly. ¡°The raid quest did seem suspicious. So whoever arranged it wanted the adventurers and bandits to cross paths. But why?¡±
¡°Well done, Robert! Here¡¯s a candy for your efforts.¡± With a wicked grin, he pressed the severed finger toward her face again.
¡°Ugh! Get that disgusting thing away from me, you lunatic!¡± she yelled, recoiling.
Scorn inspected the finger closely, his expression suddenly more thoughtful. ¡°You know, I¡¯d really like to meet the person who made this. Whoever they are, they have some seriously in-depth knowledge of witch¡¯s poison. Might be worth a chat¡ if they don¡¯t kill us first.¡±
His tone was so casual, she couldn¡¯t tell if he was joking or not.
Chapter 10 The Scholar, the Mask, and the Bloodshed
Chapter 10 The Scholar, the Mask, and the Bloodshed
The daylight filtered through the towering spires of Terramill, casting long shadows across the city as it settled into the quiet of midday. Inside the Kingdom of Legulia¡¯s great library, Viktor Volcas, a young scholar of the St. Reyhaeart academy bearing the weight of exhaustion, moved quietly between the shelves. His fingers brushed over the spines of countless books, their age-old dust mingling with the scent of old paper. A briefcase sat beside him, its contents unopened for now. He was gathering books¡ªancient texts on wars, legends, and the forgotten corners of history.
Viktor''s face, drawn with fatigue, betrayed the sleepless nights that had become routine. He placed a stack of books onto a long wooden table, the titles of which spoke of forgotten battles and long-lost cultures. He needed them. He was searching for answers, a thread to unravel the mystery that had gripped his town. But this investigation had not been his choice.
The case had originally belonged to his mentor¡ªProfessor Harrold Dolron. The man had been a pillar of the academic world: an investigator, archaeologist, and historian renowned for his extensive research on ancient legends and forgotten rituals. His books had won prestigious awards, cementing his place as a respected figure in archaeology. Yet there had always been whispers¡ªrumors of an abusive temper, troubled relationships with his family. But none of that had been enough to tarnish his public image.
Until he disappeared.
Two months ago, while investigating a strange group of people potentially linked to the case of multiple disappearances in Terramill, Professor Dolron vanished. One evening, he¡¯d stepped into an alleyway¡and was never seen again. No trace, no sign of struggle, just¡ gone.
Viktor''s grip tightened on a nearby shelf. ¡°Where are you now, Professor?¡± he muttered, frustration clouding his thoughts.
With a heavy sigh, he set his briefcase onto the table and opened it. Inside were stacks of papers¡ªreports, some of which had been hastily written¡ªamong them, one caught his eye: The Strange Hero of the Town of Kremherg. It was a local folklore, but unfinished, abandoned like so many of the professor''s other works. Beneath it, however, lay something more personal: a broken totem, pieces of what seemed to be a deity, and¡ªViktor¡¯s pulse quickened¡ªthe professor¡¯s diary.
Curiosity piqued, Viktor flipped it open to a page marked with a worn ribbon. He began to read aloud, the professor¡¯s familiar handwriting taking him back in time.
¡°Year 1802, after ¡®The Great Leak¡¯ ¡ª January 26
th.¡± The professor¡¯s words were sharp, precise. ¡°I was investigating the strange disappearances around the slums of Terramill. The latest was Korven Gar, a retired adventurer. He was 48 years old, a large man, bearded, with impressive strength for his age. He vanished sometime between 2:00 and 2:30 AM, January 25
th. I spoke to the locals, but no one seemed to know anything. No one even seemed concerned. His friends, who knew him personally, claimed they had no idea who would want to harm him¡ this is a very interesting case, mainly because the pattern in which the victims vanished had similarities to some ancient traditions long forgotten to time specifically the days of the disappearance, its always the full moon. November 15
th, December 15
th and now January 25
th¡±
Viktor frowned. ¡°The professor really dove deep into this¡ that old man,¡± he muttered to himself, turning the page.
¡°February 26, 1802.¡± The professor¡¯s penmanship was neat but growing more urgent. ¡°I think I¡¯ve found another pattern. Most of the victims were men¡ªstrong, experienced in combat, but no longer active. A civilian found a broken piece of a totem near the alley where Samuel Mestos, a retired war veteran, was taken. He was 63 years old. The disappearance occurred between 2:30 and 3:30 AM on February 24rth. There were signs of a struggle¡ªscratches on the ground, likely from Samuel¡¯s sword, which his grandson swears he always carried with him.¡±
Viktor flipped the page, a frown tugging at his lips. He was getting closer. He could feel it.
¡°February 4, 1802.¡± The professor''s voice sounded more strained. ¡°I have obtained the piece of the totem for closer inspection. It is from a local deity¡ªNytheris the giver, I had studied a few parts of its history from my travels, one of the gods from the sunken city of Thalmyra. The god is believed to be the proliferator of knowledge and giver of power¡ ¡±
As Viktor continued, a sudden chill ran down his spine. He turned the page¡ªand froze. There, in the professor¡¯s familiar hand, was a sketch. A figure that seemed to twist the very fabric of reality. A humanoid form, arms multiplying into grotesque, unnatural lengths. Its head was a grotesque flower, the petals curled and broken, and at its center¡ªa black void. No face, only an endless, yawning abyss.
Viktor''s breath caught in his throat. His fingers trembled slightly as he studied the image.
¡°What is this thing?¡± he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. His skin prickled, as though the very presence of the drawing had awakened something dark and ancient. Something that could not be easily explained or understood.
It was then that the room seemed to shift, as if the air itself had grown heavier, thick with something far older than the library¡¯s dusty shelves. Something far older than even the professor''s research could explain.
Viktor couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was being watched. That whatever the professor had uncovered¡ it was not just a mystery to solve. It was a warning.
And he was dangerously close to crossing the line.
-Break-
After a long walk through the bustling streets of Terramill, Scorn and Mifa finally arrived at the city¡¯s famed adventurers¡¯ guild. The building stood tall and proud, with its first floor resembling a lively tavern. Outside, rows of adventurers lounged on benches, their polished armor, robes, wands, and bows gleaming in the morning light¡ªa testament to the guild¡¯s high reputation. Some were preparing for quests, checking their gear with practiced ease, while others scanned the sprawling quest board for their next challenge.
¡°Ah, Gryphon¡¯s Claw,¡± Scorn remarked with a note of admiration. ¡°Cool name for a guild, huh, Robert? This place was founded 87 years ago by the Sirenteas¡ªa commoner family of adventurers. They built this guild into one of the finest in the kingdom. Eighty-seven years, and they still hold the record for the most quests completed annually.¡±
¡°And you think this guild will have a copy of the quest Mava¡¯s group took?¡± Mifa asked.
¡°If you wanted to test a new weapon, wouldn¡¯t you target something strong?¡± Scorn replied with a sly grin.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Mifa nodded. ¡°Fair enough.¡±
As they stepped inside, the lively chatter softened, and a wave of suspicion filled the air. Most of the adventurers turned to glance at Scorn, their gazes lingering on his strange white mask. His mysterious appearance screamed that he didn¡¯t belong.
¡°Just as planned,¡± Scorn muttered under his breath.
The two made their way to the front desk. Mifa stepped forward, her expression softening into a look of worry as she approached the receptionist.
¡°Hi, ma¡¯am,¡± she said, her voice adopting a boyish charm. ¡°My father and I came from the village of Forgerosa. We¡¯re looking for a relative¡ªan adventurer¡ªwho left twelve days ago on a quest. We haven¡¯t heard from him since. His name is, uh... Finrod! Do you have any news about him?¡±
The receptionist frowned and rummaged through a stack of records beneath her desk. ¡°Let me check¡ Finrod, you say?¡± She thumbed through a few papers, then paused. ¡°Ah, here it is. It says he took part in a raid quest nine days ago to stop Regras the Savage and his bandit crew near the outskirts of Halletheas.¡± Her expression darkened. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say, we lost contact with his party eight days ago.¡±
¡°Eight days!?¡± Scorn exclaimed, his tone dripping with feigned concern. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you sent a rescue team?!¡±
The receptionist looked down, visibly uncomfortable. ¡°Sir, I understand you¡¯re upset, but there¡¯s a process for these things. We sent scouts two days ago to assess the situation. We¡¯re awaiting their report, which should arrive tomorrow morning. I¡¯m truly sorry.¡±
¡°And who approved such a dangerous quest?¡± Scorn demanded, his voice rising. ¡°Whoever made this request needs to be held accountable if something happened to... uh, Finrod!¡±
The receptionist flinched but maintained her composure. ¡°I¡¯m afraid the requester wished to remain anonymous.¡±
¡°Damn it!¡± Scorn coughed dramatically, clutching his chest. His over-the-top performance earned glances from the adventurers nearby¡ªsome sympathetic, others skeptical.
¡°Father, calm down!¡± Mifa said, rushing to his side and placing a hand on his chest. ¡°Let¡¯s just leave. Please!¡±
¡°I¡¯m fine, my boy¡ COUGH!¡± Scorn rasped, waving her off. As they turned to leave, he muttered, ¡°Did that sound convincing?¡±
¡°Not at all,¡± Mifa replied flatly.
¡°Good,¡± Scorn whispered, his tone amused.
As they exited the guild, they accidentally bumped into a young man in a suit carrying a leather briefcase. Papers and books spilled across the ground.
¡°Ugh¡!¡± the young man grunted, dropping to his knees to gather his scattered belongings. ¡°Oh no¡¡±
¡°Let me help you, young man,¡± Scorn offered, kneeling to assist.
¡°You don¡¯t have to,¡± the young man said hurriedly, gathering the papers.
¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Scorn replied, picking up a few sheets. As he did, his gaze caught on one of the documents¡ªa quest request. The words ¡®Sunken City of Thalmyra¡¯ were printed clearly at the top.
¡°You¡¯re headed to Thalmyra?¡± Scorn asked casually.
The young man glanced at him, hesitating. ¡°Yeah¡ It¡¯s not like I have a choice. I have to go.¡±
¡°Thalmyra¡¯s long been abandoned,¡± Mifa chimed in. ¡°That place is crawling with sea monsters.¡±
¡°I know the risks,¡± the young man replied sharply, standing and stuffing the papers back into his briefcase. ¡°But I have no other option.¡±
Scorn handed him the remaining papers and offered a handshake. ¡°Well, good luck on your journey, young man.¡±
The boy hesitated, then shook Scorn¡¯s hand. ¡°Thank you. My name is Viktor, by the way.¡±
¡°Pleased to meet you, Viktor,¡± Scorn replied. ¡°My name is... Aizen, and this is my son, Robert.¡±
With that, Viktor nodded and hurried off into the crowd.
Scorn watched him leave, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he turned to Mifa. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s find a place to stay for the night.¡±
As they left the guild, the vibrant noise of the city streets welcomed them, but Mifa felt a faint unease creep up her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of a figure in a dark cloak blending into the crowd. It was brief, fleeting¡ªso quick she wasn¡¯t sure if her mind was playing tricks on her.
¡°Something wrong?¡± Scorn asked, his tone casual but his masked face tilting slightly toward her.
¡°No... it¡¯s nothing,¡± she replied, brushing off the feeling, though her gaze lingered a moment longer on the bustling crowd behind them.
Scorn said nothing, but his pace slowed ever so slightly, and his hand rested briefly on the hilt of a dagger concealed under his cloak.
They continued walking, weaving through the city¡¯s labyrinthine streets. Even as they made idle conversation, that creeping sensation of being watched never quite faded. Occasionally, Scorn would glance at the reflections in shop windows or pause at street corners, as if listening to the rhythm of the crowd.
After a few turns, Mifa frowned. ¡°Where are we going?¡±
¡°Just finding the quickest way to our next stop,¡± Scorn replied vaguely.
Mifa couldn¡¯t help but feel the weight of unseen eyes on her again. Her hand instinctively brushed the hilt of her sword, and this time, even Scorn¡¯s usually carefree gait had stiffened.
¡°Are we being followed?¡± she finally asked in a hushed voice.
Scorn didn¡¯t reply immediately, but the faintest smirk tugged at his lips beneath the mask. ¡°You¡¯re sharper than you look, Robert. Let¡¯s find a quiet place to talk.¡±
Instead of heading toward the inns and taverns, Scorn led her down a shadowy alley.
¡°There aren¡¯t any inns down here.¡± Mifa said, her voice tense.
¡°Keep walking,¡± Scorn said firmly.
Mifa followed, her unease growing with each step. The alley grew darker, quieter, and the faint noise of the city faded into silence.
Suddenly, shadowy figures stepped out from the corners of the alley, their movements silent but deliberate. Within moments, Scorn and Mifa were surrounded.
¡°This isn¡¯t personal,¡± said the leader of the thugs, his voice low and cold. ¡°But you two need to die.¡±
Scorn tilted his head slightly, the white mask on his face catching a faint glint of moonlight. ¡°I see,¡± he replied, his tone calm, almost indifferent. ¡°Then¡ you won¡¯t mind if I ask you a question before we die, will you?¡±
The thug leader smirked. ¡°Go ahead, friend. Ask away. Not like you¡¯ll be telling anyone anything once you¡¯re dead.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± Scorn said, his hand slipping into his pocket. He withdrew something small and grotesque, holding it up for the group to see. In the dim light, the object became unmistakable¡ªa severed, decayed finger, its rotting flesh curling back to reveal bone. ¡°Do any of you know what this is?¡± he asked, his voice unnervingly casual.
¡°What the hell is that?¡± one of the thugs muttered, his face twisting in disgust.
The group¡¯s confusion was almost unanimous¡ªexcept for two of them at the very back. Their wide eyes and nervous shifts betrayed something the others didn¡¯t know.
Scorn¡¯s lips curved into a subtle, sinister grin beneath the mask. ¡°Gotcha,¡± he whispered.
Without warning, he put the severed finger aside on his pocket, his movements eerily smooth. ¡°Well,¡± he continued, his voice dropping into something low and guttural, ¡°it seems the rest of you are useless to me now. Forgive me¡ but I¡¯ll need to make this quick.¡±
Mifa, her instincts razor-sharp, reached into her bag and tossed a small, toothpick-sized object to Scorn. He caught it effortlessly, his focus unbroken. Without a word, Mifa dropped to her knees, sensing what was about to come.
