Dark mist shrouded the castle, which seemed to date from the era of the ancient Magic Empire. Piercing beast howls echoed from within, punctuated by the occasional shrill wail.
In any other place, such a scene would have spawned all manner of terrifying tales—tales that would frighten children into silence at night, draw Church clergy or the battle mage division of the Continental Magic Parliament for a cleanup, and lure wave after wave of adventurers eager to explore. But in the Dark Mountains, this sort of thing was commonplace. For all anyone knew, there was an even more horrifying ancient fortress hidden somewhere nearby.
Inside an ornately decorated room, thick carpets from the southern deserts of the Gusta Empire covered the floor. Artifacts bearing the weight of ages stood alongside floor-to-ceiling windows—a style only developed in the last few centuries beyond the mountains. Everything exuded an air of aristocratic refinement. Yet what clashed jarringly with it all was the man and woman lying on the carpet, clad in chain mail suited for quick movement, each gripping a longsword that shimmered with azure "waves" and crimson "flames."
Before them stood a man in his thirties wearing classical robes. His body and face were gaunt almost to the point of emaciation, yet his head was a full size larger than that of an ordinary person.
A smile hung at the corner of his mouth, made all the more sinister by the dark mist swirling outside. His eyes burned with a faint, feverish gleam as he greedily surveyed the man and woman, his gaze sweeping back and forth, as though he could barely contain the desire surging within him.
"Both mind and body—absolutely delectable. This haul has truly delighted me..." The man crouched down, extending a skeletal right hand to caress the woman's lovely features and the man's rugged jaw, lingering over each as though admiring two works of art that set his blood racing.
This touch drew a reaction from the two unconscious figures. Their eyeballs darted beneath their lids, as though they might wake at any moment. But the big-headed man showed not a shred of vigilance, continuing his slow, inch-by-inch exploration of their skin with murmured appreciation.
Half-dreaming, half-awake, Sharon felt something cold and slippery gliding across her face and body—a sensation like a writhing serpent. Her deep revulsion for such creatures jolted her fully awake, and her eyes snapped open.
Above her was a gold ceiling with a crystal chandelier, and right beside her, a face she knew—far, far too close.
"Fein, you... my power!" Sharon blurted his name instinctively, but halfway through the exclamation, she realized with horror that she could no longer tap into her bloodline power. The power she had painstakingly cultivated to the rank of Great Knight—gone.
"Fein, what are you doing?!" The man beside her had awakened a few seconds earlier than Sharon and had already noticed something deeply wrong.
Fein burst into laughter. "Constantine, what do you think I'm doing?"
"You were the one who captured us? Why?" Sharon was a battle-hardened Great Knight and quickly suppressed her panic. She discovered that the reason she couldn't access her bloodline power was that restraint bracelets and ankle chains had been locked onto her wrists and ankles.
Still, her question carried a thick note of disbelief. She and Constantine had known Fein since childhood. They had adventured together, grown together, advanced to knighthood one after another, earned titles in the Kingdom, and were no strangers to the Dark Mountains—frequently venturing to its edges in search of rare materials. This time, Fein had claimed to have discovered ruins during a solo expedition, ruins that supposedly held a trove of valuable things, so the three of them had set out together.
Who could have guessed that the castle was nothing like what Fein had described? The three had been ambushed by powerful dark creatures, fought a desperate bloody battle, and then wandered into a strange mist before losing consciousness. And now, upon waking, they found that Fein had become someone utterly unrecognizable.
"Fein has long since become my slave." 'Fein' cackled wildly. Suddenly, his eyes bulged outward, as though they might burst at any moment. Then, from his nostrils, his mouth, and his ears, one by one, tentacle-like appendages sprouted forth, and his skin turned a vivid crimson.
"A Mind Flayer!" Constantine cried out in near-despair. This creature was adept at dominating minds and wielded a host of related spells. Falling into its clutches meant a fate worse than death—there was a good chance that he would end up serving as its slave, bound by unquestioning devotion while retaining most of his memories and personality.
'Fein' shook his head. "I'm not a Mind Flayer—merely a Celestial Knight with Mind Flayer bloodline. I was gravely wounded and on the verge of death, with no way to recover. Who would have thought that the ruins rumor I deliberately spread would lure adventurer after adventurer? Their brain matter became the source of my revival. Fein among them. Heh heh—greed truly is the beginning of misfortune. For treasures they couldn't even see the shadow of, they came flocking to my castle, one group after another."
"Once I drain your brain matter and reshape you into my slaves, my injuries will be more or less fully healed."
Set against the backdrop of dark mist and paired with those words, Fein's expression was indescribably grotesque—even Sharon, a Great Knight of iron will, could not help but tremble. This was more terrifying than death.
'Fein's' tentacles, writhing wildly beside his head, crept toward Sharon and Constantine, aiming straight for their skulls.
Unable to draw on their bloodline power, Sharon and Constantine could only push themselves backward with their arms. They retreated and retreated until their backs pressed against the freezing wall.
"It's no use. The reason I haven't simply used mind control to make you obey is that I want to savor this—every last bit of fear and terror on your faces." 'Fein' laughed smugly.
Dark Knights were not all that different from ordinary Knights. The only distinction lay in their bloodlines, which were often tied to demons, devils, or Mind Flayers, and which influenced their temperament and mental state. If one's willpower was not strong enough, one could easily lose control of one's own bloodline, becoming a true "demon" in every sense of the word.
Feeling the cold, slippery tentacles brush against her face, even the strongest willpower could not stop Sharon from crying out in desperate terror:
"No!"
"It's no use. We're deep within the Dark Mountains, inside my castle. There's no living thing here besides my slaves. No matter how loud you scream, no one will hear you. Hahaha." 'Fein' clearly relished Sharon's display of fear, and so he paused the tentacles, giving them one more taste of despair.
Thud. Thud. Thud.