Mystery: Gray Walker

Chapter 80 The Last Love

The two rushed out of the banquet hall, but the corridor was deserted.

The swarm of bats that Veronica had transformed into had long since disappeared, leaving only a faint smell of blood and the lingering fluctuations of dark spirituality in the air.

"This way!" Green shouted, rushing towards the basement.

The two ran wildly down the ornate staircase.

The candlelight on the wall flickered, casting their shadows in a distorted and eerie way.

Clarice, the "Guardian of Knowledge," is not only powerful in terms of knowledge, but also possesses certain physical qualities and combat instincts, which makes her faster and more agile than Grimm, like a cat.

“Listen to me,” Clarice said quickly as she ran. “Veronica is a Sequence 6 ‘Potions Professor.’ Her three most troublesome abilities are: Dark Domain, Blood Servant Conversion, and ‘Abyssal Shackles,’ a dark spell that binds both spirit and body. If you get trapped, don’t try to break free with brute force; that will only tighten the shackles. Use your spirit to strike the nodes of the shackles; the nodes are usually along the trajectory of her hand gestures when she casts the spell.”

Green nodded, memorizing the information. Although he had no chance of winning, and Clarice knew that too, they couldn't just sit and wait to die.

The two turned a corner, and a heavy oak door leading to the underground area appeared in front of them.

The door was ajar.

Through the crack in the door, ever-changing pink and crimson halos shone through, along with faint, chilling groans and gasps.

And... a new voice.

A deep, resonant pulse, like the heartbeat of the earth.

"Thump...thump...thump..."

Each sound caused the ground beneath their feet to tremble slightly.

Each sound made the spirituality in the air even more frenzied.

"The ritual has entered a crucial stage," Clarice said gravely. "It... is growing at an accelerated pace."

Without hesitation, Green pushed open the wooden door.

The scene behind the door was even more horrifying than before.

On both sides of the corridor, the vines and roots that were originally just "decorative" have now come to life.

Like living tentacles, they slowly wriggled on the walls and the ground, their surfaces displaying dark red, vein-like patterns that pulsated in sync with the thumping of a heartbeat.

The air was filled with an intense, nauseating aroma, a mixture of blood, sweat, and the most primal desires of life.

"On the left is the Chamber of Desire, on the right is the Chamber of Slaughter, and in the middle..." Green pointed to the depths of the corridor, "behind that largest door is the 'Womb'."

Clarice's gaze swept quickly across the surroundings.

As a 'master of ritual magic', she immediately recognized the arrangement here:

"Desire, killing, and procreation correspond to the concepts of 'pleasure,' 'death,' and 'new life,' respectively. She is offering herself in order to obtain the grace of 'God' and break through the barrier of Sequence 5."

"She's gone mad!"

She looked at Green, her eyes sharp:

"Veronica must be in the middle room. She's going to personally guide the final stage of fusion. We must interrupt her before she achieves the balance of the 'Trinity'."

"Trinity?" Green frowned.

"The tree of desire needs three kinds of 'nourishment': extreme pleasure, extreme pain, and the complete awakening of a 'vessel.' Marianna is that vessel—"

Before Clarice could finish speaking, the door on the right side of the corridor was suddenly slammed shut from the inside.

"Bang--!"

A muffled thud shook the wooden door.

Then came the second and third blows, the sounds of impact growing more and more rapid, accompanied by the man's beast-like roar.

Green and Clarice stopped in their tracks and looked warily at the door.

"Thump!"

With the final impact, the wooden door sprang open.

In that very instant—

Two hands reached out from the crack in the door, gripping the edge of the door frame tightly, their knuckles white.

Immediately after

Two figures were thrown out and crashed heavily onto the dark stone-paved ground.

It's Sylvia and Emily.

Sylvia's dress was tattered and stained with dark red stains, whether blood or something else, it was hard to tell.

Her hair was disheveled, her face was bloodless, and her eyes were terrifyingly empty, as if her soul had been ripped out.

Emily's situation was even worse.

The elegant light gold evening gown had been torn in several places, and her bare arms and shoulders were covered with fine, purplish-red bruises that looked as if she had been strangled by vines.

Her blonde hair clung messily to her sweaty forehead, her pupils contracted sharply, and she was breathing rapidly, as if she might suffocate at any moment.

