Chapter 17: The Black Nursery Rhyme

He and Jeanne walked through a spacious banquet hall, hidden under spells that erased their sounds, scents, and forms. The hall was bustling with noise, filled with guests indulging in wine and song, cheering in this haunted house of a ghost town, clapping, dancing, and merrily drinking and feasting. On the clean white tablecloths, the rows of orange candle flames cast a vibrant glow on the guests, also highlighting their frenzied movements. Some guests with poor liquor tolerance even turned red and fell to the ground, looking no different from the dead, only to stand up again as if nothing had happened and continue the banquet.

The drummer struck the skin drum, the beats were like hammers on the listener's heart, causing a frenzy of hot blood to burst in the chest and brain. The drumming seemed to ignite an invisible flame, making the room even more vibrant, like a feast painted by a painter serving the nobility with their frivolous and gorgeous colors.

Suddenly, an elegantly dressed adult man jumped up, his familiar face surprising Salser; he had seen this face in a portrait in the dining area—perhaps he was once the master of this house. He ran to the center of the room, spun around, his face wearing a smile that seemed like it would never drop.

Then, a woman of similar age also jumped up, visibly pregnant but as thin as a reed, her long neck seemingly about to snap with a slight twist. However, her spinning movements were as composed as the man's.

A childish voice sang from within her belly, tinkling as a silver bell:

—Mother, don't run anymore,

—It's time, we should fly,

—After you remarry, with your new child!

—Fly out of the castle, out of the window,

—Out of the prison that holds me.

The pregnant woman spun rapidly, like leaves caught in a whirlwind, like a spinning top blurred by whipping. The man also sang, using a shrill voice that was uncharacteristic of a normal man:

—Father is in the seven heavens,

—Racing like the lighting,

—Oh dear, my little darling!

—Father wears the little leather shoes mother gave him,

—Made of sheepskin,

—Truly finely crafted!

—Finer than my bow tie,

—Give them to me,

—Along with your feet!

The Dark wizard, accompanied by Jeanne, navigated through the gaps in the crowd, his hand firmly grasping the long sword at his side—as a precaution. Fog swirled around their feet, lingering in the yellow candlelight like a dirty cloak.

More and more people began to spin.

An elderly man with graying hair, nearing the end of his life, leaped and danced like a puppet, raising his arms aloft and kicking his withered legs high. He suddenly bent over, then abruptly straightened his back, akin to a young man driven to madness or a spring wound tightly with wire. At the same time, he shouted with all his might with a voice like a saw on wood:

—Poor Elaine, poor Elaine,

—Come, jump, dance,

—Possessed, possessed!

—Come, come! Woo!

Everyone began to dance, but not in any conventional 'couple dance' or 'solo dance'; they simply spun in rows, spinning madly. Perhaps this would last all day, perhaps until they all fell apart.

In his childhood, occasionally, after hearing his father telling him terrifying folktales, he would have such fairy tale-like, irrational, and delirious nightmares.

"Inquisitor, what is your interpretation of this?" Salser looked around at the scene before him, "Some special folk ritual?"

Glancing over the banquet, Jeanne looked disgustedly at the frenzied guests. Slowly, she replied, "I believe you've spent too much time in your laboratory, Dark wizard. Ain't no such folk ritual, unless it's a mad cultist's banquet. And this place is too disgusting; if it weren't for the bad timing, I would certainly take it upon myself to execute the Master here, burning it at the stake for three days until it repent."

"Could you perhaps discuss something other than burning people?" he said casually, his gaze sweeping through the gaps in the crowd, pondering where to pass without touching these frenzied dancers.

The speed of the dance increased, like countless whirlwinds, they were not dancing as humans, but some force made them spin rapidly to the point where their faces were barely visible. Their hair stood up, their clothes puffed up from the wind, and they became blurred white pillars. A chaotic mix of the songs, the  giggles, the screams and the madness of these people, as if they were not singing, laughing, or shouting, but someone else was singing for them, laughing for them, shouting for them.

Wine spilled all over the floor, glass bottles shattered, fragments were stepped on, pus and blood flowed out, mixing with the wine, emitting a rotten stench.

They danced until they convulsed, danced until they foamed at the mouth, as if possessed by ghosts. Some fell to the ground with a thud, glass shards piercing their eyes, white liquid flowing out, barely catching their breath before standing up again to continue dancing, spinning rapidly with eye fluid spilling out, merging into the same white.

"Let me think... how to effectively bust a dark wizard's concealment spell?"

Salser turned his head, looked at her seriously to confirm how much malice was in the Inquisitor's expression.

"Let's discuss the topic of burning people then, starting with whether you've ever experienced being burned." He shrugged.

"I've been burned before, when I was just a kid," she said indifferently.

"Eh?"

The Dark wizard looked at Jeanne in surprise, and Jeanne looked back at him. After a moment, "Red Death—have you heard of this term?" Jeanne said to him expressionlessly.

"I possess some knowledge on the matter; you burn cultists, while they burn everyone, including themselves,"

"You've got the gist of it," she replied, "I'd rather not delve into specifics, but over a decade ago, I was pulled out from a burning wreckage by the servants of the Lord—the Steel Magistrates."

Steel Magistrates...

Salser didn't respond further. He turned around, slowly inhaled a breath of cold air. The breath spread to his internal organs. Then he shuddered. For spellcasters associated with Outer Gods, this profession was far more terrifying than the Empress's hounds. Gods know what those people thought of when transforming themselves into such monsters... forget it, their faction of dark wizards wasn't in a position to criticize the Steel Magistrates.

After a moment, they stopped at the exit of the banquet hall, following Viola. The corridor was empty. Salser looked up at the open door, narrowed his eyes slightly to see... what exactly separated the corridor from the hall.

The cat told them the Master of the house was ahead, so it was not surprising that it would take some precautions. As for why it couldn't leave the room—the Dark wizard guessed it might be related to the rules of the Warren itself.

The thing covering the exit of the hall looked like a shadow, or a curled-up darkness, so dark that even the dim candlelight in the hall seemed like daylight. Against this dark background, a slightly irregular, not very clear gray silhouette trembled slightly, like a small piece scooped from moldy black cheese.

"There isn't a corridor behind here, but... something even stranger, however only by going through here can we reach Master's room," the cat said, "There's no other entrance, even if you break the wall, it's just another normal corridor behind it."

"I believe we still have the option to turn back now," Salser took a step back, "This thing gives me a very bad feeling."

Jeanne directly placed her sword on his neck.

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