Scorn poured mana into the object, and in an instant, it expanded with a crackling surge of energy, transforming into a long, wicked spear.
The thugs hesitated for only a moment before the leader snarled, ¡°Kill him!¡±
With a roar, the group lunged at Scorn. But he didn¡¯t flinch.
Scorn raised the spear pointing to his left arm and muttered a single word: ¡°Transmutate.¡±
What followed was grotesque. His arm convulsed violently, the flesh rippling and twisting as if alive. In seconds, it morphed into a monstrous, whip-like appendage, lined with serrated blades that glistened with a malevolent sheen.
The first strike was too fast for the thugs to react. The whip lashed out, slicing through the air with a sickening whistle, and in one brutal motion, it tore through the group like a scythe through wheat. Blood sprayed across the alley as bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Amid the carnage, Scorn moved with an eerie grace, his movements almost like a dance. He spun and struck with precision, his whip-arm carving arcs of destruction through the shadows. What little light seeped into the alley illuminated his form¡ªa monstrous figure drenched in gore, his mask stark white against the crimson backdrop.
When the bloodshed finally ceased, only two thugs remained¡ªthe ones who had shown fear earlier. They stood frozen at the back of the alley, their trembling hands gripping their weapons uselessly.
Scorn slowly turned toward them, his whip-arm retracting slightly, the serrated edges gleaming menacingly in the dim light. He tilted his head, his voice quiet yet chilling.
¡°Now¡ you two.¡±
The thugs took a step back, their faces pale as death.
Scorn took a deliberate step forward. ¡°Tell me everything¡ or I¡¯ll make what comes next far worse than anything you can imagine.¡±
The alley fell deathly silent, save for the faint drip of blood pooling at Scorn¡¯s feet.
Chapter 11 A Song Beneath the Chaos
Chapter 11 A Song Beneath the Chaos
Six years after entering this world, the man had changed. His face was adorned with a rugged beard, and his body¡ªmuscular and honed¡ªwas built for war.
The morning sun pierced through the gaps in his burrow, rousing him from slumber. He grabbed his spear, stepped out into the cool air, and made his way to his second burrow. Inside, his armor awaited.
¡°This is it,¡± he muttered, his gaze fixed on the crude, battle-worn armor. It was cobbled together from animal bones sewn over thick hides, lined with elegant cursive runes etched for protection. Piece by piece, he donned the armor, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and unease. After packing essential supplies into a small waist bag, he smeared his skin with purple markings. Though purely cosmetic, the act gave him a fleeting sense of confidence¡ªan old ritual from a life long past, even if there was no one left to see it.
Stepping outside, he strode toward the purple lake. His dark fur and bone-plated armor glinted in the early light, and his spear¡ªcrafted from the horn of a giant rabbit¡ªgleamed faintly. He cut an imposing figure, every movement precise and predatory.
¡°Damn, I look badass,¡± he murmured, grinning at his reflection in the lake. He struck a dramatic pose, mimicking the Spartans from the movies he¡¯d watched in his old world.
¡°Are you done posing?¡± came a sudden, sharp voice.
¡°WHAT THE¡ª!¡± The man spun, clutching his spear as his heart jumped. ¡°Say something before you pop out!¡±
¡°I did,¡± Jeffry replied, floating lazily in the air, his Cheshire-like grin gleaming.
¡°Well, stop doing it! It¡¯s not cool,¡± the man grumbled, still gripping his weapon.
Jeffry¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Don¡¯t you have rabbits to hunt? Or are you planning to strike poses all day? Because I¡¯m not staying here to watch you look like a washed-up seaweed.¡±
¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m going,¡± the man snapped. ¡°And my armor looks nothing like seaweed, you stinking cat.¡±
¡°Whatever you say, Mr. Seaweed,¡± Jeffry teased, his grin unwavering.
¡°I¡¯ll show you,¡± the man muttered under his breath as he marched off toward the hunt.
Behind him, Jeffry¡¯s gaze darkened, his grin turning sinister. "I will be watching" He muttered, the yarn ball floating beside him spun faster and faster, as if time is slowly reaching its end. ¡°The pupa is growing,¡± he sang softly before vanishing into thin smoke.
The man soon stood atop a high cliff, scanning the valley below. A pack of horned rabbits¡ªeach the size of a man¡ªgrazed in the lush flatlands. Their numbers were staggering, a writhing sea of fur and horns. For the past month, he had studied their movements, analyzing their patterns, defenses, and reactions.
He knew their nature. These creatures were crepuscular, most active at dawn and dusk. This afternoon lull was his chance to strike.
Then, from a larger burrow, a massive black rabbit emerged. Towering over the others, it moved with unsettling speed for its size. Its single horn pulsed with a sickly purple glow, and its crimson eyes burned with authority. This was the leader¡ªthe alpha.
The man¡¯s pulse quickened, fear and excitement colliding as he whispered, ¡°You¡¯re mine, Rabbit King.¡±
Reaching for his bow, he nocked an arrow and aimed at a distant mechanism, over 1,700 meters away on the cliffside. He steadied his breathing and released the arrow. It sliced through the air, striking its target with precision.
The impact triggered a chain reaction. A stone axe fell onto a taut rope, releasing a massive boulder. It thundered down the slope, gathering speed before crashing into the valley below with a resounding BOOM.
The noise sent the pack into chaos. Territorial instincts kicked in as they swarmed toward the source of the disturbance. Amid the frenzy, the alpha was left exposed.
The man seized his chance. Pouring mana into his spear, he watched it glow faintly with purple light. Gripping the rope he had prepared, he leapt off the cliff, plunging into the chaos below. Wind howled around him as the ground rushed closer. His heart raced, but he steadied his breath and focused. He had one shot at this.
¡°Die,¡± he growled, his eyes locked on the alpha.
BOOM!
The ground shook as he landed, dust and smoke billowing into the air. But as the haze cleared, dread gripped him. Beneath him wasn¡¯t the Alpha Rabbit¡ªit was one of its smaller kin. The creature had shoved the leader to safety, sacrificing itself.
¡°No way¡ SHIT!¡± the man cursed, staggering back. A sharp pain shot through his leg¡ªit was broken. He gritted his teeth, frustration mounting. His plan had hinged on killing the alpha in one strike. Now, he was surrounded, injured, and out of options.
Sweat dripped down his face as the smaller rabbits began regrouping he needs at least thirty seconds to regenerate his broken leg and by that time the rest of the rabbits would have arrive. Desperation clawed at him, but he forced himself to focus. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a pouch of powdered irritant¡ªharvested from a toxic plant he had discovered years ago¡ªand flung it toward the advancing pack. The powder filled the air, causing the nearest rabbits to recoil, their sensitive eyes burning.
He used the momentary reprieve to back away slowly, hopping on one leg, clutching the rope still tied to the cliff. With a sharp pull, he triggered another trap. Rocks tumbled from above, crashing down on the rabbits and sending plumes of dust skyward.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The chaos scattered the pack, and the man quickly dispatched the few rabbits that managed to break through. His spear found its mark with deadly precision, each strike swift and deliberate despite his injury n.
"GUAGH!" he grunted as he deflected one of the rabbits horn. "I need twenty seconds more, please give me twenty seconds more" he thought his heart beating with fear as he looked around for the alpha if ever it tried to attack him, while being careful not to be hit by the falling rocks.
But then, within the thick smoke of battle, two glowing red eyes burned through the haze. They locked onto him, radiating malice.
¡°Shit¡¡± His hands tightened around his spear as his heart pounded. He still needed time¡ªfourteen seconds more to fully heal his broken leg. But the Alpha was gone from sight. He scanned the battlefield, searching desperately.
The red eyes vanished.
¡°DAMN IT!¡± Mana surged through his armor as its protective runes flared to life. He steadied himself, taking a defensive stance. The battlefield fell eerily silent. The rabbits stopped their assault, their behavior unnervingly coordinated. The air grew heavy, cold sweat trickling down his back.
¡°Eight more seconds¡¡± he thought, every nerve on edge.
Then, without warning, a purple blur slammed into him with the force of a freight train.
¡°GUAAAH!¡± The impact sent him flying. Blood filled his mouth as he was hurled through the air, crashing into a tree with bone-shaking force. The ground beneath him cracked, and pain shot through his body like lightning.
Groaning, he struggled to his feet. The runes on his armor had absorbed most of the damage, but he was still bruised and battered. His leg was fully healed now, but he had no time to celebrate. Fear clawed at him as he realized the truth: he had underestimated his prey. The Rabbit King was no mere animal¡ªit was a monster beyond his imagination.
Despite the searing pain coursing through his body, the man managed to hold tightly to his spear, his lifeline amidst the chaos. He glanced back, realizing with shock how far he had been thrown¡ªseveral hundred meters. The forest around him blurred as he forced himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him.
Breathing heavily, he sprinted away from the pack. ¡°Hah¡ hah¡¡± his breaths were ragged, his chest heaving. Sweat poured down his forehead, dripping into his stinging eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll get them next time,¡± he muttered, more to convince himself than anything.
But as he ran, a cold chill crept down his spine. His instincts screamed at him to stop. Something was wrong. He cast a quick glance behind him.
There, atop a distant hill, the Rabbit King stood, its silhouette framed against the setting sun. Its cold, burning red eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, the man felt smaller than prey. The creature¡¯s gaze radiated utter indifference, as if he were nothing more than a speck of dust waiting to be wiped away.
His heart raced. He stumbled forward, desperate to break the creature¡¯s sightline. But just as quickly as it appeared, the Rabbit King vanished.
Relief washed over him, his body sagging as he found a large rock to collapse against. ¡°Finally¡¡± he whispered, his chest still rising and falling. The forest around him seemed almost peaceful now, with streaks of afternoon light piercing the canopy.
He let out a bitter laugh. ¡°Three months of preparation,¡± he muttered, shaking his head. ¡°Gone. Just like that. Haha¡¡± His laugh turned into a weak chuckle, his voice heavy with exhaustion and despair.
But then¡ªlight. A faint, ominous glow appeared behind him, casting long shadows across the forest floor. His heart sank, his blood running cold. He turned, his movements slow, as if in a nightmare.
The purple blur struck before he could react.
BOOM!
The ground around him exploded, splinters of earth and stone flying in all directions. The force sent him hurtling through the air again, pain ripping through his body. His armor cracked, chunks of bone breaking beneath the impact. His eyes widened in horror as he realized his arm¡ªhis right arm¡ªwas gone, severed cleanly at the shoulder.
¡°GUUUUGH!¡± he screamed, his voice raw with agony. He crashed into the ground with a sickening thud, mud and blood splattering around him. Dazed, he tried to push himself up, his vision swimming.
Through the haze, he saw it¡ªthe Rabbit King. Its jet-black fur shimmered in the fading light, its purple horn glowing faintly. The creature loomed over him, its crimson eyes staring with unrelenting malice.
¡°EEEKEEKEEEK!¡± The Rabbit King¡¯s growl echoed through the forest, a triumphant cry that sent shivers down the man¡¯s spine.
His body refused to obey him as he tried to crawl away. ¡°No¡ no, I can¡¯t die. Not again. Not here!¡± he thought desperately, his fingers clawing at the muddy ground. The pain in his shattered body was unbearable, like shards of glass slicing into his every nerve. His teeth clenched, a silent vow forming in his mind: I¡¯m going to get stronger¡ I¡¯ll survive this¡ and I¡¯ll get out of this damned place.
The creature¡¯s shadow loomed over him, growing larger as it slowly approached. Its presence was suffocating, the air itself growing heavy. In the stillness of the forest, the man felt it¡ªthe weight of inevitability. This world was not his to conquer. He wasn¡¯t the predator. He was the prey.
As despair crept over him, a sound pierced the silence¡ªa distant humming. A melody. Soft, like a lullaby carried on the wind. It felt out of place amidst the carnage, yet strangely familiar.
His body froze. The humming tugged at something buried deep within him, a long-forgotten fragment of another time. Flashes of memory began to flood his mind, unbidden and overwhelming.
¡°What¡ what is this?¡± he whispered, his voice trembling as tears spilled down his cheeks.
Suddenly, the world around him seemed to blur. He was no longer in the forest but somewhere colder, darker. A young girl¡¯s hand, small and trembling, reached out, clutching a mother¡¯s rough, calloused palm. The light of three glowing moons illuminated the dense underbrush as they stumbled forward, their breaths ragged and fearful.
¡°Mommy, I left my stuffed cat at home,¡± the girl cried.
Her mother¡¯s voice was soft but firm. ¡°We can¡¯t go back, my dear. It¡¯s not safe here. These people will never accept you.¡± Her face was pale, her eyes hollow from exhaustion.
Ahead of them, the orange glow of torches appeared, and angry voices pierced the night.
¡°MONSTERS! FIND THEM!¡±
The mother extinguished their lamp, pulling her daughter close. ¡°We¡¯ll find somewhere safe,¡± she whispered. ¡°Somewhere they can¡¯t hurt you. I promise.¡±
They reached a raging river, its current roaring in the darkness. The mother knelt down, her hands trembling as she picked the girl up. ¡°Hold on tight, my love,¡± she said, her voice breaking. ¡°The water¡¯s strong.¡±
They crossed, the icy water biting into their skin. Somehow, they made it. But as they reached the other side, an arrow flew.
The mother gasped, blood soaking the fabric of her dress.
¡°MOMMY!¡± the girl screamed, clutching at her mother¡¯s clothes.
Another arrow struck. The mother stumbled, her grip tightening around the child. ¡°Run¡¡± she whispered, her voice fading. ¡°Run, my dear¡¡±
The girl fell to the ground as her mother collapsed, her lifeless body shielding her from further harm. ¡°Mommy, no!¡± the girl sobbed, shaking her. ¡°Please, wake up!¡±
Another arrow flew, narrowly missing the girl. Panic overtook her as she forced herself to run, biting back the pain in her leg.
But then, an arrow struck her.
She screamed as she fell, her small body crumpling to the ground. Blood and mud coated her face as she looked up to see the mob closing in.
¡°MONSTER!¡±
They surrounded her, their faces twisted with hate. Wooden bats and spears rained down on her frail body.
¡°STOP! Please!¡± she cried, her voice cracking. ¡°Why are you doing this to us?!¡±
Her words were drowned out by their laughter. A spear drove into her chest, and gasoline soaked her small frame.
