Chapter 31: The Ten-Day Deadline
Lordi Payne's focus slipped just for no more than a second, and suddenly, the hem of his robe grew heavier, as if an unseen force was tugging at it. He glanced down just in time to see the robe fabric on his back being yanked downward by a half translucent, child-like ghost. Its grip was cold and unnatural, sending a jolt of panic through him.
Reacting on instinct, he slashed backward with the Blade of Life Hater. This time, there was no scream—only a sharp, searing pain in his thigh. The ghostly thing had bitten him, trading its own annihilation for one last, spiteful strike.
That single moment of distraction marked the beginning of a relentless onslaught. The footsteps around him thickened, growing frenzied and vengeful. Invisible monsters charged at him with reckless abandon, their malice palpable in the air. Lordi Payne fought on, his movements growing more frantic as fear clawed at his mind. His blood surged, the blade's blood mist glowing brighter and dripping with an almost liquid intensity. Each swing unleashed a chorus of shrieks, snuffing out at least a dozen of the ghostly things.
But they were relentless. Though frail individually, their numbers were overwhelming. The old saying came to mind: When ants unite, they can lift an elephant. And now, with this endless swarm of vengeful spirits, they could certainly kill him. Cold sweat poured down Lordi Payne's forehead as he swung the blade again and again, his stamina waning with every strike. Yet, no matter how many he cut down, their numbers seemed endless.
A few moments later, wounds began to dot his body—bites, scratches, and gashes that burned with an unnatural cold. Gasping for breath, he edged toward the courtyard gate, fighting while retreating. With a fierce kick, the gate shattered—but what lay beyond wasn't the familiar stone path. Instead, it was a boundless, ominous darkness that seemed to pulse with malice.
The darkness oozed foreboding, thick and suffocating, as if it were alive. Lordi Payne gritted his teeth, ready to plunge into it. Maybe it's an illusion, he thought desperately. But as he neared the threshold, his instincts screamed at him to stop. Every fiber of his being recoiled from the idea of stepping into that void.
"What the hell is this?" he muttered, wiping cold sweat from his brow. Just then, another bite mark bloomed on his hand, the pain sharp and immediate. But in that moment of agony, a flash of clarity hit him. He shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos, "I've mastered the Blood Fiend Sword Art! Won't Lady Willow show herself?"
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the courtyard seemed to hold its breath. These past days, the looming fine had nearly made him forget Fairy Lith's ten-day deadline.
Sure enough, his words drew a response. From the darkness beyond the gate came a gentle, almost mocking sound—a soft harrumph that echoed with an otherworldly resonance.