With the orb’s illumination, the space around them revealed itself.

“By Pure!” Monica exclaimed.

It was as Karl expected—at least in part. There were corpses, but it didn’t seem like they had died in battle. The bodies, dressed in white kefnas, had their eyes burned out.

Dried blood streaked from the charred sockets. Some corpses had bits of flesh caught under their nails, their faces marred with self-inflicted claw marks.

Having gained deeper knowledge of many things, Karl understood what he was looking at.

Divination gone wrong, he realized, standing and scanning the corridor. They were all members of the Mysteries School, judging from their attire. It’s strange they didn’t understand the consequences of peering beyond the Special Class. Or…

He glanced at Monica, who was rifling through the corpses’ belongings, likely searching for food or other supplies.

It could be they weren’t aware of the threat posed by what they were divining. If that’s the case, it’s easy to speculate they were searching for something about Olmer. Perhaps a way to escape the castle.

He sighed, taking one last look through the bodies. There was little of value—some daggers, shards of glass, and, oddly, a piece of moldy cake.

Karl grimaced in disgust, but Monica made quick work of it, eating half before tucking the rest away for later.

“Hey,” Monica called, holding something. “I found something.”

Karl walked over.

She stood before the pale corpse of a woman. Her hollow eye sockets seemed frozen in terror. But it wasn’t the empty gaze that unsettled Karl—it was her fingers. They were bloodied, far more so than the others, as if intentionally cut.

Before her body, written in smeared, dried blood, was a message.

Karl frowned. “Have you read this?”

Monica raised an eyebrow. “I can’t read,” she said flatly.

Good, Karl thought. If you could, you’d probably already be dead.

The warning written in blood was brief but haunting:

“Do not read the two words together. Please don’t. There is something horrific here. Olmer is doing something we couldn’t even imagine. The mutants. They are important. They are the Key. He needs them… Please kill the mutants. The castle cannot continue to feed on Mana.

Please stop it. Before he. He. He. He. That being crowned in a rusty metal crown. He is many things. He is Black… and a priest.”

Karl’s frown deepened. The situation had become even more dangerous. He glanced at Monica, who stood a few steps behind him. The reason he worried for her survival was simple—if she ever spoke the forbidden name aloud, she wouldn’t survive it. She lacked the strength to endure the weight of such knowledge. Her eyes would simply burn away, her mind collapsing in on itself.

Black… Karl paused, the word echoing in his mind. Priest. The boy from before mentioned something about a Trinity, and one of them was a Priest. It’s safe to assume this is the same person. Olmer might be planning something that involves him.

The warning was clear: kill the mutants to stop the flow of mana. The castle—this whole place—was functioning as a massive battery. If so, the final outcome must tie back to this Priest.

Olmer had left the Maw people behind for something. Likely to become a believer of a god beyond the storm-worship of the Maw. Does this Priest have something to do with that? Yes. Are they a Priest of that god?

Karl dazedly recalled a memory of the red-haired man—a man who wanted to kill the gods.

Turns out he failed.

He sighed and stood up. Can’t figure out much more from here.

Of course, he could use the glasses to probe deeper into the corridor, but in a place like this, doing so would be a death sentence.

After lingering for a few more minutes, Karl and Monica resumed their journey. The lighter made their path notably easier to traverse.

At some point, Karl stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing.

He heard footsteps.

“Someone’s coming,” he said, his hand tightening around his axe.

Moments passed. Light began to flicker around the corner, shadows stretching and warping along the stone walls. Figures emerged—some limping, others carrying stretchers laden with the wounded.

They weren’t wearing kefnas. Instead, they wore ragged, mismatched clothing.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Scavengers. They matched Monica’s description of the people saved by the so-called Grand Helper.

So they were real.

At one point, Karl had entertained the idea that Monica’s scavengers were a figment of a frightened imagination—a coping mechanism. But here they were, flesh and blood.

Whether that’s good or bad remains to be seen.

What now?

Karl hesitated. Could they be trusted? What if the monster’s words had been true? If they were…

He tightened his grip on his axe. If it came to it, he could carve a path out for himself and Monica.

But before he could decide, Monica bolted forward, her voice breaking the tension.

“Tint!” she cried, running toward one of the scavengers.

Black! Karl’s mind flared in warning. His hand twitched as he prepared to recall Monica’s boots, which he’d imprinted on earlier.

But then one of the scavengers raised his hand in recognition, and the two embraced.

For some reason, Karl felt a pang of emotion.

Moments later, Monica was recounting their journey—the hall, the monsters, how Karl had saved her single-handedly.

For some reason, the mention of Karl defeating a monster drew several envious glares from the scavengers.

Which makes sense. According to their story, their group had been devastated by a creature that could silence all sound and transform noise into deadly weapons.

That ability sounds familiar…

If they’d been stronger, perhaps death and agony wouldn’t have been their outcome.

The conversation continued without Karl. He remained on the outskirts, ignored, watched with suspicion.

