Salvation Through Delusion C82

Chapter 82

Unlike me, who felt quietly triumphant, Haas shot me another glare—as if to say, It’s your fault our Grand Duke ended up like this.

Well… he wasn’t wrong. His face was full of questions he clearly wanted to ask, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

That silence didn’t last long.

When Tyroc turned and extended his hand toward me, Haas’s jaw dropped open.

“Y-Your Grace, what are you…?”

Good question. Even I, trailing behind him, froze in confusion. Haas and I exchanged identical blank looks, unsure why Tyroc’s hand was outstretched like that.

He gave his fingers a slight twitch.

“Take it.”

Why, though?

“Your Grace, if you wish to receive something from that person, you needn’t dirty your own—”

“Rue. What are you doing?”

At the sound of my name, my head snapped toward him. Haas looked about ready to unhinge his jaw in disbelief.

“There’s no need,” I said curtly. “It’s not dangerous.”

“I am the one in danger.”

Was he joking? Now, of all times?

“This isn’t the time for games. Before Zab arrives, we need to reach the catacombs—wait, what are you—?!”

Before I could finish, Tyroc suddenly pulled me in, wrapping one arm around me and dragging me forward. And just like that, before my brain could catch up, he jumped straight through the portal.

There was an “Uh—?!” sound, but it wasn’t mine—it came from Haas, who shouted behind us.

“Wh-what the—why—”

But his voice quickly faded the moment he followed us through. The “secret” destination Haas had been saving for emergencies turned out to be… a resting station.

The problem was that the half-dozen people resting inside were all soldiers.

“Huh… guess its purpose changed,” Haas muttered nervously from behind. That was enough for me to guess what happened—this room wasn’t supposed to be occupied.

He must’ve hoarded that secret portal for so long he’d failed to check its status.

Well, not my problem. I stepped forward.

“I’ll handle this.”

Tyroc didn’t stop me—probably because I already had my trusty club raised high.

Meanwhile, Yan couldn’t shake off the gnawing unease. Too many things had gone wrong in just the past two days, and the man standing before him now was the most ominous of them all.

“Y-Your Grace. You’ve returned without notice—what brings you here so suddenly…?”

The news that Duke Zab had returned had sent Yan sprinting to greet him. But once he laid eyes on the Duke, words deserted him.

Zab’s expression was… unrecognizable. His bloodshot eyes bulged, as if his sanity had cracked, and his usually sleek, neatly bound hair hung in wild disarray.

He had barely arrived through the portal before he started running through the corridors like a man possessed, ignoring anyone who tried to speak to him.

“Your Grace, please—if you tell me where you’re going—”

“Where’s Dorgo? Find him, now!”

The color drained from Yan’s face. They had just sent men to the lake to capture the intruders—and Dorgo had been overseeing the very site Zab was now demanding.

“M-Master Dorgo should be in his quarters. At this hour, he’s usually… praying…”

“Tell him to come to the catacombs immediately! Hurry!”

Zab’s voice trembled as he shouted, his body shaking uncontrollably. Yan had never seen him this unhinged before and instinctively stepped back.

He knew the Duke’s temper better than anyone—staying too close right now was begging to get hit. But even as he retreated under the pretext of fetching Dorgo, a sense of dread grew heavier in his chest.

What’s going on? Could he have found out about the intruders?

No… He shook his head. Zab wouldn’t lose his mind over something as trivial as a thief.

If I can just tidy up the mess and keep it quiet, everything will be fine, he reassured himself. The soldiers he’d sent to the lake would have caught the trespassers by now, surely.

But soon after, one of his men came running in, breathless and pale.

“There are intruders inside the castle!”

What?!

Who now—what kind of lunatics dared to—?!

On our way back toward the catacombs beneath Borhumi Castle, I had no intention of leaving traces. But that was impossible with someone like Tyroc, who seemed allergic to stealth.

Whether we were detected or not didn’t matter to him—he moved through the corridors like a storm, knocking down anyone who stood in his way.

Because of that, we reached the chamber of relics in no time, though by then soldiers had begun to chase us.

Not that we had to worry about how to stop them.

