A closing umbrella revealed Wilde with a dazzling smile and snapping his suspenders. He had arrived at the destruction of the collapsed tunnel. He patted his clothes and saw no one around. He grinned and headed in with light steps.

Inside was full of rubble as much of it had collapsed and shifted. Wilde did not care for that, even the dead bodies. It was not his problem or concern. Finally, as he reached the sprouting paths, Wilde was ready to test how his laughter would echo throughout the cavern.

“Got you good, Conrad!” He gaggled.

A sudden sound of footsteps hushed his laughter. Someone walked out of one of the tunnels.

“Are you sure about that? Conrad walked in with a smug smile.

“What? How?” Wilde dropped his shoulders.

“There’s a lake in that tunnel.” He pointed with his thumb.

“Aw, shucks.” Wilde snapped his fingers. "How much did we bet again?"

“Let’s just get to the case first.” Conrad looked around. “The platoon told that they marked the tunnel.”

“So, that one?” Wilde saw a red mark on the top of a tunnel. It was full of rubble like the rest of them, leaving no room to squeeze in.

“We have 40 minutes. Think you can do it?” Conrad glanced at his watch.

“I’ll get this cleared in ten.” Wilde cracked his knuckles.

“Go ahead.”

Wilde reached out his hand to a large boulder and then gripped it. He cleared the rocks like a toddler throwing their toys around with both hands. Conrad stood on the side, dodging some of them. After roughly ten minutes, Wilde reached the entrance of the cavern.

"Looks like a worm went through here," Wilde said while walking down.

"Must be the work of a transmuter."

The two reached the door, which mechanism had broken. Though, it was not that hard to open as Wilde punched through it.

The cavern itself was not that full of rocks until the middle, where the shaft had collapsed.

“You feel it?” Wilde asked.

“The sour feeling of losing? Yeah."

"No, the aura."

"Oh, that. Yeah, pretty nasty stuff."

They could reach the epicenter after clearing the rubble a bit more. Their path was full of bodies crushed between the rocks. They made sure to not step on them. A bit more forward was the ruined ritual circle, yet something else caught their eye.

“There’s something down there." Wilde looked down at the hole.

“But how do you think we get through this bedrock?”

“With the utmost care. Step back."

Conrad made some room. Wilde jumped in the air. He floated a bit, looking for the best spot. Then he suddenly dropped to two feet. Even though he was a slim man, the rock crumbled and gave away as Wilde hit his feet on the ground. His weight crushed the stone, revealing a small chamber. They could not get a good look at what was down there, as the whole thing was filled with a black, foul-smelling liquid.

"Is that...Blood?" Wilde floated away.

"There must be something down there, but I sure as hell won't touch that blood. It's giving me a really nasty feeling. We need to report this, asap."

“Well, let’s just pack things up here and get back,” Wilde said.

“You can hitch a ride with me. We need to be back in 20 minutes.”

“Get the sub ready. I’ll look around a bit more."

“Alright. Be careful with it.” Conrad walked away.

Orel, Isao, Diarmuid, and Slacume had infiltrated the castle and found themselves in one of its rooms. It was one of the guest rooms, filled with decorated seats and tables, a fireplace, and a cupboard filled with great beverages and glasses.

“Are you alright, sir?” Orel asked.

“It stings a bit, but the runes took most of the damage.” Diarmuid dusted off some of his burned clothes and ash off of his skin.

“The ADF really is on a different level,” Slacume was in dreadful awe.

“Alright, I’m not that familiar with this place.” Diarmuid looked at Slacume. “You work here, don’t you? Could you lead the way?”

“Um, sure." Slacume snapped back into reality. "What are you looking for?”

“Ms. Ramsay should be with the Duke in his office. It was a bit higher, wasn't it?”

“Okay.” Slacume looked around and thought. "This looks like one of the guest rooms on the first floor. There are plenty of ways to get to the third floor, but the fastest way is through the main stairs after the entrance hall. After that, it gets a bit messy."

“What’s outside of this door?” Diarmuid pointed.

