I don’t see how you’ll manage without cooking it. Karl thought, amused. Not long ago, he had practically been gnawing on raw flesh.

It’s different.

Karl gave a slight nod, observing Monica as she moved to her side of the table. A faint wisp of smoke still rose from the torch lying there.

Impossible! Karl nearly blurted out. He was certain the flames should have cooled by now, given the intense chill of the hall. Yet, there it was—still warm enough to be useful. How?

Monica placed the meat on the table and began blowing on the torch. The cold slowed her efforts, but eventually, a weak orange-red flame flickered to life. She let out an excited exclamation at its birth, quickly gathering planks of wood from broken chairs and tables.

She arranged the wood in a particular pattern before nursing the flames. Before long, she had created a functioning cooking setup, with the meat hanging over the fire. The aroma wafting from it was enough to make Karl’s mouth water.

So hungry. Karl’s initial apprehension faded. Whatever oddity kept the torch alive didn’t seem to pose a threat. As long as that remained true, he would enjoy the meal… and maybe take a nap afterward.

A nap.

He frowned, though he wasn’t sure why.

The meal was simple but satisfying. Saltless, yet still good. Karl let out a contented breath and leaned back against his chair, his eyes wandering to the ceiling. It was high and cloaked in darkness. Even with his enhanced sight, he couldn’t discern its limits. Whether it was the sheer height or some strange distortion in this place, he didn’t know.

Either way, staring won’t change anything.

His gaze shifted to the right, toward the unexplored side of the hall. He hadn’t ventured there yet and could only wonder what it held. Like the ceiling, the stretch of the hall was vast, much of it concealed by shadow.

Maybe there’s more food? His tongue clicked at the thought. Maybe fish? Or something even better.

The darkness became oddly appetizing, as though he could smell a feast waiting beyond. Bread, meats, fruits… even pork. He cringed.

No, I should be more productive. He shook off the thoughts. This place has food, and while the cold is persistent, it’s not lethal. I could train here for a while.

He knew he needed it. The Mysteries School had made it clear that his light-foot technique wasn’t as refined as he thought. Worse, his skill with the sickle was sorely lacking. His victories relied more on brute force than actual technique.

That has to change.

Brutality was effective, but it wasn’t efficient. What if he faced someone in the future with abilities similar to the castle? Someone who could drain his energy? He wouldn’t last long in a battle where conserving strength was key. He needed more than raw power; he needed skill.

Perhaps if he were strong enough to compensate for his lack of technique, it wouldn’t matter. But his current arsenal was limited, and the only solution was to create his own abilities.

Karl glanced at Monica, who lay sprawled lazily on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Her lips glistened with meat oil, and smudges of fruit stained her cheeks. He scowled at her nonchalance.

Moving away, Karl picked a spot not too deep into the shadows but far enough that the faint glow from the makeshift cooker barely reached him. The cold battered his skin, sending mild shivers down his body. He felt a sneeze coming; Nose itching, and throat pumping with air, but Karl suppressed it. His eyes watered, but no sound escaped.

Once composed, he raised the sickle and stared at it, his expression puzzled.

How the Black am I supposed to do this? He wasn’t a swordsman, had no training, and lacked even a basic understanding of weapon techniques. How could he replicate something he didn’t understand?

Karl frowned, his grip tightening on the iron until it grew warm against his fingers.

Warm.

The strange visions.

A shiver ran down his spine as the memory washed over him. He tried to rein in the thought but paused.

Why? His frown deepened. The dream… the visions… memories? he frowned. Too many terms for a single thing.

Why was he afraid of them? Karl rubbed his temples. After a while of relentless pondering, he dismissed the thoughts. Whatever was happening to him could wait. What he needed now was focus. The dreams—or visions, whatever they were—would be dealt with later.

With that resolution, he swung his sickle in a hacking motion. At least, he believed it looked professional enough.

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He continued the futile swings for some time—minutes, perhaps—but eventually stopped. Not due to exhaustion, no. It was hunger that interrupted him.

The siphoning is getting stronger, Karl surmised, his gaze drifting to the table where a faint reddish glow emanated from its edge.

He moved toward the glow, toward Monica.

Karl froze.

Monica was holding a piece of raw, bloody meat. Its skin was deep crimson, rough with streaks of dark and brighter red. Her hands, chin, and lips were smeared with the juices. The scent hit Karl’s nose, and he stiffened.

Blood!

“What are you doing?” he yelled, his voice slicing through the eerie silence of the hall.

Monica turned to him, her dark eyes carrying an expression of mild confusion, as though her actions were perfectly ordinary. She was eating raw meat, for Black’s sake! What in the hell?

Karl staggered back, but his stomach growled in protest.

Hunger.

Monica continued to stare at him, then offered a relaxed smile. “Hey,” she said nonchalantly. “It tastes pretty good.”

Karl’s gaze remained fixed on her, his thoughts in turmoil. What he saw defied reason—a girl gnawing on raw flesh as though it were a delicacy. And yet, despite the wrongness of it, the sight and smell of the meat were… inviting.

He wanted a bite.

Karl clenched his fists, closing his eyes to block out the temptation. “What the Black are you doing?” he demanded.

