Chapter 77
Chapter 77
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 77 – The Great Poet of Love is Rotten to the Bone2024-05-22 — Author: Poor Xixi
Purgatory Corridor Academy, ground level.
A group of figures halted before a massive mithril gate.
This was the shortcut into the second corridor. Ancient runes were etched across its surface, gleaming mysteriously in the flicker of candlelight.
With a gentle push from the vice principal, the gate rumbled open, echoes reverberating through the ancient stone walls as a faint fragrance of candle incense washed over them.
Stepping into the vast transition hall, they found towering demon statues lining both sides of the passage, each several meters tall, like a black forest of stone. The dim golden light that shimmered across them seemed to recount the long history of the academy.
As they walked, the footsteps and hushed voices of the blood emissary, the Guardian Corps, and the academy’s upper faculty overlapped, weaving into a deep, resonant murmur.
“Stop.”
Suddenly, at the head of the group, Baron Sánchez raised a hand and halted.
The entire party slowed to a stop, turning their attention toward him.
“What’s the matter?”
The Great Poet of Love, leading the way, glancedback with a puzzled expression.
“Miss Lan Fu, why have we skipped Corridor No. 24?”
Baron Sánchez gestured, and an officer stepped forward to hand him a map.
Unfolding it, Sánchez traced their path, confirming his suspicion. His expression cooled as he fixed a piercing stare upon the Great Poet and the vice principal.
Though the school’s layout was notoriously complex, with corridors that constantly shifted and reconnected, Sánchez had already committed the general structure to memory.
They had passed through many classrooms on this floor. Yet, no matter how the path twisted and turned, they had never once entered Corridor 24.
With the Blood True Eyes, Sánchez possessed frightening insight. A single pass was enough for him to remember the entire arrangement of the ground-level corridors with clarity.
The route the acting principal and vice principal had taken seemed flawless. At every bLan Qing point where they might have entered Corridor 24, the guides subtly steered him elsewhere, into new hallways, making the detours feel natural—so natural he might never have noticed the trick.
“I assure you,” the Great Poet answered smoothly, “Corridor 24 is currently sealed. And I can guarantee, the student you’re searching for isn’t there.”
Her calm reply made Sánchez’s gaze linger on her, his blood-red eyes probing as if to pierce her soul.
“Take me there,” he ordered coldly.
Though her composure remained intact, the Great Poet’s soul wavered faintly.
“I suggest we inspect the other corridors first…” she said evenly, her face still unreadable.
“Immediately. Now. Take me there.”
Sánchez’s voice sharpened, tinged with irritation.
Her evasions had worn his patience thin. The more unwilling she seemed, the stronger his instinct burned—something was hidden there.
“…”
The Great Poet pressed her lips together, silent. Everyone could see it: beneath her mask of poise, she had flinched.
“If you won’t lead us, we’ll go ourselves.”
The officer at Sánchez’s back sensed the rising hostility between the academy’s demons and the Inspectorate forces. He stepped forward, tension spiking. Teachers and soldiers alike bristled, the air turning taut as bowstrings.
“I’ll take you.”
Finally, the Great Poet spoke, her voice trembling faintly with resignation, as if she had weighed the consequences and chosen not to escalate further.
The other faculty demons exchanged hesitant, worried looks. Some seemed about to intervene, but no words came.
Expressionless, Sánchez scoffed inwardly at her petty tricks. Before his Blood Eyes, even the smallest cracks stood out like gaping wounds.
And so—
The entire group turned back, swiftly retracing their path until they reached a corridor they had not yet explored.
Minutes later, they arrived before a broad door embedded in the far wall, standing like a silent sentinel.
This door, veiled in a soundproofing barrier, loomed heavily before them.
The Great Poet and vice principal stepped forward, hands ready to push it open.
“Wait.”
Sánchez stopped them.
His senses had stirred—inside, countless demons sat in class. Yet among their auras, he felt it: one faint, out-of-place soul.
Human.
His suspicion solidified. Behind this door, masquerading as an ordinary classroom, lurked the fugitives he sought.
No wonder the academy had seemed so calm earlier—they’d been weaving him through a labyrinth all along.
“Clear them out,” Sánchez commanded icily.
“You there—step back! No one approaches this classroom until the inspection is complete!”
The officer barked the order, driving the Great Poet back despite her attempt to intervene at the last moment. Then, leading a squad of elites, he followed Sánchez into the classroom to conduct the arrest.
The door closed behind them.
Silence.
With the soundproofing barrier, nothing leaked into the corridor. Only the anxious breathing and racing heartbeats of those waiting outside could be heard.
Ten seconds passed.
Thirty seconds.
Two minutes.
No one knew what was happening inside.
Had they caught the humans at last? Was the academy’s leadership doomed? Or would Sánchez emerge empty-handed?
Yet—
No sound. No movement. No one came out.
The demons of the Inspectorate waiting outside began to glanced at one another in confusion.
The classroom remained sealed.
The Great Poet’s shoulders, once slumped in feigned defeat, suddenly shook. A strange sound escaped her throat.
“Heh… heh…”
Her lips curled, and at last she broke, sinking to the floor as peals of laughter spilled out, clutching her stomach.
“Ha—haha! Don’t blame me! He insisted on storming into that classroom himself—what could I do to stop him?”
She dabbed at the tears of mirth gathering at the corners of her eyes, grinning wickedly at the stunned demons around her.
Her face was the picture of cruel delight, basking in her triumph.
This was Corridor G24.
And the classroom Sánchez had just entered—
Was the very one where Lan Qi had unleashed the Infernal Sound Core Meltdown.
The Demon King’s Granted Theater.
Inside, the calamity still raged, looping endlessly.
Save for the Music Department’s chair—whose resistance to auditory sorcery was nearly unparalleled—no living being who entered could ever escape on their own.