Rising god
Chapter 61: First Time

Chapter 61: First Time

The city’s outskirts buzzed with activity, but the abandoned mansion loomed in stark contrast, its dilapidated facade casting an eerie shadow under the fading daylight.

A line of about fifty people snaked toward its creaking gates, their chatter a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation.

Baines, cloaked in the guise of a middle-aged man, muttered, ’What is going on?’ he thought, his sharp eyes scanning the scene.

The mansion, with its cracked stone walls and overgrown garden, exuded an unnatural gloom that set his instincts on edge.

"What’s happening here?" Baines asked the man ahead of him, his voice low but firm.

The man turned, eyeing him as if he were a fool. "You don’t know?"

Before he said further, Baines slipped a gold coin from his pocket and pressed it into the man’s hand.

The man’s eyes lit up, his tone shifting to eager compliance. "This is the town’s tourist attraction. A mansion like this in a backwater village? It was only bound for word to spread fast. At first, they tried burning it down, but it wouldn’t even char. Aura, mana, nothing could touch it. Then some folks went inside and found ghosts, mummies, and spirits wandering about freely. We called it the Ghost House cause none of its harmful. Now it’s a draw for thrill-seekers and tourists."

’Safe?’ Baines’s mind rejected the notion. "Since when has this been happening?" he pressed.

"A couple of years, I think," the man replied, pocketing the coin.

Baines fell silent, his thoughts racing as he shuffled forward in the line.

’If this village has such a lucrative attraction, why hasn’t it grown into a city? Are there external interference? And what other material resists both aura and mana? Is it another energy?’ The questions gnawed at him, each one a thread in a larger tapestry of mystery.

After three hours, he reached the entrance, where a burly guard demanded, "Ten silver."

Baines’s brow furrowed inwardly; ten silver per visitor should have transformed this village into a thriving hub.

He handed over the coins, his suspicions deepening. ’Or is there more to this?’

Stepping through the rusted gate, he entered the mansion, its unkempt garden choked with thorny vines and the air heavy with a gloomy aura that seemed to cling to his skin.

The living room greeted him first, a relic of noble opulence now decayed. Dust-coated chandeliers hung precariously, and tattered curtains swayed in a nonexistent breeze.

To his shock, the man’s tale was true: translucent spirits drifted through the room, their forms shimmering as they conversed in eerie whispers. Ghostly figures laughed and played, while bandaged, mummy-like creatures lounged on dilapidated sofas.

’This feels wrong,’ Baines thought, his instincts screaming at him. He scanned the room, and when no result came, he knelt, placing a hand on the cold floor, and activated Eye to scan for anomalies.

[NO ABNORMALITIES DETECTED]

The result was jarring.

He rose and moved to the second floor, a sprawling expanse of bedrooms and study rooms surrounding a dark, open hall.

Again, he scanned, his hand pressed against the warped wooden floor and walls, but Eye reported nothing.

Frustration almost got him. He’d never searched this long without a lead.

The absence of other visitors was another glaring oddity; the people he’d entered with had vanished, as if swallowed by the mansion’s shadows, but his senses and Eye were still detecting nothing.

On the third floor, he found a throne room, its design starkly different.

Red and black dominated the whole design, cracked pillars, a tattered carpet, a throne of weathered stone, and it all radiated a gloomier aura than the lower floors.

A familiar sensation prickled at the edge of his consciousness, one he’d felt when facing the Blood Deplorable.

’Why does this feel the same?’ he wondered, his grip tightening on his sword as he moved cautiously forward.

He searched the side rooms, finding nothing but dust and decay, before approaching the throne itself.

Climbing the steps, he placed a hand on the throne’s armrest.

Eye scanned again, detecting nothing, but Baines wasn’t bothered, because behind the throne, tucked in a shadowed alcove, stood a plain black table.

Atop it lay an open book, its right page torn away. The sight sent a jolt through him.

The familiarity of this place to the Blood Deplorable. The torn page. The Blood Orb.

Like machines, the connections clicked into place. This was where the Deplorable had found the page that fueled its power.

Finding that would’ve just made him nod in understanding, but what froze him in place was the intact page.

It bore illustrations of two weapons: a long sword and a dagger, the latter of which caught his attention.

Its red blade, etched with intricate symbols, matched the dagger he’d carried for his revenge, the one that thrived on blood as Eye had told him.

It was unmistakably the Demonic Blade Roesha.

With a thought, he summoned Roesha, its crimson edge gleaming in the dim light. He held it close to the page, expecting a reaction, but the blade remained inert.

’Do I put it closer?’ He brought Roesha nearer, but nothing happened.

Next, he sliced his palm, letting blood drip onto the page, but just Roesha absorbed it, vibrating as if chastising him for neglecting its hunger all those years.

He tried his other sword, spilling blood over the book, but the page remained unchanged.

For thirty minutes, he experimented, smearing blood, pressing the blade against the page, even attempting to tear it. The book resisted, unyielding as stone.

His frustration had finally reached its tipping point, "HOW THE FUCK DOES IT WORK THEN?" he roared in anger, slashing at the page in anger.

As a final act of defiance, he drove Roesha into the book’s center.

The reaction was instantaneous, and the result was catastrophic.

The book and blade trembled violently, a low hum escalating into a deafening pulse.

Blood erupted from the pages, which burst into a crimson tide that surged to his knees in seconds, then engulfed him entirely, drowning him in a scarlet deluge before he could react.

At that moment, the mansion shuddered, its walls groaning as if awakening from a long slumber.

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