Eventually, frustration boiled over, and he strode toward Tint—the scavenger Monica had been speaking with.

“Hey,” Karl said, his voice firm. “How exactly do you guys find your way back here?”

The scavengers tensed. Eyes sharpened, suspicion thickened. They looked at him as if he might be an enemy agent, a puppet of Olmer.

If anything, it’s more likely that one of you is compromised. With so many injured, so many desperate faces, it was impossible to tell who might be hiding a dangerous secret.

Tint glanced at Monica, who gave him a small nod. Then he sighed.

“We don’t know,” Tint admitted.

“What?” Karl frowned.

“To be exact,” Tint clarified, “we wander. But somehow, we always end up back at the base.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Karl looked up at the ceiling, exhaling deeply. So it’s something connected to Sanguine abilities? Is he manipulating the layout of the castle? Or is this… luck?

At first, Karl had been skeptical of the Grand Helper. Now he felt something bordering on awe.

----------------------------------------

In front of them stood a pair of massive bolted doors. Their path had twisted and turned—left, right, backtracking, looping—and yet none of the scavengers seemed irritated or lost. Now Karl understood why.

So finding their way back is a guarantee.

Tint stepped forward, pulling out a small parchment. He slid it through a thin crack beneath the door and knocked in a specific rhythm.

A password.

The door groaned and creaked. The sound of countless locks and bolts shifting echoed through the narrow hallway.

When the door finally opened, scavengers carrying crude wooden spears surged forward, surrounding Karl, Monica, and the group. Their eyes were wide, sharp with fear, but their posture remained steady.

The group was ushered inside.

The interior was cramped and worn. Cracks ran along the walls, and clusters of scavengers huddled together in corners. Desperation clung to the air like mildew.

There wasn’t much here worth saving. Not that Karl cared about these people.

His attention was fixed elsewhere.

The Grand-Helper.

If this man could truly navigate or control the castle, he might have far more value for Karl

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The mist clung thick over the city. Viin, with her soundhand hidden beneath her long sleeves and her free hand adorned with glinting jewels, inhaled deeply. Her sharp eyes scanned the sprawling city below. Despite the vaguely red gloom, the towering statue of the pure white god still stood, looming over the city. Watching. Protecting.

The Maw are obviously planning something, Vin thought. The question is… what?

She sat on the edge of a flat wooden rooftop, legs dangling freely over the side. She was waiting—for something, or more precisely, someone. After many tiresome investigations, she had managed to piece together a hazy outline of events.

For one, Olmer was indeed a heretic, worshipping another god. And the strange occurrences that had plagued Canen over the last few weeks were undeniably connected. Just as she’d suspected.

From the Maw to the Newmans to the Thieving Guild—everything seemed intertwined. According to her sources, the Thieving Guild operated like a nomadic group, never staying in one city for too long. Yet, they were primarily active in hive cities, where the dense populations made it difficult for officials to track them.

They also functioned like mercenaries, taking any job so long as the pay was high enough. And, to Vin’s irritation, they were loud about it. Despite their name, secrecy wasn’t their style. They preferred to operate boldly, right in the open.

Stupid of them to use the same tactic when dealing with the Ministry.

Vin’s hand distorted briefly as she pulled something from the ground—a stone that shot upward and landed lightly in her palm.

The Thieving Guild… Given their mercenary nature, it made sense they’d been hired. Before the attack on Thales Cathedral, they’d never been active in this region.

So which group? Which group? Which group? Vin paused. Could it have been the Maw? But they didn’t gain anything from that attack. Or maybe they did, and the information is just well hidden…

If the Maw weren’t the perpetrators, then who was? It could have been the same faction backing that strange woman who’d wanted to birth a child with a man… But certain clues made Vin doubt that possibility.

Which is it, then? She scratched her head in frustration. Vin liked adventure, but not when the answers were so annoyingly out of reach. Why couldn’t they just come easy?

She shook her head and returned to her thoughts.

If it’s not the Maw, nor whatever faction supported that woman, then who? Not the Newmans, that’s certain. Though they seem to have allied themselves with some gang in the slums, it feels more like a distraction than anything substantial.

Vin’s eyes lit up with sudden realization.

What if there’s another faction? One that wasn’t originally in Canen but needed some kind of smokescreen to enter the city unnoticed? Maybe that’s why they used the Guild. If the Ministry was distracted by that chaos, they wouldn’t notice someone slipping through…

She paused. Could this be right?

Boom!

A flash of explosive light tore through the distant mist. Vin’s head snapped up, her sharp eyes locking onto the source. A faint ringing sound followed, muted by the distance.

Seems they’ve arrived.

The person she’d been waiting for.

A pillar of white light surged skyward from the explosion’s epicenter, briefly illuminating the red dust-streaked buildings surrounding it.

Vin didn’t hesitate. She jumped.

The ground distorted beneath her, propelling her skyward. Wind screamed against her face as she soared through the air, her eyes fixed on the distant, burning building amid the crowded cityscape.