“There should be a hallway. We need to go right, and the entrance hall should be behind the double doors at the end.”

“Alright. Let’s go. Everyone ready?” Diarmuid was not there to waste time.

“Orel, like it or not, we need to keep up with them, or those things will eat us,” Slacume shook himself with those words.

“I know.”

“Be not afraid. My Tomoe will protect you.” Isao drew his glaive. "Thankfully your buildings are big enough for me to swing her."

“Alright, I’m going to open the door.” Diarmuid reached for the knob.

The door creaked, and some fog escaped inside. The hanging lights flickered ominously, leaving the room dark for a moment. Diarmuid reached his head out to see if there was any danger. The hall was clear yet looked rummaged and with a floor stained by blood. Yet, the fog seeping inside made him nervous.

“Alright. Let’s go.” Diarmuid decided to step out.

Just as Diarmuid was about to head out, the fog became immense. It climbed up to cover the door while he was not looking. Diarmuid walked through it, stepping to the other side.

“Wait!” Orel rushed out.

“Orel, wait!” Slacume yelled.

Orel ran into the mist and disappeared without a trace. Slacume's fear became too much to bear for his legs. He fell to the ground with the pistol still in hand.

Suddenly, he heard an echoing voice terminating from the door.

“Slacume!” Orel called out.

“Orel?” Slacume jumped back up. “You’re alive?”

“Yeah, but didn't you say a hallway?"

“Um, yeah. Why are you asking?”

Slacume stepped closer to the door, having no rush to try it. Gathering his courage, he stuck his head through the fog. Going through it felt a bit weird, but what was even more bizarre was on the other side. There was no hallway. Instead, it was a white-tiled room full of racks, washing machines, and clothes left drying. The room was packed full, yet one thing that was still missing was Diarmuid.

“This is...The laundry room?” Slacume stepped in. “Of course! We’re in a bound field. Whoever is responsible for this made all the doors random!"

“Then how are we going to get anywhere?” Orel asked.

“I have a solution.” Isao reached inside his sleeve.

“What do you have there? More of that sake?" Slacume asked with a sly smile.

Isao took out a thin piece of paper with foreign writing in black and red writing.

"A talisman?" Slacume's smile dropped.

“These should be able to disturb the magic in a small area,” Isao said.

Praying with one arm, Isao attached the paper to the doorframe. The fog dissipated, revealing the next room.

“Now, hurry! It will not last for long!" Isao raised his voice.

In other places, Eargaoth, the master of zombies, stopped in his search.

“Largaoth, where are the intruders?” He asked.

“...I separated them. Three are in the basement, and one is in a small room on the second floor.”

“Good. What about the Duke?”

“...My bound field cannot distinguish people, even when this small. I merely deduced that the four had intruded the same way as us.”

“I see. How will you be able to tell when one of us wants to enter a room?”

“...Tell me the floor and walk in a pattern. I will deactivate the door for you.”

“Uh-huh. How many people are alive?”

“...Your corpses are hard to tell from regular people. Too many to count.”

“I can make them stop for a moment.”

“...Understood.” Largaoth waited. “I sense eleven people still moving.”

“Are there any that could be the Duke?”

“...I cannot say. The third floor has many in pairs or small groups, but there are some alone as well.”

“Where is Vortigern?”

“...He is easy to track. Right there.” Largaoth sent his message.

Meanwhile, Diarmuid found himself in a strange place. Even though he was supposed to arrive in a hallway, he found himself almost the opposite. It was all dark yet relatively small as his arms could reach wall to wall.

“Guess this thing has more features than I was expecting.”

By searching around, he felt something. A doorknob. Diarmuid immediately used it to open the door. Light escaped from the opening, finally revealing the insides of the room.

“A cleaning cabinet?” Diarmuid gripped a broom. “Whatever. I need to get out of here.”

Diarmuid felt cold air from the door. Without further thought, he stepped inside.

“Now a fridge?”

The cold air preserving the meat and drinks did not feel good on Diarmuid, nor did he enjoy the intense humming of the air conditioner.

