Chapter 36: The Underground Listener

Nolan held an oil lamp in one hand, the enchanted dagger named “Calm” in the other, descending the spiral stone stairs slowly.

Following Leyak’s map, he found the bunker ruins in a deserted hilly area outside the city.

No crests or symbols marked it, no clue of which noble built it or when, only the scars of time remained.

Many stone bricks on the stairs were loose, exposing packed earth beneath.

Nolan tested each step carefully, descending dozens before reaching the bunker’s bottom.

There—ghost moss.

Nolan gripped the dagger tighter, feeling the “Calm” spell soothe his mind, suppressing instinctive fears from the dark and solitude.

The ghost moss clung to the stacked stone walls, glowing faintly under the lamp’s light.

Nolan knew it was his target.

He pulled a cloth square from his pack—Leyak’s tool for holding magical materials—and, steadying the dagger, began scraping the moss off the walls.

It took effort, but the cloth soon filled.

Though the moss seemed plentiful, it amounted to only a small pile when gathered.

With most of the wall’s moss collected, Nolan wrapped the cloth and tucked it into his pack.

‘Time to go.’

He noticed the lamp dimming, its fuel running low.

The bunker had three levels; Nolan was on the lowest.

He retraced his steps, reaching the second level’s staircase, when voices echoed from above.

“Devil’s servant—why did your master summon me here?”

Nolan’s heart jumped.

He peeked cautiously, seeing two figures in the middle of the second level.

One wore a black robe, face hidden.

The other, in armor—Nolan paused, recognizing him.

The knight captain from Lotte Village—John, or something like that, sent to arrest Kritiya as a witch.

Nolan had glimpsed him once.

Why call him “devil’s servant”?

Nolan realized this was a secret meeting—he couldn’t let the captain spot him.

He snuffed the lamp, held his breath, and waited for them to leave.

“Heh—a black mage swaggering into my master’s domain, daring to ask why you’re summoned?”

John said.

“Domain? This place is the devil’s hunting ground now?”

The black mage sneered.

“So, the chaos around here—lords, foolish city merchants, shuffling troops, digging up that empty ruin—it’s all your master’s doing? Another devil’s trap to corrupt.”

“Black mage, don’t get smug. Is your evil god some saint? Gods, what a world—devils, black mages, things I thought were myths, popping up everywhere,” John sighed.

“You foolish devil’s s*ave, bound by desire—listen. We black mages seek and understand great beings beyond human intellect, breaking mortal shackles, shedding the body’s vile urges, ascending life itself.

Mortals can’t grasp our sacrifice. Devils, those filthy worms of corruption, can’t compare. Show some respect,” the black mage said coldly.

What’s that mean?

Nolan was lost, but one thing was clear—Adventurers’ Guild notices mentioned chaos from the “ancient scroll” and “Roen ruins.”

A devil’s trap—linked to this devil?

“Fine, say what you want—my devil master’s not here. Go tell her yourself,” John sighed.

“My orders are just to learn why you’re here.”

“Why should I tell you?”

The black mage sneered.

“If you don’t talk, I can’t predict what my devil master might do,” John replied quickly.

“Black mage, hear me out. You think you’re different, but to an innocent bystander like me, dragged into this, your destruction’s no different—practically in sync.

If you swear not to harm my master, she won’t bother you. Could even be mutually beneficial.”

The black mage paused, considering John’s words, then spoke.

“Fine, I’ll share a bit. I’m here searching for a prime sacrifice I lost.”

“I can’t pinpoint her location, so I’ve been tracking, ending up here.”

Her?

Nolan, eavesdropping, caught the feminine pronoun for this “prime sacrifice,” stirring unease.

“Oh—got it. What kind of sacrifice?”

“No comment.”

“Come on, spill a little. My devil master might help find her,” John said, casually stepping closer, squinting at the silent black-robed figure.

Then—he drew his sword!

The steel blade slashed, cutting the black mage in two.

John’s eyes gleamed with triumph—then faltered.

No resistance, no flesh or bone.

The halved black mage shimmered, dissolving into black mist, surging toward John.

“Ahh!”

John screamed as the mist engulfed his upper body, hissing like acid.

He rolled on the ground, thrashing.

After a while, the mist faded.

“Huff, huff—”

John, leaning on his sword, stood.

His steel armor was rusted, his once-youthful face now smoked, withered like old bark.

The last wisp of mist swirled in the air, vanishing like a mocking laugh from the black mage.

“Damn—fine, a clone, but a trap too?”

“Gotta… heal.”

John knew the devil’s enhancement saved him, but his life was slipping away.

Nolan, hidden in the stairwell, witnessed the fleeting fight.

John dragged his sword, limping downstairs.

‘Gotta hide!’

Nolan, path blocked, retreated to the lowest level, ducking behind the suspended stairs.

He gripped the dagger, held his breath, staying unseen.

Iron boots clanged above.

John hobbled down, and Nolan wondered why he came to this empty bunker.

John reached the wall, tapped the sword hilt five times rhythmically.

Nolan, peeking, saw the solid wall shimmer like a mirage, revealing a hidden passage.

‘A secret tunnel…’

Nolan planned—wait for John to leave, then escape.

Report to Leyak, the city guard, or cathedral?

Or keep quiet?

Decide after getting out.

As he hoped, John frowned.

“No… something’s off.”

He gripped his sword properly, scanning the room, circling to the moss-stripped wall.

“Scrape marks…”

Nolan heard John mutter, his heart tightening, sweat slicking the dagger’s handle.

“Who… who’s here?”

John looked around, shouting, but Nolan was sure he’d made no sound—

“I smell… faint, but… your fear…”

Nolan’s heart raced.

John spun, sword thrusting toward the stairs.

His injury slowed him.

Nolan, calmed by the dagger, saw the blade’s path, rolling to dodge.

Crack!

The sword wedged into the stair’s bricks.

Nolan tried to run up, but John roared.

“Hah!”

Muscles bulging, he yanked the sword free, stones crumbling, collapsing the ancient stairs.

The blade grazed Nolan’s clothes.

He threw the lamp, which shattered under John’s swing, slowing him briefly.

But—this was no match he could win.

With the path to the surface blocked, Nolan gritted his teeth and fled into the secret tunnel.