Viktor Hayes's face flashed by at the doorway.

That face, always serious and always dignified, was etched with primal fear and desperation. His eyes were bloodshot, and a deep, bone-revealing wound ran down his forehead, blood trickling down his cheek.

But he braced his back against the doorway, trying to block something behind him with his body.

"Run—!!!" His roar was hoarse and broken.

Before he finished speaking, a dark red, slimy vine shot out like lightning. The tip split open the moment it touched Victor's back skin, transforming into a writhing 'mouthpart' surrounded by fine, fleshy teeth, which bit into his flesh.

"Ugh—!"

Victor's body trembled violently, and his eyes widened suddenly.

Immediately afterwards, a hollow, empty feeling spread from the wound.

That was his strength, his warmth, even his vague imagination of 'tomorrow'... being drawn away bit by bit, strand by strand, through the vine connecting him to the darkness inside the door, and transported to some unknown depth.

How ironic. Victor Hayes thought vaguely.

He spent his whole life pursuing "decency"... a decent job, decent social life, a decent marriage, and a decent death.

He taught his daughter to be elegant, scolded his wife to be dignified, and even scoffed at Green's "unrespectable" job as an investigator.

And now, he is about to die.

He died at the entrance to this filthy, damp basement, filled with blood and the groans of desire.

It died like a tattered rag that had been sucked dry, with an ugly plant tentacle stuck in its back.

He died without any dignity.

But strangely, when this thought came to him, he felt a sense of...relief.

That's ridiculous.

The heavy burden of "decency" he carried throughout his life, the yardstick he used to measure all values, the class obsession that led him to call Greene an "outsider"... were being rapidly emptied along with his life force.

What remained became clearer.

He looked down and saw his hands, which were bracing against the door, their skin losing its luster at a visible rate, turning a dull, waxy yellow, like those leather specimens in a museum that had been dried for centuries.

He raised his head and, with his vision beginning to blur, looked at Emily, who had fallen to the ground.

His daughter.

He had hoped she would become a noblewoman, marry into a truly upper-class family, and complete the upward mobility that the Hayes family had failed to achieve for generations.

Now, all he wants is for her to live.

He moved his lips, squeezing out his last words: "Help me... tell Green... I'm sorry..."

I'm sorry, child. I'm sorry that I traded my worthless "decency" for your most precious warning.

Then, with the last of his strength remaining in his withering body, he slammed backward and slammed the door shut.

Before plunging into complete darkness, the last sound Victor Hayes heard was the faint cracking sound of his spine being snapped by vines.

The sound was very soft.

It was as light as the sound of the shell he had carefully maintained throughout his life, called "decency," finally shattering completely.

From inside the door came the sound of vines frantically pounding against the door panel, and a kind of teeth-grinding sucking sound.

But Victor Hayes, the head of the Oberhafen Port Authority's inspection team, a man who spent his life pursuing respectability and advancement, blocked that door with his withered body.

It also blocked its own path to survival.

The corridor fell into dead silence.

"No--!!!"

Sylvia screamed as she scrambled to her feet, staggering toward the door and frantically pounding on the heavy oak planks with her hands.

"Victor! Victor, open the door! Open the door—!"

Her fingernails kept scratching at the door.

"Let me in! Please... don't leave me... don't leave me alone..."

She knelt before the door, her forehead pressed against the cold wooden board, her body trembling violently, crying her heart out.

That's not sadness.

That was the collapse of faith.

The husband she relied on, trusted, and followed throughout her life, the man who always told her that "decency is the most important thing" and "you have to climb up the social ladder," died behind the door.

And she was an accomplice.

It was her final words, "I'll follow you," that led her husband into the trap of the "high society" he had always dreamed of.

She tacitly approved of her daughter's estrangement from Green because she subconsciously felt that her husband might be right, and that they might have truly gained the Viscount's attention.

Now, dignity is dead.

It died behind the door, drained dry by a vine.

She knelt outside the door, her fingernails scratching through the wooden planks, crying like a lost dog.

Regret gnawed at her heart.

Emily remained slumped on the floor.

She didn't cry.

Her eyes were fixed on the door, on her father's last look, his words "I'm sorry," the vine that had sucked his blood and flesh, the furious roar as the door slammed shut...

