"I had won," she whispered. "Or so I thought."
Conus narrowed his eyes, watching as she rose to her feet. She moved toward one of the statues at the wall, her hand resting against its cold surface as though it were a witness to her memories.
"The Duke's son showed signs of healing at first," she continued. "I stayed to be sure. I watched him laugh again, eat again, even smile as though the darkness had lifted. For a while, I believed it was over."
Her voice dropped,.
"But after some days, the staff began to fall ill. It was no sickness I had ever seen. Each victim bore different symptoms. Fever, bleeding, choking fits, seizures. Yet they all ended the same way. At the final moment, their faces stretched into a dreadful smile… and then they died."
Conus said nothing, his gaze locked on her.
"One after another," she went on, "until even the Duke himself succumbed. He raved in his bed, suffering the same fate. And when he finally passed, that cursed grin clung to his face like a mask."
Her hand trembled faintly against the statue.
"This castle was once home to a hundred and fifty souls. Now only fifteen remain, myself included."
Conus frowned. "Why didn't you leave?"
She turned slowly, her eyes heavy with something close to regret. She gave a long sigh, almost like an apology. "Once anyone steps through the gates, there is no leaving. The spirit bound us all in its prison."
His jaw tightened. "Where is it now?"
"The spirit cannot survive alone," she said. "It needs a host. Always. And it walks among us still."
"You know who?"
She shook her head, a shadow of defeat in her features. "That is the problem. It has learned to hide, to pretend. It wears the flesh of its host until the body breaks, then slips quietly into another. By the time it shows itself, it is already too late."
Conus's vision shuddered. A glowing screen blinked into existence before his eyes, words written across the dark.
"System Notification
You have appeared in an Ancient Castle once owned by Duke Macmillan du Fazar. This castle, cursed by the sins of a noble and the wrath of a father and daughter, now harbors a powerful and sinister spirit.
Mission:You have six hours to locate and eliminate the spirit before the time runs out.
Rules:
– You must not kill an innocent.
– If you fail to find the spirit within six hours, you will become a victim of the spirit.
Note:All skills, including those of the system, are disabled. Only your physical abilities remain.
The screen flickered, then vanished.
Conus's frown deepened. Six hours. No skills. From what the Oracle had said, the spirit was hiding in the body of one of the staff.
The room was quiet, incense smoke drifting. Then, without warning, the door creaked open.
One by one, figures entered. The staff. Their faces glowed faintly in the candlelight, their shadows stretched long across the floor. Not only were they survivors, they were suspects.
Conus straightened his back, eyes narrowing as he counted them. The hunt had begun. He turned his gaze, his frown deepening as he watched the group assemble.
Fifteen of them, just as the Oracle had said. Men and women of varying ages, all dressed in clothes that had clearly once belonged to a prosperous household but were now worn thin with years of use.
Their faces carried the same haunted look, the eyes of people who had lived too long under something unseen, waiting for it to strike again.
The butler, Modret, had led everyone in. His lantern swayed gently at his side, its glow brushing across each face. Beside him, Conus caught sight of the tall, crooked figure he had seen earlier. It was the gardener, Owen. His head was bent, too low for comfort, the shadows making his stretched limbs appear even less human.
The Oracle raised her hands slightly, beckoning the group forward. "Here he stands," she said, her voice carrying an almost ceremonial weight. "The messenger who has been sent by the goddess to bring an end to our suffering."
The staff looked at Conus in silence. Some lowered their eyes, others stared openly, their expressions a mixture of indifference, disbelief, and even fear.
Conus straightened but said nothing. Six hours. No skills. Only his body and wits. The rules made it simple and cruel, he had to find the host or lose himself to the very thing he hunted.
His gaze moved slowly across the room, studying them. If the spirit had hidden for so long in plain sight, it must be very clever. Too clever to be caught by looks or its actions.
The Oracle stepped closer to him, her deformed features obvious in the candlelight.
"So, what is the plan, Messenger?"
Conus's jaw tightened. He did not reply. Instead, he shifted his eyes back to the staff. The gardener shifted under his stare, bending further as though trying to fold himself into the shadows. A maid clasped her hands tightly together, knuckles white. An older cook muttered a prayer under her breath.
Time was already moving. Six hours would pass faster than he wanted.
Conus finally spoke, his voice low, steady. "Then let's begin."
The Oracle inclined her head, as if his words were command enough. She raised her hand, signaling the staff closer. The lanterns guttered, their flames shrinking as though the air itself recoiled. Shadows thickened across the hall until the light became a trembling thing, hemmed in by an ocean of black.
Conus studied them one by one. Their faces were already lined with exhaustion.
"If what you say is true," he said to the Oracle, "then one of you may already be a walking grave. Which means every second we waste brings another closer to death."
The butler, Modret, stiffened. "We serve the house of Fazar, sir. None of us are graves." His voice cracked despite the firmness he tried to hold.
"Served." Conus let his word press against him until he looked away. "And you'll forgive me but I don't share your optimism."
The cook, Gregor, rubbed his scarred hands down his apron. "Then what would you have us do, boy? Line up like cattle and wait for you to butcher the first one who coughs?"
"Enough," the Oracle snapped, her voice slicing through the rising tension. She stepped forward, her incense stick trailing a thin gray ribbon. "The spirit feeds on division, not unity. If you turn on each other, it will not need to lift a finger."
Her words settled them, though uneasily. Conus noticed the gardener, Owen, had not moved since he entered. His head hung low. But in the shifting shadows, Conus caught the glitter of his eyes. They were watching.
He filed the image away.
The silence stretched, broken only by the hiss of candle flames. Conus scanned the faces around him, reading the twitch of every brow, the clench of every hand.
"You will all remain here," he said firmly, his voice echoing off the stone. "I need to keep all of you where I can see you."
Several staff members exchanged anxious looks. The Oracle inclined her head, her voice soft but resonant. "Then they will need beds. Modret, are there still small ones in the store?"
The old butler's posture stiffened. "Yes, Lady Oracle. Folded cots, enough for all."
"Then, fetch them," she said.
Modret dipped his head. "I will take Mara, Gregor, Paul, Sammy, and Loran. We will carry them back quickly."
Conus's eyes narrowed. "How long from here to the store?"
"Ten minutes," Modret replied.
Conus nodded once, then turned toward a thin, wide-eyed boy standing near the door. "Close it behind them."
The boy, Morias, swallowed hard and obeyed, the creak of the hinges groaning into silence as the latch clicked into place.
The Oracle shifted, her wrinkled hands wringing against one another. "Is it wise, sending them alone?"
Conus's gaze lingered on the closed door. "Yes." His tone was calm, but the edge of steel in it made the others flinch. "I need to test something."
Her frown deepened. "You mean to use them as bait."
Conus didn't deny it. His eyes were steady, unblinking. "If they do not return in twenty minutes, I will go to them myself. Until then, we wait."
The Oracle looked at him as though searching for any trace of hesitation, but there was none. At last, she gave a reluctant nod.
The room seemed smaller with fewer people inside. Conus let his gaze drift across each of the remaining faces. Their fear was obvious. But he wasn't here to comfort them. He was here to find the spirit and pass this test so he could go back to his reality. And by dividing the group, he had set the first trap.
By splitting the group into two, he wanted to see if he could narrow down the suspects. If anything went wrong amongst those six that had headed out, it would clear the remaining nine, and he could focus on a smaller number of suspects.
This was as long as something went wrong and also if he could keep them isolated from others.
The spirit could also decide to not act up as well but that would not be for long. From what Conus had guessed, the spirit had to kill sooner or later.
And he would be watching.