Chapter 68: The person behind the ritual

The crimson light pulsed against the walls, bathing the room in an eerie glow.

At the center of the chamber stood a circular altar constructed from black stone. Its surface was carved with hundreds of intricate symbols, each arranged in concentric rings that spiraled toward a deep depression at the center. The symbols resembled an ancient language, their twisted lines and angular patterns suggesting something far older than any civilization known to modern scholars.

Thin channels had been carved between the markings, connecting one symbol to another like veins beneath the surface of the stone. They were designed to carry something far more sinister than ordinary energy.

Curse energy.

The channels remained dark and empty.

Around the altar, seven tall pillars formed an incomplete circle. Each pillar was engraved with a different figure, their distorted bodies depicting humans kneeling beneath enormous, shadowy beings. The figures had been carved with painstaking detail, their faces contorted in expressions of agony and terror.

At the base of each pillar rested a shallow stone basin.

Not a single basin contained a drop of blood.

Above the altar, chains hung from the ceiling, suspending several metallic rings at different heights. Strange characters had been etched along their surfaces, and small crystals embedded between the inscriptions were supposed to illuminate once the ritual began.

Yet the crystals remained dull.

Even the enormous magic circle surrounding the altar had shown no reaction. Its crimson markings had been carefully painted with a mixture of monster blood and powdered magical minerals, forming an elaborate network that extended across nearly the entire chamber floor.

Everything was prepared and every component was in place.

And yet, the ritual refused to begin.

Snap!

The sharp sound of breaking fingers echoed through the chamber.

A man dressed in dark red robes stood before the altar, his expression twisted with impatience. The fabric concealed most of his body, its heavy folds trailing across the floor behind him. Black embroidery covered the edges of his sleeves, forming patterns that seemed to writhe whenever the crimson light passed over them.

His face was partially obscured by the hood, but his visible eye was impossible to overlook.

Three pupils occupied the same eye, each bearing a different color. They shifted independently within the bloodshot white, focusing on different parts of the chamber as though each possessed a will of its own.

At that moment, all three pupils were fixed on the inactive altar.

"Why hasn’t the summoning ritual started yet?"

His voice struck the silent room like a whip.

He took several impatient steps around the altar, inspecting the engraved symbols as though he might discover the problem through sheer irritation.

Nothing had changed.

The magic circle remained dormant, and the crystals hanging from the ceiling showed no signs of responding to the energy gathering beyond the chamber.

His lips twitched.

"What are those two useless fools doing?"

He stopped walking and turned toward the chamber’s only entrance.

"Don’t tell me they’ve started massacring everyone. I specifically told them not to kill anyone!"

His shout reverberated through the room.

For several seconds, he stood motionless, listening for any sound from beyond the thick stone walls.

But there was nothing. No footsteps, no explosions, and not even the faintest disturbance in the air.

His expression darkened.

He had paid an enormous sum to recruit those two criminals. Their reputations were questionable, their personalities insufferable, and their methods often bordered on madness. Nevertheless, their abilities had been useful enough to justify the expense.

More importantly, he had believed they could follow a simple instruction.

Contains everyone and doesn’t let a single soul leave the forest. Keep them alive. Ensure that the ritual proceeded without interruption.

Just a few straightforward tasks.

"Idiots," he muttered, clenching his fists beneath his sleeves.

He had entrusted a critical part of the greatest undertaking of his life to those two lunatics. If they had ruined everything because they couldn’t control their bloodlust, he would personally make certain they regretted it.

But anger alone wouldn’t solve his current problem.

The man forced himself to take a deep breath and turned his attention back to the altar. He needed to understand what had gone wrong.

Everything had been proceeding according to plan until now.

It had all started with a piece of information. A mysterious informant had contacted him several days earlier, bringing news that had immediately captured his attention.

A dungeon would appear.

Not an ordinary dungeon that adventurers could discover every few months, nor one of those unstable pockets of space that occasionally emerged in regions saturated with magical energy.

This was a dungeon that appeared only once every decade.

Its emergence was accompanied by unusual atmospheric changes and a massive concentration of dark energy that couldn’t be easily detected. The dungeon itself was believed to contain resources that would take ordinary adventurers years to acquire, perhaps even materials that had long since disappeared from the known world.

Most people would have seen it as an opportunity to gather treasures, earn a fortune, or improve their strength.

He had seen something far more valuable.

An opportunity to change everything.

