209. The Fruit of the Dead
The day Kal sent the voodoo dolls through the spatial portal at the Grand Duke’s request, a man from the Grand Duke’s faction arrived with gold in hand.
It was to pay for the dolls, but Kal imdiately realized that the man was looking for Samuel.
“Where is the courier?”
“I don’t know. He disappeared after receiving the note.”
“Excuse .”
After searching for Samuel, the man discovered that he had fled. He hurried to return through the spatial portal but could only stare helplessly at the empty space where the portal had disappeared.
Watching from the window, Kal rolled a silver coin between his fingers and gave Rengua an order.
“He seems to have nowhere to go. Get him a place to stay and extract whatever information you can about the Grand Duke.”
“Understood.”
A week passed.
New information continued to pour in. Among them, what stood out the most was news about the Anti-Kal Alliance.
Perhaps due to their dwindling influence and prolonged forced labor, people from the Blyer Territory had begun to flee en masse toward Elletor Fortress, the headquarters of the alliance.
At one point, Kal had been wary of this and focused on eliminating Lochter, but now, he showed nothing but indifference.
Even the guards, who had once zealously prevented escapes, no longer paid attention to them.
Among them were spies Kal had planted.
Ten days later, the last rchant caravan remaining in the fortress departed for Beneta.
It was a large caravan, and at the very rear, reinforcents from Demtor sat hidden under their robes. Beneath the robes, glimpses of their ornate armor and equipnt could be seen.
Harkman was checking his sword when Kal ca to greet him.
“I’ll see you later.”
“I trust you’ll fire the signal flare properly.”
“This thing? I’ve never actually set it off before, but you can expect good results.”
Harkman patted his cloak, recalling the item stored inside.
The Terremor— a large-scale mana bomb.
Even within Demtor, it was a weapon infamous for its destructive power. He hadn’t expected to see it here.
With the Terremor, the mission was bound to succeed.
The primitive creatures here had no way of knowing what kind of weapon they were dealing with.
Picturing the location where he would detonate the bomb, Harkman let out a short whistle.
“I’ll make sure it’s a spectacular explosion.”
“Then, I’ll see you later.”
“You’ll be heading to Etor first, I assu?”
“To ripen the fruit, I need to make so adjustnts in Etor.”
“I just have to wait for the harvest, then.”
“If any issues arise, inform through the contact network.”
“So, the shaman is coming along, but do I really have to bring this guy too?”
Unlike the others, who wore enchanted armor, one knight stood out in his crude red armor.
He moved like a puppet, and when a fork was driven deep into his shoulder and twisted, he didn’t even blink—an unsettling presence.
“I don’t need a guard like this.”
“He’s ant to protect the shaman.”
Kal responded with a dry smile and set the carriage in motion.
At the given signal, the caravan carrying the reinforcents slowly began to move.
Kal’s gaze briefly passed over the red knight beside Harkman before he turned away.
Rubbing his shoulder, he rolled it lightly before heading toward the underground prison.
Lyon, who was in the process of receiving the Frost Lord’s heart transplant, and the Corrupt Dagger of the Dead.
If the mission in Beneta succeeded, these two assets would beco crucial.
They required the utmost attention.
Fifteen days passed.
Rengua, who had been locked away, finally erged from the underground prison. Squinting against the harsh sunlight, he frowned.
It had been a long ti since he had seen daylight.
His face looked exhausted, but his eyes glead with deep satisfaction.
The shamanic procedure to implant the Frost Lord’s heart beside Lyon’s had been a success.
Upon hearing the report, Kal gave a brief smile.
“How is Lyon’s condition?”
“There will be aftereffects, but his life is not in danger.”
“Seems we’ve overco the biggest hurdle.”
“He’s now in the stabilization phase, so I don’t need to remain here. However, there is an issue.”
“Lyon’s lifespan, I assu? How long will he last?”
“The heart’s energy is far stronger than we anticipated. He’s suppressing it with his potential, but he won’t survive beyond a year.”
Less than a year.
Kal furrowed his brows.
That was shorter than he had expected.
Would he be able to accomplish his plans within that ti?
“What about his awakening?”
“A 6-star awakening is impossible. However, even if he were to face two or three 5-stars, he wouldn’t go down easily.”
“Is that a small silver lining?”
He had lost longevity but gained power.
Kal had held a faint hope that Lyon might achieve a rare 6-star awakening, but, as expected, it remained out of reach.
‘Is a 6-star awakening truly impossible without a connection to the Absolute?’
Kal briefly recalled the past, then got up and examined the dagger resting on the table.
A short, ashen blade with a red handle.
The grip was wrapped in vein-like tendrils, which coiled grotesquely around the blade.
The Corrupt Dagger of the Dead was complete.
This dagger was a shamanic tool designed to absorb the souls of the dead.
It functioned similarly to a soul storage device but boasted an absorption rate and capacity that surpassed even a hundred soul containers combined.
It was a weapon that could only be crafted in the nests of shamans—natural enemies of witches.
In the past, this very dagger had been used to neutralize the power of the Millennium Tree.
“Since nurous witch hearts were used, it won’t falter even after devouring tens of thousands of souls. The question is, do we have a place to fill it?”
“We’ll have one soon.”
After handing the dagger to Rengua, Kal prepared to depart.
“Where are you headed?”
“Etor.”
Rengua left the room to make preparations, while Kal stared out the window, rolling a silver coin between his fingers in deep thought.
The timing for using Samuel.
That was what he was deliberating.
The next morning.
Clatter!
Kal’s carriage set off for Etor.
Leaving behind only the minimal forces necessary to maintain order, he led all his troops, making for an exceptionally long procession.
“What about the research lab?”
