Chapter 111 — The Castle's Mutation
He had wanted to ask earlier but never had the chance. Now, when Gideon offered, Lance simply nodded.
"If you can do it, then by all means."
Without another word, Gideon drew a bottle of ten-year holy water and hurled it straight into the center of the pool.
Crash!
The glass shattered perfectly against the hovering orb, dousing it in sanctified liquid. White smoke roiled through the chamber, smothering both the toxic haze and the black aura at once.
The very air trembled. Ripples spread across the walls as though reality itself was on the verge of breaking.
---
Far beneath the fortress, in a shadowed throne hall:
"Damn it! He has ten-year holy water?!"
The skeletal figure in black robes roared in fury, bony hands sweeping wide. More black miasma poured from its frame, flooding upward toward the palace ceiling.
---
Back in the cellar, Gideon noticed the surge. He stroked his chin, then calmly tossed out three more bottles of ten-year holy water.
"…Is he from the Vatican?" The robed skeleton thought bitterly. How else could he carry so many high-grade relics?
It was only a fragment, but even fragments of its power sat high in the hierarchy. Normally, nothing short of rare artifacts or tribal witchcraft could harm it.
And yet it had run headlong into this priest—loaded with enough sacred relics to choke a cathedral.
The skeleton had no choice but to burn its essence to maintain the illusion above.
Yes—the pool in the cellar was nothing more than its fabrication, a projection linked to the seals across the entire palace. All it needed was for humans to tamper with the seal, and its freedom would return.
It had waited centuries for this moment.
Now, on the brink of success, everything was being undone by a meddling church rat.
Hatred burned through its hollow sockets. It seared Gideon's image into memory.
"You will know suffering…"
The battle of wills raged between them, the cellar itself as the battlefield.
But as time passed, panic began to gnaw at the ancient specter. Too much! The priest had too much holy water. Did he loot the Church's treasury?
How could a mere priest—dressed like a wanderer—carry half a relic vault on his back?
The robed skeleton rose from its throne.
It had chosen this land precisely because it was remote, far from the Church's reach. It had only been trapped a century ago due to one mistake—a tribal sealing ritual.
In revenge, it had spent a hundred years crafting the Plague Zone. Today was meant to be the day it walked free.
And still, by chance, it had crossed paths with the Church again.
---
In the cellar, Gideon lobbed bottle after bottle. The more he threw, the more the air thickened with black miasma. To outsiders, it almost looked like he was feeding the evil.
The three hunters swallowed hard, throats tight with unease. They had no idea what the priest was doing, but none dared interfere.
They trusted he had a plan. That trust alone spared them disaster.
Through Gideon's eyes, the truth was clear—the evil aura was buckling, losing ground fast.
And then the enemy shifted tactics, flipping the illusion entirely, trying to convince the hunters he was strengthening the corruption.
"Trying to trick my companions into stopping me? They're not that stupid."
Gideon sneered, producing a single, rarer flask—holy water aged twenty years.
That changed everything.
"Church dog! Traitorous swine!" the skeleton howled.
"You've been plotting from the start!"
"The Kings of Solomon will rise, and your Church will drown in blood!"
But the moment the twenty-year holy water appeared, the specter knew this body was lost. It abandoned its clash, retracting all remaining aura. Its essence was pitifully thin now, and its skeletal frame rattled with phantom pain.
"Go, my child. Kill in my name."
Pooling the dregs of its power, it funneled everything into the cracks of the seal.
The chains around a pillar outside snapped apart. From the rift, a colossal black serpent slithered free, its forked tongue hissing through the air.
Ssssshhhk.
The shadow serpent writhed, then shot upward, leaving the underground in ruin.
Behind it, the throne crumbled into a heap of broken bones.
---
A few minutes earlier, Gideon's final bottle had struck.
With a faint crack, the illusion broke.
The pool vanished. In its place stretched a long corridor, leading deeper underground.
The hunters froze, stunned.
So it had all been a lie.
Lance shivered. The sheer power required to conjure such a deception chilled him to the bone. What manner of thing is sealed below…?
But before he could think further, the priest's calm voice rang out:
"Leave. Now."
Gideon stepped out of the cellar in the blink of an eye.
The three hunters' eyes widened—but without hesitation, they followed.
No sooner had they escaped than the floor began to quake, the tremors spreading through the entire fortress.
---
Outside the castle.
"Nias family, Walker family… those traps weren't ours."
Zod's tone was grave, forcing calm into his voice. Only three of his hounds remained by his side.
And across from him stood several powerful hunting parties, watching in silence.
Not long ago, when the Coopers had chosen to circle the fortress, they had stumbled right into one of the traps.
The loss of their remaining hounds was devastating.
And as if that weren't enough, the Cooper clan soon clashed with other hunting parties.
From the very first exchange, hostility blazed. No matter how Zod tried to explain, none of them believed him.
Worse still, the rival hunters managed to form a temporary alliance, uniting against the Coopers.
Outnumbered and outmatched, Zod had only one option—run.
But without their hounds, the Coopers weren't even as strong as some minor families. Inevitably, they were surrounded in the forest.
Just when Zod thought this would be their grave, a thunderous roar erupted from the distant fortress.
Every hunter froze and lifted their gaze.
The castle's roof blew open, sent hurtling into the sky.
From within, a colossal black serpent emerged, its massive form writhing as it shrieked at the heavens.
The piercing cry drove hunters to cover their ears in pain.
"What… what is that thing?!"
"Could the Trait be inside that monster?"
"Facing something like that… we'd all die!"
Fear thickened in every chest.
Then someone squinted at the chaos above. "Wait—that's… a person?"
Heads tilted skyward. Amid the falling debris, a shadow flitted between chunks of stone. A black silhouette—moving, alive.
"There is someone up there!"
"Hold tight, both of you."
Gideon grabbed Lance and Rafe, shoving them together. Before they could object, he kicked off the ground and sent them plummeting downwards.
A breath later, his form vanished—only to reappear beside Sadie, who was tumbling in freefall.
Her eyes widened in terror as she suddenly felt an arm catch her. Instinctively, she clung to him.
Warmth pressed against her, but Gideon had no time to dwell. Like lifting a kitten, he hooked her collar and aimed toward a broad slab of stone below.
"Don't—! Gideon, I'm afraid of heights!" Sadie shrieked, thrashing her head desperately.
But his grip didn't falter. As he flung her outward, he muttered, "You should lose some weight."
"Gideon—"
"Black—"
"I—"
"Hate—"
"You!!"
Her voice trailed off as she crashed into the distance.
Gideon only shrugged and vanished once more.
Using Holy Step, he darted across the sky, leaping from falling stones, ferrying the three hunters safely to the ground.
Boom. Boom.
The earth quaked as debris rained down.
Hunters on the ground threw themselves flat until the dust cleared.
When they looked up, four new figures stood before them.
Two men clung to each other, white-knuckled. A woman lay upside-down in a thicket, limbs tangled in leaves.
And only the priestly figure stood tall, brushing the dust from his robes with calm dignity.
All of it—done in seconds.