The four figures approaching through the narrow cave passage weren't the only ones.
There must be more.
No faction would risk infiltrating Reynald Hero Academy—an institution crawling with elite professors and high-ranking cadets—without considerable backing.
These aren't minor grunts. This cell is just one head of a much larger beast.
And even if I managed to subdue them, interrogation was useless. The same curse that had killed the last one would be embedded in every operative.
They're not just pawns. They're bait. Meant to operate, die, and leave no trace.
A different approach was needed.
If I can't extract answers, I'll become the question.
My gaze drifted down—toward the two black scythes glinting faintly in the cave's dim light.
The moment I saw them, a plan sparked.
Aha.
There was still a way forward. It was desperate, but sometimes the best plans were painted in blood.
"Let's begin…"
First, I turned to the corpse of the demon I'd fought. Husk, they called him. A low-ranking monk of the Demon Church.
I drove my blade through his neck and severed his head.
If they see the curse killed him, they'll get suspicious. But a clean decapitation?
That was believable.
Then, without ceremony, I picked up one of the cursed scythes.
Its handle was unnaturally cold. Residual demonic energy pulsed through the weapon like a heartbeat.
Without hesitation—
Thud.
I rammed the scythe into my own abdomen.
Pain tore through me like a furnace roaring to life. My knees buckled. Blood poured freely, staining the stone below.
My vision blurred, heart slowed, breath grew shallow.
Good.
Let them think I was lucky. Let them assume I struck down one of theirs… and paid the price for it.
Then let them carry my "corpse" to wherever it is they're hiding.
Take me to your secrets.
Meanwhile…
"How long since we lost contact with Husk?"
The voice was cold, distant—like ice cracking on a frozen lake.
Four men stood deep within the cave's twisting corridors. Each wore a hooded robe dyed in shades of shadow, but only one radiated menace.
Blood-red hair. A grotesque burn scar warping the left side of his face. And eyes—glowing, unnatural, demonic.
Calyx.
High Priest of a faction within the Demon Church. Ruthless, precise… and absolutely unforgiving.
"Th-thirty minutes, Priest Calyx," one of his followers stammered.
Calyx exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing.
"I distinctly recall ordering—never alone. Always two when placing the nails."
"I—I'm sorry! He insisted he'd be quick!"
Calyx didn't reply at first. Just stared, unblinking.
Then—
"Tch. I'll deal with him… later."
He turned.
"Move."
"Yes, sir!"
The group advanced quickly through the winding cavern, the walls around them humming faintly with corrupted mana.
When they reached the designated site—
They stopped.
The scene before them was far from orderly.
"Ack… h-help… me…"
A gray-haired student lay collapsed, clutching his bleeding stomach.
Next to him—Husk, decapitated, his body sprawled in a pool of blackened blood.
Calyx froze.
"…Why is a student here?"
He turned to his men.
"There was no scheduled training today, correct?"
"N-no, sir! Today's outdoor schedule was clear. He must've gotten special access—probably by professor endorsement."
Calyx's frown deepened. The student wasn't supposed to be here.
And yet—he had managed to kill Husk.
A mere candidate.
Unforgivable.
Even for a low monk, Husk bore the Demon God's blessing. He should never have fallen to a child with a sword.
Unless… that child wasn't ordinary.
If he found out… if Calyx's master heard of this slip…
Calyx's fingers twitched. His head throbbed.
No. This must be buried.
"What should we do?" one of the cultists asked, looking down at the student. "He's dying. Bleeding out. Shall we treat him?"
"Treat him?"
Calyx's expression twisted into something dark, almost amused.
"Do you trust the living?"
"…N-no, sir."
"Good."
Dark mana surged to Calyx's chest, coalescing into a sleek black spear.
Wooooom.
Before anyone could speak again—
Thud!
The spear pierced the cadet's chest cleanly, impaling his heart.
The boy jerked once.
"…Urgh."
Then collapsed.
"Dispose of the body."
"Yes, sir!"
Two cultists moved swiftly to shoulder the corpse.
Calyx didn't look back.
"Let this be a reminder," he muttered, voice low.
"In this world, only the dead can keep secrets."
He turned, cloak billowing like a storm.
"And the dead don't lie."
The city of Valhalla, built around Reynald Hero Academy.
Located in a neutral zone between the three great kingdoms, Valhalla was a cultural melting pot, a place where nations converged to build a new civilization. The rumors spoke grandly: more luxurious than the Empire's capital, more devout than the Holy Kingdom's holy city, more advanced than the Republic's hub of innovation.
But wherever light shines the brightest, shadows grow the deepest.