“Haas,” Tyroc called.

The mage immediately produced a jewel-encrusted artifact and placed it at the end of the hall.

Moments later, a thick fog began to spread from it, filling the corridor. Haas raised his wand and traced a magic circle into the air.

I recognized it instantly—a miniature version of the illusion spell that had once cloaked the lake.

He’s creating a mirage to confuse the pursuers. But what caught my attention was that I could still see the fog clearly.

“Black magic?” I asked.

Haas shot me a quick glance, his tone clipped. “The artifact contains a black stone… sir.”

Ah. That explained it. Using black stones in artifacts nullified their usual side effects.

“But its effect won’t last long—half a day at most.”

“That’s plenty.”

I said it with certainty because I’d already seen Zab’s childlike panic when his power faltered. If the mere weakening of his divine energy had driven him frantic enough to run to the tombs, then now—stripped entirely of that power—he’d come tearing down here like a man possessed.

And he’d bring Dorgo with him, just as we wanted.

I wasn’t the only one who believed that.

“Your Grace,” Haas finally asked, barely hiding his curiosity, “what exactly are you planning to do?”

There were hundreds of questions he could’ve asked—why we’d infiltrated Borhumi’s main stronghold, why Tyroc was cooperating with his supposed enemy, and more—but he settled on just that one.

Tyroc’s answer was short.

“Hunt.”

Haas blinked. “Hunt…?”

Tyroc’s eyes flashed like tempered steel as he strode forward.

“We’re hunting the black magician who cursed Koon. Get ready.”

The murderous resolve in his voice sent a chill through the hall.

Zab could recall the first moment he’d felt the Divine Beast’s power as vividly as if it had happened yesterday—the strength that had surged through his body, the exhilaration that came with it.

The Divine Beast of Borhumi governed water, so its energy always felt clean, fresh, invigorating.

When it became known that he had been chosen by the Beast itself, people’s attitudes toward him changed overnight.

As a child, he’d sometimes feared the power might vanish one day—but each time, his mother’s voice soothed him.

“We are beloved by the Divine Beast. That love is vast, boundless, and warm beyond comprehension. It will never abandon us.”

The Divine Beast would never leave him. That belief had been his foundation.

It was what allowed him to wield that power without restraint.

But there had been another part to his mother’s teaching—one he hadn’t listened to closely enough.

“You must train, my son. That is how you show the Beast that you cherish its gift.”

He had heard it so often that he grew sick of it. Eventually, he dismissed it entirely.

Now, as he sprinted madly toward the catacombs, that phrase echoed in his skull like a curse.

Could that be why the Divine Beast left me?

No. Impossible. The Beast can’t leave me. It’s sealed.

The first thing he had to do was confirm that the shield still held.

He reached the underground chamber before Dorgo and went straight to the ritual site, his hands moving by instinct.

Dorgo had taught him how to activate the seal.

“Remember the stone beneath your feet, my lord. Stand upon it and reach forward—you’ll grasp something. Then the shield will reveal itself before your eyes, and within it, the hidden lake.”

Touch anywhere else, Dorgo had warned, and the magic would burn him alive.

Zab raised a trembling hand and reached into the air. For years, he had performed this same ritual hundreds of times, checking the shield’s stability.

And once again, his hand met the familiar resistance.

As soon as he touched it, a black, shimmering mesh appeared—and beyond it, the great underground lake.

When his mother had first shown him this place, she’d told him that this lake was where the Divine Beast descended to rest.

It was as deep and darkly blue as ever, but something was different now. That blue no longer radiated peace—it was cold, unnervingly cold.

“Lord Zab… why have you damaged the tomb?”

Dorgo’s bewildered voice came from behind. But Zab stood motionless, as lifeless as a statue.

He didn’t even react to the clear signs of intrusion that Dorgo was pointing out.

Only then did the man realize how wrong something was.

“My lord, what has happened to you? Your appearance—why…”

Zab—who had once cared more about his looks than anything—looked like a deranged beggar.

He, who would’ve adjusted his hair even as the world burned around him, now stood disheveled and hollow-eyed, his mind seemingly gone.