"It looks like someone used to live here," Tiona said, stepping forward and curiously picking up a piece of parchment.
"Don't touch it!" Lynn's voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent. He strode over quickly, narrowing his eyes at the parchment. The script upon it was twisted and eerie, the strokes possessing a unique rhythm—runes from the Lands Between that he knew all too well.
"These are the notes of a guest of Volcano Manor," Lynn said, his tone heavy with gravity. "They established a base here... it seems they were after more than just hunting monsters."
He picked up a thick diary, carefully leafing through the pages.
Lefiya leaned in, her eyes wide with surprise. "Mr. Lynn, these characters..." As an Elven mage, she had a natural sensitivity to written language.
Lynn nodded but offered no further explanation, his eyes scanning the contents of the diary at high speed. He knew the importance of these journals; they often revealed the deepest, darkest secrets of Volcano Manor.
As Lynn read, his expression grew increasingly grim. The owner of the diary was clearly a warrior who had once been lured by the promise of Volcano Manor's power and eventually joined their ranks.
At the beginning, the handwriting was relatively neat, filled with a thirst for power and a fanatical devotion to the "Great Serpent":
"I have cast myself into Lord Rykard's embrace, all to pursue eternal power! The weak creatures of this dungeon shall become the sustenance for my Lord's evolution! Lady Tanith did not lie—by submitting to the Great Serpent, one can obtain power far beyond the reach of mortals!"
However, as the pages turned, the handwriting became increasingly frantic and messy. The tone shifted to one of utter despair and regret:
"...I have seen the truth. Those lives we plundered... they do not truly become part of the Great Serpent. They are drained of their very essence, leaving behind nothing but empty husks. The Serpent does not need allies; it only needs food! We 'guests' are nothing more than tools used to satiate its hunger!"
"The power Tanith promised... the price is one's soul! I feel my consciousness being eroded. My body no longer belongs to me. I dream of myself transforming into a twisted serpent, howling in the endless dark!"
"The captured sacrifices... their screams echo through the depths of the manor every night. They are cast alive into the blood pits, their flesh and bone melted by lava, all to nourish that gluttonous serpent..."
On the final page, the handwriting was so jagged it was nearly illegible, as if written with the very last of the author's strength:
"I want to leave... I truly want to leave... but it is too late. They have sensed my wavering. I hear Rykard calling to me..."
The diary ended abruptly. A chilling, dark-red stain sat upon the paper—long dried, it gave off a faint, metallic scent of rust.
A deathly silence fell over the room.
After hearing Lynn's translation of the diary, Tiona stood there in silence. Her usually innocent and bubbly face was now frozen in shock and a trace of unspeakable fear. She couldn't imagine that lives once as vibrant as her own had been sacrificed in such a cruel manner.
Bete muttered a curse—"Madmen"—but his voice lacked its usual mockery, replaced by a heavy complexity. He could feel the desperation bleeding through the lines of the diary—the sorrow of being deceived and consumed. Even a werewolf like him, who worshipped strength, could not stomach such total depravity and exploitation.
"They were people who were used," Ais said softly, her gaze falling on the final page. A flicker of pity shined in her cold, clear eyes. "In the end... they became nothing more than sacrifices."
Lynn closed the diary and tucked it away carefully. He knew this thin volume was worth more than any treasure. It didn't just reveal the inner workings of Volcano Manor; it gave the team a clearer, albeit more tragic, picture of their enemy. They weren't just fighting "pure evil" anymore. This was a conflict of power and faith, but more importantly, it was a trampling of life and freedom.
"It seems we aren't just here to destroy their stronghold," Lynn said in a low voice, his eyes hardening. "We need to liberate those deceived and shackled souls."
The team left the room, which was still thick with the scent of despair, and continued deeper along a corridor built of dark-red stone.
The air grew hotter. The smell of sulfur became so thick it felt like a viscous coating in their throats, making every breath a struggle. The distant roars and the clashing of metal became clearer, sounding like some ominous chant.
Lynn walked at the head of the group. His pace didn't falter because of the diary; if anything, he grew more determined.
Some paths, once taken, leave you with only two choices: walk until the end of the darkness, or pierce right through it. He had experienced too much; he had seen sights far more hopeless than this.
The corridor finally opened up into a vast hall with an incredibly high vaulted ceiling. In the center of the hall, a tall figure stood with his back turned to them.
He wore silver Beast Champion armor—heavy, and etched with the scars of a thousand battles. A faded, tattered dark-red cape draped over his shoulders. In his hand was no ordinary sword, but a grotesque scepter. The shaft was entwined with dark-red flames that flowed slowly like a living thing, radiating a heart-stopping aura of profanity and destruction.
Lynn's footsteps came to a sudden halt.
He instinctively brought his Carian Knight's Shield up. Though his Bloodhound's Fang remained sheathed, his grip on the hilt tightened. Behind him, Ais and the others immediately sensed the sudden shift in atmosphere and moved into defensive stances. The hall became so quiet that the only audible sounds were the distant gurgling of lava and the faint crackle of the dark-red flames.