¡°This is what monsters deserve,¡± one of them sneered, striking a match.
The flames consumed her, her screams tearing through the night. The mob¡¯s laughter faltered as the fire raged, her cries turning into silence.
And then¡ the air grew heavy. A sinister energy gathered, radiating from her charred body. The villagers froze, their triumph turning to terror as a dark force began to stir.
Chapter 12 Shadows of the Sunken City
Chapter 12 Shadows of the Sunken City
Scorn stepped forward, his hook-like arm snapping out with unnerving speed. The two thugs turned to run, but before they could take another step, they were yanked back and held firm in his grip.
¡°I¡¯ll never understand how people get desperate enough to think they can outrun me,¡± Scorn muttered, his tone cold and detached.
With a swift motion, he hurled them into a nearby pile of trash. The impact sent garbage flying, and the two landed with a groan, sprawled on the filthy pavement.
¡°Ugh!¡± one of them grunted, clutching his side.
Scorn¡¯s arm retracted, morphing seamlessly back into its human form. He approached the fallen men, his steps deliberate. Mifa followed silently behind him, her face unreadable.
Reaching into his pocket, Scorn pulled out the severed finger and crouched low, holding it up to their faces. ¡°Now,¡± he began, his voice laced with menace, ¡°would you two be so kind as to tell me what this is?¡±
The thugs¡¯ eyes widened in terror. One of them squealed, his voice trembling. ¡°H-HIEEE! I¡ I WON¡¯T TALK!¡±
Scorn sighed. ¡°That¡¯s a shame.¡± Without hesitation, his spear flashed, whistling through the air as it cleaved the thug¡¯s body clean in two. Blood splattered across the ground, painting the scene in crimson.
¡°Eeeek!¡± the remaining thug shrieked, shrinking away from his companion¡¯s lifeless body.
Scorn turned his gaze to the survivor, his crimson eyes glowing with killing intent. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this,¡± he said sharply. ¡°My patience is running thin.¡±
¡°I¡¯LL TALK! I¡¯LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING! Just¡ please don¡¯t kill me!¡± the thug begged, tears streaming down his face.
¡°Good,¡± Scorn replied, his voice steady. ¡°First question: Who are you people?¡±
The thug swallowed hard, his voice shaking. ¡°We¡¯re¡ we¡¯re villagers from Morles. We were promised wealth and protection by a group¡ a group that worships the Witch of the End.¡±
Scorn¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°The cult,¡± he muttered under his breath. His thoughts raced. Morles¡ one of the villages hit hard by last year¡¯s drought. Easy targets for manipulation¡ªdesperate, disposable, and insignificant enough to serve as pawns.
¡°And what does the cult demand in return for this¡ protection and wealth?¡± Scorn pressed.
¡°They¡ they make us renounce our beliefs and religion. And they force us to do missions when ordered,¡± the thug explained, trembling.
Scorn¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You¡¯ve been watching us ever since we left the guild earlier, haven¡¯t you? Why? And why attack us?¡±
¡°You¡ you looked suspicious,¡± the thug stammered. ¡°And¡ and you were asking about the bandit raid. They told us to deal with anyone investigating.¡±
Scorn motioned for him to continue. ¡°The raid¡ªwhat do you know?¡±
¡°It¡ it was orchestrated by the cult,¡± the thug admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°They used it to test a new drug¡ one they gave to the bandits. They told us to eliminate anyone who might dig too deep.¡±
Scorn tilted his head, his tone darkening. ¡°So they have this much influence in the town. Interesting. But that¡¯s not all, is it? The reports of missing people¡ªwhat do you know about those?¡±
The thug froze, panic flooding his face. ¡°I-I can¡¯t! They¡¯ll kill me if I¡ª¡±
Before he could finish, his left arm was severed in a single, brutal slash. ¡°GUAAAAAH!¡± he screamed, clutching the bleeding stump.
Mifa recoiled in shock, taking a step back. ¡°Scorn¡ª¡±
¡°Quiet,¡± Scorn snapped, his patience visibly fraying. He grabbed the thug by the collar and hauled him up. ¡°Let me make something clear: I don¡¯t have the time for cowardice. The city guards will be here soon, and I won¡¯t let this situation get any more complicated than it already is.¡±
The thug whimpered, his entire body shaking. ¡°I¡¯ll talk! I¡¯ll talk!¡±
¡°Good.¡± Scorn turned to Mifa. ¡°Heal him.¡±
Mifa hesitated, glancing between Scorn and the injured man. After a moment, she stepped forward, picking up the severed arm. Holding it carefully, she began chanting, her hands glowing with a soft light. ¡°Oh light of existence, who birthed life, give this child the power to restore what once was. High Heal.¡±
The magic worked quickly, reattaching the arm as the thug whimpered in pain.
Scorn crouched down again, his tone sharp. ¡°Let me remind you¡ªthis can happen as many times as it takes. Talk.¡±
Tears streamed down the thug¡¯s face as he nodded frantically. ¡°P-please¡ I¡¯ll tell you everything¡¡±
-Break-
¡°Hah¡ hah¡¡± Victor stumbled into a narrow alley, clutching his side as he struggled to catch his breath. The rain poured under the pale moonlight, soaking his thin frame. Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing the dread in his heart.
His hand pressed against his side, trying in vain to stem the bleeding from the shallow but persistent wound. Every step sent jolts of pain through his body. His chest heaved as he muttered to himself, ¡°Who¡ who were those people?¡±
He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see them emerge from the shadows. His mind raced, replaying the events that had brought him here. It was supposed to be a simple trip to post an expedition request for Thalmyra¡¯s sunken city. But somewhere along the way, they began following him¡ªat first subtle, then increasingly aggressive.
When he tried to lose them in the maze of alleyways, they cornered him. He remembered the blade flashing in the dim light and the searing pain as it sliced into his side. Somehow, he¡¯d fought back and escaped. Maybe it was luck. Or maybe it was his knowledge of the city. Either way, he wasn¡¯t safe yet.
Victor slumped against a dumpster, gripping his leather briefcase like a lifeline. ¡°I can¡¯t die here¡¡± he whispered, his voice shaking. ¡°Not before I find the truth.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
His legs wobbled as he pushed himself forward, blood dripping onto the wet cobblestones. His vision blurred, the world around him fading into a haze of pain and exhaustion.
Then he saw them. Two figures at the end of the alley.
He turned, only to find three more blocking his retreat.
¡°Shit¡¡± he muttered, clutching the briefcase tighter. He screamed, his voice raw with desperation. ¡°Somebody! Guards! Help me!¡± But the storm swallowed his cries.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the wet ground, the rain mingling with the blood pooling around him. ¡°Am I¡ going to die here?¡±
A wave of regret washed over him as his strength gave out. ¡°Professor¡ I¡¯m sorry¡ I couldn¡¯t live up to your expectations¡¡± Tears welled in his eyes, only to be carried away by the rain.
Just as his vision dimmed, a soft light pierced the darkness. Through the haze, he saw her¡ªa silver-haired woman kneeling beside him, her hand reaching for his. Her face was radiant, almost otherworldly, offering warmth in his final moments.
A weak smile tugged at his lips. ¡°So this is it¡ my time to die¡¡± he thought, as the world slipped into darkness.
Knock, knock.
The sharp raps on the door jolted Viktor awake. Streams of sunlight poured across the cluttered desk, highlighting the scattered papers and empty ink bottles from another sleepless night. He rubbed his eyes, groaning as he stumbled to the door, his exhaustion evident in the dark circles beneath his eyes.
As he opened the door, a familiar figure stood before him¡ªa short, bald old man with a silver beard, beaming warmly.
"Professor Harrold?" Viktor blinked in surprise. "What brings you here?" He stepped aside to let the professor in, quickly taking his coat.
"Just passing through town and thought it¡¯d be a good time to give you this," Harrold said, handing Viktor a neatly wrapped box in vibrant red paper. "Happy birthday, son."
Viktor¡¯s breath caught. His gaze shifted from the box to the professor. "Y-you remembered?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
Harrold chuckled. "Why wouldn¡¯t I? You¡¯re like a son to me, Viktor. Now, go on¡ªopen it!"
With trembling hands, Viktor unwrapped the gift. Inside was a beautifully crafted brown leather coat and a matching leather briefcase, embossed with the emblem of the Kingdom''s Investigative Police Unit. Viktor stared, wide-eyed.
"I was planning to give it to you after your graduation," Harrold said with a smile. "But now feels like the right time."
Viktor hugged the professor tightly. "Thank you... so much," he whispered.
Harrold patted his back gently. "I promised your father I¡¯d look after you after he was... gone. Seeing the man you¡¯re becoming, I know he¡¯d be proud."
Viktor pulled back, his voice soft. "I hope so... Thank you, Professor."
Harrold turned toward the door. "Well, I¡¯d better get going. The station¡¯s swamped with reports of strange disappearances. Can¡¯t leave all the work to the younger ones, now can I?" He chuckled, waving goodbye.
"Goodbye, Professor," Viktor said with a faint smile. But as Harrold¡¯s form disappeared down the hallway, a pang of dread twisted in Viktor¡¯s chest.
Viktor watched helplessly as Harrold vanished down the dark corridor, his footsteps fading into the void. A cold sense of foreboding gripped him, his outstretched hand trembling. "No¡ don¡¯t go," he whispered. But the hallway stretched endlessly, the light dimming until only shadows remained.
Suddenly, the shadows grew heavier, pressing down on him, suffocating. The world around him crumbled into a swirling abyss. Harrold¡¯s voice echoed faintly, distorted and distant. "You¡¯ll be fine, Viktor... won¡¯t you?"
"I¡ I don¡¯t want to lose anyone else¡" Viktor muttered into the consuming blackness, his voice swallowed whole. Then, there was nothing but silence.
A sharp voice ripped through the void like a crack of thunder.
"I WIN AGAIN!"
Viktor¡¯s eyes snapped open, the world around him spinning as reality came rushing back. He blinked against the dim glow of a nearby lamp, the scent of ink and wet cloth filling the room. Two figures hovered nearby¡ªa masked man holding a quill aloft like a trophy and a silver-haired woman, her arms crossed with a mix of irritation and resignation.
"Ugh... What happened?" Viktor groaned, his head pounding as he tried to sit up. His voice barely reached over the escalating argument.
"You cheated! I said no adding extra columns!" the woman scolded, jabbing a finger at the masked man.
"Bah! Rules are meant to be bent," the man shot back with a grin, twirling the quill theatrically.
"Enough, both of you," Viktor rasped, his voice weak but firm. "Can someone tell me what¡¯s going on?"
The silver-haired woman¡¯s head whipped toward him, her irritation vanishing in an instant. "Oh, you¡¯re awake!" she exclaimed, grabbing a cloth to dab at his forehead.
The masked man groaned, tossing the quill aside. "Took you long enough, kid."
"I¡¯m... alive?" Viktor looked down at his bare chest, running his hands over his sides, searching for wounds. His gaze flicked back to the woman, realization dawning.
He scrambled out of bed and dropped to his knees. "An angel! Miss Angel, thank you for saving me! May I have the honor of knowing your name?"
"An angel? Hah!" the masked man snorted.
Before he could say more, the woman elbowed him sharply in the gut, sending him doubling over with a groan. "You little¡ª!"
"It seems there¡¯s been a misunderstanding," she said, ignoring him. "I¡¯m not an angel. I just happen to be skilled with healing magic."
"Damn right she¡¯s not," the man muttered, staggering upright. "That hurt, by the way."
Viktor squinted at him. "Wait... you¡¯re Mr. Aizen from the adventurer¡¯s guild, right?"
"No, it was me, Dio!" the man exclaimed, striking a bizarre pose.
"You mean that name was fake?!" Viktor asked, stunned.
"Ignore him," the woman interrupted. "He¡¯s insane. Anyway, we saved you from the cultists who ambushed you in the alley."
Viktor¡¯s expression darkened as memories resurfaced. "The alley... I remember now. I thought I was going to die. But how did you find me?"
"We don¡¯t mean you any harm," the woman reassured him. "We¡¯re just trying to learn more about the cultists who attacked you."
"A cult? Why would a cult be after me?" Viktor asked, bewildered.
"You¡¯ve been investigating the missing persons cases, haven¡¯t you?" the masked man¡ªnow Scorn¡ªcut in. "The cult doesn¡¯t take kindly to anyone poking around their operations."
Viktor slumped slightly, his grip tightening on his briefcase. "So I¡¯ve dug too deep... just like the professor."
Scorn¡¯s gaze sharpened. "The professor? What happened to him?"
Viktor hesitated, his voice heavy. "He was looking into the same disappearances. I told him not to, but... he didn¡¯t listen. He vanished a week ago." His tone turned resolute. "But I won¡¯t stop. I have to find out the truth."
Scorn tilted his head. "Let me guess¡ªyou¡¯re headed to Thalmyra?"
Viktor froze. "That¡¯s classified information."
Scorn smirked. "The people they¡¯ve taken? They¡¯ll die at the next full moon."
Viktor¡¯s eyes widened. "What?! How do you know that?"
Scorn leaned forward. "Let¡¯s just say I know more about this cult than you think. And as luck would have it, I also know my way around Thalmyra. You¡¯ll need a guide if you want to make it out alive."
Viktor frowned. "I don¡¯t know if I can trust you."
"If we wanted you dead, we¡¯d have left you bleeding in the alley," Scorn replied matter-of-factly.
After a pause, Viktor extended his hand. "Fine. I¡¯ll be in your care... Mr. Dio."
Scorn laughed and shook his hand. "That¡¯s not my real name, but sure¡ªlet¡¯s go with that."
Scorn¡¯s grin widened as he released Viktor¡¯s hand. "Good choice, kid. But let me warn you¡ªThalmyra isn¡¯t a place for second guesses."
Mifa shifted uncomfortably, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Thalmyra isn¡¯t just dangerous; it¡¯s a graveyard. The streets are like a maze, half of them submerged beneath the sea, and the rest are crawling with monsters that make death look like mercy."
Viktor hesitated, the weight of their words pressing down on him. "I don¡¯t care how dangerous it is. I need answers."
Scorn chuckled, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, you¡¯ll get your answers. But the price of curiosity in a place like that... it¡¯s rarely worth it."
