Chapter Twenty-One: The Place Where Bones Lie

Every vampire I have encountered has been astonishing…creatures, but fortunately, she is on our side. Bella may be far weaker than Vasilisa, but to mortals, she is still akin to a deity.

How am I supposed to contend for power alongside them?

The man under the door was not dead, only battered and bruised. Perst’s hand was broken, twisted and deformed; Salvador gave him an injection, and I believe he will recover soon.

This was my first time leading a campaign, and it would be best if there were no casualties. I didn’t even want Perst to die, for he and Ferheil regarded me as one of their own, and their survival would enhance the nobles’ estimation of my abilities.

I asked, “Do you need to rest?”

Bella replied, “No need. In and out quickly, let’s finish this errand as soon as possible.”

I exchanged a baffled glance, feeling she might be even more ardent an antique collector than Michael—always impatient along the way.

Noticing my confusion, Bella explained, “Once daylight comes, I won’t be able to move.”

We followed the path I had scouted, stepping onto the grass. I crouched down, shining my light, and found the grass was red.

I said, “The moose was attracted by this bloodgrass.”

Sisyphus agreed, “Indeed. These days, men are less like men, beasts less like beasts; all are changing toward the demonic.”

Perst sneered, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, but you’d better watch yourself.”

Bella said, “Remember? The photo showed the display window… It’s around here. Hurry and look for the statue!”

We had no choice but to disperse and search, for there were many exhibits here and nothing was found at first. At the same time, we had to be wary of possible dangers. I was tense, watching everyone with caution, terrified that a moment’s carelessness would lead to tragedy—after all, in this place, human life is as fragile as paper.

As our search widened, I sometimes shouted, “Salvador, don’t go to that corner! You’ll make a perfect target! Step back, use your flashlight first! Perst, Johnson! Don’t lie on the ground—it’s too dangerous! Ferheil, Jingyuan, that carriage is suspicious, don’t get too close!”

They ignored me, acting on their own. Before I knew it, I was drenched in sweat.

Suddenly, Bella shouted, “Silence! I heard something!”

I fell quiet.

Bella walked to where the moose had grazed, bent down and listened for a moment, then said, “There’s sound beneath—under the floor.”

I swallowed Odin’s Eye. Below the floor, people were whispering. It was a kind of prayer—devout, barely audible, yet listening closely, it was suffused with a profound sadness.

There must be dozens, nearly a hundred beneath the floor! All girls, or very young children!

Salvador asked, “How is it?”

I replied, “Damn it, there are people inside—they’re utterly despairing.”

Bella asked, “Is it a different dimension?”

We all thought it likely.

I said, “Alright, I’ll go in and look. The statue might be inside. Listen to my instructions—do not act rashly.”

If it really was the statue of the goddess Ix, there was a chance they would commit suicide as a result. I might not be able to save so many, nor could I cope with so many shadow fiends.

Salvador said, “Be careful, don’t be reckless.”

Perst took out explosives, placed them on the ground, and we retreated to a distance. He detonated them; the blast was deafening. Below the floor, a hole appeared, not shallow—about two and a half meters deep, with steps leading down, wide enough for an average person.

They tied a steel cable around my waist; I summoned my courage and resolve, and descended.

The place was entirely dark—a tunnel, red brick walls propped up by wooden supports, the air filled with a stench of decay.

The childish voices came intermittently. Was I losing my mind?

It brought to mind the underground facility where Faga was born—I had to be wary of similar psychic attacks.

Focus, focus—never relax, never let my attention lapse; I pressed forward, alert to the slightest danger. I was the only one who could resist Ix’s curse; I had to preserve myself.

Perhaps I made a mistake—I should have sent a disposable pawn ahead. If something happened to him, I could save him; but if something happened to me, no one could save me.

There was a dark red stain on the wall, deeper than the rest—a blood handprint, perhaps? The stench was stronger, richer; I had smelled it before—it was the odor of long-dead bodies. Should I wear a gas mask? But it would distract me and block my vision.

Did I hear it? I seemed to catch a complete sentence. What was she saying? Who is that?

I…just now, saw a little girl walking inward, dressed in blood-red robes. Was it an illusion? Had I already been psychically attacked?

I couldn’t distinguish reality from hallucination, for there were no traces. Even if I was affected, I wouldn’t know.

Someday, I must find a way to guard against this—but is it already too late?

I heard it, clearly—a little girl: “Sir, is it true? If I die, will I really become beautiful?”

Another girl: “Thank you, sir, for giving me courage. I’m not afraid of death now; I’m about to step into freedom.”

