Becoming a God Starts with Acting
Chapter 158: [Blizzard Manor] - Prophet’s part (5)

Chapter 158: [Blizzard Manor] - Prophet’s part (5)

Silvanus watched the endless stream of comments, even marveling at the viewers’ vivid imaginations.

However, the more engaged the viewers were, the more it worked in his favor. Even though he hadn’t received any system notification yet, Silvanus could already feel his acting points steadily increasing!

On the surface, the child still had his head slightly lowered, only sneaking glances at Drake.

Drake frowned slightly, knowing he wouldn’t get any answers. He asked, "So, what’s your name?"

He suddenly lifted the child’s face with both hands as he spoke, forcing him to look at him directly.

This child was wonderful. His skin was so pale it looked almost translucent, and although his facial features were still youthful, Drake—perhaps because he already knew—could somehow see glimpses of the grown-up Prophet in him.

Especially those dazzling golden eyes, as if they contained the source of the universe’s boundless energy, constantly swirling within.

The child struggled, but realizing he couldn’t escape Drake’s grasp, he stopped and mumbled, "Saphen."

"What? I missed that." Drake leaned in closer and asked.

[Oh my god, why hasn’t this kid grown fangs and bitten Drake’s head off yet?]

[Seriously! Drake gives me this illusion that he trusts the kid—what the heck is going on...]

"S...aphen!"

The child repeated, voice low but forceful, yet barely louder than a whisper.

Drake couldn’t help but chuckle but then froze—hot tears had suddenly touched his hand.

He immediately pulled his hand back, flustered. "What’s wrong? I didn’t hurt you, did I? I meant, well, you can see that, right?"

Saphen pressed his lips together and said nothing.

[Uchuchuchu, oh no, my baby—how did he end up in a dungeon-like this?!]

[Changed my mind. Saphen is a little angel. What kind of monster could ever be this adorable!!!]

[Yes! Those eyes, lips, soft round cheeks are too cute to handle!!!]

[Bunch of fools, letting looks rule your brains. When are we finally getting some blood and guts? This is getting boring.]

"Alright, I won’t ever touch you without permission again, okay?" Drake paused momentarily, then added, "Don’t be afraid of me, Saphen."

At that, Saphen looked up—those beautiful eyes meeting Drake’s for the first time. Then, the boy lowered them again and gave a slight nod.

At that moment, Drake finally exhaled. He realized he had never felt this clear-headed before—perhaps it was because he was now closer to the Prophet than ever. The anger that had always simmered in his chest was gone, and even his lingering frustration had vanished. This encounter felt even more miraculous than their previous two meetings.

Maybe it had something to do with the Prophet finally being freed, Drake thought as he glanced around the room.

The room was fully furnished: a wardrobe, a vanity, a large bed, and a tea table. However, it lacked a bathroom or toilet. If they needed to relieve themselves, they would have to leave the room and head to the communal bath at the end of the hallway on each floor.

Drake looked toward the large wall clock—it read a little past 6:40. Less than twenty minutes remained before dinner.

If the first trial were this simple, hopefully, no idiot would end up dying in it.

"I’m sleeping on the bed. You sleep on the floor!"

At that exact moment, in the room at the end of the second-floor hallway, an arrogant man barked out, his overbearing attitude immediately grating.

He had a rather handsome face, but the heavy dark circles under his eyes and the bloodshot glare made him look much worse than he was.

He was one of the three dark espers participating in this dungeon.

Standing nearby was an independent esper.

He had no idea why he’d gotten so unlucky. He would’ve preferred being alone over having to share a room with this rude and insufferable dark esper. Who knew how many people had already died at the hands of people like him?

The more he thought about it, the more irritated the independent esper became. With a cold expression, he snapped, "Why should I be sleeping on the floor? You should be the one down there, you rat bastard!"

"Who the hell are you calling a rat?!" the dark esper roared in fury, grabbing the other man by the collar. His movements clearly showed that his power far surpassed that of the independent esper.

But the independent esper wasn’t afraid. There were only three dark espers in this dungeon—none would dare do something as reckless as killing a fellow participant. Captain Drake would never let that slide!

