Chapter 93: Internal Strife
A flicker of confusion crossed its eyes. Only moments ago, it had been filled with murderous intent toward Morgan—yet now, Morgan was simply gone.
Gone, then gone it would be.
As if reenacting a habit from its living days, it snorted softly. Sparks burst from its nostrils, flared for an instant, then were drawn back in. Turning around, it returned to the chamber and shut the door behind it.
At the same time, the sounds outside were drawing ever closer.
"Paul, I heard something over here just now," a thin young man said excitedly, clearly eager to take credit. "I came to check it out and found an entrance here. There's got to be good treasure inside!"
This group of Nation wizards numbered seven or eight in total. Leading them was a middle-aged man with graying hair and a powerfully built frame. He frowned and raised a hand, signaling everyone to stop in front of the bronze gate.
"Something's off—very off," he said grimly. "According to Mick, he only came here after hearing a disturbance. That means this entrance must have opened very recently."
"You mean… someone already went in?"
A quick-witted wizard caught on immediately.
"Possibly," Paul replied. "Or it could be that we accidentally triggered some mechanism ourselves."
"Then are we going in or not?" asked a disheveled wizard impatiently. One of his eyes was covered by an eyepatch, and a lightning-shaped scar ran across the bridge of his nose.
"Of course we're going in," Paul said, a cold smile flickering across his face. "We've got the numbers. Whether someone went in ahead of us or not, whatever's inside will belong to us in the end."
"And we certainly won't let those foreigners take what should be ours."
In truth, they had been the first to discover this ruin—and the lucky few who had managed to enter it.
Paul's original plan had been simple: once they secured the treasure inside, he would leave immediately. His neighbor's relative's sister's granddaughter worked for the Nation's Magical Committee and had leaked him some inside information.
They were finished.
Paul had no intention of going down with a sinking ship. He planned to pull off one big score and then flee straight to America.
Unfortunately, after entering the ruins, progress had stalled completely. Now that a breakthrough had finally appeared, there was no way he was going to let it slip away.
"Mick," Paul said, clapping a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder, "since you found this entrance, you'll take point on the scouting."
"When we get what's inside, you'll take the top credit."
Mick's face instantly drained of color.
This was clearly sending him out as cannon fodder.
But he didn't dare refuse. Whether he hesitated or not, the blade would fall all the same. Gritting his teeth, he drew his wand and stepped forward.
Mick was the most recent addition to the group.
Which meant, naturally, that the most dangerous job fell to him.
He had expected some kind of trap, but once inside, he found nothing more than an empty chamber.
"It's safe. You can come in."
Hearing this, Paul didn't move at once. Instead, the scarred-nose wizard rushed in impatiently, beating everyone else to it. His action didn't escape Paul's notice—the joy on Paul's face twisted subtly into something more feral.
"Damn it. It really is safe—but there's nothing here."
The scarred man cursed loudly. Afraid that the man would vent his frustration on him, Mick hurriedly pointed toward the distance.
"Look—there's another door over there. This can't be where the treasure is."
"Mick, go open it," the scarred wizard ordered impatiently, barking commands as though Mick were his underling.
"Scarface," Paul drawled coldly, "looks like you're forgetting who's in charge. What—feeling bold enough to go solo now?"
Scarface's expression changed instantly. The lure of treasure had gone to his head; only now did he remember where he stood.
"Of course not," he said quickly.
"Good. Remember your place," Paul snorted.
For now, Paul had no intention of dealing with him. They hadn't cleared the dangers ahead yet—better to keep an extra disposable scout alive.
"Mick, why aren't you moving?" Scarface snapped, immediately redirecting his anger after being embarrassed.
"Mick, stay where you are," Paul interrupted calmly. "Scarface, your turn."
"Why me?" Scarface blurted out in disbelief. He was a veteran of the group—this kind of suicide work shouldn't fall to him.
"Because I'm the leader," Paul said flatly, raising his wand.
Around them, several other wizards followed suit. In an instant, Scarface found himself surrounded by wand tips.
"You'll regret this, Paul," Scarface hissed.
Seeing no way out, he shot Mick a venomous glare. After a moment's struggle, he gritted his teeth and pulled a small clay doll from his pocket.
"Engorgio."
The doll rapidly expanded, soon growing to human size.
Next, Scarface produced a glass sphere no bigger than a marble. Inside it floated a fully intact human brain—pink folds suspended in clear liquid.
With a pained expression, he shoved the brain into the clay doll's head. The blank face rippled, human features forming as though molded by invisible hands.
The doll looked like a middle-aged woman with closed eyes, peacefully asleep.
"Imperio."
He cast the spell effortlessly—on the doll.
The clay figure's eyes snapped open. It began to move, stiffly at first, then faster, until it was indistinguishable from a living person.
"Hurry up," Paul urged impatiently. "If the two groups outside finish fighting, we'll be exposed."
Scarface took a deep breath and directed the doll toward the stone bridge.
One step. Two steps.
Nothing happened.
Just as relief began to surface, golden-red flames erupted both in front of and behind the doll, surging inward.
Grinding his teeth, Scarface forced the doll forward, charging straight into the flames, hoping it could break through before being consumed.
It made it across.
But the fire didn't go out.
Yellow clay melted and dripped away, only to be baked into blackened chunks by the relentless flames.
At last, the fire reached the miniature brain inside the doll's head.
The doll froze instantly, standing still as it burned.
Scarface's face drained of color.
"My doll!" he screamed.
The clay body could be replaced—but the miniature brain was another matter entirely.
Its creation required a real human brain and a grotesquely complex process. It was pure, forbidden dark magic.
The success rate was abysmally low. Scarface had spent years creating just one.
That crime alone had earned him a wanted notice. With nowhere else to go, he had joined Paul out of desperation.
But even that was only temporary.
He, too, had planned to grab the treasure—and then flee the country for good.