Several hours earlier, in the secret shop, when William Kideon was speaking with the mysterious old man.
The air was heavy with the scent of black incense, and the walls seemed to breathe as if the place were alive. William stood before the old man, studying him with cold eyes, then spoke in a calm tone, a smile barely touching his lips:
"Since you gave Victor the sheath, and Sophia the blade… then I'm likely the one to find the hilt."
The old man replied in a deep voice, as if it came from the bottom of an endless well:
"That's correct, sorcerer William Kideon. But your destination this time… will not be easy at all. You might be swallowed before even reaching the first door."
William didn't flinch. He simply extended his hand forward, his confidence seeping like a shadow in a locked room:
"The world we live in is a risk by itself."
Then he added, his voice carrying a tone that wasn't entirely human:
"And it becomes more dangerous when you're not one of those who belong to it."
The old man lowered his head, a smile appearing on his face—one that belonged neither to joy nor to mockery. He spoke with a voice drenched in mystery:
"Words of deep wisdom, sorcerer… William Kideon."
Then he continued, in a voice that seemed to come from somewhere else, very far away:
"Your next mission will be in a place where sunlight never enters, draped in layers of dead fog, choked by a scent that doesn't belong to this age. Even moonlight is rejected there."
He paused for a moment, as if summoning a scene stuck in the memory of the world itself:
"That place is called the 'Arkand Monastery'… the first deliverer of the Cathedral of Alyson. Your search for the hilt begins there. It won't be easy, but… it will be enjoyable in a way the sane mind can't comprehend."
William took a slow breath, then muttered softly to himself:
'Arkand Monastery… it's the same place people fled to when the plague struck the Kingdom of Stockt centuries ago… Wasn't it supposed to have vanished completely?'
He then looked at the old man, his tone as smooth as a cold blade:
"No matter… I need every dose, as long as evolution depends on it."
Suddenly, the old man threw something at him. William caught it swiftly, and when he looked at it, a rare expression of surprise crossed his face. It was a strange gun, in an unfamiliar golden color, unreasonably heavy, and on its surface was a black and white pattern resembling a chessboard… but its lines moved slowly, as if there was a mind within the weapon.
William raised the gun and spoke in a voice both surprised and alert:
"What is this?"
The old man smiled, his face reflecting only the coldness of death:
"A magical gun made from darkness itself… Consider it a gift, or a curse. Depends on your intent."
William tucked the gun into his coat and looked at the old man with eyes that reflected nothing but frost. At that moment, the old man snapped his fingers… and William vanished from the place.
The old man stood alone in the dark, then whispered softly, as if addressing an unseen being:
"Try later… to paint a masterpiece, where the dead mimic the living… like the one before you did."
—
In the heart of darkness, where even shadows tremble, William appeared.
He looked around, finding himself in a vast circular hall, graves scattered like black clouds fallen from the sky. In the center of the hall stood a massive wooden cross, upon which a creature unlike humans was crucified… a werewolf, breathing heavily, its body suspended between life and death.
William walked forward cautiously, his steps echoing through the grim place, then murmured in a sorrowful tone:
"Sometimes… I wish I could return to my world. But that possibility is now a thing of the past."
He paused for a moment, staring at the cross, his eyes narrowing:
"Is my sight betraying me? Or is there… someone on that cross?"
He continued approaching slowly, his eyes scanning between the graves.
"From what I recall, this place is home to several types of monsters: demonic spirits, crimson moon vampires… and there's a third kind I can't remember now."
When he stood before the cross, he saw the werewolf up close. Its body was torn, its breaths labored, eyes half-open and full of dying light.
The crucified being slowly opened its eyes and stared at William with a ragged voice:
"A new visitor… seeking death. If you have a shred of sense, turn back."
Fear wavered in William's chest, but he didn't show it. In a calm voice, he answered:
"Going back is no longer an option. Who did this to you? Was it the third group?"
The werewolf spat dark blood on one of the graves, then replied coldly:
"What use is that knowledge to you? If they learn you're here… you'll be crucified beside me. The fate is the same."
William raised his hands behind his back, unwavering:
"Don't lump me in with your kind… I'm a sorcerer. And I can hunt down any creature in my path."
The werewolf laughed mockingly, then said:
"A sorcerer? With a sword and a gun? That's a combo we haven't seen in centuries… trying to revive a fallen glory?"
William gave a faint smile:
"I'm here to fix the mistakes made by kings… not revive legacies buried by minds."
Silence fell, then the werewolf sighed:
"It's as if you've lived through all the ages… I've been here for a month, crucified by a radical branch of Arkand. They're not the original… These use corrupted blood magic, the vilest kind, eating your body slowly."
William lifted a finger to his chin, thinking:
"Arkand Monastery? And corrupted blood magic? That reminds me of Saint Saloran… one of the first to use that kind of magic. But why aren't they the original? Is there a split within the monastery? Things are getting more complicated."
He pointed to a stone door leading to a narrow passage and asked:
"Does that path lead to the monastery?"