That silhouette... it was too familiar. It belonged to the heavy, sorrowful memories of the Lands Between.
"...Master Bernahl," Lynn spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly through the silent hall.
The figure stiffened slightly.
Then, he slowly turned around.
The face beneath the helm was old and resolute, marked by deep wrinkles carved by wind, frost, and battle. His eyes initially held that flicker of fanaticism typical of Volcano Manor members—a devotion to a twisted creed—but the moment he recognized Lynn's face, that fire was extinguished as if doused by ice water. It was replaced by an extremely complex mix of emotions: surprise, nostalgia, bitterness, and an indescribable... weariness.
"...It is you."
Bernahl spoke, his voice hoarse and dry, as if he hadn't used it in an age.
"Tarnished. I had thought you were the very model of our kind."
His gaze swept over Ais and the others behind Lynn. Seeing that they were not dressed in the garb of the Lands Between, the complexity in his eyes deepened.
"Master Bernahl," Lynn repeated, his voice carrying a rare weight. "Why... why are you here?" The question escaped him, driven by a sense that this wasn't how it should be. In his final memories, this former mentor and comrade-in-arms did not belong in a place like this.
Bernahl let out a low, almost self-deprecating chuckle. The sound echoed through the hollow hall, sounding exceptionally desolate.
"Master? No, Lynn. I have long since put down the sword." He lightly raised the scepter entwined with red flames. "Now, I am Bernahl, the Recusant."
He took a step forward. The flames atop the scepter flared violently, reflecting the hollow fire rekindling in his eyes.
"Volcano Manor is a den for Recusants who blaspheme the Guidance of Grace and hunt their own kin. You, of all people, should understand what that means."
Ais, Tiona, and the others were completely lost. "Tarnished," "Grace," "Recusant"—these were all alien terms. However, they could clearly feel the oppressive, stagnant atmosphere between the two men, and the aura radiating from Bernahl was far more dangerous than any Snake-Man they had encountered.
Tiona's muscles tensed, and she was about to rush forward when Tione grabbed her arm. Tione shook her head slightly, signaling her to wait and see.
Lynn did not draw his blade. He simply watched Bernahl, his gaze sharp as a knife, as if trying to pierce through that heavy armor to see the state of the man's soul.
"I know. The followers of Rykard hunt their own kind to offer them as sacrifices to the Great Serpent in exchange for blasphemous power," Lynn said calmly, his voice piercing. "But what I want to know is... Bernahl, have you still not given up?"
Bernahl fell silent.
The air in the hall seemed to vanish, leaving only the silent burning of the red flames.
After a long while, Bernahl's throat moved beneath his helm. The flames on the scepter trembled. "...My Maiden," he whispered, his voice dropping to a near-hiss. "To make me Elden Lord... she threw herself into the forge. She burned herself to ash."
He looked up. The eyes that had seen so much were no longer burning with religious fervor, but with a heaven-shaking rage and bottomless despair that had been suppressed through countless cycles, now twisted and warped.
"And the Erdtree? The Grace? They simply watched! From their high seats, they looked on coldly at every sacrifice! All they require is one puppet after another, dancing to the whims of fate!"
His voice suddenly rose, sounding like the screech of grinding metal:
"So, I rebel! I rebel against that hypocritical Grace! I rebel against the Golden Order that devours its own! I rebel against a world that has no room for genuine emotion! Rykard understands me—he seeks to devour the gods and overturn this nauseating order. I seek revenge against the Erdtree and this so-called 'destiny'! We are... like-minded friends." He said those last two words with great difficulty, as if trying to convince himself.
"Rykard's mind has already been swallowed by the Great Serpent," Lynn said, his voice steady but carrying an undeniable force. "He is no longer the demigod Rykard who pursued power. He is a beast driven by greed, knowing nothing but how to devour. Bernahl, you know this better than anyone."
"Then that was his choice!"
Bernahl's voice turned cold and sharp. He slammed the scepter into the ground, and the dark-red flames erupted for a moment. A wave of scorching heat washed over them, forcing Lefiya to take a half-step back.
"I would rather see him become a serpent that devours all and bares its fangs at the gods than see him become a pawn of the Erdtree—a walking corpse controlled by 'Grace'! At least... that is his own will!"
His gaze shifted past Lynn to Ais and the others. His eyes lingered for a moment on Ais's golden eyes and her unsheathed sword, a dark light flickering in his pupils.
"Are these... your new companions? Your new guidance?" His tone carried a trace of subtle mockery, or perhaps self-derision. "It seems you have found a new path."
Lynn took a step forward, positioning himself fully in front of Ais, cutting off Bernahl's line of sight.
"They are my friends," he said with iron-clad conviction. "Bernahl, stop this. Tanith is only using your hatred for the Erdtree and what remains of Rykard's will. Rykard himself is long gone into madness. Your revenge here... is meaningless."
"Meaningless..." Bernahl whispered the word, his voice laden with exhaustion.
