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The heavy red doors of the Dark Moon Palace slowly closed behind us. Time had made their hinges and pivots creak, and with a final rumble, the last sliver of daylight from outside was shut out.
Before us stretched a long, broad stone corridor. Blazing torches sat in carved recesses along both walls, their wavering, dim light illuminating this lifeless place. There were no decorations, doors, or windows in the corridor; the thick, heavy red carpet laid across the floor was the only splash of color. Gloomy, dark, and silent—the Dark Moon Palace was an intensely unpleasant place.
Viska's obsidian temple had its own eerie shadow corridors, but this place was even more unbearable: it was saturated with an air of "death," a hopeless, waiting-for-death kind of "death."
I looked to either side. Natural mountain-rock patterns could be seen on the grayish-white walls. There was no doubt this place had also been carved directly into a rocky foundation. It was a massive undertaking—at least for the people of this world. The ruler of Redemund had lived year after year in such a sturdy, gloomy prison, repeatedly carrying out a mission that balanced life and death on a blade's edge for centuries while enduring the immense pressure of being constantly devoured by the Abyss and fighting the violent side within himself. What kind of person would that make him?
If an ordinary person lived here, even without any other factors, this environment alone would probably drive them mad.
Since entering the castle, we had seen only one person: the Demon Beast Maid who had opened the door to welcome us and was now guiding us. She was a girl with a faint smile constantly on her face, looking frail and