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Chapter Summary
The fire crackled in a perfect rhythm, each pop and hiss too regular, like the ticking of a hidden clock. The innkeeper, a bulky demon man with those same glassy eyes and two short horns, handed them keys. Their room upstairs had two beds with patchwork quilts, a lantern flickering on a table, and a window overlooking the square.
288 Haunted!
Chapter 288 The inn was cozy, with a crackling fire and the scent of bread—yet that wrongness lingered.
The fire crackled in a perfect rhythm, each pop and hiss too regular, like the ticking of a hidden clock.
Oliver tried to ignore it, but his senses kept tuning back to that unnatural rhythm—precise, calculated.
It wasn't warmth he felt from the flames, but something colder, something patient.
The innkeeper, a bulky demon man with those same glassy eyes and two short horns, handed them keys.
Their room upstairs had two beds with patchwork quilts, a lantern flickering on a table, and a window overlooking the square.
Oliver bolted the door and checked the window, his weapons ready in mindspace.
Agnes sat cross-legged on her bed.
"Teacher, is this a trap?
" "Probably," he said, settling on his bed.
"Or an illusion—maybe a hallucination of sorts being supported by dark espera?
" She tilted her head.
"But why?
" "I don't know yet.
" He kept watch as night fell, letting Agnes sleep despite her unease.
Outside, the sky darkened faster than it should have, swallowing color until only the flickering lantern seemed real.
Oliver stayed awake, leaning against the wooden frame of the bed.
The fire downstairs still crackled in that unnatural rhythm, never fading, never shifting.
Agnes had fallen asleep quickly, exhaustion dragging her under despite her earlier unease.
Then—a sound.
Low at first, like distant thunder.
Then steady, rhythmic.
A war drum.
Oliver's eyes snapped open fully.
His fingers curled around his sword hilt before he even realized he had reached for it.
The drumbeat pulsed through the floor, a vibration that crawled up his spine.
Faint screams followed, distant but real.
22:23 The drumbeat pulsed through the floor, a vibration that crawled up his spine.
Faint screams followed, distant but real.
He stood in one fluid motion and shook Agnes.
"Do you hear that?
" She blinked awake, groggy.
Then her eyes widened.
"Yes, Teacher.
What is it?
" "I don't know.
Let's find out.
" His instincts screamed at him to move, to get out, but stepping into the unknown blindly was worse.
He hesitated for a second.
Was this a distraction?
A way to separate them?
Oliver exhaled sharply.
No, he couldn't afford to leave her alone.
If this village was a trap, splitting up would only make things worse.
Decision made.
He grabbed his cloak and motioned for her to follow.
Their footsteps were near-silent as they moved to the door.
He pressed his ear against the wood—nothing.
Too quiet.
A moment later, he unlatched the bolt and eased the door open.
___________ The village looked the same.
Too much the same.
No people.
No movement.
Even the warm glow of lanterns still flickered in windows, untouched by whatever was happening beyond this false haven.
But something was off—the air was colder now, like ice had seeped into the very stones beneath their feet.
But the war drums… they were closer now.
Oliver motioned for Agnes to stay low as they crept toward the inn's staircase.
A soft click sounded behind them.
He spun, blade half-drawn.
The innkeeper stood at the end of the hall.
Still.
Silent.
Watching.
His glassy eyes didn't blink.
Agnes tensed beside Oliver, her breath barely audible.
Then—the man smiled.
Not the warm, rehearsed one from earlier.
This was wrong.
His grin split his face too wide, teeth shining like polished bone.
His skin stretched too tight, as if his face wasn't meant to smile that way.
"You should rest," the innkeeper said.
"It's dangerous outside.
" Oliver didn't move.
The war drums pounded faster.
The air in the hall felt heavier.
Denser.
Something was very, very wrong.
Then, the innkeeper took a step forward.
Not walked.
Shifted.
Like a puppet whose strings had just been yanked.
Agnes gripped Oliver's sleeve.
"Teacher—" "Move," Oliver ordered.
They bolted.
_____________ They crept downstairs and slipped outside.
The village lay still, houses dark, yet the drums pounded, screams weaving through the night.
They searched the streets—no fires, no chaos, nothing but silence beneath the noise.
The cobblestones were cold, slick with some unseen moisture.
Oliver's boots felt heavier with each step, as if the ground itself resisted him.
Oliver's voice was silent.
"This place is haunted," he whispered.
He never expected to encounter such a scenario.
Was he playing inside some haunted house?
Agnes, however, was different; she felt very uneasy upon hearing sounds but seeing no one out there.
It was probably her first time ever experiencing something like this.
Oliver saw this and shook his head; he could sense nothing outside—the houses were empty, the roads were empty, almost as if no one existed there in the first place.
Unsettled, they returned to the inn.
The innkeeper stood there, polishing a glass.
He looked up, and his eyes cleared briefly, locking onto Oliver.
He appeared normal now.
"By the mighty," he rasped.
"It's you… Lord Eldrin.
You've returned.
" Oliver froze.
"What did you call me?
" "Lord Eldrin," the man repeated, his voice excited.
Oliver fell into thought.
Who was Eldrin?
He'd never heard the name, yet it struck a chord deep within him, sharp and discordant.
Beside him, Agnes shifted, her wide eyes darting between him and the innkeeper.
"Teacher," she whispered, "what's he talking about?
" "I don't know," Oliver said.
He softened his tone.
"Stay alert.
We need to understand this place.
" For just a second, Oliver thought he'd seen something flicker in the air—an outline of something jagged and tall standing behind the innkeeper, like a figure cloaked in shadow.
The innkeeper blinked, his glassy stare returning as if nothing had happened.
"Sleep well, travelers," he said, resuming his glass-polishing with mechanical precision.
Oliver naturally didn't sleep.
As dawn crept through the window, painting the room in muted grays, he roused Agnes awake.
"We will be investigating today," he said as he adjusted his cloak.
"Supplies are secondary now—this village is dangerous, and we are most likely already trapped unless my guesses are wrong.
" Agnes nodded; her usual cheer was muted at this time.
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