Chapter 19: The Creeping Fog

In the dark fog, Salser's emotionless gaze fell upon the anomaly in the dream—the woman with severed legs struggling in her place.

What a pity.

If not for the danger that had not yet passed, if not for the lack of a specialized containment vessel, he would definitely have taken this thing back to his laboratory.—The value of this entity, whether for analyzing its composition, studying its physiological characteristics, using it as experimental material, or even exchanging it among dark wizards, was quite considerable.

Of course, the premise was that his laboratory still existed.

Before that hasty reincarnation, to prevent his research materials, experimental subjects, and achievements from becoming spoils of war for the Empire, and to avoid the Empire using his experiment records to specifically hunt him down, the Dark wizard had detonated his laboratory with explosives made by the black Moranth. Every inch of it was completely shattered into irretrievable dust, also incidentally killing many of the pursuing hound units.

If he could follow Jeanne back to the Holy City, the first thing he would do is building a sufficiently hidden laboratory.

As for the Inquisitor's opinion—did he need to ask the Inquisitor's opinion for his dark wizard experiments? He might as well drag this woman down to the lowest Warren.

Then, he tightened his grip on the sword hilt, shook his head, and turned away.

"I don't think the hounds and Hood's priests will get along with us once they enter this Warren, especially when—the method of leaving here might even have to be obtained from them," Salser said as he walked, "Before things get out of hand, I need to deal with the master of this house, then use the materials here to complete the initial mutation of my body, so I can open the doors to the few Warrens connected to my memory."

"So I'm going to witness the growth of a dark wizard here? That feels really disgusting," Jeanne tapped the hilt of the sword in her palm, her expression not looking good, "I should have taken the opportunity to perform a purification ritual while you were weak."

"You can consider it your first experience," Salser turned his head, narrowed his eyes, and his pursed lips carried a mocking smile, "Everyone has a first time, don't you think?"

This seemed to make Jeanne extremely uncomfortable, and her face showed clear irritation. "—Can I consider this as you are flirting with me? Has your low-brow taste overflowed to such an unconcealable extent? Should I drag that woman with severed legs over to help you with your physiological needs?" She paused, lightly flicked her fingertips on the blade as if regaining self-control, "By the way, is that evil contract of yours refundable and exchangeable? Is it too late for me to regret now?"

"That’s a good roar, corpse burner."

Salser raised his eyebrows: "As for the contract—its final interpretation belongs to the ancient dark wizards who created the spell, and its administrator is one of the incarnations of the Door's Key. Neither you nor I have the right to tear it up. Do you need me to tell you the ritual to contact this Outer God?"

"......No need." Jeanne's expression turned even worse.

A muffled chewing sound came from the distance.

Perhaps, because it felt strange; perhaps, because of the long period he spent in his weaken form walking in such a place that led to irritation. Salser expanded his spiritual vision to look into the distance.

The muffled chewing sound was only the prelude, very faint, if not for the Dark wizard's perception spell, normal people would never hear this gentle, fragmented echo. Then, an unpleasant strong stench quietly drifted over, like a swollen corpse burping in their face, maggots prying open the host's throat, vomiting all the rotten substances in its belly. The smell choked the Dark wizard's deep breathing like poison gas, dispelling the fresh moisture of the wetland, making him almost want to suffocate.

Salser grabbed Jeanne's arm, "Don't go forward for now," he said in a lowered voice, "Stay quiet."

The Inquisitor almost stabbed him with her sword.

The dark sky began to squirm, like a wet mold stuck to the sticky jelly, the illusory night was dark and gloomy, suddenly covered by dense protrusions like a fine carpet, and with the rustling wind, a damp stench mixed with the wetland's moisture spread. The wind grew louder, like something flapping its wings.

Then, he saw a shade darker than the black canvas, an intangible, living, bizarre and hideous fog, like a black pond covered with water plants. In the movement of the fog, he saw some unimaginable dream anomalies fall into it, and then—their outlines softened, melted, like falling into a strong acid pool, gradually dissolving.

The dark wizard remembered an ancient magic book—it should now be stored in the Empire's archives.

"Truth above... the Creeping Fog..." Salser was almost suffocated, who would want to personally contact these Outer Gods except for those crazy cultists? Even if it was just an incarnation!

"—What is that?" Jeanne covered her nose with one hand, her voice somewhat muffled.

"Never mind what it is," Salser said to her in a low voice, "Although I'm sure my concealment spell is useless against it, it has nothing to do with us, it's just passing by."

Just like the dark wizard said, the fog quickly moved away. It squirmed towards a farther place with the suffocating stench, completely disappearing from their sight.

"Let's hurry up," Salser let go of Jeanne's arm. He had grabbed it tightly, leaving a few finger marks on her skin—a few white lines faithfully outlined these traces, "Who knows what else might pass by here."

Jeanne shook her slightly painful arm. Although the Inquisitor wanted to comment on this, even curse, but in the end, she changed the subject: "What exactly is the Creeping Fog?"

"I've read a certain magic book written by dark elves, the information says it's one of the incarnations of the Thousand-Faces God," he said, "It's said that this thing moves in a Warren related to dreams, but honestly, I haven't paid attention to the information about this Warren. As for the Creeping Fog itself... besides that thing being a stinking moving fog, the book didn't mention much else."

...

They continued to follow the black cat's footsteps with the black canvas stretching endlessly forward.

Beyond the wetland, on a plain as flat as wooden boards, all sorts of bizarre things were scattered everywhere.—Faceless hunters with limbs and heads in the wrong places, crawling on the ground with longbows on their backs. Female priests with their facial features sewn shut, lying on the ground chanting softly. A fat man with his skin pulled up by hooks, his neck embedded with a rabbit doll's head, gnawing on a pile of eyeballs with many cockroach legs. They didn't pay much attention to these, just walked past them without looking back.

Since these were just outlines drawn with white lines, it wasn't too disgusting.

Of course, that was the Dark wizard's opinion; it was hard to say what Jeanne thought.

So, next to a door that was indescribable... covered in freaky scribbles, standing alone in the center of the plain, the cat stopped.

"Is this it?"

"This is the door to Master's room, but I've never been inside," it said.

"Stay here for a while," Salser finally turned his gaze to it—or her, saying, "After we deal with things here, I can fulfill your wish. I always respect the contract, no matter whose it is."

He dragged his sword towards the door, and noticed that a thin black fog was constantly seeping out from the bottom of the door.

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