The Villain Who Invests in a Witch to Survive

Chapter 174: Oh, Hello, Hello

Vera sat on that raised slab of stone with all the elegance of someone seated on a bench in her own garden. But in her hand she held a cloth pressed against her calf. The cloth had already been soaked through with blood, and it seeped between her fingers, drop by drop, spreading a small dark stain across the pale stone beneath her.

Her face showed little expression, but her lips were white, the bloodless white of someone who had lost too much blood.

There was no weapon in her hand.

But where she sat was the spot closest to the door at the very front of the hall.

That door.

Ryan’s gaze passed over the people and settled on it.

It was enormous, more than ten meters high and several meters wide, like a mountain pressing down at the far end of his sight.

The black stone door was covered in carvings. They were the same kind of patterns that had lined the stairs, ring after ring, dense and endless. But these were deeper, denser, stranger. The grooves looked as though they had been carved one stroke at a time with a blade, so deep a finger could fit inside them, throwing heavy shadows in the gray, dim light.

Light leaked through the crack between the doors.

Dark red light.

It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

Ryan stared at that door for a few seconds, then drew his gaze back and swept it across the people in the hall.

His eyes passed over them, then moved behind him.

Lillian stood there, her clothes stained with mud and blood that had long since dried into dark brown blotches. The hand gripping her sword was perfectly steady, though her face looked tired, and there were faint shadows beneath her eyes.

Rex stood beside her. The wound at his waist had already scabbed over. Walking no longer hurt, lifting his arms no longer hurt, and his breathing was as steady as if nothing had happened at all. He even puffed out his chest, trying to make himself look larger, as though he wanted to shield Lillian behind him.

The three of them, compared to the people before them, looked so clean they might as well have just entered the ruin.

Ryan’s brows drew together, a deep vertical crease forming between them.

He knew exactly how capable Parker and the others were.

The Second Prince had sent them out. Parker was one of the finest young swordsmen of his generation, someone who had grown up on the borderlands and had already seen battle at sixteen. Vincent and Gray were trusted men of the Third Prince, the kind who could maneuver even in front of Parker, and their hands had surely been stained with more blood than anyone could count.

Vera, the Gale Duke’s adopted daughter, was publicly recognized throughout the Empire as the greatest wind-element prodigy of her generation, able to cast high-tier magic at ten. Eleanor, the Sword Duke’s daughter, had been called a monster since childhood and had already defeated grown knights at twelve.

Any one of them, taken alone, was stronger than Lillian or Rex.

And yet now, every single one of them was covered in wounds, looking as though they had just crawled out of a meat grinder.

Meanwhile, aside from the marks left behind by yesterday’s battle, Lillian and Rex still looked almost untouched.

Ryan’s gaze shifted to the walls around the hall.

There were doors everywhere.

Doors exactly like the one he had just pushed open—wooden, covered in iron plating, and studded with fist-sized iron nails. Some stood open, revealing lightless passages so black they seemed bottomless. Others were shut, mottled with rust, with only a faint glimmer leaking through the cracks.

Those doors lined the walls in layer upon layer, so densely packed they looked like the cells of a honeycomb. There were too many to count.

Every door was a passage.

Every passage led somewhere different.

Ryan looked at those doors, then back at the battered people before him.

They had all come out of those doors. Behind every one of them lay a different path, and on every path, something different had been waiting.

He thought of the route he himself had taken.

Stairs. Carvings. Fresh air. Nothing else.

From beginning to end, there had been nothing.

Not even a single insect.

Rex stepped forward half a pace, placing himself in front of Lillian. His shoulders were broad, hiding most of the girl behind him. He lifted his chin high and puffed out his chest like some beast guarding its young, glaring at the strangers before them.

Lillian straightened behind him. She raised her chin, one hand resting on her sword hilt, and put on that proud young-lady expression of hers. But on her exhausted face, it looked a little forced, a little like empty bravado.

Ryan extinguished the torch in his hand.

The flame died, and a wisp of blue-gray smoke rose in the dim light. He tucked the dead torch into his pack and stepped forward.

His boots made only the faintest sound against the stone floor.

That sound echoed through the hall, one beat after another, like something tapping from deep within the silence.

He walked toward them.

Toward the strangers who had emerged from different doors, endured different ordeals, and now stood there with wounds all over their bodies.

Ryan stopped ten paces away.

He said nothing.

He only stood there, his gaze sweeping slowly over their faces, then over the doors one by one.

The hall was so quiet that their breathing could be heard.

The breathing of those explorers.

The faint drip of blood from their wounds.

The minute rustle of vines growing.

One thought took shape in Ryan’s mind.

Why was the path they had taken different from the one these people had walked?

Parker said nothing.

He merely glanced once at Ryan and the others, his gaze as cold as the northern wind, then lowered it again to his rolled and battered sword.

Vincent was the one who moved.

He gave a light cough, pushed himself away from the wall, and put on his trademark gentle smile.

It was a perfectly measured smile, neither warm nor cold, neither humble nor arrogant. There was not a single flaw to be found in it.

“It seems some new companions have joined us.”

His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly through the empty hall.

No one answered.

Parker ignored him.

Vera did not even lift her head.

Eleanor simply stared at Ryan.

The ordinary explorers only looked on with numb, lifeless eyes.

Vincent did not seem to mind. He walked forward a few steps, stopping in front of Ryan, and extended his hand.

It was pale and slender, clearly well cared for. But now there was a bloody cut across the knuckles, and the back of the hand was mottled purple and blue. He behaved as though he had not noticed any of it, his smile still as mild as ever.

“Hello. I’m Vincent,” he said. “You’re Ryan Velt, aren’t you? I’ve heard a little about you.”

Ryan looked at him and gave a small nod.

Then he looked at the hand Vincent had extended, stepped forward, and walked past him.

Vincent’s hand froze in midair. The smile remained on his face, but stiffened for an instant—a moment so brief it was almost impossible to catch. His fingers curled slightly as he was just about to withdraw it.

Then another hand seized his.

“Oh, hello, hello, hello!”

Rex shoved his broad, bear-like grin into view, clasped Vincent’s hand tightly, and pumped it up and down with great enthusiasm.

He was strong, and Vincent’s already injured hand creaked under the pressure.

“I’m Rex,” he said with all the warmth of someone greeting an old friend. “And this is our young lady, Lillian! Daughter of Count Rosedale! What happened to all of you? Why do you look so miserable?”

Vincent’s smile started to stiffen for real. His face was turning red from how hard Rex was squeezing, but he still smiled. He still tried to maintain that same mild expression.

“L-let go...” He patted the back of Rex’s hand. “It’s fine, just let go first, and I’ll explain in a moment...”

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