The werewolf slowly nodded:
"Yes… but walking toward it is suicide. Why don't you just turn back?"
William stared into the darkness, then murmured:
"I wish I could… but it's out of my hands. Turning back won't give me the answers I seek."
The werewolf closed its eyes again and said in a hoarse voice:
"Then proceed, mysterious sorcerer… toward your death."
William opened the door silently. Its creak sounded like the moan of an ancient machine, slicing through suffocating silence. He stepped into a long corridor drowned in choking darkness. Trees lined either side, their branches entwining as if trying to consume anyone walking through.
"This path… the more I walk it, the longer it feels. Madness is creeping into my mind."
After a long distance, he saw a faint red light at the end of the path. Behind a moss-covered rock, he hid and observed.
Five figures, dressed in black robes that fully covered their bodies, stood around a torch burning with red light—like blood.
"When will they acknowledge us as a main group?" one of them said in a muffled voice.
"We must prove ourselves first."
"And if they don't… we'll rise against them and kill them."
William's hand tensed as he listened. He murmured to himself:
"As Li Min Chang… I feel fear. But as William Kideon… I'm a sorcerer who kills without blinking."
He closed his eyes, sinking into a dark memory:
"I killed fear long ago… it won't get me now. I am William Kideon… not Li Min Chang."
Suddenly, one of them rushed from behind, wielding a sword formed from clotted blood, glowing with a magical pulse. William felt something scream inside him… and ducked just before the sword sliced his throat.
He rushed toward a wide courtyard, at the center of which stood the black structure of Arkand Monastery. In front of him stood five followers of the monastery, their faces hidden behind masks.
Someone laughed:
"Look who just walked into the Forbidden Hell… a little magician, deluded by dreams of heroism."
William stared at them, his eyes icy… but deep inside, he was boiling with fear.
"Now… I'll truly test myself. Either I am William Gideon… or I am nothing at all."
One of the members charged at William, but he quickly ducked and reached for the pistol in his pocket. Yet his grip failed him, and the gun slipped to the ground.
"Damn it…" he muttered in frustration.
He lunged for the weapon, snatched it up, and immediately fired a magic bullet cloaked in darkness. The bullet pierced through the attacker's skull, and he collapsed lifelessly.
William paused for a moment and looked at the gun, as if sensing something strange within.
"I don't feel guilty… it's like my soul has grown used to killing," he said in a detached, cold, terrifying tone.
But suddenly, a wave of tainted blood shot into his back, slamming him against the cathedral wall.
"Ghh… damn, I dropped my guard…"
One of the members stood above him, his contaminated sword glowing with bloody power, swinging down toward William's neck—but William sprang up violently and unleashed a wave of darkness that tore the attacker's body apart in an instant.
He raised his five fingers to his face and began laughing… a broken, twisted, manic laugh.
"What's wrong with this lunatic?" one of them whispered, fear creeping into his voice.
"What are you waiting for? Kill him!" another shouted with sharp anger.
One of them rushed at him, wielding a spear coated with blood magic, but William dodged the strike, drew his dark sword, and cleaved his head off in a single stroke.
William's face shifted… the colors of the jester began to appear: red, yellow… madness.
"He's getting more insane…!" one of them cried out, backing away.
William fired a dark magic bullet that struck one of them in the chest. He dropped dead. But in the next moment, a wave of corrupted blood magic surged toward him, tearing into his shoulder.
Another opponent tried to finish him off, but the blade of darkness beheaded him before he could move.
Only one was left.
"Who the hell is this guy? Is he even a magician?" the last one said, his voice shaking as he retreated.
He launched a barrage of magical arrows. William dodged most of them, but some left cuts on his stomach and shoulder.
William retaliated with a wave of darkness that formed into a scythe, tearing through the last enemy's body and severing his head.
He stopped… raised all ten fingers to his face… and began laughing like a madman.
"I don't know what's happening to me… is this coming from William Gideon? Or the Jester?" he spoke quickly, disturbed, as if madness itself was talking through him.
He rose again, breathing heavily, blood leaking from his wounds. He looked toward the cathedral.
"I need to find the sheath… and get out of here," he muttered tensely.
He entered the cathedral. It was small, filled with crosses and swords embedded in the ground. He searched around until he found the sheath resting on a stone.
He picked it up, stared at it, then muttered:
"I nearly died because of this thing."
William exited the cathedral and began walking back to where he had left the werewolf. Along the way, he glanced at his partially clotted wounds.
"Is this one of a magician's powers? Rapid healing?" he said, puzzled.
He returned to where the werewolf was. The creature slowly opened his eyes—then they widened in shock.
"You?! How… how are you still alive?!" he cried in disbelief.
"I told you… I'm not like the rest of you," William said coldly, then raised the pistol and fired a bullet straight into the werewolf's head. He dropped dead.
In the next moment, an illusion of "Li Min Chang" materialized before him. He stood there silently, then spoke in a calm, mysterious voice:
"Why did you kill him?"
William Gideon answered in a low voice, with an empty stare and cold tone:
"No reason."