84 Dirk
Lumian broke the monsters in the dream ruins into three levels based on how the flaming monster and the three-faced monster reacted when they encountered him.
The lowest level ones acted on instinct alone. As soon as they saw him, they would attack. When he activated or partially activated the black thorn symbol on his chest, they would immediately give up and submit fully to his mercy.
The higher level ones would hunt him down before he partially activated the black thorn symbol. After he finished the sacrificial dance, they would cunningly opt to escape. But they couldn’t sense the existence of the black thorn symbol beyond five meters. The flaming monster likely only remained in fear and associated the corrupting aura from the seal with Lumian.
At a certain level, Lumian didn’t even need to activate or partially activate the black thorn symbol on his chest, nor did they need to be within five meters of Lumian for them to obviously feel his “specialness” and show conspicuous dread.
!!
Were there any other levels above these three? Lumian felt there should be at least one, at most three. For instance, the kind that wouldn’t fear the partially activated black thorn symbol so much that they immediately fled. They would persist in attacking despite significant weakening. Or for example, the kind that were so high in level that they wouldn’t react to the black thorn symbol at all…
Therefore, while Lumian was delighted that he could scare off the three-faced monster and seemed capable of doing whatever he wanted in the dream ruins, he didn’t dare to be careless.
Disregarding terrifying beings that might be higher in level than the three-faced monster, just the flaming monster could incinerate him to ashes without being impacted by the partially activated black thorn symbol with its powerful long-range attack.
With this in mind, Lumian hesitated for a moment before stealthily delving deeper into the dream ruins along the three-faced monster’s escape route. He planned to scout the blood-colored “peak” and surrounding area today to gather information for the subsequent unlocking of the dream’s secret.
Along the way, he proceeded to a relatively concealed area less easily discovered, on guard against any monsters that might suddenly burst out.
Perhaps because the three-faced monster had just passed by, frightening off the other monsters, Lumian didn’t see a single ‘person.’ He successfully passed collapsed buildings and gray gravel everywhere and arrived at the base of the blood-colored “peak.”
There was still a circle of ruins, but unlike the outer layers, the buildings here hadn’t collapsed, but seemed to have completed a warped reassembly as if they had a life of their own. They were interconnected, as if a strange thorny city wall had been built.
The “wall” was dyed a faint grayish black. The windows and doors of the original buildings were embedded messily on its surface. Some were open, permitting one to see the shattered tables and chairs inside. Some were tightly shut, as if they couldn’t be pulled open.
Lumian scanned the area and gazed up at the blood-colored mountain behind the city wall.
At this range, even with the heavy fog blanketing the sky and the dim light filtering into this realm, Lumian could see every detail of the mountain peak clearly.
It was made of rocks and soil, no more than 30 meters tall, but it gave off a towering menace. The color on its surface was unnatural, neither the brownish-red of the rocks nor the reddish-brown of the soil. They seemed dyed at a later time, making it look sinister.
According to Aurore’s novels and paranormal magazines, this might be dyed red by human blood… Lumian thought. He raised his gaze higher and higher, glancing at the peak shrouded in thick fog.
Suddenly, an unseen wind blew away some of the fog.
The peak came into view.
Sitting cross-legged was a giant four to five meters tall with three heads.
“He” was naked and had three heads growing from “his” neck. One faced left, revealing anger, greed, and hatred. Extremely evil. One faced forward with a warped expression of pain and regret. The other faced right, holy, with pity in its eyes.
The giant had six arms stretching out at odd angles. Its entire body, including the three heads, was made of flesh and organ fragments stitched together with pus flowing everywhere. Especially, transparent blood-like tears dripped from the head facing Lumian.
Seeing the giant, Lumian’s mind buzzed as he heard a terrifying voice seeming infinitely far yet right beside him.
His head felt as if it had been split open with an axe, and intense agony occupied his mind, robbing him of all thoughts.
Thick and thin blood vessels protruded from his body surface, so red that they were about to be ignited.
When Lumian “woke up” from his near-death state, he realized that he was curled up on the ground, rolling back and forth, as if this wasn’t enough to resolve the pain in his body.
His vision was blurry, stained with blood, and everything he saw was misty.
In this state, Lumian felt that even the skinless monster could easily kill him. However, perhaps because the black thorn symbol had been completely activated, no “person” dared to enter this area.