He turned toward the door, pushing it open to reveal the dark, stormy night outside. A cold gust of wind swept into the room, carrying the faint scent of salt and decay. Viktor shivered but clenched his fists, forcing himself to stand firm.
As Scorn stepped out into the shadows, he glanced back over his shoulder, his tone low and foreboding. "Get ready, kid. In Thalmyra, the monsters aren¡¯t the only things waiting to tear you apart."
The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Viktor staring at the empty space, a chill running down his spine. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, as if the city itself was calling his name.
Chapter 13 The Void behind the mask
Chapter 13 The Void behind the mask
"This hatred is an endless fire, devouring all, yet never sated. Its thirst is boundless, its hunger eternal¡ªIt will not rest, it will not waver, Until the world crumbles to ash, Until all fades to nothing."
The man regained consciousness, his vision blurred and his head heavy, as if he were drowning in fog. He staggered to his feet, the ground beneath him slick and sticky. Then it hit him¡ªa sharp, metallic scent that jolted him into full awareness.
The smell of blood.
His vision sharpened, and he saw it. A grotesque scene sprawled out before him. Hundreds of horned rabbit corpses lay scattered in a chaotic, ritualistic display. It resembled a diabolical altar¡ªtwisted and macabre, as if crafted to appease something dark, something unspeakable.
His breath hitched as his eyes drifted downward.
"WHAAAA!" The scream tore out of him as he realized where he stood.
Beneath his feet lay the corpse of the Rabbit King, its body contorted into the shape of a grotesque throne. It was an artful horror, a throne fit for a king of blood and carnage.
"UGH¡ªGLORK!" He stumbled down from the altar, doubling over as he vomited onto the crimson-soaked ground. His heart pounded, fear and confusion racing through his veins. He wiped his mouth, his hands trembling as he muttered to himself, "What¡ what the hell happened?"
His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the pool of blood. In its reflective surface, he saw it¡ªhis reflection.
What looked back at him wasn¡¯t a man.
It was a monster.
His armor was drenched in coagulated blood, his crimson eyes burning with a fiery, inhuman light. The grotesque figure in the reflection wasn¡¯t him¡ªit couldn¡¯t be him.
"No¡" he whispered, panic rising as he scrambled away from the puddle. His foot slipped on the slick ground, sending him sprawling face-first into the corpses.
"UGH!" He grunted, his face now inches from the twisted expressions of the dead rabbits. Their wide, empty eyes stared back at him. His voice trembled as he asked himself, "Who¡ who could have done something so cruel, so vile?"
"Yah," came a familiar voice, light and mocking. "Who could have?"
The man froze. His blood ran cold. Slowly, he turned toward the voice.
"JEFFRY!?"
There, floating near the throne, was the cat. Its grinning face and unblinking eyes shimmered in the bloodstained air. Jeffry¡¯s gaze lingered on the throne, his paw tracing its jagged edges with an almost reverent touch.
"Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?" Jeffry said, his tone soft with nostalgia, as if he were admiring a masterpiece.
"NO!" the man barked, his voice cracking. "What kind of sick monster looks at that and thinks it¡¯s beautiful!?"
Jeffry¡¯s grin widened, his tone almost affectionate. "Hah. You¡¯ll understand its beauty soon enough."
The man¡¯s chest tightened. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded, his voice trembling. "I¡¯m leaving this place before it changes me!"
Jeffry tilted his head, his grin unyielding. "Oh, but it already has. Who do you think made all this?" He gestured lazily at the carnage surrounding them.
The man¡¯s breath caught in his throat. "No¡ no, no, no¡" His mind raced, fragments of memory clawing their way to the surface. The fight. The frenzy. The unrelenting hatred that consumed him.
"NONONONO!" he screamed, his hands clutching at his head.
"YES! YOU DID!" Jeffry¡¯s voice rang out, gleeful and unrelenting. "and it was beautiful"
"NOOOOO!" The man¡¯s scream tore through the air, tears streaming down his face. He sank to his knees, his entire body trembling. "This¡ this can¡¯t be. I¡¯m not a monster. I don¡¯t take pleasure in this. I¡¯m not¡ I¡¯m not!"
Jeffry¡¯s voice turned cold, calculating. "But don¡¯t get too excited. The Rabbit King was only the first of seven the beast of lust¡ Rodraiel, you have a long way to go."
The man froze, his tears forgotten. He turned to Jeffry, his voice barely above a whisper. "Where did you learn that? No¡ when did I learn that?" His eyes widened with horror. "You¡¯re not real. You¡¯re just an illusion!"
Jeffry chuckled, the sound low and menacing. "I never said I wasn¡¯t."
The man¡¯s desperation turned to rage. "WHAT ARE YOU!?" he roared, his voice raw as he grabbed a jagged bone from the ground. He lunged toward Jeffry, swinging wildly¡ª
But the cat was gone.
"I¡¯ll see you again," Jeffry¡¯s disembodied voice echoed around him, tinged with malice. "When you leave this place."
The bone slipped from his trembling hand, clattering against the blood-soaked ground. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one heavier than the last, as his mind churned with questions¡ªurgent, suffocating, unanswered. Slowly, he sank to his knees, his body folding under the weight of confusion and despair.
The silence pressed in, cold and unyielding, and within it, a hollow ache gnawed at his heart. It was an emptiness vast and unrelenting¡ªa void no light could penetrate, no solace could fill. Yet, as the darkness seeped into every corner of his being, something shifted.
A shadow, nameless and formless, stirred within that hollow. it Is something and at the same time it is nothing.
"Nothing. We¡¯ve got nothing," a city guard muttered, breaking the quiet, as he handed over a folder filled with reports to a woman in a long black coat.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"Nothing?" Officer Cynthia Gandmill¡¯s voice cut through the air like a blade, her gaze sharp and unyielding. "Not a single witness?" She flipped through the papers with practiced precision, her expression tightening.
Officer Cynthia Gandmill- a novel woman who became the chief of the investigative police unit of the City of Terramill at such a young age of 19 by solving two difficult cases just before her graduation from the academy.
Behind her, a young woman with fiery orange hair and a pristine white uniform followed silently, her every movement poised as she kept pace with her superior. The two strode purposefully through the rain-slicked alleyway, where the faint murmurs of the investigative team carried on the damp air.
The two women strode toward the cordoned-off crime scene in the shadowy back alley, where several officers and investigators were gathered.
"Ah, Officer Gandmill¡¯s here," one of the investigators said, straightening up as she approached.
"Status report," Gandmill commanded, her tone firm, radiating an authority that silenced the murmurs around her.
One of the investigators stepped forward, his voice shaky but determined. "Yes, ma¡¯am. The attack occurred late last night. Suspect identity: unknown. Murder weapon: unknown. Twelve civilians confirmed dead at the scene. One survivor, but..."
"But what?" Gandmill interjected, her brow furrowing.
"The survivor is... unresponsive," the man explained cautiously. "He seems to have lost his sanity after the incident. He¡¯s been transported to a psychiatric ward, but so far, communication has been impossible, all he''s saying is ''its hollow, there''s nothing, the monster is hollow'' repeatedly"
Gandmill¡¯s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the scene. "No guards stationed nearby?"
The investigator nodded hesitantly. "There were, ma¡¯am. Three guards are assigned for every four blocks in the city. Security¡¯s been tight ever since the disappearance cases began. The closest patrol was stationed about a block and a half away."
Her assistant, Sarah, chimed in, "Could this be connected to the disappearances?"
"Unlikely," the investigator replied. "The pattern and timing don¡¯t match. This attack was far more violent and sudden."
"And how is it," Gandmill muttered, almost to herself, "that no one heard the commotion¡ªtwelve people killed in one night?"
"Last night¡¯s rainstorm might have masked the noise," the investigator offered. "Heavy rainfall could¡¯ve drowned out any sounds of struggle."
"Possible," Gandmill murmured, though her expression remained unconvinced. Her sharp eyes caught something near the gutter. She crouched down, inspecting the ground closely. "Sarah, hand me your pen."
"Yes, ma¡¯am," Sarah said, quickly offering her pen.
Using it, Gandmill scraped at a hardened substance on the pavement. She examined it closely. "Dried blood," she muttered.
The officers around her leaned in as she stood, holding the flake of blood between her fingers. "This didn¡¯t happen during the rain," she explained, her tone decisive. "If it had, the rain would¡¯ve washed most of the blood away before it could coagulate like this."
The investigator frowned. "Then why didn¡¯t the guards hear anything?"
"Possibly silencing magic," Sarah suggested.
Gandmill shook her head. "Unlikely. Silencing an area this large would leave a residual mana signature. Any mage or guard within eight blocks would¡¯ve sensed it immediately. My guess is they used an artifact to mask the noise."
Her gaze shifted upward, scanning the windows overlooking the alley. "What about the residents? Did anyone see or hear anything?"
The investigator sighed. "We questioned the neighbors. All they said was that it was unusually dark and eerily quiet last night. No one saw a thing until after the rain started, and by then, it was already too late."
"No sound, no presence, no weapon..." Gandmill exhaled, her frustration palpable. "It¡¯s like chasing shadows."
She lingered, her eyes sweeping over the blood-stained alleyway. The silence hung thick, broken only by the soft drip of water trickling from the rooftops above. "But shadows," she murmured, almost to herself, "always leave something behind."
Straightening up, she turned to the assembled officers. "Identify the victims," she commanded. "Find out who they were and who might have had a reason to harm them. I''ll request reinforcements from the station. Whoever did this isn¡¯t just dangerous¡ªthey¡¯re bold. If they have the audacity to commit this atrocity within our fortified city, it means we haven¡¯t yet seen the full extent of what they¡¯re capable of."
Her voice carried a weight of urgency. "We can¡¯t afford to underestimate them."
She shifted her gaze to her assistant. "Sarah, take copies of the reports to my office. I¡¯ll meet you there shortly."
"Where are you going, ma¡¯am?" Sarah asked, hesitating.
"Just sending off a colleague," Gandmill replied curtly, her tone leaving no room for further questions. "Dismissed."
"Yes, ma¡¯am!" Sarah and the officers replied in unison, snapping to attention before dispersing to carry out their orders.
At the city gate, the morning sun gleamed off the weapons and armor of a group of four adventurers waiting for their assignment.
¡°Excited to finally visit the city, Marcus?¡± asked Thomas, a swordsman in shining blue armor, his grin wide as he turned to the robed figure beside him.
¡°Not at all,¡± Marcus replied in a flat, disinterested tone. ¡°The dark spirits whisper that something awful awaits. You seem overly eager, though¡ªwhy?¡±
¡°Why? Because it¡¯s my chance to fight sea dragons in the sunken city of Thalmyra! How could I not be excited?¡± Thomas said, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.
¡°Well, I can¡¯t blame you,¡± chimed in Sora, a rogue with an easy smirk. ¡°That place is bursting with treasures and monsters whose body parts are just waiting to be harvested and sold!¡± Her mind clearly wandered to visions of gold and riches.
¡°We¡¯re not here to talk about money, Sora,¡± Astra, the paladin, interjected sternly. ¡°This is an escort mission, not a raid. Our job is to protect the researchers and ensure their project goes smoothly.¡±
¡°Hmph, big sis Astra, always so serious,¡± Sora teased, sticking out her tongue. ¡°Maybe if we earn enough, you can finally buy that expensive dress you¡¯ve been eyeing and actually act like a girl for once.¡±
¡°Shut up!¡± Astra snapped, her face flushing bright red.
¡°What a beautiful sight,¡± Thomas said with exaggerated wistfulness, gesturing toward the two women. ¡°Two lovely ladies teasing each other in the morning¡ªam I right, Marcus?¡±
¡°Leave me alone,¡± Marcus muttered, his tone icy as ever.
Before the banter could escalate further, three figures approached them. Two were grown men¡ªone wearing an ornate mask¡ªand the third appeared to be a boy of about sixteen or seventeen.
¡°Good morning. Are you the adventurers sent by the guild to escort us to Thalmyra?¡± the man leading the group asked with a polite smile. ¡°My name is Viktor Volcas.¡±
¡°Uh, yeah. That¡¯s us,¡± Thomas replied, stepping forward. ¡°I¡¯m Thomas, the swordsman. This is our warlock, Marcus; our rogue, Sora; and our paladin, Astra.¡±
¡°Well, I¡¯ll be relying on your expertise,¡± Viktor said warmly. ¡°This man here will be our guide¡ªhe¡¯s a writer from Catleas. His name is Aizen Deathblade Wolfraven.¡±
Aizen stepped forward, his posture confident. ¡°Pleasure to meet you. You can just call me Aizen. I¡¯ll make sure you don¡¯t get lost in Thalmyra¡¯s labyrinthine streets,¡± he said, offering a firm handshake. ¡°And this is my son, Robert Deathblade Wolfraven. He¡¯ll be joining us as part of his training.¡±
¡°Nice to meet you both,¡± Thomas said, shaking Aizen¡¯s hand. ¡°We¡¯ll be at the carriage once you¡¯re ready.¡±
The adventurers began preparing the carriage when the sound of hurried footsteps approached.
¡°Looks like I made it!¡± a woman¡¯s voice called out.
The group turned to see Officer Cynthia Gandmill approaching briskly, her coat trailing behind her.
¡°Cyn!¡± Viktor exclaimed, his face lighting up as he stepped forward for a hug. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to come see me off. Don¡¯t you have work to do?¡±
¡°This is your biggest case yet! It would¡¯ve been rude not to,¡± Cynthia replied, embracing him warmly.
Her eyes flicked to the two unfamiliar figures behind Viktor. ¡°And who are they?¡±
¡°This is Aizen, our guide, and his son, Robert,¡± Viktor explained.
Cynthia extended her hand. ¡°Nice to meet you, Aizen. Robert.¡±
Aizen hesitated for a brief moment before shaking her hand. ¡°Nice to meet you as well,¡± he said, his voice measured.
Cynthia¡¯s gaze lingered on Aizen¡¯s mask. ¡°I know it¡¯s not uncommon for people in the city to wear masks for personal or cultural reasons,¡± she said carefully. ¡°But if it¡¯s not too forward to ask¡ why the mask, Mr. Aizen?¡±
This is not a chapter this is an art image collection for the story.
Forgive me for the BAD quality because somehow I cant upload my image into here directly, so I will just re upload the images later if I ever figure it out
basically these are my sketches for what the characters would look like.
