A Madman's Confession
He stood there motionless for a long while.
No matter how he scanned the surroundings, he couldn't figure out where the mages had vanished to. The rear was sealed off by the massive wooden sphere that had engulfed his companions, and ahead, the animated armors he'd toppled had swarmed in.
In this vast corridor devoid of windows, their possible escape routes were severely limited.
So where the hell had they gone?
Maybe they'd been dragged into the floor or walls, just like the ghouls that burst from them. It was the most plausible theory, though he couldn't be certain.
"Gotta find them...."
He couldn't just stand around forever.
He infused a talisman with his will and hurled it into the darkness ahead.
Whoosh.
The talisman ignited, summoning a small ghost fire that lit the path before him. Clutching talismans in both hands, ready to throw at any moment, he stepped forward. There was only one way to go.
Thud. Thud.
Blue flames illuminating the corridor, he advanced slowly, eyes darting everywhere. Fortunately, no ambushes came while he walked. Still, he never let his guard down—who knew when or where something might strike.
How much time passed like that? Then, for the first time, a door appeared ahead in the corridor.
Creeeak—
He cracked it open and peered inside. The room held massive cauldrons and an array of kitchen knives mounted on the walls. It looked like the castle's kitchen.
"Nothing here."
Confirming the empty kitchen, he slipped inside cautiously.
"No way they'd be hiding in a place like this."
Scratching his head, he inspected the room closely. No obvious hiding spots—just frying pans, pots, knives, and other cooking utensils.
"Better check other rooms."
He turned to leave.
Rrrumble—
Suddenly, a kitchen knife hurtled toward the back of his head as he turned.
Thwuck—
Far from complacent, he dove behind a thick pillar.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
It wasn't just one knife. More stabbed into the pillar where he hid, embedding at eye level in the white stone. If he'd been even a fraction slower, instant death.
"A ghost?"
He peeked out, tracing the knives' origin. As before, no one was there. But something had changed.
"The knives are possessed."
The wall-mounted knives trembled and floated into the air. Frying pans, pots, and bizarre utensils followed suit.
The cookware swarmed toward him. He flung a talisman from his hand.
Boom—!
The instant the knives met the talisman, a massive explosion erupted.
Kabooooom—!
Peeking out again, he surveyed the aftermath.
Crackle—
The pristine kitchen was gone. Cauldrons shattered by the blast, utensils reduced to ash. Nothing flew at him anymore.
"Nice and clean."
Emerging, he eyed the knives quivering in the stone brick wall nearby—too close to the blast to be destroyed. They strained to break free and attack. He slapped a talisman beside them.
"Burn."
Clasping his hands in a mudra, he murmured. Blue flames erupted from the talisman, engulfing and incinerating the remnants.
Mudra.
A technique learned from the mages over his shoulder. The Necromancer, the guide—all used sorcery by forming hand seals. He'd mimicked it on a whim, and it worked better than expected.
"Feels a bit stronger, maybe."
Its power was already ample, so the improvement was hard to gauge. But the energy cost was noticeably lower. Not that it took much to begin with—no real need for mudras.
"Time to go."
Nothing left to see here. Every object in the room had been incinerated. Threats eliminated, no people found—on to the next spot.
But is wandering around like this even worthwhile?
Staring into the pitch-black corridor beyond the door, doubts crept in.
He barely understood this castle's nature. Juharin seemed to know something, but he couldn't ask her now. She and the other mages' fates were unknown.
They could all be dead already, and it wouldn't surprise him.
"Hmm...."
He pondered. Maybe hunt the Necromancer instead. The one who'd lured them here likely knew the exit.
Not that he'd share willingly.
Finding him first was the issue. Facing him blind to his powers and arsenal? The outcome was obvious.
"Shouldn't the request details cover this crap?"
Tsk.
No choice—had to explore the castle. Grimacing at the client's shoddy briefing, he stepped out. Hoping the next encounter was allies, not enemies.
But as he exited the kitchen, a sickening squelch made him turn.
Splat!
Something gushing red blood plummeted from the ceiling to the floor.
"Gasp...! Gasp...!"
Top of his "do not want to see right now" list: the Necromancer. The silver lining? He was dying.
"Haa... what a mess."
Surveying the wrecked kitchen, the Necromancer let out a hollow chuckle. Siwoo approached slowly, talismans gripped taut in both hands.
"Your handiwork?"
"Who knows."
Leaning precariously against the wall, he rasped ragged breaths. Once whole when they first met, now he barely exhaled through blood-frothed lips, gazing up with fading eyes.
"You look like you've got a lot to say."
The Necromancer gave a self-mocking smirk. A clot of dead blood gushed from his mouth.
"Anyone would wonder, seeing you like that."
