The Long Night (4)

Humans are ruled by emotions.

Karyl knew this well—so, when Ilgana, the Dowager Countess of the Silver-Winged Corpse, roared and lunged at him, he dodged as expected.

Every move she made was within his prediction; there was nothing to say about it, just a practical application of observation, not even needing special explanation.

For Karyl, dodging attacks had become instinct.

Looking at the blade in the Countess's hand, Karyl thought, another rebel, commendable courage.

But it was futile.

The Wraith raised his hand, instantly gripping her right wrist and exerting force, forcing her to release the knife. Then, he easily snapped the hand.

Amidst the sickening crack of bone breaking, Karyl shook his head coldly.

"Save your strength. Your family is already destroyed, and the Silver-Winged Corpse will be history after tonight."

What he said was true; in the past thirty minutes, he had killed seven hundred and twenty-three people. They all belonged to a fearsome name, wore velvet cloaks, had pale faces, and craved flesh and blood.

And now, they were all dead, with only this last one remaining.

"Do you know what you've done?!" the Countess roared, scrambling to her feet. The pain of her broken arm did not make her retreat.

She grabbed the fallen blade with her left hand and lunged at Karyl again, her face contorted, so enraged she was almost another creature.

"Of course, I know," Karyl replied calmly. "To make your family history, to make you all history. What else?"

He sidestepped the Countess's attack and then kicked her to the ground.

The kick landed squarely on her ribs. The intense pain from the fracture dissipated much of her rage and kept her on the ground, screaming loudly.

The Wraith crouched down gently, his eyes already glowing blue. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand.

He didn't want to hear the voice from the other side of the veil anymore—as time passed, it began to call him incessantly, entangling him, annoying him. And it grew louder and more violent.

Karyl believed he could still endure, but he had to speed things up.

There was only one more named family left to destroy, and the Silver-Winged Corpse wasn't originally on his list.

They had already declined, no longer holding power. He sought them out only to resolve a question that had long been born in his heart.

Moreover, the accumulation of power had reached a critical point, and he had to resolve everything before reaching it.

Karyl grabbed the Countess's hair, his movements rough, his patience gone. He then spoke coldly, "Tell me the truth."

The Countess trembled, her neck arching back. Her dark eyes lit up with the same chilling blue light as Karyl's. Her face gradually became calm, a terrifying indifference spreading across it.

She said in a low voice, "What do you want to know?"

"Your family's secret—I know the Silver-Winged Corpse is obsessed with human modification, seeking immortality. You have crossed many forbidden lines. I want to know, have you ever created any beings with superhuman strength?"

"Yes," the Countess replied blankly. "But they don't live long; their strength causes their own bodies to collapse."

As expected.

All power indeed comes with a price.

Karyl closed his eyes and shook his head.

The Wraith's identity was no secret to him; he could guess where such a creature came from.

Where else but the nobles' laboratories? To prolong their lives, the nobles of Nostramo would do anything. Naturally, this included many horrific experiments.

"Is there a way to extend their lifespan? Or to eliminate this genetic defect altogether?"

"There once was a way."

The Countess replied, trembling. Her muscles began to spasm, and hundreds of surgically implanted modifications began to vibrate within her body.

Her flesh twitched, and grotesque bulges appeared all over her body. The sight was maddening, enough to shatter some people's sanity, yet, as the experiencer, the Countess's voice remained calm. The contrast was chilling.

"Once?"

"Seventy years ago, an ancestor spent half his life searching for a solution to this genetic defect. He succeeded; he improved the genes of the test subjects, increasing their lifespan."

"But he eventually went mad. He personally destroyed all research data and then perished with our laboratory in an explosion."

"."

Karyl opened his eyes, then closed them again.

He blinked rapidly, breathing deeply and long. He quickly calmed his emotions but still couldn't help clenching his fist.

Hope had arrived so quickly, only to be dashed so unexpectedly.

—A one-and-a-half-year-old child, whom he had placed great hope in, whom he had instilled with killing skills, whom he had thrown into a bloody vortex.

And this child didn't even have a name.

He was even dying, completely unaware of it. He was probably still completing the task Karyl had given him in the cold night.

What have I done?