The dungeon’s emergence provided the perfect conditions for a ritual that would otherwise have been almost impossible to perform. The energy fluctuations would conceal the early signs of his preparations, while the unusual concentration of curse energy would make it easier to gather the power necessary for the final stage.

And the academy people who happened to have an examination around the dungeon?

They would provide the sacrifices.

He had spent years studying forbidden rituals, searching for a method that could transform accumulated curse energy into something tangible. Most of the rituals he had discovered were either incomplete or too dangerous to attempt without sufficient preparation.

Some required hundreds of sacrifices which were not easy to acquire.

Others demanded materials that no longer existed.

A few were so unstable that even the slightest mistake could consume the caster along with everyone nearby.

But this ritual was different.

Under the right conditions, he could use the dungeon’s natural energy fluctuations to stabilize the process. The sacrifices would supply the necessary life force, while the accumulated curse energy would serve as the catalyst.

Everything fit together with almost suspicious perfection.

The moment he learned about the dungeon’s appearance, he began making preparations.

He gathered the necessary materials, purchased information from various underground networks, and spent a considerable fortune acquiring the components required to construct the ritual altar.

He even managed to obtain several rare ingredients that had taken him years to locate.

Then came the barrier.

That was the most important part of his plan.

He didn’t need to chase down every potential sacrifice or drag unwilling victims into the chamber one by one. Such methods were inefficient, dangerous, and far too likely to attract unwanted attention.

Instead, he would trap everyone inside a large-scale barrier.

Once the barrier was established, the targets would be unable to leave the designated area. The resulting confusion would prevent them from understanding what was happening until it was too late.

He wouldn’t even need to fight them.

As long as enough people remained trapped within the affected region, the ritual could proceed with minimal interference.

It was an elegant arrangement. Efficient and practical. And, above all, worth every coin he had spent.

Yet now, despite all his preparations, the altar remained inactive.

The man’s jaw tightened.

What is the problem?

He had personally inspected every inscription before the ritual began. He had verified the placement of each component, checked the flow of the channels, and ensured that the materials were of sufficient quality.

There shouldn’t have been any mistakes.

Unless...

His three pupils shifted in different directions.

No. That shouldn’t be possible.

He approached the nearest pillar and pressed his palm against its cold surface. A faint trace of curse energy lingered within the stone.

The energy was still there, exactly where it was supposed to be. The surrounding inscriptions hadn’t been damaged, and the channels beneath the altar showed no signs of disruption.

The ritual’s foundation remained intact. Which meant the problem wasn’t with the altar itself.

His gaze drifted toward the ceiling.

A massive crevice split the stone overhead, extending from one end of the chamber to the other. Through the opening, he could see the sky outside.

Or rather, what remained of it.

The sun had been transformed by the crimson barrier, its familiar golden light replaced by a deep, blood-red radiance. From where he stood, it resembled an enormous crimson moon suspended above the world.

Its light poured through the crevice, illuminating the chamber and casting elongated shadows across the floor.

This was the moment he had been waiting for.

The unnatural sky signified that the conditions necessary for the ritual had finally been met. The energy fluctuations were reaching their peak, and the curse energy surrounding the dungeon should have been flowing toward the altar.

The magic circle should have illuminated. The crystals should have awakened. The seven pillars should have begun absorbing the energy required to initiate the summoning.

Instead, the chamber remained as silent as a tomb.

The man stared at the sky for several seconds. Then he looked down at the altar again.

Still nothing.

His fingers trembled.

"What on earth is going on?"

He tried to keep his voice steady, but frustration had begun to seep through his words. He had waited for this opportunity for years. Every decision, every sacrifice, and every expenditure had been made with this moment in mind.

He had even risked exposing himself by hiring those two criminals.

And for what?

An altar that refused to activate?

He paced around the chamber, his robes dragging across the stone floor. Perhaps the barrier hadn’t been completed.

That was possible.

If the barrier’s structure was unstable, the ritual might not be receiving the necessary energy. But he had already accounted for that possibility and included several safeguards in the design.

Even if the barrier wasn’t perfect, the altar should have reacted to the surrounding curse energy.

Perhaps the sacrifices weren’t sufficient.

No. That was unlikely as well.

The forest had numerous students. There should have been more than enough people within the affected region to satisfy the ritual’s requirements.

Unless most of them had somehow escaped the feeding process. His expression became increasingly unpleasant.

Those two better have a good explanation.

He returned to the center of the chamber and crouched beside the altar. Pressing two fingers against one of the engraved symbols, he closed his eyes and attempted to sense the energy within the stone.

