Chapter 48: The Apostle's Eye

At the hilt of the Sea Soul blade, a gemstone was set, resembling a water-blue eyeball so closely that Mulan could hardly avoid connecting it to her own dream. The evil spirit that had possessed a human earlier had clawed out a similar eyeball shape at the bedside, and now Walton had presented her directly with the precious Sea Soul—was there some hidden link between these events?

Walton had handed over the Sea Soul so casually; was it intentional? Mulan kept pondering, losing even her appetite. Walton’s personality was erratic, but Mulan dared not claim she truly understood him. Moments ago, the sinister aura emanating from Walton had made Mulan feel as though she stood before a terrifying monster.

Yet, if Walton had given her the Sea Soul to ensnare her, it seemed far-fetched. Mulan considered herself merely talented in Walton’s eyes—someone not worth a grand scheme against. Perhaps gifting her the blade was simply Walton acting on a whim.

“Achoo—”

Walking along the path in the night, Walton sneezed, rubbing his nose. The food had been delicious, albeit a bit spicy, but he couldn’t show discomfort in front of Mulan. He needed water quickly.

Night slowly passed, and Mulan remained seated in the kitchen, gazing at the Sea Soul.

Above the black castle, many ravens circled. Some alighted on the roof of Mulan’s small building, and more began to gather overhead. It wasn’t only the castle’s ravens; many from other parts of Digo City flew in twos and threes toward the black castle.

“Flap, flap… flap, flap, flap, flap...” The sound of wings came from the window, startling Mulan who had been staring at the Sea Soul. He stood and looked toward the kitchen window, seeing countless shadows flickering. Moving closer, he looked outside and saw several ravens with a casual glance.

His gaze swept elsewhere, then returned to the kitchen. Grabbing the Sea Soul, he hurried upstairs. From the corridor’s wide window, he looked out: dozens, perhaps hundreds of ravens circled his building. The moonlight overhead flickered as more ravens wheeled above, yet not a single raven cried out.

What was happening?

The ravens silently beat their wings, filling the sky above the black castle.

Inside a hall resembling a chapel, a man in a tailcoat played the piano. Instruments around him sounded of their own accord, their music rhythmic, punctuated by several large speakers echoing to the beat, giving the melody a bizarre tone.

Walton stood beside the piano, sipping water, listening to the music while his eyes watched the hall’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

As the music ended, Walton set down his cup and applauded gently. The pianist rose with a smile.

“This is my newest composition. I call it the Soul Waltz. Did you feel it?”

“I’m delighted you invited me to enjoy such wonderful music!” Walton replied courteously, picking up his cup and moving toward the windows, the pianist following.

“What’s with all these ravens?” Walton asked.

The pianist glanced at him in surprise.

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“I thought it was because of you.”

“I’m not that bored,” Walton replied, suddenly struck by a thought.

“Could it be a problem from the other side?”

“Let’s take a look,” said the pianist.

Both their pupils shimmered with strange light—one stomped his foot, the other lightly tapped his chest. Ripples formed before them, black mist rising from the disturbance, visible only to the gifted. Both stepped into it, vanishing from the hall.

The inner world was always dim, though not completely obscured. The musician glanced back at the spot where he and Walton had entered; faint cracks remained, now shrouded by black mist, but not entirely erased.

“Come, let’s check the situation around the black castle.”

Like an eggshell, entering the inner world was much easier than exiting. Those who could enter left markers—signs that needed to be both discreet and timely. If the marker vanished or could not be found, one might be trapped inside.

Of course, the black castle itself had safeguards, and as its headquarters, there were managed mirror exits.

Even within the inner world, most of the black castle’s buildings were not mere ruins. Some main towers arched and clawed, appearing monstrous, with winged, long-tailed creatures sprawled atop them. Upon Walton and the musician’s arrival, these creatures awoke from their petrified slumber.

“Your toys are all waking up,” joked the musician.

Ignoring the banter, Walton leaped lightly, weightless, to the top of a building and clapped his hands.

“Clap, clap, clap—”

“Gargoyles, sweep the black castle area. Something with ill intent may have entered—don’t overlook a single corner.”

More and more gargoyles awakened, most flapping their wings, reacquainting themselves with flight. Soon, a swath of gargoyles soared skyward, like a multitude of giant bats blotting out the sun.

“There, now inside and outside are nearly the same!” the musician quipped below, his gaze suddenly shifting in all directions.

“Walton, I’ve said before, compared to gargoyles, few of your other toys are reliable. Look.”

Walton had noticed as well: besides countless gargoyles searching, many shadows flickered in the inner world—these were death spirits, meant to remain hidden within the castle, now all active. Most wandered aimlessly, but some approached a particular area—the direction of Mulan’s residence.

Walton and the musician approached. Some death spirits emitted cries identical to ravens.

“Ah, ah, ah—Ah, ah—”

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Many death spirits clawed at their own eyes, tearing out their left eyes in wild frenzy. Dark blood gushed from their sockets, staining the earth red.

Their vigor waned, and they all fell to their knees.

“They’ve gone mad?” The musician’s face was grave. Walton’s expression was equally severe. The gargoyles continued their sweep, with no alarms for external threats, yet even Walton found the scene uncanny.

“Die,” Walton murmured, clenching his right hand.

In the next instant, not only the death spirits before them but all within the black castle—indeed, even those guarding the outer world—were torn apart, a torrent of deathly blood exploding forth.

In the outer world, outside Mulan’s building, countless ravens burst apart at that moment. Even Mulan felt as though a hammer struck his heart, collapsing in agony.

He lay pale in the corridor on the second floor, countless blood-stained black feathers drifting down outside the window. The scene was eerily familiar.

The Sea Soul, lying on the floor, slowly levitated, its crystal gem at the hilt radiating waves of blue light.

Mulan lay with a faint sense of terror. The Sea Soul’s hilt was foremost, the blade behind. A vague, humanoid phantom emerged, with the hilt at its left eye. Feathers continued to fall, and behind the phantom seemed to be a pair of wings, shrouded, as if covering the entire rooftop and more.

Mulan did not scream or cry out—not simply because he couldn’t move or speak, but because he felt no malice.

The black shadow behind the figure slowly contracted, as if wings were folding to reveal the sky, but instead of the ceiling, Mulan saw a chaotic firmament, a strange moon hanging high, like a gigantic eye.

As in his dream, the mist in the chaotic sky churned, but unlike the dream, Mulan now seemed to possess another vision, piercing the chaos, hearing a cacophony of sounds.

Countless chants, prayers, endless cries and laughter, emotions and greedy desires, each item imbued with special power became an expression of longing. Rituals, blood sacrifices, innumerable calls and guidance—all stirred the storm within the chaos, bringing mysterious power to the world.

Those who peered at power were also watched in return; greed begot greed. Eternal life and immense strength were no longer distant dreams, but all mysterious power had its source—a cold gaze within the chaos. That gaze did not answer greedy prayers; the wishes of countless beings were merely directions sought by its indifferent sight, searching only for the world itself. Whether worshipped or reviled, life meant nothing to the gaze.

All illusions contracted. Mulan finally saw the ceiling. The humanoid phantom, with the Sea Soul as its left eye, descended to face Mulan lying on the floor, its right hand slowly pressed to its chest, then, astonishingly, it knelt on one knee.

In the next moment, the phantom shattered, and the Sea Soul clattered to the floor.

All the ravens’ feathers outside fell to the ground, and the black castle had never been so silent.

Mulan could move again, but he was deeply shaken. Beside him, the Sea Soul’s hilt no longer resembled an eyeball—only a round, sea-blue gem remained.

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