These images swirled and churned wildly in her mind.

Her gaze slowly moved, settling at the other end of the corridor.

They moved toward Green, who was standing there, pale-faced.

The moment their eyes met, Green's heart sank.

What he saw in Emily's eyes was not fear, nor sadness.

It is hatred.

Pure, cold, and poisonous hatred.

"You saw it," Emily said, her voice eerily calm.

"You know perfectly well what's down there."

She slowly stood up from the ground, her movements as stiff as a marionette. "You knew perfectly well that we would die."

She walked towards Green step by step.

Why didn't you stop him?

Her voice began to tremble, not with sadness, but as if anger was boiling over:

"Why didn't you just knock him out? Why didn't you tell us the truth? Why... why did you just stand there and say 'We can't go'?!"

She practically screamed the last sentence.

Tears finally welled up in her eyes. "You could have saved him! You knew it! But you did nothing! You just watched! Watched us walk in! Watched Dad die—!"

"Emily, it's not like that..." Green wanted to explain, but for some reason, all his explanations got stuck in his throat.

What could he say?

Are you saying I warned you?

Why won't my uncle listen to me?

Are you saying that I was no longer able to forcibly take an adult away at that time?

Before that door, before Emily's hatred, all these explanations seemed ridiculously weak.

"You hate me, don't you?"

Emily stopped three steps away from Green, looked up at him, her face streaked with tears, but her eyes were unusually cold.

"Because Dad called you an outsider? Because you think our family is a burden? So you wish we'd all die here, right?!"

"Emily!" Clarisse shouted sharply, "Calm down! Green did his best! He risked his life to save you—"

"Save us?"

Emily abruptly turned to look at Clarice, her eyes bloodshot:

"Where is he?! Where was he when my father died?! He was up there! Discussing with you all how to 'disrupt the ritual'! He saved you, not us!"

Her voice echoed down the corridor, mingling with Sylvia's heart-wrenching cries, creating a scene straight out of hell.

Green stood there, his body ice-cold.

He looked at the cold hatred in Emily's eyes, at his aunt's distraught figure kneeling before the door, at that door...

He remembered Victor's last words, "I'm sorry."

That "I'm sorry" felt like a red-hot knife, stabbing into his heart and churning it repeatedly.

Yes.

He knew perfectly well.

He could have been... more decisive.

He could stop them at any cost, even with violence, even if it meant revealing his extraordinary abilities, even if it meant being seen as a madman.

But he didn't.

He chose reasonable warnings, rational persuasion, and the belief that adults would make the right choice.

The price was Uncle Victor's life.

It was an indelible hatred in Emily's eyes.

It is Aunt Sylvia's broken soul.

"I..." Green opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Just then—

"Thump!"

Deep in the corridor, behind the largest oak door, carved with vines and fruit patterns, came a pulsating sound several times stronger than before.

The entire underground space trembled.

The animated vines on the wall danced wildly, and the dark red, vein-like patterns suddenly became brighter.

"The ceremony is entering its final stage."

Clarisse's expression changed drastically. She glanced at Sylvia, who was kneeling and collapsing before the door, then at Emily, whose eyes were filled with hatred, and finally at Green.

"We don't have time."

She took a deep breath and made a decision:

"Green, take your aunt and cousin and leave here immediately. Go back the way you came, meet up with Rick and the others, and then escape the manor."

"And what about you?" Green asked in a hoarse voice.

"I'll interrupt the ceremony," Clarice said with a chilling calm. "If Veronica is allowed to complete her ascension, everyone will die. Including you all."

She looked at Emily:

"You can hate him, but don't do it here. Only by living can you have the right to hate."

After saying that, Clarice looked away from everyone.

She turned and stepped toward the largest door at the end of the corridor.

Her ivory-white skirt billowed behind her, and a silvery, ethereal glow swirled around her, like the last candlelight in the night.

Alone.

Heading towards that blasphemous 'uterus'.

Heading towards a battlefield where death is almost certain.

Green watched her retreating figure, then looked at his distraught aunt and his hateful cousin. "Emily, you have to get your aunt out of here now. You can hate me, but you heard me too, I..."

He gave a wry smile. "I still have some things to do."