What… what even is he? Rolack's mind reeled as his eyes clung to the masked man. Disbelief twisted his face, his breath caught in his throat. The dragon's appearance had paralyzed him, its towering presence smothering his voice in sheer terror. Yet the man before it stood unmoving, his gaze fixed on the beast, unblinking—like stone carved to defy the heavens.
A high-ranking demon? The thought slithered into Rolack's mind, cold and poisonous. The man didn't radiate overwhelming strength, his frame almost ordinary—yet the bloodlust leaking from him was anything but. It was thick, suffocating, like the stench of corpses piled on a battlefield. It gnawed at Rolack's skin, seeped into his bones, and eclipsed even the murderous intent of a cultivator who had long since reached the Fifth Severance.
Rolack.
The masked man's voice cut through the chamber like a cold blade, soft yet carrying an edge that left no room for delay. He did not shift his gaze from the silver dragon, whose colossal frame still slumbered, unbothered by their intrusion. The smile painted across the mask caught the faint glow of Rolack's artifact, gleaming faintly as though mocking the beast itself.
"Yes, my lord?" Rolack answered at once, his head bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the damp stone. His throat felt tight, but he dared not let hesitation taint his voice.
"What about the pawn?" The masked man's tone was calm, casual almost, but beneath it ran an undercurrent sharp enough to still Rolack's breath. "I haven't seen him recently."
Rolack's back stiffened. He swallowed before answering, careful to keep his words steady. "He went to his family's estate, my lord. He claimed pressing matters required his presence there."
"Hmm?" A low hum slipped from behind the mask, stretched and thoughtful, carrying a weight that made Rolack's heart quicken. For the first time, the horned youth tore his gaze from the dragon. Slowly, deliberately, he turned—every motion precise, controlled, as though he owned not only the chamber but the very air that filled it.
His steps echoed faintly as he began to walk toward the heavy gate, shadows curling at his heels. Rolack scrambled to his feet, bowing deeply again before following a few paces behind.
"Keep an eye on him," the masked man said, voice unchanging, as if he were issuing an order about the weather. Yet in that monotone was a subtle edge of steel. "He is necessary for our plans. Necessary." He paused at the threshold, one gloved hand brushing faintly across the iron frame of the door, fingers tracing patterns only he seemed to understand.
Rolack could feel the weight of those words pressing down on him like stone. His lips parted quickly. "Yes, my lord. I will ensure it."
The masked figure stopped, his head tilting ever so slightly, as if listening to whispers only he could hear. Then his voice returned, colder, sharper, each word deliberate.
"And keep in mind… avoid suspicion. No one must doubt him. If shadows fall upon our pawn too soon, he paused in thought for a momment then continued in a chilling voice, then abondene him."
He stepped forward, his footfalls swallowed by the thick silence. Just as Rolack thought he was finished, the masked man halted once more, his head turning fractionally, that perpetual grin of his mask glinting faintly in the dark.
"Tell me, Rolack," he murmured, low and dangerous, "have you made certain… that he swore a soul oath?"
The question hung in the air like a noose, its weight suffocating. Rolack's pulse hammered in his ears, his palms damp with sweat. He bent lower, voice trembling despite his efforts to keep it steady.
"Yes, my lord. The oath binds him. Should he stray, his soul itself will burn away."
A long silence followed, broken only by the dragon's deep, distant breathing. The masked man stood unmoving for a heartbeat longer, then gave a soft chuckle—a sound that was neither warm nor human, but cold and hollow, like laughter echoing through a crypt.
"Good," he said at last, before stepping fully into the shadows of the corridor.
With that, the masked man's steps faded into the shadowed corridor, his presence lingering like a chill even after he was gone. Rolack lingered a moment longer, his eyes flicking once toward the slumbering dragon—its massive chest rising and falling in a rhythm that shook the very walls. A shiver ran down his spine.
Then, with a deep bow to the empty chamber, he turned and hurried after his master.
Together they ascended from the suffocating depths, the heavy gate groaning shut behind them until the dragon's heartbeat was swallowed once more by silence.
"I will contact you if i were to meet you again." the man said.
"Yes, understood."
After that at the threshold of the surface, where the pale moonlight spilled across the earth, the masked figure paused only briefly before drifting into the shadows, his form melting into the night.
Rolack exhaled, the tension in his chest loosening just enough for him to breathe. Their paths diverged wordlessly—one vanishing into the unseen roads of darkness, the other moving swiftly in the opposite direction, cloak fluttering in the moonlit breeze.
The underground prison was left behind, sealed once more. Yet the air still carried the weight of what had been witnessed within, as if the earth itself trembled beneath the burden of secrets too great to remain hidden forever.
******
Vern slipped soundlessly through the window, landing lightly inside his room. His breath was ragged, his limbs heavy with exhaustion , but he didn't bother with the lights. The moonlight filtering through the curtains was enough to guide him as he crossed the room and pushed open the bathroom door.
Water splashed, the faint sound muffled by the stillness of night. When he emerged a short while later, droplets clung to his hair, glistening faintly as he changed into his sleepwear. He moved without hurry, as though the weight of the day pressed against his shoulders, and finally sat down on the edge of his bed.
"Haa…" Vern exhaled, his voice little more than a whisper. His chest rose and fell as he leaned forward, fingers lacing together loosely. His eyes, half-lidded in thought, reflected the faint light from outside.
I really am fortunate… fortunate that I knew Rolack, and what he desired.
His thoughts drifted to the man. In his past life, Rolack's name had become synonymous with madness. Driven to desperation, he had unleashed ruin upon the underground prison, shattering the seals that held the imitation of the dragon. That single act had sent ripples across the world, altering the flow of countless fates.
If I hadn't remembered that… if I hadn't known what drove him, my plans in this life would have been so much harder to implement. Perhaps even impossible.
A faint smile touched Vern's lips, but it was a cold one, carrying no warmth. The weight of foresight pressed against him, both a blessing and a curse.
He leaned back against the wall, eyes half-closed, allowing the silence of the night to swallow his lingering fatigue. For now, Rolack remained in check. For now, the pieces moved as he willed.
He lay on his bed, eyes half-closed, letting the silence of the night settle over him. Tomorrow… the semifinals, huh?
A faint smile tugged at his lips. It shouldn't prove too difficult. Still, I can't allow myself to grow careless.
His thoughts sharpened, drifting toward the path ahead. If I can secure time within the Room of Nature and cultivate there for at least six months, reaching the 2nd Severance will be inevitable. From there… even the 3rd Severance will no longer be beyond my grasp.
The fire of ambition stirred faintly in his chest, flickering like an ember in the dark. He exhaled slowly, letting his body relax against the mattress. Tomorrow was just another step—important, but only a fragment of the grander climb that awaited him.
Thinking of what lay ahead, he slowly closed his eyes, allowing drowsiness to wash over him like a gentle tide. Within moments, sleep claimed him, pulling him into its depths. The room fell into silence, broken only by the sound of his faint, steady breathing as he drifted into slumber.