In the depths of the labyrinth, the flickering light from the torches revealed a small sobbing figure huddled against the stone wall.

A child?

The scout tensed and gripped her weapon tighter.

The leader, a seasoned warrior with scars that bore witness to his experiences, nodded but stepped forward regardless. His hand, calloused from countless battles, rested on the hilt of his sword, and his approach was steady.

As he neared the crying girl, the sobs grew louder, more desperate. The child's form was small in its pitiful state.

“Are you lost?”

The leader asked. The child slowly raised its head, revealing glowing eyes that did not reflect the torchlight.

The seekers caught their breath as the child’s mouth curled into a wide smile. The child's pale skin was set off by the labyrinth's shadowy backdrop.

“Do…Do…Do… you know Hellion?”

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The banquet hall was vast, with a high arched ceiling adorned with chandeliers that lighted the scene below in blue and crimson hues. Long low-to-the-ground tables ran the length of the hall with an abundance of food and drinks. The seating arrangement could fit close to a thousand people.

A collection of weapons was mounted on the wall in a decorative fashion. The array was centered around a radial pattern of swords that resembled the shape of a starburst. They culminated in a shield with the engraving of fire encircled by a snowflake, the symbol of the Yan clan, in the center. Such decorations were spread throughout the whole of the hall.

Today's occasion was grandly celebrated and accepted by the clanspeople. Damian’s reputation was very favorable as he was deemed the future hope of the clan. Some of the people here had even personally conversed with or taught him.

In the bustling hall, the area was filled with loud conversations and the clatter of dining. Men wore robes or long garments with wide sleeves, made of luxurious fabrics such as silk or velvet. They were designed with elaborate patterns, and sometimes fur lining for the high-status individuals. Women mostly wore a long dress that could be layered with varying lengths, while some also had pieces of veil covering their faces.

The floor was covered with rugs and several animal skins laid out across it. On one end of the hall stood a majestic pipe organ.

Opposite the organ, on the other far end of the hall stood a golden table in a triangular form. The internal elders of the clan were seated along the right edge of this triangular arrangement. Facing them, on the left edge, were the external elders. Mehmed occupied the apex of the triangle, while the esteemed guests from beyond the clan took their places directly across from him. To Mehmed's left was Hakan, and on his right, sat Damian.

Contrary to the noise in the main hall, this area was filled with silence. This was so that the guests could easily converse sitting across this large table. While the important figures had gathered with the pretense of a birthday celebration, their true motive was to discuss the clan’s affairs with each other and seek individual opportunities. It was very rare that they could get together like this.

At the bottom of the triangle, Latrice was ravenously shoving food down her throat, paying no heed to her manners. Her cavernous gape was as vast as the abyss, and her teeth were as creepy as a crocodile’s. Isla, seated near her, was weirded out by this, yet didn’t have the courage to articulate her concerns. She could only observe the spectacle with a mixture of bewilderment and repulsion.

His grandfather, Demir, was engrossed in a heated conversation with the leader of an archer delegation that had come with Hakan from the Union. He did not have space for a spare thought, leaving no room for awareness of his granddaughter's silent plight.

Finally, the external elder from the Sol clan, also seated near Latrice, could bear it no longer. The young man was beyond disgusted. He had not touched a single piece of food since the moment he sat at the table.

“Miss, might you temper your pace? We still have a long night ahead of us.”

Latrice stopped chewing on the delicious Cicadatra leg and blankly stared at the elder with an open maw. She blinked a few times and then dove back into the feast with unabated fervor.

‘Who does she think she is!?’

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Taken aback by the brazen disregard, he clenched his fists as he swore to himself that he would teach her a lesson after the banquet was over.

At the left side of the triangle, external elders indulged in friendly conversations with comrades they hadn’t had a chance of being in touch with for a long time. They also negotiated; some agreed upon an exchange of runes and various resources, while others even discussed the terms for a relic exchange.

Finally, at the right side, Arslan was absentmindedly sipping wine in a daydream. It was kind of lonely here. The second elder was absent, and the only other person to talk to nearby was the boring first elder.

Damian was also absentmindedly chewing on food, his expression glazed with boredom. Observing him, Mehmed set his silverware down with a soft clink, leaning toward the blonde boy.

