Chapter 208: The Second Prince’s Task
“What exactly are you regretting?!”
Lillian’s face turned red too. The images Rex had just described—holding hands, leaning on his shoulder, blushing, talking about marriage—each word was like a spark, setting her whole body on fire.
Rex gave that foolish, honest smile of his.
“It’s just... the things that fake you said...” He scratched his head, unsure how to explain it. “It actually felt... pretty nice.”
Lillian turned her face away and refused to look at him.
As the group kept walking, they kept talking.
Rex was still rambling on, talking about how much that fake Lillian had looked like her, how those words had made his heart pound, how it was a shame it had not been real.
Lillian listened, the flush on her face never fading.
Then suddenly, she reached out.
Rex felt something take hold of his hand. He lowered his head and saw that Lillian was holding it.
He looked up.
Lillian had turned her face away and would not look at him. All he could see were her ears, red to the roots, and her eyelashes trembling slightly.
“T-that thing the fake did...” she muttered, her voice so small it was almost a whisper, “I... I can do that too.”
She paused.
“I just think... there’s no reason for you to keep dwelling on some fake.”
Her voice dropped even lower.
“The real one is right here.”
Rex froze.
He stared at the hand holding his, at that white, slender hand, at how tightly it held on despite its slight trembling.
Then he smiled.
And nodded hard.
“Mm!”
Lillian did not say anything. She only tightened her grip a little more.
Ahead of them, Vera and Ryan walked a short distance in front. Vera glanced back once, the corners of her lips curving faintly, but said nothing. Ryan looked back as well, then continued forward.
In the mirrors, countless copies of them kept walking too.
Parker pulled his sword off his shoulder.
The tip still had a broken arrow lodged on it. The arrowhead was black, and Parker’s blood still clung to it. That blood ran down the blade and dripped to the ground, staining the gray-white stone a dark red.
He lowered his eyes to look at the wound, not even frowning.
At his side, Hayden handed him a roll of bandages. Parker took it and wrapped the wound one-handed, then yanked it tight. The bandage bit into the flesh, and the bleeding stopped.
He raised his head and looked at the stone door ahead, already open.
Beyond it lay only darkness. Nothing could be seen.
Behind him came the rough sound of heavy breathing, along with low groans that people were trying to suppress.
Parker turned and swept his gaze across the people who had followed him out.
Seventeen.
There had been seventeen when they entered.
Now, fewer than ten were still standing.
The corridor had been too long.
So narrow that only one person could pass at a time, with traps lining both walls every few steps—holes that spat fire, hidden slots that shot arrows, giant stones that crashed down from above, trapdoors beneath their feet that suddenly gave way.
Some of them had seen things like that before. After all, people had already come through the passage once. With prior experience and so many people working together, there should not have been this many casualties.
But this time had been different.
The first person who tried using magic to scout ahead had barely lifted his staff before his whole body locked up, as if something had drained all the strength from him. Then he stepped onto a pressure plate, fell through, and never even had time to scream.
The second. The third. The fourth.
All the same.
Parker had quickly discovered the pattern. Magic could not be used in that corridor. Any magical fluctuation triggered even deadlier mechanisms, and the people who had tried to use magic to shield themselves had died the fastest.
He had given the order immediately. Everyone was to put away their magic and force their way through with their bodies alone.
Then it had become a slaughter.
Parker himself was trained in both magic and martial combat, but magic was his stronger discipline.
Among the younger generation, his fire magic ranked near the top.
But in that corridor, all of it—his flames, his blasts, the things he had always taken pride in—had become useless.
He could only force his way through with his physical body. But after so many years of relying on magic, his body had long since grown accustomed to magical reinforcement. Being forbidden to use it now felt like tying one arm behind the back of a man who had always relied on both. Everything felt wrong.
That was how the arrow had struck his shoulder. Under normal circumstances, he would have blocked it with a wall of fire. But the instant he gathered magic, the mechanisms in the walls had gone mad, spitting flames in every direction. He had no choice but to dispel the spell and take the arrow.
Parker spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm.
It landed on the ground, reddish-brown and mixed with dust.
He wiped the corner of his mouth and shifted his gaze away from the surviving stragglers, fixing it instead on the darkness beyond that stone door.
Ryan Vilt.
That name suddenly surfaced in his mind.
Before they came, the Second Prince had called him in and given him a task.
“That boy named Ryan Vilt.” The Second Prince had sat there, those ice-blue eyes fixed on him as if engraving the order into his skull. “If you run into him, find a way to make sure he dies inside.”
Parker had nodded at the time.
He had no particular grudge against Ryan. He had never even met him. It was just a name.
But the Second Prince’s words were an order.
And an order had to be carried out.
That was why, back in the hall, he had deliberately picked Allen to go in and scout—Allen, the coward whose whole body had been shaking like a sieve. It had been obvious enough that he was close to Ryan. Parker had thought it might make Ryan panic, might make him do something reckless, might make him slip.
But Ryan had done nothing.
He had just stood there and watched Allen get shoved through that door.
Then the great doors had opened, and everyone had gone in together.
Parker had deliberately said those things, had deliberately tried to keep Ryan from following. He had wanted Ryan to fall behind. Wanted him separated. Wanted the traps to finish him off for him.
That pretty boy.
That cold face, the one that always looked as though everything were under control.
Parker thought of that face, and anger flared up inside him.
Still, all the better.
He let his gaze sweep over the people collapsed on the ground.
Once enough of these worthless cannon fodder died, all that would be left were his own people—Hayden, Marcus, Olaf. Vincent and Gray might not be his men, but at least they would not ruin things. Once that happened, he could turn back and corner Ryan. Kill him however he pleased. There would be no one left to talk.
A death in a secret realm?
Perfectly normal.
Thinking that, Parker could not help the slight curl at the corner of his lips.
He sheathed his bloodstained sword and gestured to Hayden.
“Let’s go,” he said. “We’re not waiting.”
Parker turned and stepped through that stone door first.
The others followed behind him. Their footsteps were uneven and ragged, echoing across the stone and back through the darkness.
Beyond the door was an enormous chamber.
Even larger than the cave before.
The walls were gray-black stone, rising so high that the ceiling could not be seen. Vines crawled all over those walls—dark green vines, some as thick as a wrist, some as fine as threads, layered over one another like countless snakes tangled together.
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