Chapter Fifty-Two: A Terrifying Thing

Handel had rarely seen such an expression on Mulan’s face before. At once, he realized something was wrong. He hurriedly shifted the two cups of coffee aside as Mulan rushed to the door, glanced up at the stairs, then looked toward the corridor window. She leaned close to Handel and whispered urgently.

“You’re Brook now. Help Mr. Moore pack his manuscripts and books. You have five minutes.”

Handel merely nodded, betraying no unnecessary reaction, and immediately walked toward Moore, who was still somewhat bewildered. Mulan turned to Moore and raised her voice sharply.

“Pack your most important belongings within five minutes. I’m not joking. Hurry!”

Mulan’s seriousness jolted Moore awake. Though Mulan was a stranger, Moore sensed he could trust him and began to hurriedly gather his things, fetching a wicker suitcase from the neighboring bedroom.

“No need to pack clothes—just manuscripts and essential items!”

Mulan helped organize, mostly gathering the books and papers from the table. The rest was for Moore to decide what to take. Five minutes was brief, but Mulan didn’t even want to wait that long. After only three minutes, seeing Moore start to collect his pens and other small items, Mulan decided to leave immediately.

He first grabbed two sets of clothes from Moore’s bedroom, stuffed them into the suitcase, pressed it shut, and led Moore downstairs.

At the front door on the first floor, Mulan discreetly drew out the fang hidden in her cane. Using its tip as a stylus, she carved a line of peculiar hieroglyphs into the inner side of the doorframe—strange symbols to Moore’s eyes—then took a deep breath and gently opened the door.

Outside, the street was already dim. Mulan pulled Moore along, with Handel following behind carrying the suitcase, not forgetting to close the door.

“What were you drawing by the door just now?” Moore asked curiously. Mulan explained as they walked.

“You can think of it as a blessing I’m preparing. It’s also a kind of misdirection.”

“Misdirection?” Moore instinctively glanced back at their lodgings, wondering how a few symbols could confuse anyone.

But Mulan clearly had neither time nor inclination to explain further. He kept a firm grip on Moore, all the while keeping a wary eye on their surroundings.

They turned into an alley and paused before entering a new street.

Mulan looked past Moore toward Handel, who stood alert, gripping the suitcase.

“Brook.”

“Yes, sir!”

“I’m about to use some special techniques on you. You’ll briefly be able to perceive some information from the Inner World, which will bring certain dangers. The effects will be troublesome to erase afterward, but I need your strength now.”

Handel was nervous and a little excited, though not really afraid—or perhaps he failed to grasp the true danger Mulan spoke of.

“Do what you must, sir. I will obey without question!”

Mulan wasted no words. He took a small spellbook from his pocket, tore out the title page bearing a hexagram, crumpled it, and handed it to Handel.

“Eat this!”

Handel hesitated for a moment, then took the paper ball and swallowed it without question. He chewed for a while, but it was tough, so he forced it down whole. Whether it was psychological or not, swallowing the paper made him feel uneasy.

“Bear with it, focus your mind. It’ll pass soon.”

Indeed, Handel’s discomfort quickly faded. Nothing seemed to change.

“How do you feel?”

“I think… it’s colder, but otherwise nothing much.”

“That’s enough. Avoid whichever direction feels cold to you.”

With that, Mulan flipped up the collar of Moore’s coat, covering his beard and half his face, pressed down his hat, and did the same for Handel.

“Head east. Find a crowded place and settle Mr. Moore there. Mr. Moore, don’t contact any workers for now. Work on your book in peace. After a month or two, leave Deegall for somewhere more remote. This city is too dangerous for you.”

“What about you?” “Sir?” Moore and Handel sensed Mulan intended to act alone.

Mulan smiled.

“I’ve told you, I left something to confuse them. All right, wait a minute after I leave, then go. Brook, don’t mess this up. Mr. Moore is a great man.”

Handel stood straight, fist to chest.

“Rest assured, sir, I’ll do everything I can.”

Mulan nodded, drew a white handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped it around his hand and the hilt of the fang, then slowly drew out the blade.

A sinister aura spread from the sword. Moore felt nothing, but Handel instinctively stepped back half a pace.

Shadows seemed to swirl along the blade, like writhing creatures. The sword’s silhouette, exaggerated by the darkness, looked utterly different from before. Tiny chips along the blade, previously insignificant, now magnified into grotesque features—odd mouths gaping wide.

Bizarre, eerie!

That was the impression Mulan’s back gave Handel now—and that was only from behind. On the front, Mulan’s eyes narrowed, his lips curved into a crescent smile, lending him a wicked, almost mad appearance.

With the fang and his own powerful resonance, Mulan transformed into something truly uncanny. In the next moment, he moved—his agile figure skimming close to the street, sliding forward as if skating. Within a few steps, he was far down the road.

“Why is he so fast?” Moore murmured.

Handel did not discuss it further; after Mulan left, he took out his pocket watch and quietly waited for a minute to pass. As the last second ticked by, he pulled Moore along and set off.

...

Entering this fevered state of resonance, Mulan felt astonishingly clear-headed. His thoughts remained sharp, but his emotions and judgments grew more unrestrained and exaggerated.

Strictly speaking, this was a kind of false path—not without a source of power, since the sword’s assistance and Mulan’s own resonant imagination allowed him, to some degree, to form a blurred world. It could draw chaotic energy, resonating between chaotic thought and the void.

It was rather like a peculiar dream: what I imagine becomes reality, what I believe is power. At its foundation, the logic of world-formation is much like this, though the degree of realization varies vastly.

So Mulan possessed real strength—not just physical, but something else. The sword served as an important vessel, exaggerating the effects and connecting directly with Mulan.

He moved swiftly, gliding across the city streets as if skating, his face alight with excitement, muscles flexing dramatically. No illusion or disguise was needed. No one would associate this face with Mulan Jonst, for his appearance and aura were utterly transformed.

“Are you coming? Are you coming? Hehehehehe, hurry and catch up, little kitten!”

His voice rasped in a low whisper, vibrating in the air through resonance, rippling outward like stones cast in a pond.

Back at Moore’s former residence, a patch of shadow clinging to the door shivered, then seeped outside, morphing into a black cat leaping along the walls.

Mulan seemed to deliberately circle the city, waiting for that presence. Suddenly, he looked up and spotted a black cat perched on a rooftop. His lips twisted into an exaggerated grin.

In the same instant, his form faded like a specter, and in a flash he stood atop the roof, his black sword slicing forward in a curve like a gaping mouth.

“Meow—!”

In a dim interrogation room in another district of Deegall, a dozen workers lay barely alive. A man among them suddenly shuddered, terror crossing his face.

“No, Moore is just a pawn. Behind him stands something utterly evil. My spirit was devoured by it!”

“What is it? Can you sense its path?”

The man’s face paled as he shook his head.

“Evil, bizarre, mad, ecstatic—it seems to be waiting for me. We must warn Her Majesty and the Black Castle. Something dreadful has come to Deegall!”