Chapter 231: Why Is It You?

"Lord Aiksuuri believes this curse comes from some kind of ancient ritual, while Miss You thinks it’s likely related to Undead Creatures," Annie said, taking out her personal notebook and looking over her records. "They thoroughly exchanged opinions on the matter, and in the end, Miss You conceded to Lord Aiksuuri’s point of view."

’You is Aiksuuri’s subordinate, after all.’ Ron could just imagine the Black Dragon using a mix of threats and bribes to make the banshee agree with him.

"Over here, Victoria and Miss Buni both agree that it was caused by a Magic Trap in some ancient ruin, used by the original builders to punish tomb raiders. Oh, and Miss Victoria also said they might have accidentally entered a Teleportation Array and been sent to a tomb in an ancient kingdom."

Annie read from the meticulous notes she had taken, carefully and word for word. "Additionally, Miss Constance and Lady Yelena, who were passing by, believe it might be related to devils. However, because of Lady Yelena’s special status and the fact that Miss Constance is not a Caster, I’m personally reserving judgment on their opinions."

Ron didn’t just sit and listen to Annie’s report. He got straight to work, laying out a set of knives forged by Rurik. After administering a simple anesthetic, he carefully made an incision in the skin on the doppelganger’s chest.

"Just as I thought..." Ron sighed as expected after lifting the skin with a pair of forceps. "A doppelganger’s anatomy is too different from that of a normal creature. There’s no way to proceed with this."

Beneath its skin was not muscle in the conventional sense, but a gel-like structure. The patterns on it flowed slowly with the doppelganger’s breath and pulse, bringing the bruise-like black markings to life as well. The very sight of this physiology was enough to make Ron dizzy, let alone continue cutting.

But the incision was not entirely without reward. As the tip of Ron’s knife tentatively prodded the gelatinous substance, a thick, rich, rotten stench erupted along with the flow of the black markings, causing everyone present to cover their noses and back away.

Two young villagers who were standing closer, having just helped carry Sibach in, couldn’t take it. They scrambled out of the room, and a moment later, the sound of heart-wrenching retching came from outside.

"Go check on them. Vomiting like that can’t be good," Ron said, glancing at Annie, whose face had turned a pale, sickly yellow-green. He gestured for her to leave, indicating she didn’t need to force herself to stay. "I’ll deal with the smell. Don’t come back in until I tell you."

"Th-Thank you, my lord!" Although Annie was a Sorcerer and a bit tougher than an ordinary person, the smell was just too pervasive. That soul-deep stench of rot was not something one could endure through sheer willpower.

After vomiting her guts out, Annie looked back at the closed door with lingering fear, her heart filled with immense admiration. ’As expected of Lord Ron, the pioneer of the Delusional Land! To think he can remain so composed in the face of such a horrific stench!’

Was Ron’s nose blocked? Of course not. In fact, the very reason Ron forced himself to stay was because he was overly sensitive to the smell—it contained a scent he knew all too well.

The Weaving Introduction floated on its own in front of Ron. As his mastery of Arcane Magic deepened, this Spellbook that had once served the Chief Grand Mage began to reveal more of its unique properties.

It seemed to possess a magical suction. Under its summons, the black markings inside the doppelganger’s body actually floated up slightly, and along with them rose a wisp of blackish-green smoke.

Emerald green runes lit up on the cover of the Weaving Introduction, drawing all of the smoke into it. With a slight tremor, strings of unfamiliar symbols appeared on the blank pages of the book.

"Dragon Language, Dwarf Language... A composite curse made of multiple types of Magic, disguised to look like a curse of rot..." Ron muttered, identifying the analyzed incantations and confirming the composition of the curse afflicting Sibach. The result was logical, but it still made Ron uneasy.

’Where in the world did Quest take them? Did they chase an Owl Bear into a Pyramid?’

But what made Ron frown even more was the last line of incantation analyzed by the Weaving Introduction. He didn’t recognize this line, but based on some intuition, he faintly detected a smell like rotten eggs.

"Annie! Are you still out there?" Ron, sensing something was wrong, quickly called out to Annie. But thanks to the girl’s good habit of closing the door behind her, the sealed wooden cabin immediately resumed its function as Duncan the Demon’s private chamber, preventing anyone outside from hearing Ron’s voice.

"This is just..." Ron intended to walk over and open the door himself, but when he lifted his leg, he found the wooden floor beneath his feet had suddenly become as thick and viscous as honey. With every step he took, Ron felt himself sink a little deeper. It was as if the floor had grown arms and legs, desperately grabbing at his clothes, pant legs, and shoes, making the mere ten steps from the lab bench to the door an arduous journey.

’Is the room alive? Or is this an illusion?’

Ron tried to cast Dispel Magic to break the effect, or to deactivate the chamber’s magic and call for help, but he could do neither. Two floorboards came to life, wrapping around Ron from the left and right like he was a dumpling. His hands and mouth were bound tight by the pine-scented wood, leaving him completely immobilized.

’Who did this? How did it get in here?’

"Well, well," a voice suddenly rang out from Sibach’s chest cavity just as Ron was trying to control the Weaving Introduction and find a way to escape. "Let’s see, which unlucky mastermind has been outsmarted by their own cleverness?"

The voice was androgynous, yet it carried an inexplicable authority. "Let me teach you a lesson: a private chamber isn’t necessarily safe. On the contrary, it can just as easily become your tomb."

"I learned that the hard way many years ago, back when I was still alive."

"GHK—GHK—" The unconscious Sibach suddenly sat bolt upright. Extending its clawed hands, it began to frantically tear at the small patch of skin Ron had dissected, quickly gouging a large hole in its own chest.

A waterfall of long, golden hair spilled out from the Shapeshifter’s body, trailing all the way to the floor. The head attached to the ends of these strands could not only speak but also float and move freely in the air. At this moment, it turned slowly, its empty, eyeless sockets holding only two clusters of red flame that stared at Ron with mockery.

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

The next second, the magnificent head suddenly shrieked without any warning, "Damn it all, why is it you?!"