As for the giant at the summit of the blood-colored mountain, it was unknown if it couldn’t leave or if it had been affected by the black thorn symbol and hadn’t attacked Lumian, who had nearly lost control.
After regaining his composure, Lumian stood up and noticed the linen shirt beneath his dark-colored jacket stained with blood and sweat.
What the hell was that? The more he pondered it, the more dread crept in.
With a mere glance, the black thorn symbol had flared to life and nearly overpowered him. It posed an even greater threat than wielding the Dancer’s might.
He dared not recall the giant’s visage, only deduce what he could from fractured impressions.
An advanced variant of the three-faced monster?
Sheer corruptive influence?
Aurore was right, there are sights not meant to be seen…
It occupies the crimson mountaintop, the heart of this dreamscape in ruins… Does that signify it’s integral to the dream’s mysteries?
“…”
As his thoughts raced, Lumian forced down the urge to gaze up at the mountain’s summit.
If he took another look, it would spell certain death!
He resolved to withdraw for now and return to the real world to recover. He would resume his exploration at night.
Lumian spun on his heel, ready to retrace his steps out of here, when a sudden clanging caught his ear.
What’s that? Curiosity seized him, and he devised a plan to sidle over for a peek.
Of course, he would proceed judiciously, not hastily or rashly. He tucked himself into a half-collapsed building facing the city wall to recoup his spirituality.
After a time, Lumian again performed the mysterious sacrificial dance.
He seemed to morph into a high priest of the hidden existence, gratifying that existence with movements that could marshal the ambient forces of nature.
When a burning sensation flared in his chest, Lumian halted and honed in on the intermittent clanging.
Skirting the blood-hued mountain crest and dilapidated city wall, dancing anew, he spied an orange glimmer through a half-open brownish-red wooden door in the ‘wall.’
A flickering orange flame shone behind a half-open wooden door.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The figure in the room was reflected in a grimy, diagonal glass window above. It looked humanoid, but too spindly in the dim light.
In that moment, the figure raised a hammer-like object and smashed it down with formidable might.
Clang!
Another metallic clash rang out, crisp and ominous.
A blacksmith? There’s a blacksmith in these ruins? Lumian guessed, relying on his knowledge.
...
Trusting that the thorn emblem on his chest hadn’t vanished yet, he dropped into a crouch and darted to the glass. He turned and peered in.
Though Lumian’s eyes weren’t healed, and his vision unclear, he could just make out the scene beyond the city wall.
Shattered furniture and debris littered the space. In the center was a stove, its top half gone, housing a fire. On top, an iron plate cobbled together, mismatched.
A pewter-black dirk lay on the plate, twice as long as a normal dagger, strange patterns coating its surface. Just looking at it made Lumian dizzy.
Clang!
The figure pounded the dirk like a skilled blacksmith, hammer blows ringing out in a steady beat.
‘He’ wore a black robe, decay marring the side of its face visible to Lumian, even revealing bone in places.
Another monster? Is it picking up where it left off when it was still human? That dirk isn’t run-of-the-mill. It’s a tad sinister. I wonder if it’s a Sealed Artifact or a Beyonder weapon, Lumian thought.
He was less than three meters from the rotting ‘blacksmith,’ but the other party didn’t seem to detect the black thorn symbol on his chest. ‘He’ kept pounding the dirk in silence.
Given that the black thorn symbol was about to vanish, Lumian recoiled and tiptoed away from the window.
He had only taken a few steps when the searing sensation in his chest disappeared.
...
The next moment, a creaking sound came from behind him.
Lumian whipped around and saw the mahogany door swing open.
The black-robed ‘blacksmith’ emerged. There were four or five putrid gashes on ‘his’ face that bared its bones. Half of ‘his’ left eyeball dangled from its eye socket. It looked like a corpse that had been dead for some time.
‘He’ clutched the hammer in ‘his’ right hand and the pewter-black dirk in ‘his’ left. Lumian’s reflection glinted in ‘his’ lifeless eyes.
“F*ck!”
Lumian couldn’t help cursing.
He instantly grasped the situation.
The ‘blacksmith’ monster had clearly been influenced by the black thorn symbol, so ‘he’ had been ‘quietly’ pounding the malicious dirk, feigning nonchalance.
When the black thorn symbol disappeared, ‘he’ immediately seized ‘his’ weapon and emerged to hunt him.
How cunning!