Chapter Four: The Noble Young Lord

Faga said, "During the day, there's nothing unusual about the house, but from five in the afternoon until seven the next morning, the door cannot be opened. When it can finally be unlocked and checked, the residents are discovered to have slaughtered one another, and solitary tenants are found hanged. The Maizong Laboratory conducted several investigations, but not a single investigator survived. Thus, the governor has forbidden anyone from approaching this place."

I said, "Shouldn't this scam be blamed on the authorities for their lack of oversight? That mask should never have possessed a key to open the door! Can I demand compensation from the government?"

Faga replied, "That was under the previous governor; the current governor has rescinded the ban."

My hopes were dashed, and I said bitterly, "Does it matter? As long as I leave before evening, isn't that enough?"

Perhaps there was still a glimmer of hope—if the house was normal during the day, at least half my money had not been wasted...

But what was I thinking? Even if the house was safe during the day, it was deadly at night! Once you're gone, nothing else matters. Admit it, I was swindled, bleeding from every wound, I underestimated the treacheries of the skyscraper.

Faga urged, "Pull yourself together—leave quickly."

I said, "Just remind me before five o'clock. I'm exhausted; I need a proper rest."

Faga suggested, "You could sleep at a nearby inn."

This thousand gold coins was all I possessed; I refused to spend another penny. Now, I believed the skyscraper was a place riddled with traps. Apart from Lamia and Faga, I would trust no one else.

Faga scolded me a few times; my head throbbed, and my eyelids grew heavy.

A wave of icy chills revived my senses. I opened my blurry eyes and saw that the classical house had completely changed. Nightmare shadows cloaked the furniture and walls, like dense smoke from a fire.

With a cry of alarm, I reached for the hardening potion and applied it to my throat and heart.

Whispers echoed throughout the room, yet everything I could see was eerily calm. I tried to locate the source of the voices, but there was no sign of anyone. The sound seemed both nonexistent and everywhere.

My gaze fell upon the portrait of the woman on the wall. She was almost entirely shrouded in shadow, save for her blood-red eyes, which glowed through the darkness like tiny lanterns.

Suddenly, I saw my shadow rise from the floor, its cold hands gripping my throat. I was caught between dream and waking, unable to move a single muscle. The shadow became a perfect replica of myself, drew a dagger, and stabbed at my neck.

Luckily, the hardening potion prevented the dagger from piercing me. I jolted awake, grabbing the shadow's wrist—though it was pure shadow, and my first attempt slipped through as if through a beam of light. At that moment, I realized the environment was oddly familiar—yes, yes, this was the dark space created by the fish, the shadowy ocean.

The second time, I caught the shadow. It twisted like a snake, entwining with me. The movement resembled trying to murder myself. Those who had died here—they were slain by their own shadows! They fought their shadows, and in doing so, caused their own deaths or those of their companions.

The shadow burrowed into my skin, chilling my nerves and shattering my spine; it tried to seize control again, slowly invading my mind. But I had resisted similar mental domination before. Gritting my teeth, blood streaming from my left eye, the shadow loosened and finally relented, releasing its grip.

I lay sprawled on the floor, sweat dripping onto the boards, pattering like rain. Quickly, I forced myself to rally; my shadow now stood beside me in peace, motionless as a wooden figure.

From the painting, the woman let out a wretched scream, as if I had harmed her. I saw three figures wielding scythes leap from the mural. One swung at me; I gripped my dagger tightly, blocking the blow. The clash rang out, my dagger met the scythe, which struck with a force comparable to the charge of a white demon, sending me flying.

The other two shadows circled my flanks, their scythes slashing at my back.

My shadow saved me—it appeared just in time, each hand holding a jet-black short sword, parrying the scythes. I shouted, "Yes, yes! Exactly! You and I are on the same side!"

My shadow pointed toward the door. I immediately understood, lunged that way, and kicked, but it felt like striking smoke. My shadow was far stronger than I, driving back the three attackers and merging with me. Helpless and lost, I thought, "Fine, let you possess me for now, just don't betray me like the mask did."

Enveloped in shadow, I pushed forward—the wooden door didn't open, but a ghostly shadow-door appeared. We leapt through it, and in an instant, all those oppressive shadows, those whispering nether voices, the nightmare room vanished.

I found myself on the street, outside the Henry Mansion. Trembling, I turned to look—the mansion was as silent as ever, nothing amiss. No disturbance of shadows at the second-floor window.

