The players' descriptions of Valen in her past life had been sickening enough.
But seeing him with her own eyes, she realized those descriptions had been far too conservative.
It was a twisted, bloated man's face, forcefully grafted onto the top of a writhing mound of flesh.
Beneath the face, countless arms, thighs, torsos, and semi-decayed heads were stitched together with thick black thread, forming a giant serpent of corpses.
It slowly dragged across the floor, leaving a slick, sticky brown trail.
Some of the limbs, which belonged to different deceased individuals, were already black with rot, while others had fingertips that still twitched unconsciously.
He was far larger and more disgusting than the Valen she had imagined.
She wanted to vomit, but she couldn't.
What would the original Isolde do?
That madwoman would only view the monstrosity before her as the world's greatest masterpiece.
Isolde clenched her fists, using the pain in her palms to force down the rising nausea.
By the time she looked up again, the horror in her eyes had morphed into a near-obsessive fanaticism.
She took a step forward, pushing her acting skills to their absolute limit.
“My great father, you... have become even more perfect.”
The moment she uttered those words, her own scalp tingled with disgust.
Fortunately, Valen was pleased. The face atop the mound of flesh turned toward her, a look of satisfaction appearing in his cloudy eyes.
“Isolde, my good daughter,” his voice boomed through the study. “Come, come closer.”
Isolde took a step forward. With every stride, she could feel sticky threads of slime pulling at the soles of her shoes.
Valen's massive body coiled in the center of the study, like an altar built from corpses.
Isolde's fingers curled slightly inside her sleeves. She constantly reminded herself:
Endure it!
Do not vomit, do not shake!
And absolutely do not let this walking stitched monstrosity realize she isn't the original!
Valen lowered his head, his bloated face hovering mere inches from hers.
The rancid stench of decay washed over her, and Isolde nearly choked.
Keeping her breathing light and shallow, she raised her eyes, filling her gaze with nothing but pure admiration.
“Father,” she said aloud, “did you summon me because you have a new masterpiece for me to admire?”
She felt like giving herself an award after that line.
As expected of the mad beauty's body, her professional acting skills were top-notch.
A low chuckle rumbled in Valen's throat, causing the entire corpse serpent to tremble slightly.
Several eyeballs embedded in the seams of his flesh shifted and rolled from the movement.
“Isolde, my good daughter, you always understand me best.”
Isolde sneered inwardly.
I don't want to understand you at all. Whoever wants this "blessing" can have it.
Valen dragged his massive body toward the desk, his tail sweeping across the floor and knocking over several glass jars.
The jars shattered, spilling cloudy liquid across the floor. A broken piece of an unidentified spine rolled to Isolde's feet, but she didn't even blink.
The original Isolde wouldn't be afraid of such things; she would only find them lacking in perfection.
Yes! She had to capture the core essence of Isolde's personality.
Thus, she looked down, her tone even carrying a hint of regret.
“The power loss in this bone is far too severe. What a pity.”
The smile on Valen's face widened. “Yes, too weak.”
His massive body rose and fell slightly, dark red fluid oozing from the seams of his flesh.
“I need more bodies. Stronger arms, a more intact heart, and a skeleton better suited to bear my power.”
He turned to look at Isolde.
“My daughter, you must put on that white dress again, just like before, and pretend to be a pitiful noble girl imprisoned in this castle.”
“Cry weakly, look frightened.”
“Let them believe they are heroes who have come to rescue you.”
As he spoke, he seemed to find it amusing, a raspy chuckle squeezing from his throat.
“They always fall for it.”
Isolde lowered her eyes, her voice tinged with mockery.
“People love to believe they are heroes. It is truly laughable.”
Valen looked at her with satisfaction and continued, “Once they reach the banquet hall, I will prepare a grand feast for them.”
Ah, the "Valen's Blood Banquet" that the players in her past life often spoke of.
The surviving players had mentioned that the first party wipe in this dungeon was because they had fallen for Isolde's plea for help.
They thought the beautiful, delicate girl was a quest NPC, completely unaware that she was the deadliest bait in the dungeon.
But now, the hook had a different core. It was hard to say who was fishing whom.
Isolde looked up, a morbid excitement shining in her eyes.
“Please rest assured, Father. I will select the most perfect materials for you.”
“Whether it is skin, bone, or soul, I will strictly filter them for you.”
Valen grew even more pleased. He thoroughly enjoyed the emotional validation Isolde provided.
But just as his massive body shifted slightly, Isolde's gaze suddenly locked onto something.
Deep within that mound of flesh, near the third vertebra of his spine, a silver-white light flashed briefly, like moonlight obscured by filthy blood.
But she had seen it clearly.
It was the Silver-White Core—Valen's true weakness.
Isolde immediately averted her gaze, pretending to admire the newly stitched beast claw on his shoulder.
Completely oblivious, Valen merely swished his tail in irritation. A few stitches tore open, and dark red fluid trickled down the seams of his flesh.
“The recent stitches are becoming increasingly unstable,” Valen said, his tone chilling. “These low-grade parts cannot withstand my power, and the force of decay has begun to reject the new flesh.”
Isolde asked submissively, “Do you need me to restitch it for you?”
“Not yet,” Valen said. “Soon, high-quality parts will be delivered. Once the fusion is successful, my power will reach the next level.”
He looked down at her. “When the time comes, you will assist me. I must briefly strip away a portion of my protective wards to complete the fusion.”
Isolde barely held back a laugh.
Good grief, isn't he practically handing me the perfect opportunity to strike?
But she could not let her true emotions show.
Isolde was supposed to be fanatical and ecstatic, as if she had just heard a divine oracle and couldn't wait to kneel and sing praises to his greatness.
So she looked up, a morbid light shining in her eyes, her voice trembling slightly. “It is my absolute honor that you are willing to let me participate in such a grand ritual, Father.”
Valen's face drew close to hers, his cloudy eyes staring at her for what felt like an eternity.
At that moment, cold sweat nearly broke out across Isolde's back.
Had he seen through me?
Valen was no ordinary mob that could be killed in one strike.
Having lived for so many years and successfully turned this entire castle into his nest, he was definitely highly intelligent. If she had slipped up in even a single sentence just now, he might have dismantled her and put her back together.
The study fell so silent that the only sound was the dripping of slime.
After a moment, Valen smiled. “My Isolde, you are indeed still so devout.”
Isolde smiled along with him, her expression gentle yet sick, while only one thought ran through her mind.
Damn it, I really thought I was about to be dismantled and rebuilt.
Valen's voice sank again. “This time, I want better materials. Do not bring in useless trash like you did last time.”
Isolde's eyes darkened slightly. In her past life, she had heard words like that far too often, and they had long since triggered a reflexive disgust in her.
Now that these words were coming from Valen's mouth, it unexpectedly placed them in the same camp.
Good. He had directly touched her sore spot.
Then they all deserved to die.
Rate on N.U.
