The darkness of the Eternal Dark Prison gradually yielded to the dim, flickering radiance of torches steeped in cheap animal fat. The air here was viscous, heavy with the stench of mold and decomposition, but now it was laced with the acrid bite of smoke and the scent of living entities—a precarious, trembling existence, saturated with a suppressed, ultimate panic.
Lam Tich walked at the front, his gaunt silhouette stretching long against the jagged stone walls. His steps were slow, yet each time his foot touched the ground, it carried a strange steadiness that stood in total defiance of his ravaged physical state. His shattered right arm, splinted crudely with tattered rags and rotted wood, sent a jolt of agony through him with every stride, like ten thousand needles piercing his marrow. That throbbing pain beat in sync with his heart, a constant reminder that death was but a thin veil away.
Yet, Lam Tich's face—buttressed by his Passive Trait: [The False Survivor]—remained eerily serene. The blind eyes behind that milky-white film did not seem aimless; they appeared to pierce through the gloom, navigating with a certainty as if he had traversed this path a thousand times in his mind.
Behind him followed twelve prisoners. They moved in a deathly silence, save for the dragging of iron shackles across the dry stone floor and the ragged breaths of men standing on the precipice of despair. Dai Hung walked directly behind Lam Tich, his massive frame serving as a living shield, his eyes darting around with hyper-vigilance. He was terrified—not of the guards, but of the "ghosts" within the script Lam Tich had woven.
"Great One…" A trembling voice rose from the rear. It was Tam Tu, a scrawny prisoner with bulging eyes that perpetually leaked terror. "Where… where are we actually going? This path… it's nothing like the escape route I once knew."
Lam Tich did not turn his head. His voice rang out low and steady, like a high priest reciting scripture to the condemned: "The standard exit has been sealed by the Lam Clan's arrays. They are not so foolish as to let rats escape through the front door while the Divine Fetus ritual is in its decisive stage. I am leading you along the 'Blood Path'—the only trail left, marked in malice by 'That Thing.'"
"The Blood Path?" Dai Hung frowned, squinting at the damp stone floor beneath his feet.
Indeed, under the flickering torchlight, strange dark-brown streaks appeared fitfully. At a glance, they were merely common filth or mold. But once the mind had been primed by Lam Tich's words, those stains seemed to writhe, connecting into a faint, winding guide leading toward the darkest fork of the dungeon.
"It is the blood of those who came before," Lam Tich explained, his voice devoid of emotion as if describing a natural phenomenon. "The blood of those who tried to flee but were seized by 'That Thing' and drained of their life essence. Their blood soaked into the stone, becoming a curse and a mockery for those who follow. Only those carrying the 'Devil's Breath' can perceive it."
A dry, harsh gulp echoed among the prisoners. Fear—the finest nourishment for faith—once again strangled all lingering doubt.
[Reliability (Dai Hung): 70%] [Reliability (Collective): 62%]
The System displayed the dancing numbers within Lam Tich's mental vision. He was satisfied. He knew that fear was the most potent catalyst to transform violent men into submissive sheep.
Yet, among the sheep, there is always an old wolf not so easily deceived.
"I don't believe a single word of it."
A voice, cold and sharp as a blade, sliced through the gloom. A prisoner detached himself from the group, standing to block a different fork in the path. He had the air of a scholar, with refined features but deep-set eyes filled with skepticism and intrigue. This was Van Khue, once the top strategist of a minor sect, imprisoned for treason and stripped of his Divinity by his own Sect Master.
"Van Khue, do you want to die?" Dai Hung growled, his fists tightening.
Van Khue didn't look at Dai Hung; he stared straight at Lam Tich, his gaze attempting to strip away the blind facade. "I want to live, but I want to live by my wits, not by chasing a madman. Everything he says is full of holes. What is 'That Thing'? Why does a blind cripple know a secret path the wardens don't? Why does he need us as a 'cover'? It sounds too convenient—like a trap woven from our own fears to turn us into his sacrifices."
Lam Tich stopped. He slowly turned around, "looking" toward Van Khue through his soulless, white eyes. The flickering torchlight played across his pale face, creating shifting zones of light and shadow that made him look like a stone statue recently emerged from hell.
"You are very intelligent," Lam Tich admitted, his voice unnervingly calm. "Smarter than the late Ly Bu, and certainly smarter than Dai Hung. But do you know why intelligent men like you usually die first in a place like this?"
Van Khue curled his lip slightly, a defiant smirk: "Because they dare to ask questions?"
"No," Lam Tich shook his head slowly. "Because they believe their mortal intellect is enough to measure the truth in a place where logic died long ago. Truth here is a poisonous luxury, Van Khue. It will corrode your last shred of hope before you even realize the price you must pay."
Lam Tich stepped toward Van Khue. His strides were light, making almost no sound, but with every advance, the air around them seemed to grow thicker and more suffocating.
"You suspect I need a 'cover'? You are right. I do. Because 'That Thing' inside me… it is calling in a debt. It is ravenously hungry." Lam Tich raised his left hand, pointing to his heart, where a bruised, purple scar was visible beneath his tattered warden's tunic. "It needs souls to suppress its malice. The spirits of those with shattered Divine Marks like yours are a temporary painkiller for it. I am using my will to restrain it, to lead you out. But every time I grow weak, or when someone radiates strong resistance… it stirs."
Lam Tich directed his sightless "stare" directly into Van Khue's eyes.
"You want the truth? Then test it. Stand there, and continue using your cleverness to challenge me. Let us see if 'That Thing' fancies the taste of an arrogant soul like yours. I will not hold it back."