“Seems like your mind is elsewhere, Damian.”

“It’s nothing.”

Damian paused, meeting his father's gaze with a flicker of defiance before returning to his meal.

‘Wow, they’re so alike.’

Hakan was touched as she observed the scene. Appearance-wise, the boy bore no resemblance to his father. His blonde hair, jade eyes, and even delicate features were those of his mother. Yet demeanor-wise, he was wholly like his father.

She was disappointed. Mehmed was boring, and Damian seemed to be just as boring, which was unfortunate for her, though probably fortunate for the clan. Damian also seemed to be as talented as Mehmed had been in his youth.

She wanted to take her best friend’s son as a disciple to repay her debt to Maryam. But it seemed he would do well without her. Alas, the boy also didn’t meet her expectations. She disliked rigid people the most.

But what happened next surprised even Latrice, sitting at the farthest point at the table.

“Why would you do that!?”

Even Mehmed was taken aback.

The blood of black color squeezed out onto Damian’s plate. He coughed up another mouthful of blood and calmly wiped the blood on his lips with a napkin. Next, his skin started falling apart in decay as blood gushed out of his whole body.

Ajarsan, an unranked keeper. This creature was a living poison. Currently, it had infiltrated into Damian’s soul and was corrupting it, slowly taking over the body. It posed a great danger toward rank one seekers. It was deadly against awakeners who had not yet reached the first rank, and it meant certain death for a non-awakened.

Thus, Damian’s chance of survival, as a non-awakener, was - zero.

“Father,”

Damian calmly looked toward his father, with eyes wide open, blackened with blood.

Mehmed was beyond bewildered. He felt terror - for the first time in the past four years. He had sworn to himself, sworn to Mayram that he wouldn’t let this happen again. Feeling powerless, he was frozen in his place. There was absolutely nothing he could do.

Isla was shivering in her place as tears fell from her eyes. She was scared witless.

Murad was terrified. This wasn’t planned! They were supposed to slowly bring Hakan to their side and persuade Mehmed.

Despite the helplessness of the situation, Hakan was still searching her head for a solution. How could she look at Maryam's face in the afterlife if she let her son die.

Everybody was either frightened or confused, or both.

“Father!”

Mehmed finally came to his senses as he clenched Damian’s shoulders.

“Tell me!”

Arguably the strongest human on this island, Mehmed, was acting like a helpless baby. His usually commanding voice cracked as he grasped Damian’s shoulders tightly.

“Can I start-”

The pulp of blood and decayed skin coughed up another mouthful of blood as if it were nothing.

“-soul cultivating?”

“Eh?”

“CAN I?”

Mehmed was staggered, terrified, and mesmerized.

He didn’t have time to think as he gave an immediate response.

“Of course!”

“Haha.”

Damian’s lips curled into a grim smile. Fuck yeah! He knew this was the only way his father would give him permission. No amount of persuasion would work on him.

Damian was on the brink of collapse. He wanted to collapse. Damian’s soul was about to wither away. He wanted to wither away. Painful! So painful!

Damian tried his best to die! He didn’t want to live in this soul-wrenching agony!

Zero chances? Damian would definitely die. But that was Damian.

For Hellion, the chances of death from such a thing were - zero.

Why?

Simple. What was the battle between souls? Did one who had the most spiritual energy indefinitely win? No. Although that would usually be the case.

It also depended on the quality of the spiritual energy - soul power.

What is soul power you ask? That would mainly be willpower.

“Happy birthday! Motherfuckers.”

Damian and Ajarsan tried their best to kill the body, yet Hellion wouldn’t let go. That’s right, Ajarsan didn’t even try to conquer the body anymore. It also wanted to commit suicide and just die.

“Stop! I want to die!”

Damian screamed.

“Like hell you can die! Go fuck yourself!”

Damian screamed.

“BGHAAA!”

Ajarsan shrieked.

“Arghhhhh! It aches! It itches! Pain! Arghhhh!”

Damian cried.

“HAHAHAHA! This is life!”

Damian laughed. Crazily.

The people surrounding the table had long lost their ability to think. Latrice threw up. The first elder lost his consciousness.