The torch in the creature's right hand—or whatever functioned as a torch—illuminated the entire hall.
Though called a hall, it was not particularly spacious. The vaulted ceiling was low, and the ancient stone walls bore crude reliefs, flickering in the firelight. The carvings depicted long-forgotten races, non-human in appearance, more like dragons stripped of their horns. Beneath those rudimentary, blade-like forelimbs lay the granite contours of the slaves' corpses at their feet. Beside the granite, partially uncorrupted skulls burned atop several coffin lids, while Butchers and various outsiders' bodies were piled nearby.
The thing stood with its back to them. Humanoid, yet its hips were at ordinary human height. Its gray-black body was emaciated yet sinewy; along its hunched back sprouted gray-white fur as long as human arms. Its head, grotesquely affixed like a screw in its chest cavity, was mostly obscured by the hunched back, making it impossible to discern finer details.
Sarthel heard the sharp rasp of serrated teeth—he guessed its bite would be lethal.
The torch glowed blood-red, floating above its head with black ribbon-like objects, the spectral light almost ghostly.
At that moment, the creature and the ghostly torch shifted slightly, as if sensing something. It turned its head, revealing a mouth split from crown to chin, crocodile-like, lined with three or four rows of jagged malformed teeth. Beneath the fur sat two pea-sized gray eyes, embedded on either side of the mouth, making it resemble a saw-tooth shark with its head turned ninety degrees.
It breathed heavily, a sound like a dilapidated bellows. Its chest was fully exposed, ribs jutting outward like an invitation to embrace. It began moving toward them. From its dark maw leaked unchewed entrails, staring into the shadows where they hid.
"The sword you gave me—are you sure it isn't cheap junk worth a few coppers?" Jeanne muttered at his side, her tone devoid of fear.
"This sword is worth more than your head," Sarthel replied, locking eyes with her calm, pale-golden gaze, his mockery stripped of irony.
"Good."
The firelight crept forward inch by inch, like a blind man feeling along a cliff edge, gradually revealing the darkness around them. Its dull gray eyes scanned the shadows, displaying a keen interest in prey.
Sarthel saw the translucent eyelids flicker, then heard the creature mutter a low, beast-like, seemingly meaningless growl. Its gray pupils suddenly ignited like burning coals.
In an instant—
A hot, stinking wind, thick with the stench of charred flesh, swept through the hall's entrance. Then, a scream—
The creature screamed.
A black longsword flew across more than ten meters, piercing the raging heat and embedding squarely in its gaping maw. It swallowed its own stench and the flame's fury, erupting into a wail of pain.
In the next moment, Jeanne had snatched the black-red longsword from his hand.
She leapt across the short distance, following the sword like a hawk.
The creature fixed its furious gaze on the approaching woman, roaring in pain and rage. Its bloodied claws, as long as a human thigh, carved through the air like a chariot wheel crushing corpses.
Jeanne ducked beneath the swing with an expressionless calm, driving her sword deep into its armpit. With a twist of her right wrist, she severed the entire arm, sending blackened blood spraying across the floor and walls. The creature screamed, swinging the torch, its dozens of jagged ribs stretching like serrated blades, attempting to crush the small human. From afar, it resembled a crocodile leaping in a river to hunt zebras.
Ignoring the attack, Jeanne leapt high, grasping the black sword lodged in its mouth, pressing another sword against the serrated ribs. With a sudden, precise movement, she drove the blade through the creature's skull. Moments later, she pulled the sword downward, releasing a torrent of blood like a ruptured wine sack.
The sound of tearing fabric echoed.
From its mouth to beneath the hips, the creature's body was split cleanly.
The nearly bisected monster fell, and Jeanne stepped on its head expressionlessly, finishing it with a single blow to the chest-embedded skull.
"Impressive," Sarthel remarked leisurely, clapping for Jeanne. "I thought you'd need help, but you handled it alone."
"The timing was right," she replied expressionless, kicking the severed head aside. "And your sword is sturdy enough. Opportunities like this aren't frequent; otherwise, my squad wouldn't have been sent here, leaving me as the sole survivor."
"Also—"
She turned to him, extending her forearm, streaked with several smooth gashes. The once-damaged vambrace had shattered like paper; purple-red blood flowed down Sarthel's arm. Through the wounds, he could see white bone—the cuts inflicted by the creature's sharp ribs.
"—heal me," she said.
The sword hadn't fully blocked the attack.
Sarthel noticed her brows furrow, but her face betrayed no pain.
"You seem accustomed to saying one thing and doing another… fine." He conjured a faint light over her forearm. "Healing these wounds consumes a lot of life force—not yours, of course. I also have to filter corruption to prevent soul collapse. It drains me heavily, and my energy reserve is limited. So before you charge out like a wild boar, give me a heads-up, alright?"
"I'll try," she replied without lifting her eyelids.
Sarthel noted the perfunctory tone, thinking to himself that she was as willful as ever.
Once the healing was complete, he absorbed the life force of the guard and the creature, observing the dead Hounds scattered among the blackened blood. Corpses lay in disarray: skulls cleaved open, nude young women dangling from pillars, men with eviscerated abdomens huddled in corners, middle-aged men frozen in unbearable agony atop coffins, black beetles crawling among the bodies, devouring flesh, licking sticky gore.
Sarthel crouched, reaching for a corpse. Instantly, over a dozen beetles burrowed into his skin like shadows—
"Interesting—"
He shook his head and snapped his fingers. A wave of black-gray energy surged through him. In moments, the beetles, sensing extreme terror, scurried like a black tide. Those inside his skin were expelled rapidly; those outside fled in panic, some even colliding mid-crawl.
Soon, all were gone, hastily retreating from the hall.
"Those are the Reaper Hud's insects…" Jeanne furrowed her brows. "Why are these disgusting things mixed with the Hounds? Black Mage—what has your Empress allied with?"
Sarthel cast her a blank glance.
"If I had known Nero's plan, I wouldn't have been reborn in this cursed place."