Chapter 1779: Chapter 1779

"I never thought anyone in this world would actually dare to do something . As far as I know, even the largest cultist sacrifice of the 18th Epoch involved only a few thousand people."

Jenkins steered the conversation back to what he had just heard.

"That's only because the cultists lack the power. If they had the authority of the King of Cheslan, they'd do the same as Tackwen—of that, I have no doubt. Those who hold power must always be regarded with caution, because once human desire is amplified by authority, all sorts of incredible things can happen."

Mr. Augustus sighed in agreement. He was about to follow Jenkins into the corridor when he saw him suddenly turn around.

A strange, gray mist suddenly enveloped Tackwen's motionless soul. Before Jenkins's eyes, a portion of the soul vanished, along with fragments of its chaotic consciousness.

"Someone is trying to perform a séance on his soul. But a séance can't draw away an entire soul. Most of the time, it only summons unconscious soul fragments or scattered spiritual remnants lingering in the material world. If you're particularly unlucky, you might even call upon a fully-formed malevolent spirit that roams our plane." The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the NoveI-Fire.ɴet

Mr. Augustus had seen this sort of thing many times. The latter outcome he described was often the fate of those audacious yet foolish youths in horror stories—the ones who lacked a healthy sense of fear.

"Can you trace who's performing the séance?"

"They aren't using an ability or a ritual for this séance. They're using a numbered item. It's... A-05-3-4231, 'Soul Echo'. How interesting..."

He turned to Jenkins and proposed:

"Jenkins, how about you return to the physical world directly from here? While the séance is still in progress, I can use a few tricks to substitute your body and soul for the king's. A common ritual probably wouldn't be strong enough to pull you through, but with the power of a Cursed Item at work... as long as you don't resist, and I give you a little push, it should be enough to send you over."

Ting... Ting... Ting...

In a small warehouse near the mines of Nolan's eastern district, the doors were sealed shut. The ceiling vents and side windows were all draped with heavy, black, light-blocking cloth. The vast warehouse was plunged into darkness. It was night, so not a sliver of natural light could penetrate the gloom, and the only illumination came from six faintly glowing candles.

The warehouse was spacious, yet it currently held not so much as a stack of paper. A single rectangular table sat beneath the central crossbeams, surrounded by six middle-aged men.

All six wore identical black robes. Five of them held hands in a chain, with the two at each end resting a hand on the shoulders of the sixth man. This sixth man held a brass triangle in one hand and a delicate copper mallet in the other.

A single candle stood at each man's feet, but the tabletop was bare, leaving their faces shrouded in shadow. As the triangle was struck again and again, the candlelight wavered subtly with every note.

A wave of nausea washed over all of them, and an inexplicable fear tempted them to break their linked hands. But they were well aware of the prohibitions associated with using the Cursed Item, 'Soul Echo,' so not a single one of them dared to move.

Suddenly, a wind stirred within the sealed warehouse, and the faint candlelight nearly vanished. Simultaneously, the table, which none of them were touching, began to shake violently. Their chairs started to rock, jolting them back and forth. The men gritted their teeth, refusing to let go, but the arm of the man striking the triangle had begun to tremble.

The temperature dropped steadily until their every breath plumed as white mist in the air. With six soft hisses, the yellow candlelight shifted to an eerie, spectral blue. The men around the table knew the soul they sought had arrived.

They had to hold their positions, which created blind spots for everyone. Besides, beyond the immediate circle of the table, the warehouse was so pitch-black you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. No one could see what, exactly, the séance had summoned.

But they were using a Cursed Item and had long prepared for what they might encounter. So, despite their fear, they did not panic.

The man striking the triangle spoke first, his voice echoing through the vast, empty warehouse. No one answered. After half a minute of silence, the rhythm of his strikes quickened:

A small stone flew from the darkness and landed on the table. It skittered across the surface before coming to a stop directly in the center.

After receiving such a bizarre and—given the atmosphere—chilling response, the man asked again, his strikes on the triangle never faltering. This time, he got no reply. After dozens of seconds of silence, he changed his question:

"We require your soul. Now, we offer a sacrifice. Please accept it and leave your soul behind."