Monica cocked her head, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?” she asked, her tone light. “I was hungry, so I ate. What’s the problem?”

Karl gaped at her, his hunger clashing with his growing unease.

“If you’re hungry, then wait and cook it,” he said, pointing toward the still-burning pyre. “You’ve got flames right there.”

Monica tilted her head further, almost to the point of breaking. “Why would I do that?” she asked. “I was starving, and the food was right here. Why waste time? I just ate it.” She grabbed another slab of raw meat from the ground and held it out to him. “Here, take it. It’s really sweet.”

Karl’s stomach growled again, loud and insistent, as his senses warred with reason. The bloodied meat dripped onto the floor, its metallic scent intoxicating. He wanted to eat… but why was the meat still dripp---?

Shaking his head to clear the fog creeping into his thoughts, Karl stared at her for a moment longer. The meat looked so fresh.

What was I thinking about? The thought was slippery, vanishing before he could catch it. His gaze remained locked on the slab of flesh, his hunger overwhelming him.

Maybe it’s nothing. If it were important, my cognition would have revealed it to me. He nodded to himself, eyes still on the meat. Besides, I’ve bitten into a man’s flesh before. My enhanced teeth made it easy. But Monica doesn’t have those enhancements, so how is she eating this so effortlessly?

He watched her lips, now stained redder than the meat itself. Her teeth, previously white, appeared soaked in blood. Karl observed her for a long moment before dismissing his unease. She must’ve been starving.

And so was he.

“You want it or not?” Monica asked, still chewing on a fresh piece of meat. As she spoke, her hands began retreating, pulling the meat closer to her face.

“No!” Karl shouted, snatching the slab from her. “I want it, okay?”

Monica smacked her lips, a small smile tugging at them. “I thought you wouldn’t.”

Karl stared at the cold, red slab of flesh in his hands. It smelled divine. Sweet.

But isn’t it strange that it’s still dripp---?

He lost the thought again. Shrugging it off, he brought the meat close to his lips, closed his eyes, and sank his teeth into it.

His enhanced teeth made the task effortless.

The moment the flesh touched his tongue, his mouth was flooded with a delightful, cold sweetness. The taste was otherworldly—rich and metallic with an icy undertone. It was profoundly satisfying, perhaps the best thing he had ever eaten. The crimson meat smacked against his teeth and tongue, dissolving into a delicious paste that flowed easily down his throat.

His stomach quieted, contented by the meal.

So good.

Despite his satisfaction, a deep sense of wrongness gnawed at the edges of his mind. Something about the situation was unsettling… but what? The lack of salt? No, it was something else. Something important.

Karl shook his head, dismissing the thought. Whatever it was could wait. Right now, he was eating.

He took another bite, savoring the cold sweetness, then stretched his arms and legs once he finished. Leaning back against the cold stone floor, a wave of tiredness washed over him.

So tired.

Should get some rest before tomorrow, he thought, though an odd sadness lingered in his heart.

Why leave? Why would he want to abandon this peaceful haven just to roam the dangerous castle, battling monsters in search of some supposed ally who might already be dead—or worse, under Olmer’s control? Why not just stay here, where everything seemed so perfect? The food was plentiful—well, he still needed water, but there was food, and that was enough. So why leave?

It would be nice to rest in a place like this... Karl thought, a smile tugging at his lips. How long had it been since he last smiled? If ever?

The hall was good to him. It made him smile, fed him, sheltered him, and even with the cold, it felt welcoming. What a place to be.

I don’t think I need to go anywhere... Monica doesn’t seem interested in leaving either, so why should I?

Suddenly, the sounds of the hall dulled, and the world seemed to sharpen unnaturally, as though reality itself was twisting. But before the crispness and blurring could overwhelm him, they vanished, as if swept away by an unseen, powerful hand.

See? Karl thought with a gleeful chuckle. The hall protects me—even from the visions.

A wave of peace swept over him, dispelling any lingering fear or unease. For the first time, he felt calm—truly calm. His earlier doubts and uncertainties were gone. Only tranquility remained.

Out of the corner of his eye, something shifted. Karl turned toward the movement. Normally, he would have felt a pang of dread or unease. But this was the hall. Nothing bad could happen here.

The figure glowed faintly with a bluish hue, its form seeming independent from the shadows. It looked... strange. The figure had black dog-like ears and a long black tail. Its ragged clothing clung to its wiry frame, and its face was eerily blank, as though wiped clean by some giant eraser. Yet, faint whispers emanated from it, a sound Karl couldn’t quite decipher.

Well, whatever. I can’t be bothered with that. Whatever it is, it won’t harm me—not here in the hall.

With a shrug, Karl turned away, closed his eyes, and let the warm pull of sleep claim him.

Once again, he dreamed.

When he woke, it was with a sharp gasp. Sitting upright, Karl rubbed his temples. He had the nagging sense he’d forgotten something—something important—but it eluded him once more.

Pushing the thought aside, he rose and walked a few steps toward one of the crates.

He was hungry.

Reaching the crate, he pried it open, just as he had done with so many others. But this time, there was no fruit or meat waiting for him.

Karl’s eyes widened.

Inside were rows of brown bottles.

Water!