The flames on the scepter flickered violently, mirroring the struggle within his heart. He could feel the sincerity in Lynn's words, and he could feel the vitality and fighting spirit of the "Outlanders" behind him—a spirit vastly different from the desolation of the Lands Between.
Time seemed to freeze.
Ais gripped her sword. She could feel the terrifying power contained within this man named Bernahl; the dark-red flames triggered every instinct of caution within her.
But she was more worried about Lynn. His back looked incredibly tense—a heavy weight of helplessness as he watched an old friend fall. She rarely saw such emotion from him.
Finally, the burning red flames on the scepter slowly, inch by inch, died out, leaving only the charred shaft. Then, as if unwilling to fade, a tiny flicker of fire rekindled, but it failed to grow.
Bernahl let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to drain the last of his strength.
"...Go."
He stepped aside, opening the path to the inner depths of the hall. He didn't look at Lynn again, turning his gaze toward the twisted serpent totems on the walls. His voice was as tired as rotting wood about to snap.
"Go, while I can still recognize you... as that model Tarnished in the shack, who told me with such earnestness to believe in the guidance of Grace."
Lynn looked at the lonely silhouette of the man who had turned away. His lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing.
He knew that some choices, once made, could never be undone. Some paths can only be walked alone into the dark.
Silently, Lynn took the lead and walked through the passage Bernahl had opened. Ais and the others followed closely, their wary eyes never leaving the figure that stood as still as a statue.
Just as the team was about to fully exit the hall, Bernahl's raspy voice rang out again. It was low, yet it reached every ear clearly:
"But the next time we meet... I will not show mercy."
He remained turned away, staring at the wall, as if speaking to the totems or passing a final sentence upon himself.
"The path of the Recusant... from the moment you set foot upon it... there is only one end: a miserable death."
"This was my choice."
As his voice faded, his figure seemed to melt into the dim light of the hall, blurring until he vanished back toward the corridor they had come from. He did not look back.
The team passed through the empty hall and continued deeper into the manor. The atmosphere was heavier than before. Although they had avoided a brutal battle, that brief encounter—the dialogue filled with despair and resolve—weighed on their hearts more than any clash of blades.
Lynn walked in front in total silence, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the hilt of the Bloodhound's Fang.
Ais walked slightly behind him at his side, her golden eyes drifting several times to his tense profile.
She could feel his low spirits—the powerlessness of watching an old friend sink into the abyss without being able to save them. She wanted to say something, like "It's not your fault" or "We still have a mission," but the words felt hollow. She was never good at comforting others, and now she felt even more out of her depth.
Ultimately, she simply sped up by half a step until she was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Lynn. Then, she used the tip of her scabbard to give the back of Lynn's hand a tiny, almost imperceptible nudge.
It was a light touch, gone as soon as it happened.
Lynn's pace faltered for the briefest of moments. He turned his head and met Ais's gaze. In those clear, sharp golden eyes, there were no questions or curiosity—only quiet companionship and a trace of clumsy concern.
The heaviness in his eyes softened slightly. He gave her a nearly invisible nod, his lips curling into a faint, almost ghost-like smile. Then, he took a deep breath and turned his eyes back to the sulfurous mist and the deep darkness of the passage ahead. His back straightened once more.
Tiona leaned toward Tione and whispered, "Sister, that big guy... did he know Lynn? What were they talking about? It felt so heavy..."
Tione shook her head, signaling her not to pry. She looked at Lynn's back and said softly, "Everyone has a past. It seems Mr. Lynn's past... is even more complicated than we imagined."
Lefiya's heart was also in turmoil. She didn't understand the specifics of the conversation, but she could feel the despair and madness radiating from Bernahl—the same source as the Volcano Manor itself—and the profound helplessness Lynn felt when facing him.
She couldn't help but wonder: what kind of place did Mr. Lynn come from? What kind of things had he been through?
Bete let out a huff, breaking the oppressive silence. "Who cares about 'Recusants' or whatever. If he blocks the road next time, I'll just tear him apart."
His words were crude and direct as always, but in a way, they dispelled some of the lingering gloom. To a werewolf, an enemy was an enemy. Past entanglements didn't matter; what mattered were the fists of the present and the future.
The team pushed deeper. After crossing the hall, the path began to slope downward. The temperature rose, and the smell of sulfur began to mix with a sickly sweet, unsettling odor—the scent of massive amounts of blood mingled with the bodily fluids of some creature.
Great, semi-open caverns began to appear on both sides of the passage. They no longer held man-made torture devices or rooms, but were piled high with the skeletons of various monsters. Some were still fresh, with bits of meat still clinging to the bone. The ground became slick, covered in a layer of dark-red, semi-congealed filth.
"This place..." Ais said softly, her brow furrowing. "It looks like a feeding ground."
────────────────────────────────────────
Support me here: https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Danmachi: My Primary God is Hidetaka Miyazaki? (Simulpub – Ongoing)
Join the journey and become part of the story!
────────────────────────────────────────