Chapter 169

Yin Feng ran at the fastest speed she could manage across the exposed stretch and reached the base of the tower. A slanted stone staircase of about twenty to thirty steps led downward, where dim lights revealed the visitors' quarters.

It had originally been part of the early inner castle's defenses, but lost its value during successive expansions of the fortress, repurposed as temporary lodging for petitioners, with no major renovations—only front and back doors, and rooms with small windows.

If the people inside realized something was amiss in time, sealing those two iron-reinforced wooden doors would make them quite safe.

All she had to do was move faster—to warn them before something arrived.

The open door cast the building's light inward, winding like a snake along the stone steps. Yin Feng ran toward that light, though the fleeting, unidentifiable shapes urged her forward; still, she slowed her pace. These steps were half as tall as her calves—upward, they were merely more strenuous; downward, one misstep could mean serious consequences.

After a grueling half-minute on the stairs, she pressed her pounding heart against the door, tiptoeing to peer through the gap. Thankfully, the figures standing in the long, spacious hall were still the steward and his attendants—not anything strange or inhuman.

"Mr. Wilbert!" she shouted, eager to describe what she'd seen. "Close the door! Something's coming up!"

In response, identical expressions of shock and confusion appeared on every face. They heard every word—but made no further reaction. To Yin Feng's urgency, Wilbert offered only a knowing smile.

"No need to worry, Young Lady Yin. Those lights are torches from knights on patrol. You may consider Westmin Castle the safest place in the kingdom—nightly patrols are part of maintaining that safety."

Even the servants straightened their chests slightly, proud to serve within this vast fortress.

"But I saw the patrol torches go out—at least three of them. One was on the mountain path, not far from here." The dizziness from her sprint made her vision blur and her steps float; she blurted out everything strange: "I also saw..."

Though still clinging to the notion of childish nonsense, Wilbert at least dropped his smile. "What else did you see?"

"I saw the cliff... I mean, the torch fell off the cliff." The words "something was climbing the cliff" died on her lips—she sensed her own insignificance in his casual demeanor.

What she'd seen was too unreasonable, like the original owner of the dagger beneath her skirt—his body armored like a ghost. Those who witnessed it firsthand later found it hard to believe their own eyes, let alone trust a secondhand account. Most would dismiss it as a panic-induced hallucination. And as a frightened little girl, she had no credibility.

Yet this alone wouldn't serve as a warning. She decided to lie: "I think I saw someone attack them. I swear it by Mr. Kraft's name!"

To make her verbal claim more credible, she needed to swear by something weighty—like the Heavenly Father or another solemn entity.

Religious faith had long been worn thin; the last remnants of mystery had been ruined by Father Adrian. In desperation, the only thing she could think of that carried weight and relevance was one name.

The words had little effect—"attack" or "Kraft" made the steward slightly more serious, his stern gaze silencing the servants' laughter. But whether this gesture stemmed from belief or merely outward respect for the name, it was hard to say.

"Tom, go check."

The servant obeyed and vanished into the darkness beyond the opposite door. His report came quickly: "My lord, there are plenty of torches below."

Yin Feng thought she heard an inaudible chuckle. The trained servants lowered their heads, hiding their expressions beyond the light.

From here, a few scattered lights meant nothing. Since the outer defenses still functioned normally, this remained the kingdom's most secure fortress. It was a dead end—unless someone went down to verify, her words were just nonsense.

Wilbert's demeanor didn't change with the servant's report. He maintained his usual mild, polite manner. "Young Lady Yin, please rest assured. We can arrange for the next passing knight to escort you up."

That inaudible laughter echoed in her mind. She felt it didn't come from the men before her—polite but dismissive—but from the thing approaching, laughing in the night wind. Who could imagine something silent slipping into the inner walls of a high fortress, climbing the rock face, dragging down fully armed guards and their torches off the cliff?

With her status, she couldn't sway them. Changing location was now impossible. Perhaps their limbs had already reached the platform, about to step into this obvious, isolated target—and she, too, was isolated among those who wouldn't help.

Powerless, panicked, Yin Feng forced down these useless emotions. She had ample experience with solitude and self-reliance—not like those peers who only cried when separated from aid. What was needed now wasn't emotional release, but calm, undisturbed independent thought. A solution would come.

"I need to be alone for a while. Give me a key."

"Of course, if the Young Lady requires it." Compared to locking her in, a capricious child's request seemed trivial—merely something to tidy up later. Under Yin Feng's anxious gaze, Wilbert plucked one key from his ring. "First room on the second floor. If you're not in a hurry, we can send someone to clean it first."

"No need."

Almost snatching the key, Yin Feng ran up the stairs. This act was likely seen as a child's sulky tantrum—the steward didn't mind, bowing gracefully as always, then retrieving his key ring.

For the last time, Yin Feng looked back at those still standing behind. Their faces blurred in the dim light, shrinking and receding—no different from the torches trudging through the night, severed by distance, their cries unheard even if shouted. Some... endpoints with no connection whatsoever.

She climbed the stairs without looking back, unlocked the door with the key, shut the window, drew the curtains, locked the bolt, and slid down the door, back against the wood.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her head swollen. After a brief hesitation, she covered the lamp. The room was left with only a single speck of light piercing through the keyhole, casting onto her fanned-out skirt.

She gathered her skirt away from the light, imagining herself merging with the darkness, forcing her breath and heartbeat to quiet in the stillness.

Voices calling her name came from below—Wilbert, the steward. She faintly heard "Tom," the servant's name.

