The Dungeon

Ronid gritted his teeth, his eyes flashing with venomous malice.

“The next time we meet, I will make you wish you were dead! I’ll let you hold onto that girl for now.”

Bai Xuan spoke calmly, a trace of mockery in his voice.

“Want to run? Are you abandoning your deer? Oh, I forgot, it's already dying anyway.”

Ronid looked down at the black deer twitching in a pool of blood. Without a shred of pity in his eyes, he coldly spat out a few words.

“Useless thing.”

Without another moment of hesitation, he waved his staff to channel his shadow magic.

The shadow beneath his feet instantly spread like liquid, enveloping his entire body.

He then slowly sank into the ground, leaving behind only a patch of black water-like stain on the surface.

The puddle of black water moved rapidly like a living thing, vanishing from sight in the blink of an eye.

Bai Xuan turned to look at Phoebe, who was trapped inside the Shadow Prison, and spoke.

“You did great. Rest here for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he shattered the cage with a Redemption Strike.

Then, with a flash of his body, he gave chase like a gust of wind.

Without Phoebe and her heavy giant axe slowing him down, his speed was astonishingly fast, nearly turning into a blur.

However, he did not rush straight ahead. Instead, he trailed far behind the black water, maintaining a safe distance.

He stealthily tracked Ronid, careful not to alert him.

Entirely focused on escaping, Ronid was completely unaware that a pair of eyes was watching his every move from behind.

He fled in a panic all the way until he reached a sparse forest, where his mana was finally completely depleted.

The shadows enveloping his body instantly dispersed, and he slowly emerged from the ground.

Leaning weakly against a tree trunk with unsteady steps, he could no longer support himself.

He hurriedly fumbled a dark red potion out of his shirt, uncorked it, and drank it down in one gulp.

His pale face gradually regained a hint of color, and his breathing steadied slightly.

Gasping for air, he held his staff, which had long since lost its former luster and turned dull and lifeless.

The gold-rimmed glasses on his face were covered in dust and dirt, making him look increasingly disheveled.

Ronid slowly slid down to sit by the tree roots, closing his eyes to regulate his breathing for a good while before finally managing to suppress the restless thing inside his body.

His mental state recovered slightly as well.

Slowly opening his eyes, which were filled with frustration and venom, he muttered a curse.

“Damn it! I should have just finished them off quickly back then. How did I end up in this state?”

“Next time, I will definitely slaughter that brat first, and then properly 'refine' that girl!”

He slowly stood up and carefully got his bearings.

Then he squatted down and quickly drew a simple magic circle on the ground.

The moment the magic circle took shape, a faint black ripple slowly spread outward, scanning the surroundings for any activity.

After confirming there was no anomaly nearby, he let out a sigh of relief and walked briskly toward a hidden path, his figure quickly vanishing deep into the forest.

Bai Xuan slowly poked his head out from behind a tree, staring deeply at Ronid's departing back, a thoughtful glint passing through his eyes.

...

Carson woke up from the darkness, his back burning with an intense, searing pain.

Several of his ribs were broken, and every breath felt like a blade repeatedly twisting in his chest.

He slowly opened his eyes. The dim light of an oil lamp flickered on the rough stone walls, casting a series of twisted, grotesque shadows.

The air was thick with a heavy smell of blood and rot, the pungent stench assaulting his nostrils.

His stomach churned violently, and it was only with great effort that he managed to keep from throwing up.

He pushed against the ground to sit up, causing the iron chains on his wrists to immediately clank loudly.

The chafed flesh was violently tugged, and blood trickled down his wrists, dripping onto the stone floor.

He gritted his teeth tightly, and only after the piercing pain subsided slightly did he slowly lift his head to survey his surroundings.

It turned out he was locked in an iron cage.

The iron bars were already rusted, and the ground was covered with a layer of withered straw.

The straw was stained with dark brown blood, though it was impossible to tell how long ago it had been left there.

Outside the cage was a narrow corridor, with more cages lining both sides.

Some held prisoners, while others were empty, with only rusted bars standing in the gloom.

His gaze fell upon the cage next door.

A few young girls were curled up in the corner, their clothes in tatters, their exposed skin covered in bruises and scars. They lay there completely motionless.

It was unclear whether they had fallen into a deep sleep or had already drawn their last breaths.

Carson slowly shifted his gaze to the surrounding walls and floor.

Dark red veins spread out like living blood vessels, weaving into a complex pattern he had never seen before.

Certain parts of the patterns still glowed with a faint, eerie light, pulsing slowly as if they were alive.

