The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 374: The Prisoner

Grrrk—

A sharp, grating sound echoed out like the wail /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ of decayed tal.

Under Narisqi’s push, the massive golden gate slowly creaked open. Murky air surged outward through the rasping gap, carrying the stench of countless years of decay, but the foul miasma was instantly purified by Margarita, who had already prepared a purification spell. The rot was transford into a gentle morning breeze that brushed softly across their faces.

Beyond the door lay darkness—so deep that it seed bottomless.

But other than that, there seed to be... nothing unusual?

"Is it open?"

"What’s inside?"

"Is it safe?"

For a while, everyone spoke at once, their voices crowded and restless, all impatiently gathering at the doorway, rubbing their palms, peering eagerly into the darkness.

If not for the binding of the contract, they probably would have already rushed straight in.

"Should we go in first?" Liya asked softly by Muen’s ear.

Given all she had accomplished just monts ago, she had every right to be the first to enter.

"Wait. Sothing feels off."

Muen, for so reason, felt sothing wrong. Standing by the edge of the gate, he did not choose to step forward.

He looked around, frowning.

"Don’t you feel there’s sothing strange here?"

Among the noise, a few people appeared thoughtful, so grew grim-faced, but most showed hints of disdain—thinking Muen was being overly cautious.

Muen ignored them. His gaze swept quickly around—the golden door first, then the thick darkness beyond—desperately searching for the source of that faint dissonance gnawing at his mind.

Finally, his eyes stopped on Narisqi.

Sothing clicked in his head.

"You’re a magician, right?"

"Of course I’m a magician."

Narisqi blinked, then gave him the kind of look one gives to an idiot. Dressed head to toe in Origin Tower robes—what else could he be?

The Origin Tower was far too noble a place to produce those muscle-brained warriors who only relied on brute strength!

"You’re not dual-trained in magic and martial arts?" Muen continued asking oddly.

"No, I’m not." Narisqi’s tone carried so irritation, but considering Muen was the knight of that Saintess candidate, he answered patiently.

"And you didn’t cast any strengthening magic on yourself just now?"

"I used defensive spells, just in case."

"What about strength-enhancing magic?"

"Of course not. I don’t punch people with my fists—what would I need that for?"

"I see. So you didn’t..."

Muen finally stopped questioning, tilted his head up, and gazed at the majestic golden gate before them—then let out a bitter smile.

"Since you’re not a warrior and didn’t use strength-enhancing magic... then as a physically frail magician, how did you manage to push open such a massive tal gate?"

"..."

Silence descended.

Everyone who had been eager to rush forward froze. Annie and Margarita exchanged glances, a strange light flashing in their eyes.

And Narisqi stood there dumbfounded, his face gradually turning pale.

Right. How had he pushed it?

"Ah..."

As if answering his question, from beyond the door, within that darkness thick enough to feel tangible, ca a low groan—hoarse and hollow, like the rasp of rotting branches.

And yet, so clear.

Imdiately after, the golden gate roared. What had only been opened wide enough for two people to walk side by side now thundered open completely, transforming into a vast passage that could accommodate the entire crowd.

The full darkness revealed itself before everyone’s eyes.

But no one stepped forward.

Tap.

Because from within the darkness ca the sound of footsteps.

A dim, yellow light flickered—an old, broken lantern swinging faintly in soone’s hand.

A figure wrapped in tattered cloth stumbled out, step by step, toward the crowd.

It was a thin, emaciated figure. His limbs were pierced through by iron spikes the length of a forearm, and from each spike extended chains that stretched deep into the darkness behind him.

The chains dragged along the ground, spitting sparks.

"Ah... Goddess..."

The hoarse voice spilled from the man’s throat, and under the dim lantern light, everyone could see clearly—his throat, too, had been pierced through by iron.

Black blood dripped not only from those wounds but also from his eyes; molten rcury had corroded them completely. His ears had been filled with molten iron.

So he could only weep in agony—only moan—his cries steeped in despair, as though heralding the end of the world.

"Goddess... please forgive ... forgive my sins..."

A cold wind howled to life. The stench of rot once again spread outward from within the gate—but this ti, it wasn’t stale air. It was poisonous miasma.

"Back! Back!"

Everyone scrambled, stumbling over one another to avoid the toxic fog, panic spreading as the chained figure staggered out of the darkness and stepped beyond the gate.

"What the hell... is that?"

Even though so had guessed there might be traps behind the door, no one expected that what waited in the dark wasn’t a chanism—but a person. Or rather... a prisoner.

"A goddess? He said goddess? Did he commit so blasphemy against the goddess and get imprisoned here as a gatekeeper?"

"Don’t spew obvious crap like that—what matters is what we do now! That thing doesn’t look easy to deal with!"

"Enough talk—blast the bastard first!"

One of the hot-headed magicians had already gathered magic power and unleashed a probing attack.

Blinding fire erupted violently. Even though it was a hasty strike, the combined force of several mages made it terrifyingly powerful.

The tall, thin figure finally stopped walking. From his hollow eyes stread endless tornt, as though the raging flas were about to swallow him whole.

But then everyone’s faces twisted in disbelief—no matter how fiercely the fire burned, it couldn’t even scorch the tattered robe draped over the prisoner’s body.

They had known it wouldn’t be that easy, but the result still sent chills crawling down their spines.

"Goddess... please forgive my sins... I shall atone..."

In that pitiful plea, the prisoner did not attack. Instead, he raised the lantern in his hand.

Inside the lantern, a ghostly fla flickered—like it was calling sothing back from the void.

"Don’t let him continue!"

A sharp, cold shout rang out. Margarita, who had instantly sensed sothing wrong, had already begun her assault, and beside her, Paul—the Sword King’s successor—slashed forward like lightning.

But soone was faster.

In a blur, the golden-haired figure had already teleported before the prisoner. The pure white blade illuminated the grim, sunken face, and its icy edge, wrapped in sacred light, drove rcilessly into the prisoner’s body.

One strike through the throat. One through the heart.

Both vital points.

Yet Muen’s expression changed imdiately.

It didn’t work.

Though the blade had pierced true, though he had poured in every drop of purifying Holy Light he could muster, the prisoner remained motionless.

That withered body still stood upright, the hand holding the lantern trembling faintly.

Jingle.

Jingle.

At that sound, everyone involuntarily turned their heads in horror—

Because from the darkness behind them ca the sound of heavy breathing.

Not just one.

Countless.