“This fog is a pain in the ass.” He rubbed his arms together. “There’s no hope trying to get anywhere before we take out that mage.”

Diarmuid walked over to the fridge door, only to find it was another fog-filled doorway as well.

“I don’t have time for this.” He said, closing the door.

Diarmuid thought for a while until coming to a simple conclusion.

“Well, only one thing to do.” He shrugged.

“...Eargaoth, there seems to be a problem,” Largaoth said.

“What is it?”

“...The intruders found a way around my spell.”

“What do you mean?”

“...I do not know. They have passed to the next room through the door.”

“That is a problem. How could they have done it?”

“...I feel something disturbing my magic there.”

“That could be it.”

“...Yet, there is something else.”

“What is it?”

“...The other intruder used...Different means.”

Diarmuid entered another room, though not through practical means. Behind him used to be a wall, but now there was a gaping hole punched out with furious fists. Diarmuid looked around and saw that he had arrived somewhere new. The kitchen seemed to be what should have been there, meaning the technique had worked.

“That ought to do it.” He stretched his hand. “Now, where would that mage be?”

“We need to take them out. Largaoth, tell me the location. I will ask someone close by to go there.” Eargaoth said.

“...Understood.”

Downstairs, the trio in the laundry room had advanced to the next room. Soon after, the fog sealed the door again behind them.

“Those things sure are handy,” Orel said.

“How many you got?” Slacume asked.

“I have only prepared a few.”

“Where are we?” Orel turned.

“This is the supply tunnel.” Slacume looked down the long dark hallway.

A dark brick hallway full of pipes stretched in many directions with few lamps and doors on the way. It felt moist and cold like a cellar, expected for the lowest floor.

“We should find the stairs if we go this way.” Slacume pointed.

“Wait,” Isao stopped.

“Do you need to take another breather or what?”

“You are becoming exceedingly rude," Isao said with a tired sigh. "Nevertheless, I was going to ask if we should take out the mage controlling this field first."

“Well, we could, but he could be anywhere,” Slacume shrugged.

“That can be solved. Firstly, what type of spell is this?”

“The bound field? Well, I think it’s classified as a ritual. You can’t just cast it on the fly. It needs a bit of concentration, so you can’t use it in battle unless someone’s there to protect you.”

“So they cannot move?”

“Well, yeah. They have to stay almost completely still.”

“Then, are there any rules where it can be cast?”

“Where? Not really. The limits are concentration, the time it takes to cast, and...” Slacume stopped.

“And what?” Orel asked.

Slacume seemed nervous, with his eyes suddenly bulging out. “... He’s here.”

"What?” Orel watched his surroundings.

“I mean in the basement.” Slacume specified.

How do you know?” Orel asked.

“When casting a bound field, you essentially create a dome where you are in control, but the dome can’t be lower than the point you cast it. Meaning if they want to secure a place like this.”

“...They need to cast it in the cellar,” Orel realized.

“Even if he can move, he probably won’t go up because then someone could get in.”

“Does he know of our presence?” Isao asked.

“How would I know? Maybe, but then again, why would he send us down...”

“Could it be random?” Orel asked. “I mean the doors.”

“True, there’s no sense sending us closer to him.” Slacume thought.

“My worry lies deeper. If it were meant for us to use doors, they would not respond well to different approaches.” Isao noted.

“You mean they’re coming for us?” Slacume asked.

“Perhaps,” Isao said.

In Bertim, Fawkes noticed something different about Agatha after a call she received. Her face had changed from the usual calm and perhaps playful demeanor to a slight grimace.

“Something wrong, ma’am?” He asked.

“I received a report from headquarters. We need to leave.”

“What? What about our investigation?”

“This is more urgent. Sir Lionel is in danger.”

“Oh, well, that explains” Fawkes nodded. “Do we take the car?”

“No, that will not be necessary.” Agatha looked up. “...It's raining.”

“Oh, right. You want an umbrella?”

Agatha looked back to Fleming with disappointment.

“What?” Fleming asked.