This is Scorn an immortal man.
Age: Unknown
This is Mifa, I know she looks older but I suck at anatomy so I just use real human photos for anatomy.
she is 16 years old a disciple of Scorn.
she is an orphan and Scorn adopted her.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
This is Mava the Axe Wielding berserker, If you are reading this novel you are probably wondering what happened to her but fear not she will come back to the story.
Age: 28 years old
Zoological Catalog
Horned rabbit
-Herbivore
the purple glowing line is called mana line, where mana flows through multiple cursive rune and activate them, like a circuit.
I draw this one long time ago when I was 19
I just want to share you because its part of what inspired me to write this story.
This one... hmm... I still cant think of how the "Divine beast of hunger" should look like so I draw this.
I will be keeping on updating this section for future arts and design.
Chapter 14 Bound by Mask and Barriers
Chapter 14 Bound by Mask and Barriers
Aizen slowly released Cynthia¡¯s hand, his movements deliberate and unnervingly precise. The air between them thickened, as though the room itself were holding its breath. He stood still for a moment, his gaze fixed on Cynthia, unblinking, as if weighing her very soul before choosing his words.
¡°You know,¡± Aizen began, his voice calm but with an edge that sent a chill down her spine, ¡°I don¡¯t care much about people seeing my face. But... they often don¡¯t react well. They tend to stay away.¡± His tone carried a quiet finality, the kind that made it clear he wasn¡¯t talking about mere discomfort.
Cynthia, steadying herself, forced a half-smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m not one to judge... unless¡ª¡± she hesitated, then continued with a faintly forced laugh, ¡°¡ªyou¡¯ve got something criminal to hide.¡±
Her words hung in the air like a fragile thread, and for a moment, it seemed Aizen might snap it. He tilted his head slightly, the shadows around his mask deepening.
Robert¡¯s eyes widened, darting nervously between Cynthia and Aizen. His fingers twitched, gripping the fabric of his sleeve tightly.
¡°Well,¡± Aizen finally said, his voice unnervingly light, almost mocking, ¡°it¡¯s not like I have anything to hide under here.¡± His hand rose slowly toward the mask, the movement deliberate and calculated. ¡°But if you insist...¡± suddenly a cold dreadful air washed all over Cynthia''s face, as if she just released something dark and evil upon the world.
¡°NO! WAIT!¡± Robert burst out, grabbing Aizen¡¯s wrist just as his fingers touched the mask. ¡°You can¡¯t take it off! I told you¡ªit¡¯s dangerous! The air might infect your skin!¡± His voice trembled, a mix of anger and fear.
Aizen blinked, then let out a soft laugh. ¡°Oh, right. I almost forgot. Guess old age is catching up to me.¡±
Robert quickly stepped in to explain, his voice calmer but still tense. ¡°My father... he had an accident a few weeks ago. His face was badly burned, and the doctors insisted he wear a mask to protect it.¡±
Cynthia blinked, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of the situation. ¡°I see,¡± she said softly, her tone cautious now. ¡°That explains it. I¡¯m sorry¡ªI shouldn¡¯t have pried.¡±
¡°Cynthia, that was insensitive,¡± Viktor interjected sharply. ¡°I apologize on her behalf.¡±
¡°There¡¯s no need for apologies,¡± Aizen said with a dismissive wave of his hand. ¡°My memory¡¯s not what it used to be anyway.¡±
¡°Well then,¡± Aizen continued, turning to Robert, ¡°we should get moving. These criminals aren¡¯t going to catch themselves. Let¡¯s go.¡±
The two walked toward a nearby carriage, Aizen climbing in first. Viktor lingered for a moment, turning to Cynthia.
¡°Cynthia,¡± he said quietly, ¡°I know you¡¯re worried about me meeting strangers, but trust me on this¡ªI think they¡¯re good people.¡±
She gave him a faint smile, though her eyes betrayed lingering doubt. ¡°I hope you¡¯re right. Just... be careful. That¡¯s all I¡¯m saying.¡±
Viktor nodded, climbing into the carriage. Before disappearing inside, he called out, ¡°I¡¯ll send you letters when we get there!¡±
Cynthia waved after him, forcing a faint smile. She stood still, watching as the carriage rolled away into the distance. When it was finally out of sight, her smile faded.
The suns rise bathed the horizon in crimson, casting long shadows across her face. She stared at her trembling hands, cold sweat forming on her palms.
Cynthia stood motionless, staring at the road long after the carriage disappeared into the horizon. The crimson hues of the rising sun painted the world in shades of foreboding. Her trembling hands betrayed the unease that gripped her heart, her breath quickening with the weight of unspoken fears.
¡°That man¡¡± she whispered, her voice barely audible over the early morning breeze. She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself. ¡°That man is no man.¡±
The air seemed to thicken around her, each step back toward the city feeling heavier. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, and the lingering chill of Aizen¡¯s presence gnawed at her thoughts. She could not shake the feeling that he carried something ancient, something far beyond her understanding. Her mind wandered, chasing the fleeting fragments of unease he had left in his wake.
one thousand, eight hundred years ago years ago the year of the "Great Leak"¡
Long before the kingdoms she knew were even conceived, a man stood at the edge of an ancient, forgotten world.
Three hundred years had passed since he first entered this strange, unforgiving realm.
Now, he stood at the barrier marking the edge of the Dark Forest. Crossing this threshold meant true freedom. His figure was imposing¡ªclad in tattered armor forged from the remnants of beasts he had vanquished during his long, arduous journey. In his hand, he held a glistening white spear of unknown origin, its red gem pulsing faintly as if alive. Behind him lay the colossal corpse of the Frost Centipede, Astan¡ªa monstrous creature of eternal frost that embodied treachery and envy, and had guarded the forest''s outermost rim.
For fifty-six relentless years, he had battled the cunning beast across its frigid, mountainous domain, enduring countless revivals until, finally, he emerged victorious.
The man¡¯s ragged breaths fogged the icy air, mingling with the faint scent of blood and frost. "Hah¡ hah¡" he exhaled, green blood and snow clinging to his battered armor. His lips curled into a faint chuckle. "Finally..."
For the first time in centuries, there was hope¡ªa fragile ember glowing in the vast darkness of his existence. Salvation seemed within reach, and with it, answers. Who was he? What was his purpose? Was there meaning in the endless cycle of suffering, or would freedom bring clarity at last?
The man¡¯s ragged breaths . "Hah¡ hah¡" he exhaled, green blood and snow clinging to his battered armor. His lips curled into a faint chuckle. "Finally..."
For the first time in three hundred years, there was hope. Salvation was within reach and most of all answers to who he truly is in this world what his role is and what is his purpose.
He stepped forward, expecting to pass through the barrier, but instead, his momentum halted as if hitting an invisible wall. "Huh?" he muttered, confusion etched across his face.
The realization dawned slowly, and with it, a fury born of centuries of torment. He raised his spear and slammed it against the barrier with a thunderous roar, unleashing a blast so powerful it shattered nearby mountains. The force echoed through the forest, sending creatures fleeing in terror. Here, he was the undisputed apex predator.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
As the dust settled, the man clenched his jaw, forcing himself to calm down. His crimson eyes fixated on the glowing runes etched into the barrier¡¯s surface. Hours passed as he scrutinized their patterns, his mind racing to decipher their meaning.
For an entire day, he stood unmoving, analyzing the intricate magic. Finally, the solution revealed itself.
"I see," he murmured, lifting a hand and focusing his mana. A golden dome-shaped barrier materialized around him, its radiant glow illuminating the dark surroundings. Moments later, he conjured a smaller, dark-hued barrier in the palm of his hand. As he pressed it against the golden barrier, the smaller one dissolved into it, puncturing a basketball-sized hole through the shimmering surface.
A triumphant grin spread across his face. "A negative barrier¡ equal in frequency and value." His voice trembled with excitement.
The man¡¯s stomach growled, and he glanced back at the massive corpse of the centipede. "Guess I¡¯ll need some snacks for the road." He set to work, harvesting and drying the beast¡¯s meat and scales.
Six days later, he was ready. Standing before the barrier, he summoned the dark energy once more. Purple runes swirled around him as he channeled his power, shaping a dome of darkness. Slowly, he pushed it against the golden barrier.
The clash of opposing forces erupted into a storm of light and mana, the air itself vibrating under the pressure. The barrier pushed back with immense weight, threatening to crush him, but he roared in defiance. "I¡¯M GETTING OUT OF HERE!"
As he pushed forward, a familiar voice whispered in the back of his mind¡ªa voice urging him onward.
Step by agonizing step, the barrier began to crack. With a final, earth-shaking burst of strength, it shattered. The man launched himself forward, landing meters beyond the now-broken boundary.
"Thank you," a strange voice murmured, faint but clear.
The man froze, spinning around. "Hello?" he called out, his voice echoing in the silence.
A feeling of dread crept over him, like a shadow looming just out of sight. Something was wrong.
Krrk-krk.
The sound of cracking glass drew his attention. He turned back to see fractures spreading across the remnants of the golden barrier. The sight sent a chill down his spine.
"Welcome back," came a voice dripping with malice.
The man¡¯s eyes darted around, searching for the source. "Jeffry!?" he whispered, startled to hear the hallucination¡¯s voice after so long. But there was no one there. Shaking off the unease, he focused on his goal: finding people. Civilization.
Not long after, he spotted smoke rising in the distance. His heart raced as he sprinted toward it, moving with inhuman speed. Emerging from the forest, he stumbled upon a paved road lined with footprints and carriage tracks. Tears welled in his eyes as he knelt to touch the marks.
"I¡¯m not alone¡" he whispered, overwhelmed by emotion.
Following the road, he reached a village surrounded by tall brick walls. People moved behind its gates. His chest tightened with joy, and laughter burst from his lips. "HAHA! HEY! PEOPLE!" he shouted, waving at the guards stationed above.
The guards turned, their faces quickly twisting in horror. One clutched his stomach, vomiting on the spot, while the other frantically blew a horn.
TOOOOT!
The blaring sound echoed through the village. Moments later, the gates slammed shut.
"What¡ what¡¯s going on?" the man muttered, his joy giving way to confusion.
Guards swarmed the walls, armed with bows, ballistas, and cannons, all aimed directly at him. An older man, clearly their leader, stepped forward, holding a crystal artifact glowing with mana.
"Al hue sonda le toemonde!?" the leader demanded in a foreign tongue, his tone sharp and commanding.
The man blinked, stunned. He had never heard such a language. "I don¡¯t mean any harm! I just want to enter your town!" he shouted back.
"Al hue sonda le toemonde!? Ordo gis tros mende!" The leader¡¯s voice grew angrier, his patience thinning.
Desperate, the man reached into his bag, pulling out dried centipede meat and scales. "I even brought gifts!" he called, holding them up.
But instead of easing their fears, the sight of the centipede remains sent shockwaves of terror through the crowd.
"ROKRUTA!" the leader bellowed.
Arrows rained down this caught the man off guard he deflected most of them and he tried to run away but an arrow glowing with green light struck the man''s head. His body hit the ground as more projectiles pierced him.
"Who am I? what am I here for? am I just here to suffer?" he thought looking at his blood dripping on the pavement then darkness consumed him once again.
-Break-
In the present day...
Somewhere in a dimly lit hallway of a grand castle, a man clad in a white, elegant robe walked with deliberate grace. The intricate patterns on his attire shimmered faintly under the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the tall windows, creating an image of refined beauty. He moved with an air of authority, his steps echoing lightly against the stone floor.
Abruptly, he stopped. Without turning, he spoke in a calm, commanding voice.
¡°You may reveal yourself now.¡±
From the deep shadows cast along the hallway, darkness seemed to coalesce unnaturally. It twisted and thickened until it solidified into the shape of a man in a tattered dark robe, a red mask obscuring his face. The masked figure emerged from the gloom and immediately knelt before the man in white.
¡°Speak,¡± the man in white instructed, his tone measured and unyielding.
¡°My lord,¡± the man in the red mask began, his voice steady and formal, ¡°I bring an urgent report. Two of our members were attacked in the city of Terramill just a day ago. Ten civilians were caught in the incident¡ªone member was killed, another was captured, and two remain unaccounted for.¡±
The man in white¡¯s hand tensed slightly, his fingers curling into a fist. A flicker of irritation crossed his otherwise composed face, but he quickly exhaled and restored his calm demeanor.
¡°Did the captured one reveal anything regarding the association?¡± he asked, his voice betraying a hint of restrained impatience.
¡°No, my lord,¡± the masked man replied. ¡°It appears that whatever attacked them that night inflicted severe mental trauma. The captive¡¯s mind has shattered¡ªhe is unable to speak coherently.¡±
¡°I see,¡± the man in white mused, his voice soft yet contemplative. ¡°Their intent, then, is not just concealment but also erasure. They wish to leave no trace of their identity, that works great for us as well.¡±
¡°Indeed, my lord,¡± the red-masked man confirmed. ¡°The city¡¯s officers found no witnesses, no murder weapon, and no discernible evidence left behind.¡±
The man in white robe raised a hand to his chin, pausing as his sharp gaze swept the corridor before him. ¡°Hmm... Whoever they are, they will not act so boldly again for some time. The investigators will be closing in on their trail, and so shall we. For now, they are likely to play it safe.¡± He turned to face the masked man. ¡°We must prioritize the investigators searching for the missing civilians. What is the current status of their efforts?¡±
¡°Yes, my lord. A new investigator has taken over the case left behind by Detective Harrold Dolron. His name is Viktor Volcas, a recently graduated scholar from St. Reyhaeart Academy,¡± the red-masked man reported with precision.
¡°And who accompanies him on this case? Does he have guards or a cooperative investigator assisting him?¡±
¡°The investigator is traveling to the sunken city of Thalmyra. He requested an escorting party, and we have already identified each member of that group. However, there is no cooperative investigator assigned to him.¡±
¡°Is that all?¡± the man in white asked, his tone indicating he expected more.
¡°No, my lord,¡± the masked man replied. ¡°He is accompanied by an older man wearing a white mask and a young boy, who appears to be the masked man¡¯s son.¡±
¡°A man in a mask, you say?¡± The man in white paused, a glint of curiosity in his otherwise calm expression. ¡°Did you uncover his name?¡±
¡°Yes, my lord. He calls himself Aizen Deathblade Wolfraven. He is a writer from the village of Catleas and seem to be acting as their guide to the sunken city.¡±
At the mention of the name, the man in white chuckled softly, the sound light yet carrying an unsettling undertone. ¡°Aizen... How amusing.¡±
¡°Is something the matter, my lord?¡± the red-masked man asked cautiously.