It was a magic circle.

He had seen similar circles back in the White family, but none possessed the eerie, unsettling aura of the one before him.

Carson closed his eyes, and fragments of his capture flickered through his mind in fits and starts, piecing together like scattered puzzle pieces.

...

At the time, he had been behind Bai Xuan.

He had watched Bai Xuan's figure disappear into the night before turning to walk back.

He wanted to go to the slums to find the family of the missing child and continue investigating the whereabouts of the lost children.

He had just come out of one household.

Their child had also gone missing. The child's mother had cried until she nearly fainted; he could still remember her look of sheer despair.

Walking back along the pitch-black alley, his mind was busy calculating his next moves, completely unaware that danger was closing in on him.

The alley was exceptionally dark, with only a distant oil lamp casting a weak glow that barely illuminated the ground beneath his feet.

Suddenly, he heard faint footsteps behind him.

He whipped his head around, but the alley was empty. Only his shadow was stretched long by the lamp light.

Frowning, he assumed he was just too tired and was hallucinating.

He retracted his gaze and continued walking forward.

But right then, he looked down and discovered that his shadow was twisting in a bizarre fashion.

It was not the normal stretching or distortion caused by shifting light.

Rather, it felt as though something was clutching him tightly from beneath his shadow, violently dragging him into the ground.

He instinctively tried to shout, but his mouth was firmly covered by an icy hand.

The touch was like ice, or like the flesh of a corpse, completely devoid of warmth.

He struggled desperately, but more pitch-black hands emerged from the shadow, binding his limbs in a death grip.

They dragged him into the darkness of the corner with a force too immense to resist.

The last thing he saw was the cold reflection of a pair of gold-rimmed glasses in the gloom.

Immediately after, Ronid's face slowly emerged from the shadows, a refined yet bone-chilling smile playing on his lips.

“Don't waste your energy,” Ronid's voice came, as soft as if he were coaxing a disobedient child.

“I've been watching you for a long time.”

With those words, the boundless darkness swallowed him whole.

By the time he woke up again, he was already tied tightly to a cold pillar.

Ronid sat opposite him, unhurriedly wiping the staff in his hands.

The gold-rimmed glasses glinted coldly in the candlelight, obscuring his eyes and leaving his true emotions unreadable.

“Who sent you?”

Ronid's tone was still gentle, as if he were merely asking for directions, but the chill in his eyes was impossible to hide.

Carson pursed his lips tightly, remaining silent.

Showing no signs of impatience, Ronid slowly stood up, took a barbed whip from the wall, weighed it gently in his hand, and spoke in the same flat tone.

“It's fine. We have plenty of time. You'll speak eventually.”

The moment the whip lashed down, intense pain surged through his entire body. Carson gritted his teeth and endured it by sheer force of will.

One, two, three... He had no idea how much time had passed.

Nor did he know if he had blurted anything out amidst the agonizing pain.

He only remembered Ronid repeatedly demanding, “Who sent you?”

And he had kept defending himself, saying he was just a refugee from the slums who happened to be passing by.

Ronid clearly did not believe his story, but he did not press any further either.

He had simply thrown him coldly into this cage to fend for himself.

...

Carson snapped open his eyes, pulling himself out of the painful memories.

The hatred and helplessness in his chest intertwined, nearly overwhelming him.

He tried to move his limbs, but the iron chains on his wrists were incredibly heavy.

The keyhole was small, and without a key, there was absolutely no way to break free.

He looked around and saw several contorted skeletons piled in the corner.

Beside them lay pliers, saws, barbed iron chains, and several bizarre instruments he couldn't name.

It was clear that heinous atrocities had taken place here.

The pungent stench assaulted him again, causing his stomach to churn once more, and he could barely suppress the waves of nausea.

He struggled to stand up, but his legs had long since gone weak from the torture.

The moment he applied force, he fell heavily to the ground, his knees slamming against the cold stone floor, instantly scraping the skin and causing beads of blood to ooze out.

Yet he felt no pain at all. He merely gritted his teeth, gripping the iron bars tightly with his hands as he dragged himself up inch by inch.

His fingernails dug deep into the crevices of the iron bars, and even when his nails cracked and blood seeped out, he did not let go.

He only wanted to get out. He only wanted to find the missing children.

He had promised that woman from the slums that he would definitely find her daughter.

Yet now, that little girl might be lying in the neighboring cage, drawing her last breath.

While he was locked up here, utterly powerless to do anything.

