“Hah, look what I’ve found? A hidden secret door.” Footsteps echoed in the empty ancient castle, followed by the sound of something being dragged.
“Cough cough cough cough cough! So much dust!” West bent down, coughing violently as the dust assaulted his face, his eyes watering. Once his vision cleared, he saw a black hole of an entrance revealed by the opened underground secret door, with stairs winding down.
“Ah, it’s a basement!” he exclaimed excitedly.
This immediately grabbed the attention of the others.
Steele had just arrived, and saw West unhesitatingly stepping down the stairs, a puzzled look crossing her face. Why did it feel like this guy’s enthusiasm and eagerness had increased greatly ever since he found the sapphire?
...Among the four of them, the useless vase Ella was still immersed in the script, still playing the frightened damsel in distress, being comforted by Andre all the way, practically forcing a sweet couple subplot.
...In comparison, West’s style was that of a detached explorer – he had already searched several rooms in this short time, always able to discover details in obscure corners – most likely because the production team had given him a script, but his level of action was still excessive.
She had joined this show only for the money the production team offered, but ended up being dragged around by this guy, her physical strength almost depleted. This was really... unnecessary effort! Was he trying to complete the three-day search task in a single day?
Despite her frantic inner monologue, Steele still obediently followed, entering the dark underground passage, not forgetting to call the affectionate couple behind to catch up.
“Andre, I’m fine now, let’s hurry and catch up with West, he must have found something...” The pale-faced Ella tugged at her boyfriend’s hand, giving him a shy smile.
Previously she had been truly frightened, but now, after so long, she had calmed down and reasonably deduced that the eerie image in the mirror was likely a magic trick arranged by the production team, just something not covered in the script she had, which is why she had been so unprepared.
Thinking she had figured out the truth, she regained her composure, but also realized her previous performance was probably not good, allowing West and the others to hog the cameras and the spotlight.
And this hidden underground room before them was obviously another special scene with important props and mechanisms arranged by the production team – she couldn’t let West and the others continue to monopolize the screen.
Andre responded with a sound, genuinely relieved.
...He was really tired of continuing to be mushy with Ella. If it wasn’t for maintaining his image as a good boyfriend, he would have long since been impatient in comforting this girlfriend who kept acting out crying scenes endlessly. How much time had this wasted, how many of his own scenes had it squandered?
Therefore, the moment Ella said she was fine, he didn’t even bother to act and ask a few more questions, a look of relieved lightness flashing in his eyes, as he quickly pulled Ella and rushed into the underground room –
“Huh? This seems to be a painting studio?”
As soon as the two entered the underground room, they were stunned by the scene before them.
The empty underground room was strewn with sheets of paper, some blank, some smeared with colorful paints. The surrounding walls were also covered in paint, and in the corner of one wall, there was a childish scribble that looked like a hand dipped in paint – three stick figures, a large one and two smaller ones, holding hands, seemingly a small family of three.
In front of this childish scribble, there was a wooden easel set up on the open ground. Since it was facing away from the entrance to the underground room, from their angle, they could only see the back of the wooden easel.
West and Steele, who had arrived at the underground room first, were now standing next to the easel, seeming to be looking down at something. They were standing motionless, their expressions indistinct.
Andre and Ella curiously walked over. “What are you two looking at—” Their expressions also froze.
On the tilted easel was a sheet of pure white paper, the four corners pinned to the easel by rusted nails stained with blood-red. The paper had a warm, delicate luster.
In the center of the paper was an unfinished portrait, only the man’s head and neck rendered, the lower part left as blank space.
The open paint boxes and brushes were placed beside the easel, the wet paint inside them still hazy, as if the artist had just stepped away from the painting studio for a moment.
—And the person in the painting was clearly Andre.
In an instant, Andre’s pupils trembled uncontrollably, and he unconsciously took several steps back, as if the monster in the painting would pounce out and devour him the next second.
His movements were too sudden, accidentally knocking over a stack of paper beside him, the sheets scattering like butterflies. Amid the expanse of blank pages, a few colorful sheets were faintly revealed. The keen-eyed West was the first to crouch down and turn over the blank papers, revealing the full extent of the colored pages.
A beautiful woman with brilliant golden hair and spring-like eyes; a short-haired, capable-looking woman; and a similarly golden-haired man, his expression much more solemn.