¡°Nothing of concern,¡± the man in white replied, turning toward a tall window. His gaze drifted to the sprawling city below the castle, bathed in the pale light of the moon. ¡°It simply reminded me of something. Pay it no mind.¡±
He allowed a moment of silence before continuing. ¡°Keep following them. Report any significant developments immediately.¡±
¡°Understood, my lord,¡± the masked man said, bowing low.
¡°And inform the other heads that I will be convening a meeting soon. We may have a ¡®visitor¡¯ on our hands.¡±
¡°As you command,¡± the red-masked man responded. He melted back into the shadows, his presence vanishing as if it had never existed.
Left alone, the man in white gazed down at the city, his expression inscrutable. The moonlight framed his figure as he stood there, seemingly embracing the view with quiet contemplation.
¡°This world is becoming far more interesting,¡± he murmured to himself before resuming his elegant stride down the corridor, the faint echoes of his footsteps disappearing into the night.
Chapter 15 The Strange Hero of Kremherg
Chapter 15 The Strange Hero of Kremherg
"Long ago, near an isolated village nestled deep within an ancient forest, there lived a young girl said to be blessed by the gods. Her eyes were as green as the lush woods, her smile as sweet as ripe berries, and her hair as dark and glistening as the starry night. To her, the world seemed bright and full of wonder, untouched by shadow or sorrow. Yet, as is often the way in such tales, her peaceful days were not destined to last. The winds of change stirred, though whether they would bring blessings or ruin, only time could tell.
One fine day, the girl and three of her friends ventured into the forest, baskets in hand, to gather berries for jam. Laughter filled the air as they worked, but their joy was interrupted by an unsettling commotion. Birds took flight, their cries echoing through the trees, and the branches trembled as though the forest itself were afraid.
¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± one of her friends asked, voice trembling.
¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± another replied, ¡°but we should go back!¡±
The children froze, fear rooting them to the ground. Yet the girl, to her own surprise, felt something strange¡ªa pull, a familiarity in the chaos, as if the forest were calling to her.
¡°Wait for me here!¡± she said suddenly, handing her basket to her friends.
¡°What? No, it¡¯s dangerous! The night beasts could attack you!¡± they cried.
But the girl didn¡¯t look back. Her feet carried her swiftly, as though guided by an unseen hand. ¡°The gods will protect me,¡± she thought, her heart racing.
Deeper and deeper she ran, until the commotion abruptly ceased. Silence fell, broken only by her labored breaths.
¡°Am I too late?¡± she murmured, glancing around.
Just then, that strange pull stirred within her again, stronger than before. Trusting her instincts, she pressed on, and there, amidst the trees, she found him¡ªa man, collapsed and wounded. His robes were tattered, and he wore a crude wooden mask, so poorly made it looked like a plank with three uneven holes. Beside him lay a broken spear with a horn at its tip, a weapon unlike anything she had ever seen.
¡°Oh no, what happened to you, mister?¡± she asked, kneeling beside him.
The man stirred, his voice hoarse and foreign, speaking words she couldn¡¯t understand. Before she could respond, a rustling in the distance caught her ear.
¡°Is it the night beasts?¡± she thought, fear creeping into her chest. ¡°We need to get out of here!¡± she urged the man, tugging at his arm.
But to her relief, it was not the beasts. Emerging from the trees were two of her friends.
¡°We couldn¡¯t leave you!¡± one boy said. ¡°The adults are coming¡ªthey¡¯ll help!¡±
True to his word, the villagers soon arrived, bringing the children and the wounded man back to the safety of the village.
¡°Father,¡± the girl said, ¡°he might be a victim of the night beasts.¡±
¡°Perhaps,¡± her father replied warily, ¡°but he refuses to take off that mask. He might be dangerous. And he speaks a language we do not know.¡±
After much deliberation, the villagers decided to let the man stay, granting him shelter in an abandoned farmhouse at the village¡¯s edge. Though wary, they could not, in good conscience, send a wounded man back into the forest, where the night beasts prowled.
Time passed, and the man began to recover with surprising speed. Within a week, his injuries had healed completely. He proved himself useful, helping to mend fences and hunt wild game. Yet he never removed his mask, and some villagers continued to keep their distance, whispers of suspicion lingering.
The girl, however, was different. She visited him often, bringing food or simply sitting by his side.
The girl brought small gifts¡ªfresh bread, a carved wooden figurine¡ªand though his words were few, the man always nodded his thanks. Over time, her visits grew longer, and she found herself laughing at his clumsy attempts to learn her language
¡°Are you a blessed one too, mister?¡± she asked one day, swinging her legs as she sat on a fence.
¡°No... me, blessed not,¡± the man replied in halting words.
¡°I don¡¯t believe that! I can feel it,¡± the girl insisted with a grin.
The man said nothing, only offering a faint, weary smile.
But peace is fleeting, and one fateful night, flames erupted in the forest.
¡°The night beasts are coming! Hide in your homes!¡± a villager shouted.
The girl ran to the man¡¯s house. ¡°You have to come with us! We need to run!¡± she pleaded.
¡°No,¡± the man said firmly, his voice steady. ¡°Me fight. Me protect... all.¡±
And before anyone could stop him, he grabbed a stick and ran toward the flames.
The villagers watched in terror as the beasts emerged¡ªtowering, snarling creatures with gleaming fangs and eyes like embers. Yet before them stood the man, armed with only an axe and a handful of wooden spears.
¡°GRAGAKRAAAAAAAA!¡± he roared, his voice booming with an otherworldly power.
The beasts hesitated, but their leader, larger and fiercer than the rest, stepped forward to challenge him. The fight that followed was unlike anything the villagers had ever seen. The ground shook with the force of their blows, and the man¡¯s roars echoed like thunder. The villagers could do nothing but watch, their hearts pounding as the earth shook beneath the fury of the battle. For hours he battled, his strength unwavering, until at last, he stood victorious atop a mound of lifeless beasts, blood and ash staining the earth.
From that day on, the villagers spoke of him with reverence and awe. No longer was he a stranger. He was The Strange Hero of Kremherg, a legend whose deeds would be remembered for generations to come."
The old woman¡¯s voice lingered like smoke in the air, wrapping itself around the flickering flames of the campfire. Her wrinkled hands rested in her lap, her gaze sweeping over her small audience as if she were appraising them.
She was a local of Crostan, a village formed by adventurers who sought the ruins of the sunken city of Thalmyra. Viktor had allowed her to join their group, needing her knowledge of the region and its secrets.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
¡°And so,¡± she concluded, her tone carrying the weight of ages, ¡°the strange man saved the village of Kremherg and became a legend. But,¡± she added with a knowing smile, ¡°some say the story didn¡¯t end there. The forest holds its secrets, and perhaps even now, the hero¡¯s shadow lingers.¡±
They had stopped by The Second Scar of Clawrend Abyss, one of four jagged chasms shaped like claw marks, with a flowing lake far below. After three days of hard travel, the campfire¡¯s warmth was a rare comfort.
The crackling of the flames filled the silence that followed. Viktor leaned back, arms crossed, a skeptical smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°A strange man with a stick and a mask? Sounds like something out of a bard¡¯s ballad. Hardly real.¡±
Mifa, seated on a log, barely reacted. Her sharp gaze wasn¡¯t on the storyteller or even on Viktor¡ªit was on Scorn.
He stood apart from the group, just beyond the firelight¡¯s reach, leaning on his spear. His figure was unnervingly still, the faint orange glow of the flames playing on the edges of the white porcelain mask he always wore. Light and shadow danced across it like shifting memories, casting a fragile tension into the air.
¡°Strange hero, huh?¡± Viktor continued, his tone light but curious. ¡°What do you think, Scorn? Do you believe in fairy tales?¡±
Scorn didn¡¯t answer. His hand rested lightly on the handle of his spear, but his head tilted slightly, as though he were listening to something distant and intangible.
Mifa straightened, her voice cutting through the quiet. ¡°It¡¯s not all there is to the tale, is it?¡± she murmured.
Her words hung in the air, delicate yet heavy, like a stone poised to fall. Scorn didn¡¯t move, but a faint tension tightened his jaw. The firelight caught the edge of his mask, giving it an eerie, fleeting glow.
The silence stretched until it felt unbearable. Then, Scorn spoke, his voice low and rough, like the growl of distant thunder.
¡°Stories¡¡± he said, dragging the word as if it pained him, ¡°¡don¡¯t always end where the storyteller says they do. Some stories are better left unfinished.¡±
Viktor exhaled sharply and leaned forward, gripping the professor¡¯s journal tightly in his hands. ¡°Still, I need to know the truth. These stories might lead me closer to where the professor is.¡±
¡°Suit yourself,¡± Scorn said, his tone curt as he straightened. ¡°We leave at first light. Be ready.¡±
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked into the darkness beyond the firelight, his voice trailing behind him. ¡°I¡¯ll be taking a short walk. Don¡¯t follow me.¡±
The old woman chuckled softly, the sound both amused and knowing. ¡°Ah, children,¡± she murmured, ¡°every legend begins with a truth, even if it¡¯s buried deep. Perhaps one day, you¡¯ll uncover it.¡±
Viktor didn¡¯t respond. His eyes stayed fixed on the shadows where Scorn had disappeared, his mind racing with unspoken thoughts.
At the edge of the chasm...
Scorn stood at the edge of the abyss, his silhouette framed against the cold, ethereal glow of the moonlight. The jagged cliffs loomed around him like the ribs of some ancient, long-dead beast, and the chasm below seemed to yawn endlessly, its depths swallowing the faint sound of rushing water far below.
The wind howled through the desert, tugging at his cloak, carrying with it whispers too faint to discern¡ªuntil they weren¡¯t. His porcelain mask, ghostly in the moonlight, caught the shimmer of the distant water, but his shadow stretched behind him, long, broken, and wavering like something alive.
He stared down into the lake below, unmoving, as though the darkness beneath the surface mirrored the one inside him. His thoughts spiraled, tumbling toward the edges of coherence, fraying like threads on an overused tapestry. The desert wind was colder now, biting. And within it came a voice.
¡°Enjoying yourself, are we?¡±
It slithered into his ears, deep and distant, like a predator circling just beyond the firelight.
Scorn¡¯s head tilted slightly. He exhaled, a sharp breath that sounded more like a hiss. His grip tightened on his spear until the leather creaked beneath his gloves. ¡°Leave me alone.¡±
The voice chuckled, a hollow, echoing laugh that seemed to vibrate through the chasm itself.
¡°Leave you alone?¡± it mocked, dripping with venom. ¡°Why would I do that? Look at you¡ªstanding here, playing your little game of silence. But we both know it¡¯s meaningless.¡±
Scorn didn¡¯t answer. His gaze remained fixed on the water below, though his reflection refused to meet his eyes.
¡°Oh, you¡¯re good at this game, aren¡¯t you? Pretending you don¡¯t hear me. Pretending you don¡¯t know the truth. But it won¡¯t change anything. You don¡¯t belong here, Scorn. You never have. You never will.¡±
The words wormed their way into his mind, each one tugging at the frayed edges of his sanity. His fist clenched tighter, knuckles pale beneath the gloves, and the faintest tremor ran through his form.
¡°Tell me¡ªwhy keep up the act? ¡®Hero.¡¯ What a laughable title. You¡¯re no savior. You know that as well as I do. So why keep pretending? Why keep lying?¡±
The mask offered no expression, but his body betrayed him. His shoulders tensed, his breath quickened, and a flicker of something primal flared in his chest.
¡°Shut up,¡± he whispered.
The voice pressed on, its tone cruel and relentless. ¡°Do you still cling to that fragile sliver of hope? Is that why you skulk in the shadows, guiding this world from the edges, hoping to save it? You think salvation is still within reach?¡±
¡°Shut up,¡± he repeated, louder this time, his voice low and raw.
¡°You¡¯re a fool, Scorn. A coward who hides behind masks, behind lies. Denial only hastens destruction. You know that, don¡¯t you? You¡¯ve seen it. You¡¯ve caused it.¡±
His breath hitched, his chest heaving now. The trembling in his hands spread, uncontrollable, like a dam about to burst.
¡°Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.¡± His voice grew frantic, a muttered mantra as though he could drown out the voice by sheer force of will.
¡°Oh? Did I touch a nerve?¡± the voice purred, its tone now sickeningly sweet, mocking.
¡°SHUT THE FUCK UP!¡± Scorn roared, the words ripping from his throat as he spun, his spear slicing through the air. The movement was feral, desperate¡ªa predator lashing out at shadows.
But there was nothing.
The chasm behind him yawned silently. Only his shadow, jagged and warped by the moonlight, stretched across the ground, a distorted echo of himself.
¡°You can¡¯t run from the truth forever, Scorn,¡± the voice echoed, distant and fading, carried away by the wind. ¡°It will always find you.¡±
Scorn¡¯s breath came in short, sharp gasps. He stood frozen, his spear lowered but still trembling in his grasp. Slowly, his gaze drifted to his shadow, dark and unsteady, as though it were mocking him, too.
The weight of his memories pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. The rushing water below seemed to grow louder, merging with the racing pulse in his ears.
For a long moment, he didn¡¯t move. The cold wind tugged at him again, and he let it, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as though trying to let the chill seep into his thoughts, to still the chaos.
But the voice lingered, like the faint echo of a nightmare, even as the world around him remained silent.
Alone on the edge of the chasm, Scorn was left with only the sound of the rushing water, the ghost of the voice, and the fragile threads of a mind that refused to break¡ªbut was dangerously close to fraying beyond repair.
Morning arrived, and by afternoon, the group reached the bustling village of Crostan. The old lady bid her farewells, shuffling off to her home with a parting smile, while the adventurers moved to handle the paperwork required for entry into the ruins of the sunken city.
That left Scorn, Viktor, and Mifa to begin their investigation.
The plaza buzzed with activity, alive with the clatter of metal and the hum of countless voices. Adventurers from across the continent filled the square, their armor and weapons gleaming under the afternoon sun. Merchants shouted over one another, hawking supplies, while blacksmiths hammered steel, sending sparks into the air. Despite its modest size, Crostan thrummed with an energy that made it feel much larger.
