"Come in," the altar master barked in a low voice.
But there was only a thud outside the door, followed by silence.
The altar master frowned. With a flick of his hand, he drew a short blade from inside his coat. Then he cautiously approached the door and peered outside through the peephole.
Outside the door, the subordinate he had sent out was pressed against it, completely motionless. There was no one behind him.
Had he succeeded?
Yet the altar master felt that something was wrong. He swiftly opened the door, every muscle in his body taut as he prepared to fight at any moment.
The moment the door opened, the subordinate who had been leaning against it suddenly toppled toward him.
The altar master reached out and grabbed him, dragging him into the room.
He carefully examined the hallway again and confirmed that no one else was there.
"What happened?" he sternly demanded, looking at the subordinate in his hands.
Before his words had even faded, the altar master felt the weight in his hands sink. The subordinate convulsed once, then crumpled limply to the floor.
The altar master immediately pressed a hand to the subordinate's wrist. His pulse had stopped; the qi and blood in his heart aperture had dispersed—he was completely dead? He had not even managed to say a single word!
Frowning, he examined the subordinate's corpse.
There was not a single wound on his body, nor any sign that he had fought someone. Only the cloth covering his face was stained with blood.
The altar master cautiously used his short blade to lift the face covering. Beneath it was the subordinate's bluish face, his eyes bulging wide and filled with bloodshot veins, foul-smelling blood still flowing from his mouth.
The blood carried a putrid stench.