Beneath Valhalla's brilliance lay a festering underbelly — the slum known as the Ant Nest. A winding, chaotic sprawl of twisting alleys, decaying tenements, and whispered violence. The kind of place where even sin had to pay its dues.
Through the shadows of the Ant Nest, a group of robed figures moved in silence, their presence alone causing hardened thugs to shrink away. These weren't ordinary criminals — the aura of death and blasphemy that clung to them was unmistakable.
"Open it," came the low command.
"Y-Yes, Priest!"
Three demons placed their palms on what appeared to be a dead-end wall.
—Whoosh.
Dark energy seeped from their hands, and with a ripple, a hidden entrance spiraled open. Without a word, they stepped inside.
Calyx flung off his robe with a sigh as he stepped into the hideout. A cool silence embraced him, though his thoughts were far from still.
'That cadet… I need to erase his existence cleanly.'
The boy's death — no, apparent disappearance — needed to fit into an airtight story. For now, the staff at Reynald wouldn't suspect foul play. But that wouldn't last long.
'The professors aren't fools.'
He'd need to fabricate a trail: a story of a struggling cadet who, under stress and despair, fled the academy and returned to his homeland.
'All I need is a believable replacement.'
Someone who resembled the cadet — gray hair, slight frame, continental accent — to play the role for a brief sighting or a forged report from a distant village. Enough to push suspicion away. Preferably a corpse. Or someone expendable.
But there was another problem.
'Where was that boy from? He looks Republic-born, but...'
These days, ethnic lines were blurred. The descendants of those who once crossed from the Republic — from the old world called Korea — now had generations of continental blood in their veins. Appearances alone weren't enough.
Calyx rubbed his temple, agitated.
'And if he finds out about this…'
A chill traced his spine. He clenched his fists.
It couldn't be allowed to fail.
"Welcome back, Priest Calyx!"
"We heard you lost contact with Husk—!"
"Silence," Calyx snapped.
Immediately, the group of robed demons bowed and quieted. Nearly thirty of them moved through the hideout like shadows, coordinating tasks under Calyx's leadership.
Calyx sat, draping one leg over the other. His sharp gaze flicked toward the body being carried in.
"Place the cadet in the corner. Husk... chop him up. Feed him to the dogs in the drainage district."
"Y-Yes, sir!"
Even hardened cultists flinched at the order. Husk had been one of them — a monk of the Demon God, a brother-in-doctrine. But none dared speak.
"Now then…"
Calyx's eyes narrowed, falling on one of the demons.
"Who was assigned to accompany Husk for today's 'stake' deployment?"
A moment of hesitation.
The others subtly turned toward one demon near the back. His face paled.
"Was it you?"
"P-Priest Calyx, I—I made a mistake! I swear, it won't happen again!"
"There won't be a next time."
Calyx raised a hand.
"N-No! Please—!"
"I don't trust the living."
Dark energy surged from Calyx's palm, converging into a spear of jagged shadow.
"The only ones I trust…"
He whispered coldly.
"…are the dead."
Shluk!
The spear shot forward with sickening precision, piercing the demon's skull and pinning his lifeless body to the wall.
"Feed him to the dogs as well."
"Y-Yes, sir!"
Two subordinates scrambled to carry out the order.
Calyx exhaled softly, reclining into his chair.
There was no sign of guilt. Only calculation.
"Report. The ley lines?"
"They're being deployed as scheduled. Three anchor points completed."
"No one else has gone out alone, I hope?"
"N-No, sir! We've kept to pairs or more."
"Tch."
He clicked his tongue.
They were probably lying. But he couldn't afford to thin his forces just yet.
Not until the final stake was in place.
Not until the Rite of Convergence could begin.
One of the demons cleared his throat carefully.
"Priest Calyx… should we pause the ley line operation until we've finished the cadet's alibi?"
The question hung in the air.
Tomorrow, maybe even sooner, the academy would notice the cadet hadn't returned. The professor who issued the permit might already be suspicious.
The stakes were too high to act carelessly.
Calyx's fingers drummed the armrest.
"No," he said at last. "We continue."
"But—"
"We'll finish the cover story tonight. By morning, a hunter in the borderlands will 'see' the cadet boarding a carriage to the Republic. Before the professors even raise the alarm, the evidence will be planted."
He stood, his robe once again cloaking his form.
"We have no time to waste. The moment draws near."
His voice grew quieter.
"And when the final stake is driven… we'll tear open this continent's heart from beneath their precious academy."
The demons bowed, fear and reverence mingled in their eyes.
Calyx turned his gaze toward the stone wall behind him, where arcane diagrams glowed faintly — the map of the ley lines slowly converging.
The foundation was almost ready.
And as always—
He would trust no one.
No living soul.
Only the dead could be counted on to keep a secret.