¡°Damn,¡± Scorn muttered, his gaze sweeping the scene like a curious tourist. ¡°Almost forgot how busy this place gets...¡±
¡°We¡¯re not here for sightseeing, Mister Aizen,¡± Viktor said, his tone sharp. ¡°We¡¯re here to track down the cult and bring them to justice.¡±
¡°Fine, fine,¡± Scorn replied, rolling his shoulders lazily. ¡°So, where to next?¡±
¡°I¡¯ll start with the local guards,¡± Viktor decided, his voice steady. ¡°They might know something about cult activity in the area. If you learn anything they don¡¯t, let me know immediately.¡±
¡°Sounds like a plan,¡± Scorn said, though his tone betrayed little interest. " ''Robert'', Follow Viktor" he said.
"Fine but be careful of your words!, lets go" Mifa replied and followed Viktor.
The group split off, weaving through the crowded plaza to gather information. They spoke to merchants, adventurers, and villagers, each person offering a piece of the larger puzzle.
But as they moved through the lively crowd, they failed to notice the eyes following them.
From the shadows of an alley, a figure watched, shrouded in a tattered cloak. Beneath the hood, pale lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. The figure¡¯s gaze lingered on Scorn for a moment longer than the others before slipping silently into the crowd, vanishing like smoke.
Unseen, the hidden eyes multiplied. Whispers passed from one dark corner to another, carried like a breeze through the undercurrent of the village.
The group remained unaware, their search continuing, as a storm quietly began to gather.
Chapter 16 Light and Shadows
Chapter 16 Light and Shadows
Hours passed, and Viktor and Mifa found themselves no closer to answers. The streets of the city stretched endlessly before them, each lead dissolving into frustration as their inquiries hit dead ends.
¡°I see. Thank you for your time,¡± Viktor said politely to the shop owner after yet another fruitless conversation.
He turned to Mifa, sighing. ¡°No one seems to know anything about this ¡®Cult of the Witch.¡¯¡±
Mifa crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. ¡°Yeah. The only thing people mentioned was that rumor about a group secretly operating near the ruins of the Sunken City.¡±
¡°What could they even want in a place like that?¡± Viktor muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
¡°That place is filled with ancient artifacts¡ªsome of them dangerous in the wrong hands,¡± Mifa replied, her tone sharp. ¡°Whatever they¡¯re up to, it can¡¯t be anything good.¡± She glanced toward the horizon, where the sun dipped lower. ¡°Let¡¯s wrap this up and meet the others at the guild.¡±
As they walked through the fading light of the alleys, Viktor¡¯s curiosity gnawed at him like an itch he couldn¡¯t ignore. He glanced at Mifa, hesitating for a moment before speaking.
¡°I¡¯ve been wondering, ¡®Robert¡¯¡ªwhat¡¯s your connection to Mr. Aizen?¡± Viktor asked cautiously. ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer if it¡¯s personal.¡±
Mifa turned her sharp, calculating gaze on him, her expression unreadable.
¡°Hmm¡ I suppose you could say I¡¯m both his disciple and his caretaker,¡± she said finally.
¡°So, you¡¯re not related by blood?¡± Viktor asked.
¡°No,¡± Mifa replied, her voice steady but distant. ¡°I¡¯m a war orphan from the village of Metrial. A survivor of the Noclan Dominion¡¯s attack.¡± She paused, her words hanging in the air like the ghost of a memory too painful to fully confront. When she continued, her tone was hollow, almost mechanical. ¡°After that, I ended up in Krempossa¡ªa street kid scrambling for scraps in a city that devours the weak. Stealing food, picking pockets, hiding in alleyways... That was my childhood.¡±
Viktor swallowed hard, the image of a young Mifa scavenging among the filth of the capital city weighing heavily on his mind. ¡°I¡¯m¡ sorry to hear that,¡± he said softly.
Mifa¡¯s sharp laugh cut through the gloom. It wasn¡¯t one of humor but of bitter resignation. ¡°Don¡¯t waste your pity,¡± she snapped, her amethyst eyes narrowing. ¡°Stories like mine are a dime a dozen. I was just another nameless face in the crowd¡ªanother kid nobody wanted.¡± She drew a breath, her voice lowering to something almost inaudible. ¡°But I was one of the lucky ones. If it weren¡¯t for him...¡±
Her voice cracked, just for a moment. She clenched her fists tightly, nails biting into her palms as she forced herself to continue. ¡°If it weren¡¯t for him, I¡¯d have been dragged into the underground markets. I¡¯d have been sold, body and soul, to the highest bidder. Or worse... I¡¯d have ended up a plaything for the city¡¯s gangs.¡± Her words trembled with suppressed rage, but her face remained like stone¡ªunflinching, determined not to break.
Viktor felt the weight of her words press against his chest, a sharp pang of guilt forming in his voice. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have asked. I¡¯m sorry.¡±
Mifa didn¡¯t respond at first. She simply stared ahead, her eyes glassy, as if gazing into a distant memory she couldn¡¯t escape. Finally, she muttered, ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± But the tightness in her voice betrayed her.
Her amethyst eyes, once vibrant, now held a dull, haunted look. They lingered on the cobblestones beneath her feet, as though the ground itself could offer her some kind of solace. In that moment, Viktor saw not the sharp, calculating woman who could take down opponents twice her size, but a girl who had carried the weight of survival on her shoulders for far too long. She didn¡¯t cry. She didn¡¯t waver. But the silence that followed spoke louder than any scream ever could.
As they wandered deeper into the town, their path led them through a narrow alley. There, tucked away in the shadows, they came across an old mural. It was surrounded by burnt-out candles, shattered ornaments, and discarded totems. The sight immediately caught Viktor¡¯s attention.
He stepped forward, his brow furrowing as he studied the faded painting. Though the colors were weathered, the figure depicted was unmistakable.
¡°It¡¯s... Nytheris the Giver,¡± Viktor murmured.
The mural portrayed a human-like deity with a flower-like head, its petals tightly closed. Unlike the sketch Professor Lang had shown him¡ªan image that reeked of malice¡ªthis depiction exuded an air of divinity, almost serene.
Mifa froze as she gazed at the mural, her expression shifting to disbelief. ¡°It can¡¯t be...¡± she whispered.
Viktor glanced at her, puzzled. ¡°What is it?¡±
Before Mifa could answer, a voice called out from nearby. ¡°The God of the Gifted.¡±
They turned sharply toward the source of the voice. Emerging from the shadows was an elderly man, his hunched figure wrapped in a tattered cloak. He leaned heavily on a crooked cane, his weathered face creased with a faint smile. Despite his frail appearance, his eyes gleamed with a spark of recognition as they lingered on the mural.
¡°It has been so long,¡± the old man said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. ¡°So long since anyone has recognized our god. It warms my heart to see him remembered, even after all these years.¡±
The old man shuffled closer, his gnarled hand brushing against the mural as if greeting an old friend.
¡°You know about this god?¡± Viktor asked cautiously.
The elder turned his sharp gaze to Viktor and smiled. ¡°Aye, lad. I know much. Tales of Nytheris were passed down to me from my ancestors, who lived in the Sunken City long before it fell. I¡¯d be happy to share what I know... but only on one condition.¡±
Mifa and Viktor exchanged wary glances before Viktor asked, ¡°And what condition is that?¡±
The old man¡¯s eyes twinkled mischievously. ¡°Join me for afternoon tea.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
¡°Tea?¡± Mifa raised an eyebrow.
¡°Aye,¡± the elder said with a chuckle. ¡°My granddaughter baked cookies just the other day¡ªbest ones I¡¯ve had in years. I¡¯ve no doubt you¡¯ll enjoy them too.¡±
Mifa shrugged, giving Viktor a sidelong glance. ¡°Well, if that¡¯s all, I don¡¯t see why not.¡±
¡°Excellent!¡± The old man clapped his hands together with surprising vigor. ¡°Ah, forgive my manners. Name¡¯s Allan Thalyndor. My ancestors was among the last living inhabitants of the city.¡±
¡°I¡¯m Viktor,¡± Viktor replied, shaking the old man¡¯s hand. ¡°And this is Mifa... the daughter of an acquaintance.¡±
¡°Well then,¡± Allan said, his voice laced with cheer. ¡°Let¡¯s not waste time. You¡¯ve a tale to hear, cookies to eat, and tea to drink. Come along now!¡±
With surprising sprightliness, he turned and began to lead them through the winding streets, his cane tapping rhythmically against the cobblestones. Viktor and Mifa exchanged a glance before following him.
As they left the alley, a faint rustling stirred behind them. Near the mural, the dim light cast long shadows¡ªbut one of them lingered unnaturally seemingly embracing the mural of the forgotten god in front of it. It shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if watching them leave. Then, for just a moment, it seemed to glare at the three with malicious intent.
After some time walking, the three finally arrived at a modest house tucked away from the busy streets of the city. At the front, a young woman was sweeping away dried leaves from the ground.
Allan waved energetically from the gate. ¡°Hally! Grandpa¡¯s home!¡±
The woman, Hally, looked up and immediately ran to greet him. ¡°Welcome home, Grandpa!¡± Her eyes flickered to Viktor and Mifa, standing behind him. ¡°Who are they?¡± she asked curiously.
¡°They¡¯re my guests,¡± Allan replied with a grin. ¡°They¡¯re interested in learning about our god, so I thought I¡¯d tell them a tale or two. Quickly now¡ªbrew us some tea and fetch those cookies of yours!¡±
¡°Yes, Grandpa!¡± Hally said, smiling. She helped him up the steps, ushering everyone inside.
The house had a warmth to it. The golden afternoon light spilled through the windows, illuminating the wooden furniture and walls adorned with carvings and ornaments. The faint scent of tea and oak lingered in the air, giving the place the comforting aroma of a home well-lived in.
¡°Such a lovely home,¡± Viktor said, admiring the craftsmanship of the woodwork.
¡°Thank you,¡± Allan replied, settling into his chair. ¡°This house was built by my grandfather when he first moved to the village. Every beam and nail is his handiwork.¡±
¡°A family heirloom, then,¡± Viktor remarked.
¡°Exactly so,¡± Allan said, his voice tinged with pride.
After a short while, Hally returned with a tray of tea and a plate of freshly baked cookies.
¡°Thank you, my dear,¡± Allan said, motioning for Viktor and Mifa to help themselves.
¡°Thank you,¡± Viktor said, picking up a cookie and pouring himself some tea.
Mifa hesitated, her eyes darting around the room cautiously. ¡°I don¡¯t drink tea,¡± she finally said, reaching into her purse for a small pouch, ¡°but I¡¯ll try a cookie.¡± She broke off a piece and popped it into her mouth.
¡°Well?¡± Allan asked, watching her expectantly.
¡°It¡¯s¡ good,¡± Mifa admitted after a moment.
¡°Delicious,¡± Viktor agreed, savoring both the cookie and the tea. ¡°You¡¯re quite the baker, Miss Hally.¡±
Hally blushed faintly. ¡°Thank you,¡± she murmured, before retreating to tidy up the kitchen.
As Viktor sipped his tea, his gaze wandered to the shelves lining the walls. They were packed with peculiar ornaments, some resembling ancient relics.
¡°Do you collect artifacts, Mr. Allan?¡± Viktor asked.
¡°These?¡± Allan chuckled. ¡°No, no. They¡¯re not mine. My grandfather was an archaeologist. He spent his life studying the ruins of our ancestors and brought these back from his expeditions. They¡¯re his legacy. I could never bring myself to part with them.¡±
¡°I see,¡± Viktor said softly. ¡°Just like the professor¡¡±
Allan set his teacup down with a deliberate motion. ¡°Enough about me,¡± he said, leaning forward. ¡°You mentioned wanting to learn about the history of the sunken city, yes? May I ask why?¡±
¡°I¡¯m an investigative journalist,¡± Viktor explained. ¡°I¡¯m following a trail that led me here¡ªa dangerous group called the ¡®Cult of the Witch.¡¯ There are whispers that they might be operating in the ruins.¡±
Allan¡¯s face darkened slightly. ¡°Ah, yes. There have been rumors. Strange folk seen wandering the outskirts, odd lights in the ruins at night. But¡ no concrete evidence. Just stories passed around the market stalls.¡±
¡°I see,¡± Viktor said, disappointment creeping into his voice. ¡°Thank you for sharing what you know.¡±
Allan smiled faintly and picked up his tea again. ¡°But you¡¯re also here for the history, aren¡¯t you?¡± he said. ¡°The story of the sunken city?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Viktor said eagerly.
The old man¡¯s expression softened as he leaned back in his chair. ¡°Very well, then. Let me tell you a tale¡ªa tale of light and loss.¡± He sipped his tea and began.
¡°This happened long ago,¡± Allan said, his voice low and reverent. ¡°When the ancient city was just a humble fishing village by the sea. The people here lived simply¡ªtrading, fishing, building their lives with their own hands. Then, one day, a great golden light appeared over the ocean. It bathed the village in its radiance, and with it came gifts beyond comprehension. The people were granted the power to spread knowledge, to wield light itself.
¡°The light called itself Nytheris. It claimed to be a giver¡ªa servant of the gods, sent to share their light with the world. And so, the people worshiped it, grateful for its blessings. Peace and prosperity followed, and the small village grew into a grand city: Thalmyra, the Blessed City. For three hundred years, it flourished under the watchful gaze of Nytheris.¡±
He paused, his voice growing somber. "Until..., Viktor what is the academy told you about what happened to the sunken city?"
"The Great leak'' the catastrophic release of the ''beasts of the night'' from the dark forest of the ''Poisoned oasis''" Viktor said "this is the story most historians believe, yet some argue that this might not be entirely true for the ''great leak'' happened during the final years of the war between the ancient Kingdom of Rosta and the City of Thalmyra, they believe the kingdom took the opportunity to attack when the ''Beasts of the night'' attacked the city and weakened their defenses"
"Neither was true," Allan¡¯s eyes drifted to the window, where the sun hung low on the horizon. ¡°It wasn¡¯t the kingdom or a beast,¡± he said softly. ¡°It was¡ hunger. A creature unlike anything the world has ever seen. A monster that devoured not just flesh, but light itself..."
