Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1491: The sweet half

—Three days later— somewhere deep within the cursed lands of the Valley of Specters.

Creak ... Creak ...

Kazarin dangled miserably, his body swaying in rhythm with the branch above. Tears spilled freely from his eyes, mixing with the blood that seeped from cuts around his wrists and ankles where the rope had bitten into him. The mixture streaked his face in a grotesque mask of red and salt.

It was almost laughable. Just days ago, he had been a noble student of a grand academy, the heir of prestige and privilege. He was free to skip lectures he found boring, to attend only those that pleased him, to walk the neutral planets in comfort, basking in his family name and untouchable status. He could eat what he wished, order servants at will, and speak down to anyone without consequence.

Now... all that was dust. His only wish was no longer glory or freedom—it was survival. He prayed not to die, prayed only to endure long enough for someone, anyone, to notice his absence and rescue him. But the days dragged on, and no help came.

He had felt the icy hand of terror clutch his throat countless times already. Shadows had approached, noises had stirred in the dark, his heart had pounded against his ribs until he thought it might burst. And still—no one came for him.

Were his captors demons? Monsters? Criminals without the faintest shred of pity? Perhaps all three.

Creak ... Creak ...

The rope groaned as he swayed. His body was trussed in the most humiliating way imaginable. His wrists and ankles were bound cruelly together behind his back, forcing all four limbs to meet awkwardly at his rear. And as if that weren’t enough, a long rope tied them all to the branch of a dead tree.

The branch sagged under his weight, but held. And so Kazarin dangled like a grotesque pendulum, swinging back and forth with his belly facing the earth and his bound limbs pointing to the heavens like the legs of an insect. The stone still stuffed in his mouth silenced his cries, leaving him to choke on his own breath and spit.

The valley was silent, but not truly empty. The silence was full of sound if one listened: the creak of the weary branch, the faint whimpering groans squeezed from Kazarin’s throat, the slow patter of tears and blood dripping onto the dirt below.

Quiet sounds, small sounds. But in this land, nothing went unheard.

”Haaakhhh”

A low, rasping exhale slithered across the barren air.

”Kiiieeehh!!”

Kazarin’s entire body stiffened. For a moment he forgot his misery, forgot the ache in his limbs, even the rope sawing into his flesh. Panic obliterated everything else. His eyes widened, rolling wildly as he twisted his head left and right, desperation clawing up his throat. He knew. He knew this sound too well. He knew what was coming.

And then he saw them.

Five shapes, black and warped, cutting across the horizon like streaks of death. Five specters, racing toward him at a speed that made his stomach drop. Their heads twisted unnaturally, their maws opened wide in silent hunger, and in their eyes—if one could call those pits eyes—he saw it: the gleam of a predator who had already chosen its meal. Him.

”KIIIIIIIEEEHHHHH!!”

Kazarin’s muffled scream shook the valley. His body thrashed, flailing wildly, making the tree branch quake under his struggles. He swung harder, faster, the rope biting deeper, each movement sending pain flaring through his joints.

But before despair swallowed him whole—

Whoosh!

A figure appeared.

”Keh keh keh... five this time? Not bad at all.”

Wade’s laugh cut through the air, sharp and feral, the laugh of a beast that enjoyed the chase. His eyes gleamed with excitement, his grin stretched wide like a predator smelling blood. And then, without hesitation, he lunged into the specters, colliding with them in a storm of violence.

”....”

Kazarin watched, his mind blank with disbelief. Wade, a man he considered a monster in human skin, was locked in furious battle with five abominations of nightmare. His thoughts raced in circles, his chest heaving. Who should he root for?

Should he cheer for the specters, for them to rend Wade apart, tear that bloodthirsty creature limb from limb? But no—if they succeeded, if Wade fell, they would turn on him next, devouring him as dessert.

Or should he pray for Wade to win, for Wade’s monstrous strength to tear the specters down? But if Wade triumphed, what then? He would leave Kazarin here once more, hanging like worthless bait, to suffer and swing until the next terror came crawling.

His throat tightened, and fresh tears spilled down his battered face. He tilted his head back, looking at the sky with wild, broken eyes. ”A miracle...” The words rattled in his mind. Please. Strike them all. Let thunder crash down. Kill Wade, kill the specters, kill me. End it all. And while You’re at it, send a bolt to snap this cursed rope and set me free.

”Shaaaaaa”

”...?!”

Kazarin froze. His desperate prayers shattered midway as another sound seeped into his ears, chilling his blood. A different specter’s cry—closer, sharper.

”Mmmmmnnnnphhhh!!!”

Through the stone gag, his muffled scream burst out. His eyes bulged as he spotted it. One of the specters had slipped free of Wade’s clash. Breaking from the melee, it sped toward him with unhinged hunger, its form blurring, its shriek ripping the silence apart.

It was coming for him. Its meal.

Kazarin’s body shook like a leaf in a storm as he swung helplessly, utterly exposed, unable to even raise his arms.