Right then, footsteps echoed from deep within the corridor. They were slow and deliberate, shattering the dead silence of the dungeon.

Carson immediately halted his movements, holding his breath as his eyes locked onto the direction of the footsteps.

An iron door was slowly pushed open.

The light was too dim for him to make out the newcomer's face. He could only see a tall, slender shadow cast upon the wall, slowly moving toward him.

The shadow stopped beside the oil lamp and raised a hand to flick the wick.

Immediately after, a cold light reflected off a pair of lenses—the gold-rimmed glasses.

Ronid's face slowly emerged from the shadows, looking far more disheveled than before.

His robes were torn in several places, and his left sleeve was ripped open to reveal his pale arm.

Veins bulged on his arm, which was marked by several scrapes of varying depths—clear signs of a recent struggle.

The gold-rimmed glasses hung crookedly on the bridge of his nose, the lenses spiderwebbed with cracks, and his disheveled hair clung to his forehead.

His face was stained with dust and dried blood, and a trace of un-wiped blood still lingered at the corner of his mouth.

His breathing was heavy, and he gasped with every step, as if he had just escaped from some terrifying place.

Yet even so, he forced his back straight, gently adjusting his glasses with a finger as he slowly paced to the oil lamp in the center of the dungeon.

He reached out to adjust the wick, and the flame leapt, brightening the room and casting a clearer light on his bizarre expression.

Then, he turned around, his gaze slowly sweeping across the cages on both sides as if inspecting his personal collection.

He walked to the first cage, where a little girl of seven or eight was curled up inside.

Her hair was as messy as a bundle of straw, and her clothes were in complete tatters, exposing her skeletal, lifeless shoulders.

She seemed to be asleep or perhaps unconscious, her breathing so faint that it felt as though it might stop entirely at any second.

Ronid slowly squatted down, slipping his hand through the gaps of the cage to gently stroke the girl's cheek.

His movements were eerily slow, his fingers sliding from her brow bone down to her chin.

It was as if he were caressing a rare and precious piece of porcelain.

“Don't be afraid,” his voice was very soft and gentle, like coaxing a swaddled infant, yet it carried not a single shred of warmth.

“It won't hurt much longer.”

The moment the words left his mouth, his fingers suddenly tightened, his nails pinching viciously into the girl's skin.

The girl frowned deeply in her sleep, her body trembling slightly as her lips parted to let out a muffled, incoherent whimper.

Ronid slowly withdrew his hand. Staring at the red mark he had pinched onto her face, a satisfied smile curled on his lips.

He then stood up and walked to the next cage.

He inspected them one by one, his eyes filled with greed and bizarre fascination, as if reviewing his trophies.

Some of the girls had already woken up. Terrified, they shrank into the corners of their cages, staring at him with panic-stricken eyes as their bodies shook uncontrollably.

He would reach inside, pinch their chins, and turn their heads left and right to inspect them.

Then he would release his grip and continue forward with an expressionless face.

Finally, he stopped in front of Carson's cage.

Ronid looked down from above at the heavily wounded Carson inside the cage, that refined yet sinister smile playing on his lips once more.

“Oh, you're awake?”

He opened the cage and stepped in front of Carson.

Then he slowly squatted down, staring at him through the rusted bars with a gaze reserved for an amusing toy.

“Perfect. I was just looking for a place to vent my frustration.”

Carson glared at him, his teeth grinding audibly, his voice raspy but dripping with hatred.

“You beast... You're the one who kidnapped all those children?”

Ronid burst into laughter, a laugh filled with mockery and madness.

Yet he maintained that same refined demeanor even as he spoke the most cruel words.

“What do you know? I am creating beauty. It is their honor to be chosen as sacrifices.”

“Sacrifices?” Carson's pupils dilated as an ominous premonition surged in his chest. He pressed urgently, “Sacrifices for whom?”

Ronid did not answer his question. He merely stood up slowly.

He then leisurely rolled up his sleeves, took down the barbed whip from the wall once more, weighed it gently in his hand, and spoke coldly.

“Let's resume our unfinished conversation. Who exactly sent you? White? Cross? Or some other noble faction?”

Carson clamped his mouth shut, still refusing to say a word.

Only the sheer hatred in his eyes seemed on the verge of spilling over as he glared at Ronid, looking as if he wanted to tear him apart alive.

At the exact moment Ronid raised the whip, preparing to strike again.

A voice suddenly echoed from the darkness, laced with deep, biting coldness.

“The disappearance of those children... only a freak like you could pull off something like that.”