At the village market¡
Scorn wandered through the bustling streets, doing what he loosely called an "investigation," though his focus seemed to lie more on sampling every local delicacy he could find.
¡°This is so good!¡± he exclaimed, stuffing his face with food through the partially opened slit of his mask. ¡°Telling Mifa to go with Viktor was the best call I¡¯ve made today,¡± he thought smugly.
The nearby vendors and villagers looked on, equal parts baffled and concerned at the sheer amount of food he was consuming.
¡°Ahh, this soup hits the spot! ¡®Investigating¡¯ alone sure has its perks!¡± Scorn said between bites, his voice muffled but cheerful.
¡°Whoa, whoa, easy there¡ªyou might choke if you keep eating like that!¡± a man¡¯s voice chimed in from behind him.
Scorn didn¡¯t even bother to turn around, focusing instead on his soup.
The voice continued, unfazed. ¡°You don¡¯t mind if I sit here, right?¡± Without waiting for a reply, the man slid onto the bench beside him and gestured to a vendor. ¡°I¡¯ll take the special rock wyvern soup, please.¡±
Scorn glanced at him briefly out of the corner of his eye. The man looked rugged¡ªshort black hair, a thin beard, and wearing weathered leather pants and boots paired with a stained yellow shirt. He carried himself with a strange air of casual confidence.
¡°You should try the special here. It¡¯s really good,¡± the man said, flashing a grin as he accepted his order.
Scorn didn¡¯t respond, focusing instead on the last bits of his soup.
The two sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the bustling market filling the air. Then, the man broke the quiet.
¡°You ever wonder if the One Piece series ever finished back in our world?¡± he asked casually, his tone light, almost playful.
¡°No way,¡± Scorn replied without thinking. ¡°Toei¡¯s probably still milking that show for all it¡¯s worth.¡±
The words hung in the air for a moment.
The atmosphere shifted. The lively chatter of the market seemed to dull, the air growing heavy between the two men.
The stranger slowly turned to Scorn, a wide, knowing grin spreading across his face. ¡°You¡¯re not from this world, are you... Mr. Aizen?¡±
Scorn froze, his hand tightening around his empty bowl. His voice dropped to a growl as he glared at the man, his tone brimming with suspicion and dread.
¡°Who in the hell are you?¡±
The Devouring Truth
Chapter 17 The Devouring Truth
It began with a knock¡ªno, a pounding¡ªat the great gates. A force so violent, so unnatural, that the very stones trembled in terror. My ancestors beheld the horror that stood before them: a beast of impossible proportions, a writhing amalgamation of countless creatures, its grotesque form shifting like a nightmare given flesh. Its very shadow stretched over the city, swallowing the streets in an abyss of darkness¡ªa living incarnation of fear.
Even the dreaded Witch, whose power struck terror into the hearts of men, seemed feeble in comparison. Against this monstrous being, my ancestors were helpless. Chaos erupted as panic gripped the city, and from every corner, screams of terror rose like a chorus to the void. Blood spilled. Bodies fell. Despair took root where hope once stood. And still, the beast did not falter. My ancestors, loyal and steadfast, cast themselves into battle, their blades and sorcery crashing against the abyss. But their struggle was meaningless. The monster did not slow, did not waver¡ªit moved through them like a force of nature, as if to remind them of their insignificance.
Yet the beast had but one desire: the Light of Nytheris, the sacred radiance of our god. In a final, desperate plea, Nytheris answered. The heavens trembled as divine power took form¡ªa radiant bloom, a celestial flower of light, rising to meet the darkness. For days, their battle raged, shaking the earth and scarring the land, a war unlike any the people of Thalmyra had ever seen.
But faith alone could not halt the abyss.
To their horror, my ancestors watched as the last ember of Nytheris flickered and died, swallowed by the encroaching void. Their cries went unanswered. Their god, once resplendent, was no more. And then, from the shadows, the beast emerged once more¡ªits form twisted, changed. The divine bloom, once a beacon of salvation, had become its new maw. It opened, not to spill light, but darkness. A flower of death, an unholy hunger given form.
And then, it devoured.
The city, the land, my ancestors¡ªall consumed, torn from existence as if they had never been. And when nothing remained, the beast sank into the depths of the ocean, where even now, the ruins of its feast lie hidden beneath the waves¡ªa silent testament to the day light was swallowed whole.
Allan''s voice lingered in the air, carried by the cold breeze of revelation that settled over Mifa and Viktor like a heavy shroud.
"A beast of hunger that devours all..." Mifa murmured, her expression unreadable.
Viktor took a sharp step forward, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "That... That can''t be!" His voice wavered between shock and defiance. "The Divine Beast would never do something like that!"
Allan''s gaze darkened. "I know it''s difficult to accept, but this is the truth my ancestors held onto¡ªeven at the cost of their lives."
Viktor shook his head, struggling to process it. "This is the first time I''ve ever heard of this." His voice dropped to a quieter, more uncertain tone. "The books at the academy never mentioned anything like this. The church always taught that the Divine Beast of Hunger was created by the gods to protect the world. If that¡¯s true, why would it do such a thing?"
Hally seemed to look at her Grandfather''s face for a bit and with an unreadable expression stepped outside the room and into the kitchen.
"the tea is getting cold, I will re heat it at the kitchen Granpa" Hally said.
"thank you dear" Allan said.
Mifa took a glance on her tea at the table. "strange..." she muttered.
Allan sighed, the weight of history pressing on his shoulders. ""why would it do such a thing?", That was the very question my ancestors asked. They sought the truth, desperate to understand the beast¡¯s true nature. But when the city fell, they were scattered across the continent, looking for answers. And instead of knowledge or solace, they found only scorn." He exhaled bitterly. "Who would believe such a thing? That their so-called divine protector was a force of destruction? It didn¡¯t take long before the Church of the Divine Maw branded them as blasphemers, accusing them of secretly worshipping the Witch of the End. They called the fall of our city ¡®heaven¡¯s punishment¡¯¡ªa divine reckoning for our supposed heresy." His fingers curled into fists. "And with that, the hunting began. Believers turned their hatred toward us, hunting my ancestors down in every corner of the continent. Only a few survived, forced into hiding, living among those who despised them until time eroded the memory of our people¡ and their hate. And now, here we are, our history reduced to mere artifacts and forgotten tales."
A heavy silence followed. Viktor¡¯s expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on the ground. His hands clenched and unclenched, as if trying to grasp something intangible.
"I don¡¯t..." he started, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don¡¯t know if I can believe this. I was raised under the guidance of the church. The academy, my professors... everything I know tells me this can¡¯t be true. This... this goes against everything I was taught." He swallowed hard. "I need time to think."
Mifa glanced at him, her expression calm but thoughtful. "It''s still too early to draw conclusions," she said. "There are too many missing pieces. When we get back, we should ask Aizen about this."
Viktor gave a slow, hesitant nod, but the doubt in his eyes remained.
"Not that it matters anymore." Allan stood and turned toward the window, gazing at the horizon as the sun dipped below it. "My ancestors are long gone. Dwelling on the past won¡¯t change the future. The church doesn¡¯t want their gods¡¯ reputations tarnished. Through their believers, they¡¯ve gained power and influence¡ªwho wouldn¡¯t want to maintain that? Young man, whatever truth you find along the way, I suggest you keep it to yourself. Unless you want your fate to be the same as ours. Remember¡ªthere are things out there far more terrifying than beasts. And they are watching."Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
Just as Allan finished speaking, a faint green light flickered in the distance.
Allan twitched, his body stiffening. A beat later, he collapsed.
Mifa stepped back, her hand clenching something inside her purse.
Viktor¡¯s heart pounded. "Mr. Allan?" he called out.
The old man didn¡¯t move. His lifeless body lay on the floor, a glowing green arrow buried in his chest.
The room tensed, the weight of sudden death sinking into the air.
"GET DOWN!" Mifa screamed.
"W-WHAA¡ª?!" Viktor yelped as he dove behind the couch.
Mifa dropped as well, her voice steady as she chanted, "Oh lord of the night, hide us within your shadows and protect us from harm¡ªVeil of the Umbral Watcher!"
A thick, dark smoke engulfed them just as arrows rained through the windows, piercing into the walls and floorboards.
"WHAT IS HAPPENING!?" Viktor shouted.
"Calm down! We need to find Hally!" Mifa ordered.
Scanning the room, they spotted Hally trembling beneath a kitchen table, her eyes wide with fear.
"Hally, come with me!" Mifa reached for her.
"W-Where''s Grandpa?!" Hally whimpered.
"We''ll talk later!" Mifa pulled her into the smoke¡¯s cover.
"I¡¯ll try calling Aizen!" She yanked a mirror from her bag and poured mana into it.
"What is that?!" Viktor asked, still panicked.
"A mana transmission device¡ªno time to explain!" Mifa¡¯s expression darkened. "No... NO!" She shook the mirror in frustration. "They¡¯re disrupting the mana flow¡ªit¡¯s blocking the transmission!"
The arrows ceased. The silence was worse.
Three figures slipped through the windows and the front door, surrounding them in the dimly lit room. Their movements were precise, methodical. Assassins.
Mifa gritted her teeth, pulling something else from her purse. Pouring mana into it, she snarled, "Work, damn it!"
A sickening purple glow flared, momentarily blinding the intruders. But they pressed forward, undeterred.
Fear tightened around them. Hope dwindled.
Then¡ª
BOOM!
A white blur struck the assassins outside with a force that sent dirt and debris flying. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, momentarily halting the attackers.
"Cough¡ªCough¡ª!" One of the assassins hacked through the dust. "What the hell was that?!"
"I-I don¡¯t know!" another hissed. "it looked like a spear, took out our men!"
"I can see that! I¡¯m asking who did it! We scanned a three-kilometer radius¡ªhow did they get the drop on us?!"
"Maybe they attacked from outside the range?" one suggested hesitantly.
"That¡¯s ridiculous! The scouts would¡¯ve reacted the moment anything crossed into range!" the leader growled. His mind raced, a creeping dread settling in. "Unless... it moved too fast for them to react"
A chill ran down his spine.
But there was no time to think. "What are you standing around for?! Get them!"
Then a voice rang out from within the smoke, sharp and irritated.
"HEY, YOU ASSHOLES!"
The air crackled.
"You interrupted my meal."
A few minutes ago at the village market¡
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?" Scorn barked, his glare sharp as a dagger.
"Whoa, buddy, relax!" The man raised his hands in mock surrender. "I¡¯m not here to start trouble. Just a visitor, like you."
Scorn''s eyes narrowed. "It¡¯s been a long time since I ran into someone from another world¡ªand the last time wasn¡¯t pleasant. So I¡¯ll ask again. What do you want?"
The man hesitated for a moment, clearly not expecting Scorn¡¯s hostility. He sighed and decided to cut to the chase.
"Whatever you''re doing with Viktor, I¡¯d stop if I were you."
Scorn¡¯s expression remained unreadable. "And why¡¯s that?"
"You¡¯re young," the man said, glancing at Scorn¡¯s masked face. "The mask hides it, but your hands and the way you speak give it away. I¡¯m guessing you just got reborn not long ago... and now you¡¯re probably trying to play the ¡®main character¡¯ in this world." He smirked. "Hate to break it to you, but that role¡¯s already taken. If you want to live peacefully, you should walk away now."
Scorn scoffed. "I¡¯m not interested in that."
"Maybe not, but whatever you¡¯re after, you''d better stop dreaming. The way you''re moving, you''re about to make enemies of some very powerful people¡ªpeople who don¡¯t like nobodies stealing their spotlight." His tone grew serious. "And trust me, you don¡¯t want them deciding you¡¯re a problem that needs to be erased."
Scorn shrugged. "Like I said, I don¡¯t care. I¡¯ll do what I want, when I want. If that¡¯s all you had to say, then get lost."
The man let out a short, dry chuckle. "You¡¯re a stubborn one. You¡¯ll regret this someday." He turned to leave.
"Hold on," Scorn called out. "You still haven¡¯t told me your name. That¡¯s rude."
The man stopped, glancing back with an amused grin. "If you survive what¡¯s coming¡ I¡¯ll tell you."
Scorn clenched his jaw. He pulled a toothpick-sized object from his mouth and poured mana into it, his spear extending to full size with a hum of power. "I suggest you tell me now."
The air in the market grew thick with tension. Onlookers shuffled back, whispering in fear.
The man smirked. "I don¡¯t think you have time for this."
At that moment, a familiar wave of dread washed over Scorn from outside the town. His body tensed. He turned his head toward the source.
"Shit," he muttered.
Without another word, he aimed his spear and hurled it with terrifying force. The pavement beneath him cracked, a shockwave rippling through the market as the weapon shot through the air like a meteor.
Panic erupted. Townsfolk screamed, scattering in every direction.
"Call the guards!" someone yelled.
Scorn turned back to the mysterious man, but the stranger was already slipping away into the chaos.
"This isn¡¯t over," Scorn growled.
The man¡¯s voice drifted back, teasing yet distant. "Who¡¯s to say?"
And then, he was gone.
Meanwhile, at a library in Terramill...
Following her encounter with Scorn at the city gate, Cynthia Gandmill continued her investigation into the recent murder cases. She sat in her office, scanning through books and records with unnatural speed¡ªan ability granted by a magic item that allowed her to read multiple texts at once.
Her eyes narrowed as she flipped through another report. A similar case in the village of Kaltress¡ three months ago. South of here, 49 kilometers. No witnesses. No sounds. No murder weapon. She let out a quiet sigh, rubbing her temples.
"This is more difficult than I imagined," she muttered, leaning back in her chair. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, and for a fleeting moment, she found herself reminiscing. The academy days¡ªsneaking out of classes, teasing her underclassmen, especially Viktor during study hours.
"Hah¡ I just want to go home and sleep."
A sudden knock snapped her back to reality.
"Chief Gandmill, I have a report. May I come in?" a man''s voice called from the other side of the door.
"Go ahead. Make it quick," she responded.
The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside, his face unusually pale.
"We received a request from the Gryphon¡¯s Claw Adventurers'' Guild," he said, placing a folder on her desk. "They want us to investigate a recent incident that involved a few of their well known adventurers."
Cynthia opened the folder, her eyes scanning the contents¡ªthen widening.
"This is¡"
Her grip on the report tightened.