The subordinate standing before him involuntarily shuddered, nearly saluting him on the spot, ready to accept punishment.
With the revival of spiritual energy, increasingly more extraordinary events can be expected in the future. The importance of the Special Case Investigation Team is self-evident. Clear-sighted people can see that this department will rise to prominence in the new era, coveted by the royal family, the cabinet, and the parliament. For Chandler to sit in this position, his background must be formidable.
—Everyone knows his backing comes from the military forces.
And the subordinate currently reporting the situation to him was hand-picked by Chandler from his own subordinates in the military, so he was well aware of this superior officer’s decisive and ruthless style.
—He was known in the military as an iron-fisted disciplinarian, always advocating strict and cruel management of the troops, never allowing soldiers to have the slightest disobedience, or they would face even harsher punishment. For him, all subordinates only needed to obediently follow orders and resolutely carry out their missions, without any of their own will or opinions.
Seeing his expression now, this poor subordinate knew this was a precursor to the officer’s impending wrath. After all, he was someone who often punched his subordinates at the slightest disagreement.
The frightened subordinate answered cautiously, “This, General, is truly all we have.”
Seeing that he was about to be on the receiving end of an iron fist, he hurriedly explained, “As you know, the Green Region was bombed several times in the past, at one point becoming a war zone and an area occupied by the Allied Forces. Even after we drove out the Allied Forces, that place was practically in ruins. If the rumors about the Cursed Painting are true, then that painting was created at least 60-70 years ago. The painter was not famous, just an obscure figure from decades or even nearly a century ago, and even their household registration records have been destroyed. How can we find out anything more?”
Chandler pondered this, his expression softening a bit.
The poor subordinate let out a long sigh of relief, immediately striking while the iron was hot. “Moreover, the prominent local nobility have all died out. The barbaric Allied Forces burned down their castles and plundered the treasures passed down for generations by the nobility. What historical records about the local area could we possibly reference?”
After saying this in one breath, he heard the officer in front of him let out a cold laugh, each word like a sharp blade. “So, you can’t provide any useful information at all, and all you know are those ridiculous rumors heard from the production team, whose truthfulness is unknown. Do you expect me to report to my superiors that our Investigation Team plans to rely on these folk tales to analyze the situation and formulate a plan to deal with the evil spirit?”
“No no no, of course not,” the trembling subordinate stammered fearfully, “I haven’t had a chance to report to you yet, but someone has proactively reached out to us, claiming they can help resolve this anomalous incident.”
“Hmm?” Chandler was momentarily surprised. “Go on.”
“...Just an hour ago, someone contacted us through the Extraordinary Forum. They didn’t reveal their real identity, but clearly explained the general origins of the Cursed Painting, and said they could provide us with clues to solve the evil spirit problem—if we were to purchase the information they have. I couldn’t make a decision on this rashly, so I had to report it to you, sir, for you to decide.”
“They can only provide clues? Are they a lucky recipient of a fortuitous encounter, or a remnant of the extraordinary from the old era?” Chandler’s sharp blue-gray eyes gleamed with a hint of brilliance.
In any case, as long as the other party didn’t have the audacity to lie and deceive the Investigation Team, at least they could provide information about the mysterious supernatural world, which was exactly what the team needed.
He unhesitatingly spoke up. “Accept their offer.”
Soon, Chandler received the files from the other party.
This included the background of the creation of “Sabbath,” and more importantly, information about the flourishing extraordinary world in the West, something the Investigation Team had never known before.
They were a group of extraordinaries who had long since disappeared from history. Even the person providing the information only knew so much.
Chandler read from beginning to end, his gaze slightly brightening.
“...Spirit Forgers?” he murmured, “The Cursed Painting called ‘Sabbath’ is the work of the Spirit Forgers?”
Since it was the work of the Spirit Forgers, then they must know how to deal with it, even if they weren’t the creators of that particular painting. Their power system was of the same origin, so they would be better equipped than the completely inexperienced team.
So now, what they needed to do was seek the help of the Spirit Forgers?
But according to the informant, the Spirit Forgers as a group had vanished from the world nearly a century ago, likely having completely died out in the Age of the Decline of the Dharma, turning to dust of the past era.
Chandler suddenly felt a headache coming on. It was as if he had just found the answer to a problem, only to discover that the answer was now hopelessly blurred.
Where could he possibly find a Spirit Forger to deal with this evil spirit?
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