His left arm was severed clean off. The stump no longer bled, some crude treatment applied. But the real horror was his left side: a massive chunk of flesh torn away, as if by a beast's jaws. The dark red pool staining the floor had poured from that gaping wound. His trembling right hand desperately held back spilling entrails.
"Fled from Juharin, only to run into you. Some luck, huh."
"That little witch? Haha... like I'd lose to a brat. This wound? From this domain's resident."
Siwoo narrowed his eyes. "This isn't your domain?"
"Afraid not. Not a mage strong enough for that."
"I'm asking if you weren't controlling the armors and knives."
Cough cough.
He laughed grotesquely. "Nah, this place is way beyond my control."
"Then how'd you lure us here?"
"Lured you in. It's a suicide trap. No one leaves alive. Heh heh heh."
Siwoo mulled his words.
Trusting the enemy was foolish. When they first entered, Juharin had reacted knowingly. If she lived, escape wouldn't be an issue.
But as if reading his mind, the Necromancer sneered. "Hah... think that little witch knows this place? I found this grimoire-manifested realm eons ago, wandering the world. To her novice eyes, it'd just look like a mimic barrier."
"Reading my mind?"
"Hah! Your face isn't despairing yet! You still think you grasp the situation and can escape—it's all over your mug!"
Creepy bastard.
"Gotta watch my expressions from now on."
"Kekeke, you're a newbie too, huh?"
Siwoo grabbed the dying man's nape.
Chin.
"What, gonna kill me?"
"Dunno. No hobby of finishing off the dying."
He slapped a talisman on the Necromancer's chest. "Try anything suspicious, and you're dead."
"Kekeke, no strength left for that."
Dragging him by the nape, Siwoo exited the room.
Mission was total elimination: not just kill, but erase all traces. Hauling the corpse risked necromantic tricks.
"Hey, drag gentler."
"Shut up."
"Guh! Hurts!!"
Gripping tighter, Siwoo walked the corridor.
"Hey. Boring. Tell me something juicy."
"Shut up, I said."
"Embarrassed? Fine, my story then."
Delirious from death, he giggled and spilled his tale.
"Hated the mage life at first. Knew it'd drive you mad, dancing with death. But money's a bitch."
His eyes glazed, lost in memory.
"Had a mom. Don't ask about dad—he ditched us trash. Why? Mom got sick. The kind that costs a fortune to treat."
Heh heh heh.
"Ended up in this world anyway. Saved treatment cash quick—mages rake it in. Shipped her to America for care."
His laughter cut off abruptly.
"Quit work, scraped savings for a normal life with her. Happy as hell... until I heard she died."
Siwoo glanced at him. "Tough break."
"Kekekeke! Hated the world then. Couldn't accept it—flew to America, demanded the body. Hospital bastards wouldn't show."
Siwoo walked silently.
"Knew they hid something. Slaughtered the staff, tortured the director. That prick says my mom's alive."
His eyes darkened.
"Ecstatic. Thought I'd see her again. So thrilled, I mercy-killed the director easy."
His voice sank too.
"But... Mom wasn't 'alive.' Pig body, her head grafted on. She begged me—kill her. Didn't want to live."
Nearly weeping, he continued. "Sent her off, gathered intel for revenge. Turns out her illness tied to magic. Mage Tower collecting global cases for human experiments."
Haaa....
Long sigh, low lament. "Too hasty. Later learned a real cure existed."
"...What's the disease?"
"Dunno the name... sudden collapse, can't walk... acute... something."
"Acute flaccid myelitis."
"Yeah, that."
His eyes flashed at Siwoo. "How'd you know? Rare as hell."
Ignoring him, Siwoo asked calmly, "Cure?"
"Well... "
Crunch—!
"Gaaaaah—!"
"What cure did you find?"
Colder than expected, even to himself.
Stopped walking, stared down blankly. Grip tightened involuntarily.
Their eyes locked.
"Kuhahaha!!"
Fading eyes regained mad vitality.
"You're like me! Desperate for something precious!"
"..."
"Poker face won't hide it! That desperation in your eyes screams it!!"
His lips twisted upward.
"Family? Lover? Friend? Who's dying from that fucking disease?"
"...Shut up and spill the cure."
"Kkyakyakya!!"
Mad laughter, ecstatic gaze.
"Fine, listen. Only cure: millennium tree sap. Years of research—trust me."
Surprisingly compliant. About to ask source—
Necromancer beat him. Shocking words.
"But you can't get it. Some psycho necromancer torched every millennium tree. None left. Cure's gone forever."
Brain's heat chilled instantly. Blood tears streamed from his manic eyes.
"That necromancer probably felt wronged. My precious one died—watching others with the same disease mockingly survive? Unbearable."
Heh heh heh—
The madman's sneer grated his ears.
"Truly tragic."
Beaming at Siwoo.
"Your precious one must die."
All true? If so, what now?
"Lucky me."
The Necromancer sighed in genuine relief, patting his chest.