Thinking that, the independent esper grew bolder. He grabbed the hand clutching his collar and shouted, "What do you think you’re doing? Huh?! You wanna start something?! Want me to call Captain Drake?!"

The dark esper narrowed his eyes, a dangerous gleam flashing within.

While the two were arguing, something changed in the room without their noticing—the wall clock silently shifted, rewinding itself by thirty minutes.

The transformation was quiet, subtle, and entirely without warning.

[Haha! Found our first victims!]

"Get lost!"

Neither side was willing to back down, and at last, the dark esper shouted in frustration and hurled the independent esper out of the room.

Bang!

The door slammed shut in his face.

The independent esper stared at the closed door, his expression twisted with irritation. He muttered a curse under his breath, but he could do nothing. Breaking the door down wasn’t an option either, so all he could do for now was head down to the mansion’s main hall.

After a while, the others gradually left their rooms—except for the one belonging to that dark esper. It never opened again.

"Hey, Rowan, aren’t you coming out?"

Two of Rowan’s companions—both dark espers—knocked on his door, calling out to him, but there was no reply from inside.

They tried turning the doorknob, but it was no use. One of the dark espers muttered, "Did he seriously go downstairs without even waiting for us?"

The other one scoffed, clearly annoyed. "Forget it. He probably went down first. Staying here’s just wasting our time."

The first nodded and said no more, the two of them walking off.

In the main hall, almost all the participants had gathered. The butler was still nowhere to be seen—only the maids were present.

Upon noticing the newcomers, the two maids turned around in unison, smiling politely as they said, "Welcome, esteemed guests. Your seats are ready. Please, this way."

With that, they led the way to the head of the table, then stood on either side, bowing slightly. Their rigid postures and the fact that their chests didn’t seem to rise or fall gave the eerie impression that they weren’t living beings but mere statues that had just spoken.

Drake brought Saphen to sit in two side-by-side chairs, and the others followed suit, filling the seats one after another.

One dark esper spoke hesitantly, "Rowan still isn’t here..."

Drake caught the low voice and frowned slightly, but before he could say anything, a new sound drew everyone’s attention: footsteps echoing from the staircase.

The butler descended slowly, his voice filled with satisfaction. "What a punctual group of guests you are—so polite and proper. What a shame our master isn’t feeling well enough to join you tonight. But rest assured, you will not be poorly treated in this house."

With that, he raised his voice. "Ethan, serve the meal!"

Right after his words fell, a loud clattering came from the kitchen—as though dishes or other heavy objects had slammed together.

Bang!

The kitchen door burst open thunderous, and an enormous figure squeezed through the frame.

It must have been Ethan, the castle’s head chef.

He was huge and muscular, his skin a deep tan, and his slightly hunched back made him resemble a hulking black bear.

His arms were outstretched, and he balanced an impressive number of steaming dishes from his fingertips to shoulders. The sight was almost comical.

But what truly drew everyone’s attention was his head.

It was completely encased in a rectangular, brown cement-fabric sack. The sack had been crudely shaped to include two oversized eye holes and a drooping, sad-looking mouth—making it resemble a gloomy, miserable puppet.

His real eyes were no less disturbing: wide and bulging, rimmed with red, as though they might pop out at any moment. His sclera was glaringly white, the irises floating eerily at the center, giving him the sickly look of someone with an unnatural condition.

Despite his slow and careful steps, his tall frame, even hunched, allowed him to reach the table quickly. After several back-and-forth trips, the table was finally covered in steaming dishes, the aroma rich and enticing.

Once everything was laid out, Ethan silently withdrew back into the kitchen. But before disappearing, he lingered at the doorway, his unsettling gaze fixed on the table and the humans seated there. It was a look so full of "longing" that it made one’s skin crawl.

"Don’t be alarmed," the butler said calmly from the side. "Ethan simply enjoys seeing the happiness in people’s eyes. He lives for the praise they give to his food. So please—enjoy this meal with all your heart."

With that, he fell silent and stood where he was, flanked by the two motionless maids. His gentle eyes locked on the guests.

This was a meal... they had to eat.