“I left the two newly crafted Red Knights by Sir Lyon’s side. The lab’s shamanic defenses are exceptionally strong, so unless the entire Hunt attacks at once, it won’t fall easily.”
“How many Berserkers do we have left?”
“A large number were used as materials for the Red Knights and in the process of shaking up Etor. We have fewer than a hundred remaining now.”
“So, it’s ti to replenish them.”
“We trust only in you, my lord.”
Kal nodded and unfolded the map in his hands as the carriage swayed.
A grand, elaborate map.
It depicted the world beyond Tobaron, stretching across the entire Hell Gri region.
Marked all over the map were Kal’s ticulous plans, including the latest information and the known locations of his enemies.
His gaze lingered on Demtor, which lay at the heart of Hell Gri.
Through Harkman’s subordinates, he had gathered intelligence on Demtor.
“The Blood Nature is only just beginning to spread.”
Observing the movents of Demtor’s Stars, Kal confird that the flow of events there hadn’t deviated significantly from what he rembered.
“That ans his influence hasn’t reached Demtor yet.”
With that in mind, Kal decided to make even greater use of Demtor.
As he continued strategizing while marking positions on the map, he clicked his tongue in annoyance.
The approximate locations of all the enemies he rembered were plotted out, except for one.
Him.
There was no trace of his whereabouts anywhere.
Too little information.
An opponent who was utterly unpredictable.
“Where the hell are you, and what are you doing right now?”
Kal thought of him.
***
In a desolate clearing within a bleak, colorless forest, a man sat cross-legged in silence.
In a world drained of color, he alone seed to possess any hue.
The misty, indistinct landscape made it difficult to tell day from night, but the man had his own way of knowing.
“Gaaaaaahhh!”
A scream tore through the silence. The man twitched his brow and slowly opened his previously closed eyes.
“Damn it, I was just about to grasp sothing.”
[Don’t be ridiculous. Not even the sensation of an ant crawling was there.]
“Shut up.”
He let out a sigh and scanned the forest.
A thick mist shrouded the area.
It was the kind of eerie scenery that would make anyone jump at the slightest shadow.
Even after fifteen days, he still wasn’t used to the Ghostly Forest.
Perhaps because it wasn’t a place ant for the living.
“Fuck! Fuck!!”
“…Still not used to those screams, either.”
Hearing the sword’s wailing, he figured it must be morning.
Every day at dawn, the witches would co searching for Karl, tornting him.
“Gaaaack!”
“Ugh, my ears… I’d wring its neck if it were a damn rooster.”
[You’re the one who put that man in there.]
“Well, yeah. What else can I do? I have to take care of him.”
[That’s not what I ant.]
Clicking his tongue, he stretched his body.
For a full day, he had perford the ritual Natasha had taught him.
And today, once again, it had amounted to nothing.
He moved toward the direction of the screams, grumbling quietly to Reto.
“Reto, you didn’t scam , did you? You’re really settled inside my heart, right?”
[Are you doubting ?]
“Then why can’t I make contact with your spirit form? Natasha said I should be able to ‘see’ the spirit I’m trying to connect with, but I can’t see you at all during the ritual.”
[Because you’re trying to see with your eyes.]
“But Natasha said it would be visible…”
The first step in Spirit Art was establishing contact with the target spirit.
Yet, he hadn’t been able to reach Reto even once.
According to Natasha, most witches succeeded in making contact within half a day at the latest.
And here he was, struggling for fifteen days.
“…What if I just have zero talent for this, like my mana sensitivity?”
A creeping sense of anxiety settled over him.
But as people often say—when faced with uncertainty, looking at soone worse off can bring so strange sense of comfort.
As he erged from the dense forest, a much larger clearing stretched before him.
The mont he took in the scene, his worries vanished.
For one thing, Karl was sprawled on the ground, foaming at the mouth.
When did he pass out?
The Fruit of the Dead clenched between his teeth glead in a dull grayish hue.
It seed that a particularly powerful ghost had attempted to seize control of Karl’s body.
“You’re here.”
One of the witches, who had been monitoring Karl’s condition, noticed him and approached.
Unlike before, the witches now greeted him with respect, their tone notably more formal.
It had all started after he began learning Spirit Art from Natasha.
Apparently, being personally taught by Ortain carried great significance among the witches of the forest.
He let out a small sigh and gestured toward Karl.
“Seems like raising his existence rank isn’t as easy as expected.”
“He possesses an exceptional sensitivity. Unlike other humans who stagnate, he is growing at a remarkable pace. Right now, he is simply struggling because a particularly powerful ghost has possessed him.”
When a living person held the Fruit of the Dead in their mouth, their presence beca vividly visible to spirits.
To put it bluntly, they were openly inviting ghosts to devour them.
With a witch’s guidance, spirits could use the fruit as a dium to possess a person’s body more easily.
It was akin to serving oneself as a al on a silver platter.
For the past few weeks, Karl and his group had been undergoing a grueso training regin—fighting off spirits that tried to possess them.
Physical strength ant nothing to ghosts.
Only ntal fortitude mattered.
By enduring possession and exorcising ghosts hundreds—perhaps thousands—of tis, one’s existence rank would eventually rise.
Just as weak spirits dared not approach powerful entities, the sa principle applied here.
It was an essential stepping stone for their next awakening.
But there was a problem.
“Krrruk!”
“Karl? …This doesn’t look safe, does it?”
If a spirit was too strong, there was a very real risk of complete possession.
A truly dangerous training thod.
“Step back.”
The witch raised her staff high.
Having witnessed this scene multiple tis, he instinctively shut his eyes.
Thwack!
A fresh lump ford on Karl’s bald head.
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