My shadow remained at my feet, still my companion, showing no signs of independent action.

Faga's voice called out, "Where did you go? I couldn't reach you."

My mind was muddled, and I cried out in panic, "This house... it's another dimension! Just like the underwater prison! I nearly died—killed by my own shadow. Faga, why didn't you wake me sooner?"

Faga said, "I tried at four-thirty, but I couldn't contact you then."

I lay on the ground as if gravely ill, my head throbbing, heart filled with terror as if waking from a nightmare.

Faga asked, "How did you escape?"

I replied, "I... I think my shadow helped me."

Faga asked, "Shadow?"

I said, "Don't ask—my head hurts! I'm cursed! Ah, what time is it now?"

Faga didn't answer, but another voice did: "Five-thirty."

I looked at the newcomers—two young men, both in black suits and neat trousers. One wore a white tie, the other a red tie. Both were handsome: one had cropped black hair, calm and resolute eyes, a strong and balanced physique. The other had golden shoulder-length hair, a pale face, delicate features, a slender frame, exuding a heavy scent of perfume and a gloomy, gentle air.

The golden-haired youth asked, "I just saw you come out of the haunted house."

I replied loudly, "Yes, that's right! I almost lost my life in there! Truly haunted! You must never go inside—it's certain death!"

The golden-haired and the short-haired youth glanced at each other. The golden-haired one said, "I know. Over the past fifty years, more than twenty people have died in that house, and only you survived."

The short-haired youth asked, "What did you see?"

I massaged my temples. "Endless shadows, a terrifying banshee, my own shadow almost strangling me, and more shadows leaping out to kill me."

The golden-haired youth said, "My name is Michael, and this is Le Gang. Pleased to meet you."

He reached out to help me. I shook my head, "Leave me be—I need to... lie down a little longer..."

Faga whispered, "They are nobles of the Black Coffin, adopted sons of the governor, their status far above Lamia's."

Seizing Michael's hand before he could withdraw, I gripped it tightly and shook, saying, "I'm truly out of sorts; your concern is greatly appreciated."

Michael smiled, "You are very enthusiastic, Mr. Longinus."

I said, "There's no need for such formality—just call me Fishbone."

Le Gang said, "Come, Fishbone, join us for a cup of coffee to recover."

Such generous hospitality could not be refused, even in my illness. If I could befriend them, it would mark a significant turning point in my fate.

We went to the same café. Michael ordered an iced latte, Le Gang took a pure black coffee, and I randomly pointed, not even knowing what I ordered.

Michael said, "Le Gang and I heard someone purchased the Henry Peitz Mansion and were amazed, so we came to see. We didn't expect you'd actually stay inside, with no intention of leaving—truly bold. Did you have confidence from the start you'd escape alive?"

I smiled, "Hardly, hardly. I am Fishbone, a wanderer from the outer wastelands, a traveler of perilous realms, accustomed since youth to difficult situations. However dangerous this mansion, it's nothing special to me, hardly worth a second thought." The drinks arrived, and I took a hearty sip, feeling somewhat better.

Michael said, "Actually, I was the previous owner of this mansion."

I nearly jumped up to strangle him.

Michael continued, "I have a peculiar hobby: I like collecting objects with long histories and mysterious origins. This mansion was a gift I requested from my father. But I didn't enjoy it—first, no one could live in it; second, I could never solve its mysteries; third, I lived in the upper levels and couldn't visit often. It was better to get rid of it, lest my name be linked to this unlucky house."

I demanded angrily, "What's going on? What about that mask? I want a refund! Return my money—twenty million credits!"

Michael laughed, "The money isn't with me, Mr. Fishbone. And you needn't be so agitated. To me, twenty million is nothing. If you prove useful to me, the benefits I can offer will far exceed that paltry sum."

Instantly, I calmed myself. He was right—paradise is so wonderful, and anger solves nothing.

Michael said, "I sold the mansion to that real estate agent called Mask for only one hundred thousand gold coins, since he did me a small favor. It was nearly a gift. I never expected he'd find a buyer so quickly, and even less that the buyer would survive its dangers."

I asked, "Would you like to... buy the mansion back?"

Michael replied, "I have a better proposal. The three of us should enter the mansion together and explore it. If you can ensure all of us make it out alive, I'll grant you a mysterious, magnificent gift. What do you say?"