For a brief moment, he thought he felt something. A faint vibration passed beneath his fingertips. His eyes snapped open. But the sensation disappeared almost immediately.

His patience finally reached its limit.

"Enough."

He turned away from the altar and strode toward the chamber’s exit. If those two couldn’t provide a satisfactory explanation, he would find out what was happening himself.

Noticing him moving toward the exit, the two figures in dark red robes who were silent the whole time immediately moved to his sides.

The corridor beyond the chamber was narrow and poorly maintained. Cracks ran along the walls, and the floor was littered with fragments of stone that had broken away from the ceiling over the years.

He paid them no attention.

Their robes swept behind them as they walked.

The ritual had taken days of preparation. He had spent a fortune acquiring the necessary materials, searching for forbidden knowledge, and arranging the circumstances required to make the summoning possible.

He refused to let all that effort go to waste.

As they approached the dungeon’s exit, the sounds of the forest gradually reached his ears. Or rather, the lack of them.

There were no distant screams. No desperate cries for help. And no sounds of frantic footsteps as students fled from the undead.

He had expected chaos.

Instead, the surroundings were strangely quiet.

The man slowed his pace.

A faint sense of unease crept into his mind.

They stepped through the exit and used a dark spell to make them elevate into the air.

The crimson light immediately washed over them.

Below, the forest floor was scattered with broken branches and abandoned equipment. Undead creatures wandered between the trees. Their twisted bodies moved without any apparent purpose.

Some dragged their feet across the ground. Others stood motionless beside crumbling walls. A few wandered in circles, occasionally bumping into trees before changing direction. The sight made the man stare.

He had expected the undead to be busy.

They should have been chasing fleeing students, tearing apart their flesh, and dragging the wounded into the shadows.

The entire region was supposed to be descending into a desperate struggle for survival. Instead, the creatures were behaving as though they had forgotten why they existed. One undead creature wandered past a broken wooden box without even turning its head.

Another stood beneath a tree, staring blankly at its branches. Several more shuffled along the edge of a clearing, their decaying bodies swaying with every step.

There was no feeding. No pursuit. And definitely no killing. The man’s expression gradually twisted into disbelief.

"What the hell is going on?"

His voice carried across the platform. He scanned the surroundings, searching for signs of activity.

Where were the students? Where were the terrified screams that should have filled the forest? Where were the corpses? The blood!

He could see scattered traces of a struggle, but nothing close to the carnage he had anticipated. Even more troubling, the undead didn’t appear to be responding to anything. They wandered aimlessly, showing no interest in their surroundings.

It was as though they lost their purpose.

The man and his companion landed in the middle of the clearing.

"Where are the students?"

His three pupils contracted simultaneously. A cold realization began to take shape in his mind. If the students weren’t being killed, then the sacrifices weren’t accumulating. If the sacrifices weren’t accumulating, then the curse energy wouldn’t reach the threshold required to awaken the altar.

And if the altar failed to activate before the celestial phenomenon ended, all the preparations he had made would become worthless.

He looked toward the sky again. The crimson moon continued to shine. But how long would it last? He didn’t know.

The records described the phenomenon, but they offered no guarantee that it would persist indefinitely. Its duration varied, and once it ended, the conditions required for the ritual would disappear.

He had a limited window of opportunity.

Every passing minute brought him closer to failure.

"No."

The word escaped his mouth quietly.

He straightened his back, forcing himself to think.

There had to be an explanation.

His fingers formed into a balled fist. He couldn’t let his effort be wasted.

He would have to take matters into his own hands. If the students had found a way to hide, he would flush them out. And if something had interfered with the undead, he would discover the cause and eliminate it.

There was still time.

"Valthazar!" He called.

But there wasn’t anyone showing up.

"Lorelei!" He called again.

Again, there wasn’t anyone showing up.

The man slowly lifted his head.

Beneath the hood, his bloodshot eyes glared at the crimson sky.

"No," he repeated, his voice growing colder. "I can’t let all of this go to waste."

A thin smile appeared beneath the shadow of his hood.

"If those fools can’t do their jobs, then I’ll simply have to finish the preparations myself."

His robe trailed behind him as he advanced forward.

He had no intention of allowing his greatest opportunity to slip through his fingers.

Not after coming this far. And definitely not when the ritual was so close to completion.

The crimson light flickered across his face. Three differently colored pupils shifted toward the distant forest.

Since the altar refused to activate, the sacrifices he needed were probably still alive. He only had to find them. And once he did, he would make certain that the ritual finally began.