A different girl: “Sir? I… I’ve changed my mind—I want to live! What? No, no, sir, I really don’t…”

Girl: “Sir, I dedicate my life to the goddess Ix!”

Girl: “Sir, will my death really heal my sister?”

I heard countless voices of girls! They were pitiful, miserable, and that so-called ‘sir’ was coercing them…forcing them to commit suicide.

This was where the statue of Ix was kept—one of the Three Sisters.

A cold wind swept in, and I realized I was deep within an illusion.

It was a group of female students visiting the museum, all in neat uniforms. One small, thin girl looked despondent, as if isolated and mocked by others.

She walked to the statue of the goddess Ix—a robed girl striding forward. The frail girl was drawn to it, staring at the statue.

A man in a sharp suit with a prominent nose appeared beside her, asking, “Do you have troubles, child?”

She looked at him, quickly turned her head, and asked, “Sir, who are you?”

The man answered, “I am the curator here. I am happy to help you, should you need it.”

That scene faded; another appeared. The curator had the frail girl put on a red robe, led her through the underground passage, cradling the statue of the goddess Ix, softly recounting the Mayan faith in the goddess.

He said, “Sometimes, death is not frightening. On the contrary, death is sublime—a covenant with the Three Sisters of Ix. After you die, all pain in life disappears; you enter the most beautiful paradise, where you become a spirit accompanying the goddess Ix. Not only will you live well, you can also help your family escape hardship.”

The girl trembled: “Death?”

The curator’s expression was rapt, devout. In the gloom, his face looked gaunt, cheekbones high, smile twisted. He said, “Don’t be afraid. All you need do is believe.”

They reached the end of the passage—a spacious secret chamber. Inside, many girls in red robes awaited the frail girl, gathered like playing house, expectantly watching her arrival. But their eyes glowed with fanatical light, like a horde of hungry little demons.

When the frail girl sat among them, they began to chant. The hypnotic lyrics were monotonous and shrill, passionate yet tinged with evil.

Then, a strange girl stood, pulled down her hood, revealing a gaunt, pallid face, took up a dagger, knelt before the goddess statue, and stabbed it into her own throat.

I clenched my fists tightly, nails digging into flesh, the pain clearing my mind.

I was already in that chamber; the floor was piled with…those bones, short skeletons—the girls’.

The curator had lured them, forming a cruel cult, ending their lives here in ritual for the Three Sisters of Ix.

Among the corpses, the upright idol of the evil goddess faced me. I could not see her face, yet the more I tried, the colder my spine felt.

Behind me, someone groaned in pain. Turning, I saw Bella, Salvador, and the others—all in the chamber. Why… I had told them not to follow!

They couldn’t move, but what bound them was not their shadows. White flowers sprouted from the girls’ corpses, their petals transforming into soft ropes draped over the others. Bella seemed trapped in an endless dream, eyes shut tight, body trembling.

When petals brushed past, I heard the girls laughing, as if they truly found happiness in death. Were Bella and the others drawn here by that laughter?

I remained lucid, for I had faced such danger before, yet my nerves were numb, my body refusing to obey.

A girl laughed: “New friend, welcome, welcome—welcome to our world after death. It’s been so long since we met a new friend.”

Salvador raised his gun, aiming at his own temple.

I forced myself to say, “The curator deceived you. You are not in blissful paradise.”

The girls said, “But we are happy, so very happy.” “No one bullies us anymore.” “We are always together, the happiest family.” “We never leave; the outside world is too big, too dangerous. Here we’re safest—forever bright.”

In a flash of inspiration, I said, “Do you… want to see stars?”

They replied, “Stars? Indeed, we haven’t seen them for a long time.”

I said, “The world has changed. Now, you only have to look up and see billions of stars, illuminating the night sky in a pale violet glow. That light travels from the endless universe, millions of light-years away—transcending space and time, distant and mysterious, indescribably beautiful. You are in paradise, but surely you cannot see the stars.”

Only in darkness do stars appear.

They whispered among themselves. After several minutes, one girl said, “Fine, we’ll secretly let you go. Take us outside to see the sky, to see the stars.”

The moment I regained movement, I released my shadow to seize the evil goddess statue. It was wrenched from the altar, and instantly, the girls cried out, “You lied! You destroyed our home!” “Where do we go now? I don’t want to—I don’t want to leave everyone!”

They cried like refugees, but I steeled myself, ignoring them. Soon, their voices grew faint—until it seemed they truly vanished.