The specter was almost on him.

”Mmmphhh!!!”

Kazarin thrashed in desperation, his muffled screams scraping against the gag in his mouth like a dying animal’s cry. His eyes darted wildly toward Wade, the only figure who could end this horror.

But what he saw didn’t bring relief—it dragged him into an even deeper abyss.

Wade was laughing. Not only laughing—he actually turned his head in the middle of the fight, his lips curling into a sly smirk. For one fleeting instant, Wade winked at him, as if mocking the pitiful state he had fallen into, before effortlessly returning to his dance of carnage against the remaining specters.

Tears welled up and streaked down Kazarin’s cheeks. The last traces of his dignity slipped away as his vision shook. Yet even through that blur of salt and blood, the sight that drew near was unmistakable.

The specter is here.

It was the twisted form of a woman—though no mortal woman could ever look like this. Half her body was a rotting husk, blackened flesh crawling with unseen decay, while the other half was bare bone, skeletal fingers twitching with a predator’s hunger. Her face... if it could still be called that... opened wider than any jaw should, splitting grotesquely as her mouth stretched into an impossible void.

Her hands, cold and unyielding, clamped against his cheeks with a sudden, terrifying grip. She tilted his head upward toward her abyssal maw, her eye sockets hollow yet brimming with hunger.

He saw her coming closer.

He saw her mouth enveloping his face.

He saw her jaws close around him—

CRUUUNCH!

The world split apart.

Half of Kazarin’s skull vanished in an instant, devoured like meat torn from a fruit. The sharp crack of bone echoed against the silent valley. Anyone watching, any poor soul unlucky enough to be nearby, would have seen the upper part of his head disappear into the specter’s translucent maw for only a heartbeat. Then, weightless and useless, the remains of it slipped through her ghostly body and hit the ground with a sickening splat.

It exploded like a melon crushed underfoot, shards of bone and gray matter flung across the dirt in a grotesque spray.

The boy who once stood at the height of nobility, who once looked at all others with sneering contempt, now hung lifeless, his eyes—those proud eyes that never saw anyone as an equal—staring blankly at the horizon. Empty.

Creak ... Creak ...

The branch groaned again as his mutilated body swung back and forth. The specter had taken what it wanted and cared no more for what remained. Kazarin’s corpse dangled like a ruined puppet, scattering droplets of blood onto the already stained soil below.

The scene was grotesque. A tableau pulled from a nightmare carved into flesh. If fate itself had whispered in his ear on the day of his birth, telling him he would die in such a way, he would have slit his own wrists before learning to walk.

”Shiiiiiii”

The specter’s shriek shifted, trembling with euphoric delight. She raised her skeletal arms, pressing both palms against her head as though she were overwhelmed by the rapture of it all. Then she began to spin slowly, deliriously, her transparent body twirling in a grotesque dance. She had tasted heaven’s food—no mortal bliss could ever compare to the ecstasy surging through her now.

Inside her chest, something began to glow.

A white, radiant orb pulsed faintly, suspended like a trapped star within her hollow body. It was Kazarin’s entire soul domain.

The specter’s body attacked it at once, corrosive essence lashing against it like acid. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface within seconds. And then—

SHATTER!

The orb ruptured like glass struck with a hammer. Fragments burst apart, scattering in every direction.

That was his soul domain—the foundation of everything he had been. The walls, forged of compressed soul force, collapsed into shards. Every splinter, every glowing fragment was consumed greedily, drawn into the specter’s translucent flesh until her body glittered like a monstrous constellation.

All except one.

Whoooosh

Wade’s sharp eyes caught it. A fleck—barely more than a grain of dust—slipped away, escaping the specter’s grasp. With a mere flick of his will, Wade could have seized it, caged it, annihilated it.

Instead, he chuckled.

”Keh-heh... how fitting.”

That speck was Kazarin’s initial soul.

In a civilized world, it would have dissolved peacefully, drifting back into the cycle, dissolving into silence. But here, in this poisoned valley, there was only one fate: corruption. The initial soul would twist and warp until it became a specter itself, cursed to wander, cursed to devour.

The image flashed across Wade’s mind—a half-headed specter, screaming eternally, the perfect mockery of the arrogant boy he had once been. The absurdity of it was too delicious to pass up. He let it go.

He leaned back against a dead tree trunk, arms crossed, watching the female specter gorge herself on the last glowing shards. Behind him, the remnants of the other four specters he had butchered faded into nothingness, already turned into air and emerald.

When the last specter finally finished its feast, Wade started moving towards it, a grin splitting his face wide.

”Keh keh keh...” His laughter echoed in the gloom, carrying the tone of a hyena that had just found a new carcass. ”Not bad at all. His Majesty will want to hear every detail of this little experiment.”

He tilted his head toward the oblivious specter, his eyes narrowing with cruel amusement.

”Now then... let’s see. How many units are you worth to me?”