Endless Debt-Chapter 847 - 1: The Sword of Damocles

The rapid breathing echoed in the narrow mine tunnel, the sound overlapping repeatedly, returning to the man’s ears like thunderous roars.

The man, as if tireless, sprinted madly, not stopping even as the sharp edges of the crystal ore cut bloody marks into his skin.

Compared to being caught by that monster, the physical pain was easy to endure.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry..."

The man wept in fear, crying and muttering to himself, "I’m sorry, everyone."

For a chance at his own survival, he locked the door at the bottom of the mine, leaving the others there to face the monster. The man knew they were doomed, but their deaths would undoubtedly buy him some time.

Cold air surged into the mine, the ground becoming slippery and covered with ice. The man stumbled and almost fell, but upon seeing the light at the cave entrance, he burst with tenacious life force.

Survival is the instinct of all creatures, even soulless demons.

He used both hands and feet to climb those sharp ores, his hands becoming bloody and mangled, crawling upward in a sorry state, while a wailing sound came from behind him.

The man dared not look back; he could imagine the scene – under the monster’s brutal attack, people’s bodies torn apart, blood flowing everywhere.

The man had heard many rumors about that monster, but the most terrifying was that few could escape alive from its clutches.

The few lucky escapees would spread tales of the monster in terror, only to disappear completely within days. Some guessed they left the protection of the Great Rift to avoid the monster, while others said that anyone targeted by the monster would be caught and killed again, even if they escaped.

Perhaps their bodies lie beneath the dense Sea of Mist.

Another sharp sound rang out, piercing the man like a knife. He no longer thought about these things and crawled forward in panic.

Lighting equipment illuminated the dark mine, the light reflecting off the translucent crystal ores, making it slightly stronger. This allowed the man to clearly see his escape route, but then he noticed some discoloration in the dim glow.

A faint hue of dark blue appeared on the surrounding crystal ores, and soon these crystals, scattered throughout the mine, reflected like countless mirrors. They mirrored the atmosphere, forming a bizarre bluish-green light that completely covered the mine. In this eerie light, countless crystal ores reflected the monstrous form approaching.

Countless monsters advanced, with countless pairs of ghostly, azure-like eyes.

Evil Spirit.

The man remembered what people called this monster: a life-seizing Evil Spirit, an urban legend hidden under the night sky of Oubos.

The reflection of the Evil Spirit on the crystal ores turned this tunnel into a maze of mirrors. The man couldn’t determine the exact position of the Evil Spirit, but he knew it was closing in, getting closer and closer.

The man’s nerves felt like tightly wound strings, tightening more as the Evil Spirit approached until, at a certain instant, they snapped completely.

"Ah!"

His frenzied scream echoed just as he was about to escape the mine. A swift sound approached, his ankle wrenched in pain as a cold snake burrowed beneath his skin, wrapping around his flesh.

Silver threads stretched deep into the mine, with a gentle pull from the other end, the man was like prey caught in a spider’s web, being dragged deeper into the mine.

"The mine’s been excavated for years, and it’s still not cleaned out?"

A voice sounded in the darkness, expressing amazement at the crystal ore, "And there’s such a variety of ores, how strange."

"It’s said to be the work of King Solomon, who spent years exploring the terrain to find a good site for the Holy City."

Another voice explained, "You could say the Holy City was built on rich mineral veins, and since its establishment, Alchemists have been transforming these minerals on a large scale, making them diverse."

"So, we’re picking up what’s left?"

"Kind of. After the Fall of the Holy City, the tearing of the Great Rift exposed these veins, leading to the creation of these mines... where do you think the endless material for the Sublimation Furnace Core comes from?"

"Wow."

As the two conversed, the man, entwined by the silver serpent, was dragged deeper into the darkness. He could feel the Evil Spirit right behind him, in panic; he covered his head with his hands, curling up on the spot, his body trembling violently with fear.

"Oh, he’s back, hurry up," the voice urged, "I made plans with Serey to play board games tonight."

The other voice sighed, "I thought your trauma from that game would last longer."

A strong hand grabbed the man and roughly turned him over. Almost at the moment he saw the true form of the Evil Spirit, the man let out a shrill scream, his bloodshot eyes wide open, his whole body convulsing uncontrollably.

"Whoa, whoa, you’re scaring him to death, ease up!"

Palmer shrieked; the unfortunate man before him was on the brink of collapse. As he broke down, Palmer also felt uncomfortable, the fear from the Face of Horror invading his mind. Thankfully, having been with Bologue for so long, he began to get used to it involuntarily.

Bologue ceased the flow of Ether, and the fear emitted from the hideous mask dissipated. However, it did not become ordinary; the greasy feel of the leather and the blood-stained twisted Iron Wire spoke of its inherent malice.

The man’s fear subsided slightly, his reason restoring somewhat as he contemplated the nearly hopeless situation before collapsing again.

"Stop howling."

Bologue warned, the Silver Snake crawled up the man’s neck, coiling around him. With just a thought, Bologue could snap the man’s neck completely.

"I want to ask you something."

The silver serpent lifted the man; Bologue sat on a protruding rock nearby.

Bologue pointed to himself, "Who am I?"

This question left the man bewildered for a moment, even Palmer was confused, what a ridiculous question.

"Ev... Evil Spirit."

The man stammered in reply; this bizarre conversation slightly diminished the violent aura of the Evil Spirit in his mind, dissipating much of his fear.

"Besides me, is there another Evil Spirit?"

Bologue continued, "I mean, is there anyone other than me hunting you demons down?"

What kind of stupid question is this?

Such thoughts flashed through the man’s mind. Of course, he couldn’t say it directly, but nor could he come up with an answer.

Apart from the Evil Spirit, is there anyone else hunting demons? It seemed not, and if there was, someone like the man wouldn’t know.

"See, I told you they wouldn’t know!" Palmer complained, "Dead men tell no tales."

Bologue sighed; this time, Palmer was right. His interrogation was inefficient and fruitless. Perhaps he should adopt another plan.

The man saw Bologue stand up. From his experience, it was clear he was about to die, as a person who lost value would. Everyone living in the Great Rift understood this.

"I know a lot, I really do. I know all the demons in this area! What do you want to ask!"

Bologue paused for a moment, then asked, "Are there many demons in this area?"

The man quickly answered, "Many... there were many before. These mines are very suitable for hiding, but in the past few months, our numbers have been rapidly decreasing."

"Why a rapid decrease?"

Another stupid question, the man thought.

"Because... because you killed them all," the man said in reverence, "Lord Evil Spirit, you killed them all."

The chaos that once gripped the Great Rift had improved under the Evil Spirit’s bloody massacre. All the tyrants and evil ones had died, and those defiant had to force themselves to live cautiously in the shadows.

The Evil Spirit was like a sword of Damocles, hanging over everyone’s heads.

"Yes, that’s the issue," Bologue seemed troubled, "I’ve never been here before."

The man was stunned, "So..."

Bologue frowned, murmuring, "So these demons weren’t killed by me."