“Nothing” Agatha looked at her watch. “It should be about time now.”

Norman and Ándras made their way to the officers on the other side of the village. Their steps were careful not to step on any soulless corpse but fast enough to slip on the gravel.

“Do we walk there with our hands in the air?” Ándras asked.

“What? No. We’re no criminals.”

“We stole a car.”

“Well, he did try to kill us,” Norman said and pointed ahead. “Let's just get to the church. I saw some police cars over there."

“I guess you’re right-”

A loud bang echoed from the end of the walkway. Norman watched Ándras fall to the ground, where a large hole in his chest started to pump out his blood onto the pavement. Norman could not stop his hands from jittering. His brain went on overdrive, analyzing everything he could from the situation. It was the only thing that kept him from panicking. He could only come up with one solution in that small window of time. He jumped at Andras’ body and took cover. The moment their assailant blinked, the two had vanished.

“Fuck!” Norman yelled in pain as a bullet pierced him.

He fell next to Ándras onto the road, trying to keep his voice down. A radiating pain went through his leg. Norman tried to quickly patch up his leg, yet there was little to be done. He could only spare one arm as well, as the other had to hold on to Ándras.

“Ándras, are you alright?” Norman whispered.

Ándras could only up blood from trying to utter something. Norman figured the bullet had pierced his lung. Then he realized the situation. Ándras was not healing. The collar had made him like any other man, one that would die from such a shot.

Norman looked carefully to the way of the road yet saw nothing. He didn’t know where the shot came from but could tell from the sound that it was nearby. Many houses lay down in ruins, and they provided the perfect space to hide. There was no use in trying to figure out where they could be.

Though they were hidden from sight, escape seemed unlikely. The pain from Norman's leg made it difficult for him to concentrate. Even if he activated Incognito, there was no way he could drag both of them to safety while holding his breath. Still, he had to try something.

The hunter hunting the two noticed the blood pool in the middle of the street suddenly disappear.

"I saw this trick before. You are not going to trick me again, mon ami," Jack said.

He observed through the scope. He knew the two of them could not simply run away. Moments passed as he calmly looked for them to reappear.

Norman was desperate to gasp for breath with each beat of his heart. He resisted it, knowing death was staring both of them down. Though he would still be invisible, the blood would spoil their location. His chest felt like it was about to burst. It became harder for him to stay conscious. He could hold no longer. Norman gasped and turned the two of them invisible as soon as he could.

Yet, a splash of red appeared on the sidewalk.

"There is nowhere to run." Jack emerged from the shadows.

Norman could already tell who it was, but something was different about him. His face no longer had the aloof smile of an elder but a stern stare like a soldier's. The scar around his cheek reminded Jack that patience was everything. One wrong move, a blink of an eye, or a moment of hesitation all could lead to death.

Jack took out a pistol from his hip and cocked it ready. Watching his surroundings, he walked toward the blood. He could see it much clearer once he reached the point, yet something was wrong. The blood seemed to go the wrong way. It looked like something was dragged down the sidewalk, not away from it. If the two were to escape, it would look the other way around.

Then Jack heard something. A metallic clink. Before he could realize it, his hand was struck by something. It twisted his old wrinkled finger. Jack yelled in pain and dropped the weapon.

A bloody coin dropped to the sidewalk.

Norman and Ándras appeared on the road, still prone and injured. Norman’s plan had worked. He had taken some of their clothes off and laid them on the ground to absorb the blood. He then flung one of the bloody shirts onto the sidewalk to make them seem to have moved away before dragging it back.

Norman flung another coin, this time aiming for Jack’s head. It scratched his forehead open. Yet, before any blood could spill, it stopped. Norman couldn’t believe his eyes. It seemed as if the coin was frozen in the air. He found himself unable to move. His eyes were fixated in place, moving at a snail’s pace. In the corner of his eye, he spotted a blurry figure. It zoomed in on him like a bullet, and before he knew it, it gripped the coin from Jack’s face.

“Coins? Interesting.” Agatha said in a distorted voice and flicked it away.