A deathly silence descended.
Van Khue suddenly felt a bone-chilling draft race down his spine. He looked into Lam Tich's blind eyes, and though his logic screamed that the man could see nothing, his skin crawled—as if a gargantuan, pitch-black monster were peeking a single, crimson eye from the depths of the shadow behind Lam Tich, staring at him with primordial hunger.
[Skill: Concept Borrowing – "The Monster's Mental Pressure" is active...][Consumption: 1 Void Energy/second. Remaining: 92/100.]
Lam Tich was burning through the energy he had just accumulated to manifest a vague but terrifying concept. This wasn't physical power, but a cognitive crushing—forcing the opponent's survival instinct to hallucinate their own demise.
Cold sweat poured down Van Khue's forehead. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably. The logic of a strategist screamed that this was a psychological ploy, an illusion. But the instinct of a human—the very thing that had kept him alive through countless purges—was howling at him to kneel before it was too late.
"You…" Van Khue tried to speak, but his throat was as rigid as if someone were strangling him.
"What is your choice?" Lam Tich asked, his voice as soft as a breeze through a mountain crevice.
One second. Two seconds.
Van Khue collapsed, his knees hitting the stone floor hard. "I… I am sorry. I am willing to follow the Great One. Please… suppress 'That Thing.'"
[Reliability (Van Khue): 45% (Overwhelming fear)] [Reliability (Collective): 75% (Terror at its peak)]
Lam Tich exhaled inwardly. He had won this hand, but he knew a man like Van Khue was a double-edged sword. He needed an intelligent man to handle complex tasks, but he would need to eradicate that doubt more thoroughly in the future.
"Stand up," Lam Tich said, the frost in his voice unabated. "Your intellect should not be used against me. From now on, you are the Scribe. Record our every step, every sign emitted by 'That Thing.' If you find that I have lied, you have the right to leave… if you are still alive by then."
The procession continued into the darkness. The "Blood Path" led them through corridors so narrow they had to walk sideways, and across spiral staircases half-collapsed over the profound abysses of the dungeon.
Finally, they stood before a smooth stone wall that appeared to be a dead end.
"It's blocked, Great One," Dai Hung tried to exert his strength to push, but the dense stone wall didn't budge an inch.
Lam Tich stepped forward, placing his cold left palm against the stone surface. Through touch and the System's assistance, he felt the underground currents of energy. A glowing red text appeared in his vision, visible only to him:
[Hidden Mechanism: Requires a blood sacrifice from at least three individuals with shattered Divine Marks to activate.]
Lam Tich turned around to face the exhausted, fragile group.
"This door requires a blood sacrifice," he declared, his voice echoing in the cramped space. "The blood of three."
The deathly silence returned. They had just escaped being sacrificed to a god, and now they were hearing of "blood sacrifice" once more.
"Our… our blood?" a prisoner asked tremulously.
"Your lives are not required," Lam Tich reassured them with a hauntingly charismatic tone. "Only three drops of kindred blood. But it must be blood offered willingly. Only when your wills are unified with my goal of survival will this door open. This is a test from 'That Thing' for your loyalty."
In truth, Lam Tich was establishing a psychological contract. The first to dare bleed would be the one most deeply bound to him.
Dai Hung did not hesitate. He pulled out a dull dagger, sliced his thumb, and let the fresh blood drip onto the stone. "Here is mine! I don't want to die in this cesspit!"
Two other prisoners, coerced by peer pressure and the craving for survival, timidly stepped forward to do the same.
Lam Tich used his fingers to collect the three drops and smeared them across the three points the System had indicated on the wall.
RUMBLE… RUMBLE…
The stone wall shook violently, dust cascading down. It slowly receded inward and slid aside, revealing a narrow passage. At the end of that passage was not the usual darkness, but a pale, sickly blue-grey light filtering down from above.
Light.
Feeble as it was, after days of being entombed in foul darkness, that light dazed the prisoners; many wept with raw emotion.
"The exit… the exit is there!" Dai Hung whispered, his voice catching.
Lam Tich took a deep breath, feeling the influx of fresh air. "Not a direct exit. This is the Bone Ossuary—the place where they process the remains of those who died before the ritual could begin. But from here, there is a secret tunnel leading to the forest behind the mountain."
They entered. The scene inside was haunting under the weak natural light from the ceiling cracks. Tens of thousands of human skeletons were piled into mountains of bleached white, stretching into the distance. The air was bone-chillingly cold, carrying the stillness of thousands of forgotten souls.
"Find the tunnel," Lam Tich commanded, his voice hardening as he sensed something amiss. "It is behind the largest pile of bones, camouflaged by a rotted wooden plank."
As the prisoners frantically searched for their hope of life, Van Khue suddenly approached Lam Tich, his face ashen: "Great One… listen. The sound."
Lam Tich held his silence. From deep within the dark corridor they had just traversed, the sound of hurried footsteps, the clatter of iron armor, and piercing shouts echoed back.
"They've discovered Ly Bu's body and the disappearance of the communal cell," Lam Tich assessed coldly. "The entire patrol is descending upon us."
Fear gripped the group. They stood amidst a mountain of white bones, with an unfound tunnel ahead and the blades of wardens behind.
"We have to run!" Dai Hung roared.
"We won't make it," Lam Tich shook his head, his lips curling into a cruel and maniacal smile. "We won't run. We will give them one final performance in this dungeon."
He turned to look at the mountains of bleached bones surrounding them.
The light from the cracks illuminated Lam Tich's blind eyes. In that moment, he did not look like a cripple, but like a demon summoning his legion to rise from the dead.