Most living creatures, whether walking or making the slightest movement, cause tiny ripples in the air. Even beings like the Thammas—those who can fully merge into water or dissolve into ash and reassemble across miles—are no exception. But some things are different. There are entities that cannot be perceived through spells built on that principle. Like the one the Inquisitor spoke of—the unknown presence watching them from behind.
The old candles burned with flickering flames, their shadows dancing erratically across the wine-red carpet. The musty corridor was silent, yet it radiated strange magical energy from every corner, as if the place itself were alive.
Perhaps it really was alive?
Cesar brooded in silence. I've been running like a rat for years, and now I'm stuck playing some twisted adventure game with a walking holy bonfire who kicks in heretics' doors and kills anything that breathes… inside a house that looks like a pile of tumors?
Gods knew what was waiting inside.
Even country housewives knew—newly reincarnated black sorcerers were the most vulnerable kind. In this world, casting high-level magic usually involved opening a "door" within oneself—a door to another realm, or what they called the "Labyrinth." Priests drew power from the dwellings of gods; mages drew from Labyrinths accessible to humans. As for black sorcerers… they were like mages: the Labyrinths of the dark gods were open to all species, but they came with soul-devouring corruption that was almost impossible to resist.
The greatest danger was that if one opened the door too wide, the caster would be devoured by the door itself. For freshly reincarnated black sorcerers, they could only lift the edge—a tiny sliver. As a result, the energy they pulled from the Labyrinth often wasn't even as much as what they could gain by directly consuming souls.
And the problem was—Cesar's soul reserves were pitifully low.
He could barely contain his frustration. If only I'd come a few years later, I could've cleaned out this damn haunted house and all the creepy freaks hiding in it—just like the Demonbound in that cat's memory. Instead, here I am, playing hide and seek in their own lair!
The deeper they ventured into the corridor, the more twisted the architecture became. In this seemingly endless old passage, everything—from the thick wine-red curtains, the footprints on the red carpet, the dim candlelight, the broken teddy bears, mahogany tables, and locked cabinets—was dusted in a fine layer of gray. The path beneath their feet sometimes sloped downward like a slide, other times upward like a steep hill. The once-straight hallway twisted into curving arcs, filled with abrupt splits and branches. Narrow, wide, bent, straight—it all wove together into a dizzying maze like a spiderweb.
This house of silence felt like a dream.
A nightmare, of course.
Through spell-enhanced vision, the ceiling loomed oppressively low, and the blue candlelight cast an ominous glow over the corridor. Marks of fear and despair clung to the corners like soul residue. The walls were mottled with black mold, and long streaks of blood and handprints trailed across them—never cleaned, just left to fade away.
"Has that gaze from earlier shown up again?" Cesar asked as they walked. After a while of silence, he repeated the question.
"That's the third time you've asked that," Jeanne said. "The answer is still—not yet. Why don't you just throw open a window and jump out? Dying instantly might finally shut you up."
As she spoke, her fingers rested on her sword hilt—pressing it with considerable force.
Her once-glorious golden hair was dust-covered, and her face was just as dirty, like she'd rolled through a heap of earth. Only her ever-vigilant eyes still flickered alertly as they scanned their surroundings. Though her wounds had healed under magic, her shattered armor was beyond repair. The soft black shirt beneath, once snug against her figure, was now wrinkled and torn in many places. Her forearms were exposed, and the pale curve of her waist was clearly visible.
"How do you think I've survived this long?" the black sorcerer replied in a tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
"I'm more interested in how you can die faster," Jeanne shot back with a sneer, "preferably without dragging my soul down into the lower levels of the Labyrinth along with you."
If breaking a contract were that easy, Cesar thought darkly, why would I go through all the trouble of pulling this thing out of the Outer God's Labyrinth just to have you sign it?
Cesar narrowed his eyes and studied her for a moment. Jeanne met his gaze with the same mocking look. A few seconds later, he turned away, not even bothering to point out that her mood wasn't any better than his.
"We've arrived. This is the dining room," said the black cat, squatting in front of an old wooden door. "There's another door inside, and behind it is the kitchen."
"My spell tells me there's something invisible guarding that door," Cesar said to Jeanne. "I think we should turn around and go back right now."
"Damn it, why don't you just drop dead?" Jeanne rasped at him. "My stomach is screaming in agony. It's telling me if I don't eat soon, I'm going to pass out."
"Oh, don't worry, Lady Jeanne. I'm your loyal knight—I can carry you out of here safely."
What he really thought was: What does your hunger have to do with me? I only need to burn a little soul energy to satisfy my needs. Why the hell would I charge into the kitchen and alert the master of the house that I passed by?
"Charge in, eliminate all threats, grab food, and retreat immediately. Any objections?" Jeanne took a deep breath and drew her pitch-black longsword, gripping it tight. The ominous gleam of the blade seemed even darker than the corridor around them. Her voice was resolute—undeniably commanding. The kind of tone used only by those accustomed to issuing orders. "Cesar Betrafao, I don't care what you were before. Right now, you're my guardian knight. The Inquisitor's decision is final."
Pah! Guardian knight, my ass!
He cursed silently, but on his face, the black sorcerer wore an ugly, crooked grin. "I'll destroy the door and that thing together, then prep the next spell. In the meantime, can you dash in and keep the enemies busy?"
Jeanne whipped her head around and glared at him.
"If you run away, you do understand what the consequences will be, right?"
"I'm well aware. No need to say it again," Cesar muttered, stepping forward to face the door and the creature guarding it. He raised his right hand.
Darkness thickened, swallowing the air and making the space around them dense and viscous.
Color vanished. Only black and white lines remained. Sound disappeared, too—leaving only the heavy, sluggish beat of a heart. That deep, echoing heartbeat… like the one heard in the illusion when the black sorcerer and the Inquisitor signed their contract—echoes of the tortured, beating their skin-covered drums with their own flayed hands.
Low and murky waves of power pulsed repeatedly. The walls began to peel, as if shedding a layer of ash. The old wooden door creaked with an ear-piercing, soul-grating screech as it began to spin and twist, like a wet rag being wrung dry.
The transparent creature—whatever it was—let out a howl of pure agony. It sounded like a hundred tubercular patients gasping in pain all at once. Its entire body suffered the same fate as the door: wrenched and twisted into grotesque, impossible angles like a shredded rag. Bones, organs, limbs, muscles—if it had them—were torn apart, its translucent fluids splattering in all directions, staining the walls and carpet in a nightmarish mess.
"What's next—are you going to summon a Hound of the Shadow Throne just to hunt rabbits?" Jeanne mocked him.
"How was I supposed to know how resistant this thing was to spells? Can you please get in there and take care of the rest of the monsters now?"