Chapter 169: Yin Feng

Yin Feng sprinted across the exposed stretch at the fastest pace she could manage, reaching the base of the tower. A slanted stone staircase of about twenty to thirty steps led downward, revealing dimly lit guest quarters.

It had originally been part of the early inner keep's defenses, but lost its value during successive expansions of the castle, repurposed as temporary lodging for visitors—yet largely left unaltered, with only front and back doors and a few small-windowed rooms.

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

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

The open door cast the building's light inward, twisting like a serpent along the stone steps. Yin Feng ran toward the glow, though the fleeting, unidentifiable shapes urged her onward; she slowed her pace. The steps were half as high as her calves—climbing up was merely more strenuous, but one misstep going down could mean serious injury.

After a grueling half-minute on the stairs, she pressed her palm against her pounding heart and stood before the door, tiptoeing to peer through the crack. Good—the figures inside were still the steward and his attendants, not some strange, inhuman thing.

"Mr. Wilbert!" she shouted, desperate to convey 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, Miss Yin Feng. Those lights are torches from the 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 light; she blurted out everything strange: "I also saw..."

Though still clinging to the notion of childish fancy, Wilbert at least lowered 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 their casual demeanor.

What she had seen was too unreasonable—like the original owner of the dagger beneath her skirt, a creature armored like a ghost. Those who witnessed it firsthand later doubted their own eyes, let alone believed a secondhand account. Most would dismiss it as panic-induced hallucination. And as a frightened little girl, her word carried no weight.

Yet this alone would serve no 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 invoke something weighty—like a god or some sacred oath.

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—he silenced the servants' laughter with a stern glance. But whether that 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: "Steward, there are plenty of torches below."

Yin Feng thought she heard an unheard laugh. The trained servants bowed their heads, hiding their expressions in the shadows.

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. "Miss Yin Feng, please rest assured. We can arrange for the next passing knight to escort you up."

That unheard 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 and unseen appearing within the high inner walls, climbing the rockface, dragging the fully armed guard and their torches over the cliff?

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

Powerless, panicked, she 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. There would always be a way.

"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 little request seemed insignificant—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."

She nearly snatched the key and ran up the stairs. The gesture was likely seen as a child's pique; the steward didn't press it, bowing gracefully as always, then returning the key ring to his pocket.

For the last time, Yin Feng looked back at those still behind. Their faces blurred in the dim yellow light, shrinking and receding—no different from the torches trudging through the night, severed by distance, inaudible even if she screamed. 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 to sit on the floor, back pressed against it.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her head throbbed. After a moment's hesitation, she covered the lamp. The room was left with only a single speck of light, projected through the keyhole onto her fanned-out skirt.

She gathered her skirt, avoiding the light, imagining herself merging with the darkness, forcing her breathing 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 wading through receding mud, passing beneath the window—along with a scent she thought long buried in memory.

That scent was bound to her darkest, most numb memories, dragging her consciousness back to the narrow alley of Comfort Harbor, to that room—those days she still couldn't tell whether they were pain or release. She clamped her hand over her mouth, fearing any sound might escape 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 an unfamiliar, indistinct figure 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 such 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, unwillingly 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, mingled with powdery dust that tickled her 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 fixed on the keyhole's speck of light, the size of a knuckle.

Soft, wet, rotten—this was all she knew of them: things half-rotted, dismembered by mold, never properly cleaned. Outside, silence fell. She pressed her hands over nose and mouth, breathing only a thin thread, hoping they'd leave soon.

Stillness and silence warped time, making her doubt her own perception. It felt like hours—but the light through the keyhole showed no dimming. Unchanging quiet. Fatigue spread, tugged at her limbs. Fear and tension rapidly drained her strength and energy. Yin Feng reached out, found the keyhole, tilted her head to peer through.

The speck vanished—then instantly returned, bright and gentle, as if nothing had happened.

【They haven't left】

As if to confirm the thought, the keyhole darkened again—then lit up once more. Dreadful, inexplicable ideas surged. Why were they lingering here? Why had 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 flee. But unless she could squeeze through the window—narrower than a skull—she was trapped in this room.

Wait. Wait a little longer. She gripped the wooden hilt of her dagger. The weapon was nearly new, save for the metal blade. The handle was fine pine, smooth and splinter-free, wrapped in cloth that offered grip without chafing.

Yin Feng quickly decided it was meaningless. They had already eliminated the night patrol, the adults downstairs. What could this dagger do? Her experience with Kup's battlefield reversal hadn't given her delusions of grandeur—she understood her limits.

A question arose—inevitable. Even if she tried her hardest, could she truly change anything? Even if she were as strong as a knight, as commanding as Steward Wilbert—in essence, it made no difference.

Once, she thought Comfort Harbor was cold and terrifying enough—that she had already mastered the necessary skills of survival.

But there were things far more terrifying, far colder than she'd imagined: that all human effort becomes meaningless when certain things arrive. Just as Dr. Kraft admitted he couldn't cure her father's illness, the sea didn't care whether the drowned was captain or 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 while, thinking how much better it would be if Kraft—or at least Kup—were here. But it changed nothing: she was the last one left. That deepened the sense of helplessness.

Fortunately, Yin Feng had always believed she possessed one unremarkable strength: adaptability.

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

From initial fear, she grew numb. Then she began counting how many times the keyhole was blocked. After counting to eight, she waited a long time before the ninth.

They hadn't left—they'd stayed within the building. Remember: they'd climbed up from the cliff, attacked the patrol, and come here. Yet now they wandered, unable to depart.

Unconsciously, Yin Feng began observing them—through the keyhole's flickering light, tracking their movements, as she once observed hostile people. She'd learned to navigate human relationships by studying their behavior—and now applied the same logic. But did it apply here?... Not at all?

A wildly absurd, chilling thought emerged—why not?

【This is the kind of thing】

They were more dangerous than human deceit—but not necessarily harder to understand. They possessed power that armor and numbers couldn't counter.

The bone-armored creature she'd met in the southern hills couldn't withstand Kup's casual throw—yet it held absolute dominance. This was the kind of thing she wanted to understand: a force more direct than the page hammer, surpassing everything she'd known about "ability" in her first decade and more of life.

Part of her fear transformed into an unfamiliar feeling. She felt...

【Envy】

The power to effortlessly extinguish every last light.

She crawled to the keyhole, pressed her eye against it, peering out. If some otherworldly spirit were present, gazing back through the hole, they would see familiar eyes—eyes that had once stared into black sludge: fear, curiosity, and a deeper, hungrier anticipation.

Perhaps when she grew older, more mature, her mind softened by gentle living and academic life, she'd never conceive such a thought. But here was the present Yin Feng. Pure, unchildish thought processed what she'd seen in this building.

Shocked by the lush, grotesque growths and half-rotted corpses, she hadn't yet found a pattern to their movements—but she suddenly recalled something else.

【I might not be the last person here】