No reply. Wilbert called again. At the same time, she heard many footsteps, like walking through receding mud, passing beneath the window—along with a scent she thought long buried in memory.

That scent was bound to the darkest, most numb memory—pulling her consciousness back to the house at the end of the long alley in Consolation Port, those days she still couldn't tell whether they were agony or release. She clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle any sound from fear or other emotion.

The smell of departed souls and decaying flesh moved, climbed.

The voices below came again—first puzzled, as if encountering unfamiliar, indistinct figures at the door. Then a short silence—felt endlessly long. In the windless room, for the first time that night, she clearly, fully heard the sound a normal person made upon seeing those things.

A scream of horror, as if both eyes had been gouged out.

Chaotic running, cries for help, overturned furnishings, a cascade of small metal objects hitting the floor. Among them, she reluctantly, unavoidably recognized one or two sounds she could still match to memory.

In moments, the sounds vanished. Only a violent, wracking cough remained—indistinguishable whose it was. The stench of decay surged through the keyhole, along with powdery dust that tickled the throat. She had to clamp her throat shut, suppressing the urge to sneeze or cough.

The smell grew stronger, closer. Yin Feng kept her eyes open, unsure what to look at—only staring at the keyhole's speck of light, the size of a knuckle.

Soft, wet, rotten—that was all she knew of them. Things disintegrated by mold but never properly cleaned. Outside, silence fell. She pressed her hands over nose and mouth, breathing in a thin thread, hoping they'd leave soon.

Stillness and quiet warped time, making her doubt her own perception. It felt like hours had passed, yet the light through the keyhole showed no sign of dimming. Unchanging silence dragged at her limbs, exhaustion spreading. Fear and tension rapidly drained her strength and energy. Yin Feng reached out, fingers brushing the keyhole, tilting her head to peer through.

The speck of light vanished—then instantly returned, warm and gentle, pretending nothing had happened.

【They haven't left】

As if to confirm this thought, the keyhole was covered again—and lit once more. Dreadful, inexplicable ideas surged. She couldn't understand why they lingered here, why they climbed to the second floor.

Meaningless wandering? Or searching for something? Searching for the only living being here?

It felt as if a knock on the door would come any second. Her survival instinct urged her to rise and flee. But unless she could squeeze through the window—narrower than a skull—she'd be trapped in this room.

Wait. Wait a little longer. She gripped the wooden hilt of her dagger. The weapon, except for its metal blade, was nearly new—the handle made of fragrant pine, smoothed perfectly, no splinters, wrapped in cloth that gripped firmly without chafing.

Yin Feng quickly decided it was meaningless. They'd already killed the night patrol and the adults downstairs. What could this dagger possibly do? Her experience helping Kup turn the tide hadn't given her delusions—on the contrary, she understood her limits.

A question, an unavoidable one, appeared before her. Even if she tried her hardest, could she truly change anything? Even if she were as strong as a knight, or as commanding as Mr. Wilbert, it made no essential difference.

Once, she'd thought Consolation Port was cold and terrifying enough—that she'd already mastered the necessary skills of survival.

But there were far more terrifying, far colder truths: that any effort, by anyone, meant nothing when certain things arrived. Just as Dr. Kraft admitted he couldn't cure her father's illness—the ocean didn't care whether it drowned a captain or a sailor.

This thought made her body tremble—more than the despair of the decaying things pacing outside.

【If only...】

If only what? She sat slumped against the door for a moment, wishing Kraft—or at least Kup—were here. But it changed nothing: she was the last one left. This deepened the sense of helplessness.

Fortunately, Yin Feng had always believed she possessed one not-quite-an-advantage: strong adaptability.

She shifted farther from the door, leaning against the foot of the bed, distancing herself from the intensifying stench and dust, trying to prevent uncontrollable coughing.

From initial fear to growing numbness, she began counting how many times the keyhole was blocked; after counting to the eighth, she waited a long time before the ninth came.

They had not left at all, but remained inside this building. After all, they could climb up from the cliff base, attack patrols on the mountain path, and still come here—yet now they lingered, unable to depart.

Without even realizing it, Yin Feng was observing them, learning their movements through the pinpoint of light in the keyhole, just as she once observed hostile people, pondering what they wanted. By studying those people's behavior, she had learned to navigate human relationships and applied similar methods. But the same logic was of no use whatsoever in this situation... was it?

A wildly absurd, chilling thought arose—why not?

【This is that kind of thing】

They are more dangerous than human cunning, yet not necessarily harder to understand, possessing power that armor and numbers cannot counter.

The bone-armored creatures encountered in the southern hills could not withstand Kup's casual throw, yet held absolute dominance. This was the kind of thing she wanted to understand—a force more direct than Ye Chui, surpassing her entire decade-plus understanding of "ability."

Part of her fear transformed into an unimagined feeling—she felt...

【Envy】

The power that could effortlessly snuff out every flame.

She crawled toward the keyhole, pressing against it to observe the outside. If some otherworldly soul were present and gazed back through the keyhole, they would see familiar eyes—the same eyes she had once fixed on the black fluid: fear, curiosity, and a deeper, more urgent anticipation.

Perhaps when she grew older, more mature, her mind softened by a gentle life and academic pursuits, she would no longer entertain such thoughts. But here was the present-day Yin Feng—pure, unchildish thought processing, organizing everything she had seen within this building.

Amidst shock at the lush, vibrant solitary thickets and half-rotted corpses, she had not yet found any pattern to their movements—but she suddenly realized something else.

【I might not be the last person here】