I wanted to save this world on my own, but can I not even save one child?

No. That's not right.

Something was still amiss.

"This is impossible."

Karyl spoke in a low voice, enduring the emotions churning within him.

"He is only eighteen months old. If your laboratory was completely destroyed seventy years ago, how has he survived until now?"

The Baroness did not answer; she had lost the ability to speak, her lips merely opening and closing mechanically.

"Tell me the truth!"

The ghost roared suddenly, no longer able to suppress the anger born from his own self-reproach.

He lunged forward, grabbing the Baroness's head. A brilliant blue light flared in his eyes—an instinctive intuition made his hands turn ice-cold, and the power within his body began to surge.

It roared violently, echoing its master's fury, rampaging through the Baroness's mind and soul. Then, from the dead, vacant eyes in her twisted face, Karyl saw his own reflection.

He widened his eyes, realizing in the next instant that he had made a mistake.

People are governed by their emotions; he knew this well. He had always lived by this rule.

Yet, in this singular moment, he forgot to control his emotions—and they exacted their toll upon him.

Starting from where he touched the Baroness's head, the power within Karyl transformed into tangible blue radiance, erupting violently from his hands.

Eerie whispers filled the surroundings, the brightly lit room began to sink into darkness, and a genuine, biting chill spread, nearly freezing his own consciousness. Immediately after—

The veil that had shielded him from malice was swept aside by his own power.

Thunderous war cries echoed from the other side, followed by a low, rumbling laugh.

Karyl watched it all happen, wanting to stop it but finding himself powerless. Those blue lights had belonged to him at first, but they did so no longer.

Amidst that low laughter, the blue light shifted bit by bit, like water changing color, slowly turning into scarlet flames that ignited with a sudden roar.

Then, something emerged from the darkness.

Where are you?

The thing asked in an indescribable voice, Where are you?

Come out—face me, and take the honor that is yours.

I feel your anger; I know you want to make the world burn.

Then come.

Power, blessings, blades, armor.

All of these things.

I can give them to you.

Let them repent in their screams! Let the world burn, and bring victory through slaughter!

"I..." Karyl began to tremble, but he could not bring himself to finish the sentence.

In the midst of this agony, he remembered the words he had once spoken himself.

If you keep knocking on the gates of hell, sooner or later, the devil will come for you.

Now, his devil had arrived.

Running, running with a heart burning in anxiety.

Night Haunter did not yet fully understand what this emotion boiling within him was, but he had to admit that he was being driven to the brink of madness by it.

Following the visions he had seen, and his innate talent for discerning the purpose and even the raw materials of any structure, the Haunter moved silently toward the Upper Hive.

The air here was fresh, yet thick with the stench of blood. The Haunter's intuition told him the latter was Karyl's handiwork.

But where are you, Karyl?

He thought this as he ran. He pressed his lips together, his black hair dancing wildly in the wind. He was so fast he nearly tore the air apart. His body, not yet fully grown, was being pushed by its master in a completely reckless manner.

The Haunter did not care anymore.

He had to find Karyl—he had to find him before everything reached the point of no return.

He wanted to save Nostramo, but he absolutely did not want to see a Nostramo that did not contain Karyl.

Leaping, vaulting over walls, and leaping again.

The Haunter's keen sense of smell could clearly distinguish exactly where the scent of blood in the wind originated. He pursued it without pause, following the trail Karyl had left behind.

He charged through grim towers and sturdy fortresses, stepped over broken corpses and lakes of blood, shattered the darkness, and pierced through the thick fog of the Upper Hive—

Then, he roared into the night.

The sound was desolate.

"Karyl—!"

The Haunter sprinted through the darkness, his voice echoing in the thick fog, shattering the silence of the Upper Hive.

"Karyl! Refuse Him, refuse Him! Do not answer Him, He cannot see you!"

"You must refuse Him."

Wraith muttered to himself in agony, his head feeling as though it were splitting apart, but he could not stop yet; he had not found him.

Gasping for air, Wraith forced himself to grasp the final clue provided by his sense of smell. He took a deep breath and sprinted toward a grim, towering spire.

Above him, the night stared down in silence.

I really don't have a knife, you guys have to believe me.