Chapter 170

【Is he really the last person here?】

The night in Westminster Castle differs from Heggang; there's nothing worth walking around after dark, and wandering after sunset means only encountering patrol squads that interrogate you with the three great philosophical questions. Visitors, even if they wish to move about, return to their lodgings with beds and meals before nightfall.

Due to delays on the road, Yin Feng was among the last to return, yet she encountered Mr. Wilbert right there when she came back. He was waiting for Professor Bramer, waiting for someone who had come here solely for Kraft's manuscript materials.

Since that brief exchange at noon, Yin Feng could firmly determine his purpose was clear-cut; boldly, she could further deduce that Bramer had deliberately chosen to come when "my lord was away." How he learned the schedule and why he timed it this way remained full of doubts.

He had never imagined being turned away by a little girl, and had no choice but to stay put—clearly an unexpected turn, with no possibility of prior planning.

Then, is there a possibility that Bramer is nowhere at all?

【Right inside the room】

An utterly unreasonable guess: a person staying in a dark room, refusing dinner, ignoring calls from outside, silent, producing not a single sound.

Or perhaps Wilbert had already noticed this—he loudly scolded himself for assigning Bramer an unsuitable room. Was he speaking to the servants? Could this be a subtle way of warning the room's occupant?

Through the keyhole, a curtain of colored light passed before her eyes. Yin Feng pulled the velvet ornament on her chest over her nose and mouth to block the stench of decayed dust. They still wandered outside, like scavenger birds unwilling to leave a beach saturated with fishy odor, waiting for the corpses stranded beneath the sand to be washed out by the tide.

Fortunately, she thought, once filtered, the remaining scent wasn't unbearable.

Her mind stirred: if one event was coincidence, the combination might not be. Today, Bramer arrived, and precisely then, these fungal corpses appeared—and lingered right where he stayed.

He's controlling them? Following common story tropes, Yin Feng immediately formed this thought: using evil means to manipulate corpses was nothing new.

But that seemed unlikely—if true, she never would've escaped. Bramer could hear the conversations outside and knew exactly where she was.

So, is the answer no?

Everything seemed to confirm her core belief: nothing comes without cost. In memory, the strange figures who vanished and reappeared at will, limbs curled, bodies encased in bony shells, hunched in agony—such things, beyond intellect and strength, possessing extraordinary abilities, always carried equal costs and limitations.

It was a simple truth: he couldn't even step out to confront her, even if he was very likely the source of it all.

Though she didn't understand how this situation arose, she seemed safe. Staying here, someone would come by morning—or the sun would naturally drive away those creatures afraid of light.

Yin Feng heard a comforting whisper in her heart: she had earned the reward of clever action. If she stayed silent, everything would pass. She could continue living a comfort she'd never imagined, guided by a teacher so lofty she couldn't comprehend him, becoming a literate "high-level talent."

Yet her eye still pressed against the keyhole; her suppressed breathing had unconsciously quickened. She counted the tenth fungal humanoid passing the door.

No, actually only nine—she'd seen this one before. At waist level, aligned with the keyhole, was a cluster of blue-scale mushrooms.

The interval between this passage was longer than before. The number of blind corpses wasn't as great as imagined, and they were dispersing throughout this sizable building.

She couldn't see their eyes—likely entirely covered in fungal blotches, or replaced outright by new fungal growths. Whatever they used to "see," none detected her just beyond the door.

In her pocket, Yin Feng felt something cold: the key.

She held her breath, waiting for the next corpse to pass and its footsteps to fade. With the steady hand honed by repeated practice, she inserted the key into the lock, blocking the light.

Complete darkness enveloped her. She closed her eyes, listening for the faintest metallic click, confirming it hadn't masked the softened, fungal-touched footsteps. In her other hand, she gripped the stolen dagger—craftsmen had polished it well.

If Bramer won't come to her, then she'll go to Bramer.

Yin Feng opened the door, swiftly scanning both sides. A vividly colored silhouette slowly turned the corner, oblivious to the surveillance behind. She took her first careful step, toe touching the corridor floor.

Lighter than expected. Her movements quickened; her mind flowed clear and smooth as snowmelt. She left the door ajar, moved like a cat along the wall, silent and swift. Her gaze fixed on the corridor's end, watching the bloated, pale shadow appear at the corner, then ducking into the spiral staircase's shadow.

In fewer than twenty steps, she realized she'd unconsciously held her breath. Her heart trembled—not pure fear, but something closer to thrill, even... a hint of exhilaration. She was walking the path of her own will, though this path was likely no wider than a single log.

Like her heartbeat, once begun, it couldn't stop. After a few seconds to adjust her breathing, Yin Feng peered out from the first-floor exit, then swiftly pulled back.

Two figures with peculiar forms, their heads crowned with towering, layered fungal caps, walked slowly through a long hall carpeted with veils of colored dust, stepping over fallen servants. At the center of the dust cloud, a human shape was tightly entangled by a bursting, canopy-like shell—these had apparently "truly died" after releasing vast amounts of dust, having fulfilled some purpose, no longer driven by incomprehensible forces like the others.

Setting aside the meaning of this scene, and whether Wilbert was among the dead or the one entangled; Yin Feng felt, with a pang of guilt, an immediate, unlearned sense of "beauty"—pure, dazzling splendor surpassing any banquet decoration at Rivers University.

She bit her lip hard, suppressing the feeling, and the worsening cough urge now that she'd reached the first floor, forcing her focus onto her goal.

Bramer's door was locked—meaning she had to approach the steward's corpse, evade the wandering shells, and retrieve the keychain.

Difficult, but not impossible. Furniture and debris along the way would shield her, and the bright little metal keychain lay just beyond the corpse, near a long table.

Without hesitation, as the two shells moved away, she crouched and crawled forward, crossing the bodies of the servants—and noticed the count didn't add up; at the dust's edge, there was a half-human-shaped gap.