Someone's foot triggered a mechanism beneath the table. The entire tabletop flipped over, revealing a comatose woman bound to its underside. She was middle-aged, with no discernible identifying features, but the faint rise and fall of her chest showed she was still alive.

A faint sound echoed from the darkness, and a wave of intense fear washed over each man. This was clearly the innate ability possessed by most malevolent spirits—an 'Aura of Fear.' The six men fought down the frantic beating of their hearts and waited for a response from the thing in the shadows.

Suddenly, the man directly across from the one with the triangle was jerked into the air as if strangled by an invisible rope. His companions held fast, and the force nearly pulled the two men beside him from their seats.

The suspended man convulsed in midair before dropping back into his chair with a heavy thud. He was completely unconscious. If not for the grip of his companions, he would have slumped to the floor.

"You find this offering... insufficient?"

The man with the triangle asked, feigning composure. He then struck the instrument with greater force. For some reason, this strike produced a sound that left a lingering buzz in their ears.

"Do you truly find this offering insufficient? We only want a fragment of your soul to create a likeness of you. We don't need all of it."

The presence in the darkness was silent for another moment. A bone-chilling wind swept through the warehouse from some unknown source. Another of the six men was hoisted into the air, convulsed, and then dropped, unconscious.

The man with the triangle grew even more grim. He struck the instrument with all his might, and the resulting sound made blood trickle from everyone's ears.

"Don't mistake this for a negotiation. If we weren't worried about obliterating your soul, do you think I'd be speaking to you so calmly?"

Another small stone flew out of the darkness, landing on the table. It struck the woman's stomach before bouncing away and rolling under the table.

"Are you saying you want another living sacrifice?"

Again, there was no answer, only another projectile hurtling from the darkness. At first, they thought it was a stone, but as it bounced on the tabletop, they saw it was a pitch-black seed.

"What in the world are you trying to say?"

The man's voice grew impatient. He couldn't bear wasting so much time over a mere mortal's soul. But for the sake of his organization's plan, he had no choice.

Suddenly, he felt a hand settle on his shoulder. An intense cold followed, nearly paralyzing the right side of his body. By the faint candlelight at his feet, he saw expressions of sheer terror on the faces of his three conscious companions. He knew then that the spirit had manifested.

Since it was summoned by the Cursed Item 'Soul Echo,' Tackwen's soul was bound to corrupt into a malevolent spirit, so the man wasn't surprised by his companions' terror. He was, however, puzzled by their incessant blinking. But the rules of the Cursed Item forbade any participant from speaking until the ritual was complete, so he couldn't ask them for an explanation.

Soon, a hand landed on his other shoulder. He could imagine the posture the spirit behind him had assumed to touch him, yet he remained calm. As long as the séance continued, the spirit could not truly harm him.

The icy sensation spread from his shoulders down through his entire body. It wasn't merely that the spirit's hands were as cold as ice; an aura of death was seeping into him.

The terrifying aura brought a creeping paralysis, so when the 'spirit's' hands slid from his shoulders, down his arms, and toward the triangle and mallet, the man didn't react at first.

Only when the hands from behind touched his own did the man finally realize—they were undoubtedly the hands of a living person.

He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't obey. Jenkins had flooded him with a massive amount of death-aligned spirit at close range—enough to almost certainly reanimate a corpse. For a living person, it was like having sewage injected directly into an artery.

The man could only watch as the figure behind him snatched the items from his grasp. The séance, centered on the Cursed Item, was broken. His three remaining companions sprang to their feet, but in that same instant, a sword of unknown origin slashed down.

The two men to his left were cleaved into four pieces. His companion on the right, however, was ensnared by the seed that had sprouted from nowhere. Vines wrapped around him like tentacles, coiling tightly until he was completely cocooned. With a sickening crunch of breaking bone, the vines constricted, and blood began to ooze from the gaps.

But the man saw none of it. Jenkins had already snapped his neck, bringing the séance to its definitive end.