Chapter 9: The Dark Wizard's Spell

Most creatures, with every step or slight movement, cause tiny ripples in the air. Even the T'lan Imass, which can completely merge into water or turn into ashes to travel thousands of miles and then reassemble, are no exception. But there are always things that are different, undetectable by spells developed based on this principle, such as the gaze of an unknown existence, as mentioned by the Inquisitor behind him.

The old candles burned with flickering flames while the dancing shadows leaped from one burgundy carpet to another. This musty corridor was quiet, yet it was filled with strange magic power everywhere, as if it was alive.

Perhaps it truly is alive?

Salser pondered gloomily. I've been scurrying like a rat for countless years, and now I'm following a—scorcher who only knows how to smash through the front doors of heretics and slay any breathing soul within—to play an adventure in a house that resembles a pile of tumors?

Gods know what lurks within.

Even the peasant woman know—a newly reborn dark wizard is the most vulnerable dark wizard. In this world, the casting of advanced spells usually involves opening a door within oneself—a door to other dimensions, or 'Warrens'. Priests draw energy from where the gods dwell, mages draw energy from Warrens open to humans, and dark wizards... dark wizards are the same as mages: the Warrens of evil gods are open to all species, but they inevitably erode the soul of the caster.

The biggest problem is that if the 'door' is opened too wide, the caster will be devoured by the door itself. For a newly reborn dark wizard, they can only open a tiny slit. As a result, the energy drawn from the Warren is even less than that consumed by casting spells with souls.

However, the predicament remains that my soul reserves are also pitifully low at present.

Salser could hardly suppress his irritation.—If only I could come back a few years later, I could also be like the Forkrul in this cat's memory, eradicating all these accursed haunted houses and the little bastards lurking within, rather than engaging in a game of hide-and-seek with them in their own lair!

The deeper they walked into the corridor, the stranger its structure became. In this seemingly endless old passage, thick burgundy curtains, footprints on the red carpet, dim candlelight, old teddy bears, mahogany tables, and locked cabinets were all covered with a thin layer of dust. The path underfoot sometimes felt like a slide going down, sometimes like a steep slope going up, the straight line at the entrance turned into a winding curve, and there are abrupt forks everywhere. Thus—narrow, wide, curved, straight corridors formed into a dizzying maze like a spider web.

This silent house is like a dream, of course, a nightmare.

Under the spell vision, the low ceiling was oppressive, and the blue candlelight casted an ominous glow on the corridor. Soul imprints filled with fear and despair emanate from the corners, the walls were covered with black mold, and there were long streaks of blood and hand prints, as if no one ever bothered to clean them, just left them to fade at will. 

"Has that gaze appeared again?" As they advanced through the corridor, after a while, Salser asked again.

"You've bugged me with this crap three damn times, and it's still—not yet. Why don't you just hurl yourself out the window? Would splattering on the ground shut you up?"

As she said this, Jeanne's fingers were tightly pressing on the hilt of her sword.

The Inquisitor's beautiful golden hair was dusty, her face equally dirty, as if she had rolled in a pile of dirt, only her flickering eyes were still vigilantly scanning the surroundings. Although her wounds had healed under the spell, her shattered armor was beyond repair. The soft jet-black shirt, which originally fit her body well, was now full of messy creases and tears, her forearms exposed, and the curve of her pale abdomen clearly visible.

"Do you think I've survived this long by accident?" The Dark wizard replied to her in a casual tone.

"I'm really keen on how you can off yourself quick," she said sarcastically, "And sure as hell, without dragging my soul down to the lowest Warren with you."

If my contract were as flimsy as to be easily torn asunder, why would I have gone through the arduous task of extracting it from the Warren of the Outer Gods and compelled you to affix your signature to it?

Salser narrowed his eyes and looked at her for a while, and Jeanne met his gaze with the same mocking eyes. After a moment, he turned his head away, too lazy to point out that 'the Inquisitor's mood is no better than him'.

......

"We're here, the dining area is behind this door, and there's another door behind it, which leads to the kitchen," the black cat squatted down in front of an old wooden door and told them.

"My spell indicates the presence of an invisible entity guarding the door," Salser informed Jeanne, "I propose we simply retrace our steps and return by the path we originally took."

"Damn it, why can't you just croak?" Jeanne cursed him hoarsely, "My gut's on fire, screaming at me—if I don't get some food in me soon, I'm gonna keel over right here."

"Oh, fret not, Lady Jeanne, for I am your devoted guardian knight, capable of carrying you to safety with utmost care."

His exact thought was—how does your hunger concern me? In any case, I merely require a small portion of soul essence to fulfill my rudimentary needs, so why hasten to inform the Master of the house—hey, I just strolled through your kitchen?

"Charge in, wipe out every threat, and swiftly exit with the food—do you have any objections?" Jeanne inhaled deeply, unsheathed her pitch-black long sword, and firmly clasped it in her palms. The shadowy blade seemed even more ominous than the corridor itself. Her words were imbued with an unyielding resolve, a commanding tone typically wielded by those in authority, "Salser Bettrafio, I ain't interested in your past life, but right now, you're my guardian knight—the Inquisitor's word is law."

Pah! Fuck off with your guardian knight!

Muttering a curse under his breath, the Dark wizard's lips twisted into a grotesque smile as he said, "I'll obliterate the door and that invisible entity in one fell swoop, then ready the next spell. Can you, in the interim, charge in and fend off the enemies within?"

Jeanne turned her head sharply and stared at him.

"If you even think about bolting, you damn well know what's coming to you, don't you?"

Salser snorted, "I've got it, no need for redundancy."  After speaking, he took a step forward, looked towards the door and the direction of the transparent creature, and raised his right hand.

The heavy darkness engulfed the air, making this space even more viscous.

Colors disappeared, only black and white lines could be seen, sounds disappeared, only the heartbeat could be heard—a heavy and slow heartbeat, like the echo of the sufferer repeatedly beating on the drum made of his own skin in the illusion when the Dark wizard and the Inquisitor signed the contract.

The gloomy, dark power oscillated repeatedly, the walls began to peel, as if shedding a layer of ash, the old wooden door started to rotate and twist with a piercing, heart-wrenching creak, like a cleaning rag being wrung dry.

The transparent creature, whatever it was, let out a heart-wrenching scream, like a hundred tuberculosis patients gasping in pain at the same time. Its whole body suffered the same fate as the wooden door: like a rag, it was savagely twisted into outrageous angles. Bones, internal organs, limbs, muscles—if it had any, were all torn and twisted in agony, the same transparent body fluids splattered everywhere, splashing all over the walls and carpet.

 

"You really need to call out the Shadow Throne's hounds just to chase down a friggin' rabbit?" Jeanne taunted him. 

"How am I to gauge the magical resistance of this thing? Can you just hurry up and and proceed to confront the monsters within?"

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