"Don't be afraid!"
But when the Lord of the Dead gave his scroll a flick, Scela, Kioris, and Mikhael all felt as if they'd plunged from a raging fever straight into a frozen hell.
They couldn't control the fear that gripped their bodies.
Even as they cursed their own cowardice deep in their hearts, they couldn't break free of the suffocating dread.
If this kept going, they were all going to die here.
Whoosh—
Suddenly, Don appeared before them.
A wave of powerful Nen aura surged outward from him, parting the overwhelming pressure coming from the "Lord of the Dead" like Moses parting the sea.
Only then did Scela and the other demi-humans begin gasping desperately for air, as if life had returned to their control.
Don didn't waste time comforting them.
He flipped open an ancient book — yellowed and brittle, not the same one he had used before — and began writing with a feather quill.
The moment he wrote a few strokes, the dozen or so "Dead Spirits" shuddered violently.
The blue glow that had cloaked them faded completely, and then — clack clack clack — they crumbled into scattered bones that clattered to the ground.
Don's pen danced across the pages again.
A grotesque mass of flesh blocking the path ahead exploded with a loud bang, bursting into blood and gore and clearing a wide passageway.
From the shadows, the "Lord of the Dead" strode toward him with heavy, resounding steps.
"Emission type…" Don analyzed calmly. "Able to conjure spirit-beasts like the Dead Spirits and control them."
His gaze then turned to the other side.
There — just as he had anticipated — the "Prophet of Lies" appeared.
Like the Lord of Dead, the Prophet was a massive figure — towering like a small mountain. But unlike his counterpart, his form resembled that of a shackled, hunched old man.
Floating eerily in front of him were three massive, shattered wooden slabs, each engraved with incomprehensible symbols.
The Prophet grinned, revealing a mouth full of rotted teeth.
Then he laughed — loud, unhinged, echoing.
His maniacal cackling reverberated across the blood-soaked reeds and the ancient labyrinthine fortress. Everyone who heard it felt a chill in their bones.
And then it happened.
All the demi-humans who had been subjected to the Prophet's constant whispers — a month of endless psychological corruption — completely broke down.
They turned on their allies.
Screaming in madness, they raised their weapons and began attacking their own comrades.
Some had already lunged toward Scela, Kioris, and Mikhael.
"Manipulation type…" Don made his second deduction. "He can control people with mere words… even inanimate objects cannot escape his influence…"
Don hadn't even finished speaking when he noticed a looming shadow above.
Several massive cubical stone pillars—remnants of an ancient labyrinth—descended straight from the sky, guided by the "Prophecy" ability of the Prophet of Lies.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Calm and composed, Don quickly scribbled brushstroke-like script into his book.
The power he invoked shattered the falling stone pillars in mid-air, breaking them into fist-sized fragments that scattered harmlessly to the ground.
But the Lord of the Undead and the Prophet of Lies weren't the final major-type creatures appearing today.
"Ah—"
A piercing scream broke the air.
Don turned his head just in time to see Scela—the one who had just been discussing the layout inside and outside the Ancient Labyrinth castle with him—thrown into a boiling cauldron of oil.
Standing before the giant cauldron was a grotesque, goblin-like, obese woman—another major-type creature known only as The Old Witch.
Without hesitation, The Old Witch had snatched Scela and tossed him into the scalding pot right in front of her.
As Scela's agonizing screams echoed, The Old Witch casually pulled out a wooden ladle, scooped up some broth from the oil, sipped it, then chuckled darkly.
Kioris and Mikhael immediately panicked and tried to rescue Scela.
They rushed to overturn the cauldron—only for The Old Witch to pull out a massive hammer and smash them all away like flies.
BOOM—
Just as one disaster struck, another erupted.
A section of the labyrinth castle's wall was obliterated by a cannon blast.
The cannon itself was moving—pushed forward shockingly by several small, fleshy, monstrous creatures.
The Sixteen-Pounder Cannon raised its barrel once more and fired another explosive round, reducing yet another stretch of wall to rubble.
This time, the collapsing stones buried Kioris and Mikhael—still reeling from being hammered away by The Old Witch.
"A Enhancement-Type creature... The Old Witch," Don muttered, brows furrowed beneath his hood. "An Emission-Type creature... Sixteen-Pounder Cannon. This place is basically a monster festival."
He traced a few more swift strokes in his book.
And with a soft whoosh, Scela suddenly flew out of The Old Witch's boiling cauldron, as if an invisible hand had snatched him up and flung him safely behind the battlefield.
Scela wasn't dead.
He had used Nen to shield his entire body.
Though his skin was covered in blisters and his condition looked absolutely horrific, he was still barely clinging to life.
Crawling out from beneath the rubble and scattered gravel, Kioris and Mikhael immediately rushed over to rescue Scela.
And Don's bold move naturally drew the attention of all four massive mutant creatures — including the infamous "Old Witch."
The "Lord of the Dead," the "Prophet of Lies," the "Old Witch," and the "Sixteen-Pound Cannon" all turned their focus toward Don, encircling him.
It looked exactly like how the grotesque flesh monsters had surrounded the ancient labyrinth fortress just a month ago.
Don took a deep breath.
He wasn't sure what to do next.
Then suddenly, his heart skipped a beat.
He instinctively looked up — toward the distant sky.
A single black dot tore through the despairing sky, screaming as it descended!
*******
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