"I hope you’re fully aware of what you’re saying."
Muska’s voice was icy cold, and as he spoke, the pressure he released once again intensified. A crisp cracking of bones sounded within, and the young man before him was visibly unable to withstand such power.
It seemed he might break at any moment.
"Enough. Acting this way as a Fourth Tier Transcendent—is it something to be proud of?"
"Besides, your approach does nothing to solve the problem."
A mist floated in from the window, and as it touched the ground, it transformed into a stunningly beautiful woman with an alluring figure.
She appeared to be around 30 years old and showed no intention of hiding her Transcendent identity. Her neck, wrists, and ankles were adorned with silver-toned accessories.
Her fair face bore intricate dark patterns, whose hues shimmered faintly as she spoke and breathed.
Roger gave her only a fleeting glance before turning away. In truth, this woman had even preceded them in arriving at the castle.
Yet, she seemed cautious and had refrained from revealing herself earlier.
"When did she get here?" Amanda furrowed her brows. "This woman is named Viola. I’ve merely heard others mention her name—she’s a loner, and almost no one knows her origins."
"But rumors say her strength is extraordinary."
In Everworld, Cultivators mastered the use of Spiritual Power to an incomprehensible degree, whereas Western Transcendents tended to extend their abilities into more varied and peculiar applications.
There were often some strange and unusual usages.
But Roger wasn’t concerned about this. His absolute strength had already reached the threshold of the Fourth Tier, as long as he could see through the abilities of his opponent.
After that, the difference would merely be one more strike or one less.
Because of this, during this outing, he even planned to keep Black Moon concealed the entire time.
Roger had personally experienced the sheer power of that weapon.
Muska seemed to recognize Viola’s identity as well. He gave her a quick glance, saying nothing, but the pressure he emitted noticeably began to ease.
Viola approached the young man and stretched out her hand. A mist enveloped the young man kneeling on the ground.
Soon, as the mist dissipated, the injuries on the young man’s body had already healed for the most part.
"Tell us the details of what happened."
The young man lifted his head, subtly scanning the group.
"For the past few decades, my father has rarely left the castle. But recently, his once-stagnant power made a breakthrough, so I decided to live here long-term."
"One night, I suddenly woke up from a deep sleep. When I opened my eyes, I saw a dark figure standing by my bed."
"Startled, I instinctively launched an attack, but almost immediately, a massive hand pinned me down forcefully!"
"Then, I saw that horrifying face in the darkness up close."
"His strength was overwhelming. I had no chance to resist. After a brief struggle, I blacked out."
"The next day, when I awoke, my bed had collapsed, and the walls around me were riddled with cracks."
Marco let out a sigh. "But when I confronted my father, he seemed completely unaware of this incident."
Upon hearing this, Amanda cast a discreet glance at Roger, her eyes filled with unmistakable worry, as a similar experience had once happened to her.
Except it happened while she was in Kaer Morhen. She had seemingly intended to leave the castle, but as she reached the edge of the Mist, she fell into complete disarray.
When her consciousness returned, she had lost all memory of that period.
Such an experience was enough to strike terror in anyone’s heart.
Marco continued recounting. "I told my father everything and showed him the damaged room and the wounds on my neck."
"Afterward, his power steadily increased, yet strange events began happening more often. However, aside from that one unconscious attack on me, the rest were incredibly unusual."
"To uncover the truth, I secretly hid and tried to shadow his movements."
"Oddly enough, he seemed like an entirely different person—he was filled with childlike wonder for this world, like someone unfamiliar marveling at new surroundings."
As Marco recalled those moments, he said, "It was then that I began to suspect—the soul residing in my father’s body was no longer his own."
"But I have no idea where he has gone."
"And then?" Viola asked.
"You mentioned he died. Where is the corpse?"
Marco sighed. Thanks to Viola’s healing, he was now able to stand, though the skin around his knees still hadn’t fully recovered.
Nonetheless, Marco’s exceptional regenerative ability was evident, as Roger could see tender new flesh budding around the wound.
"Aside from the few of us here, who else have you invited?"
A low, rumbling voice came forth.
It was from a burly man who had been silently standing beside Muska.
This man had arms and thighs almost the same width, but despite his imposing physique, his height left much to be desired.
This made him look like a mountain of flesh, his movements slightly comical.
"You may call me Manu." The stout man glanced at Muska. Though his gaze was deep, the flickering emotions within his eyes felt oddly familiar.
Clearly, Muska was the Dragonborn, while Manu was the ally—his appearance in such circumstances proved the closeness of their association.