"I’m not interested."
Daniel replied via soul transmission, his voice cold and laced with caution.
Kafka, however, didn’t seem the least bit bothered by Daniel’s guarded demeanor. Instead, he let out a soft laugh—one that echoed directly inside Daniel’s mind.
"There’s no need to be so tense, my friend. In this land of eternal silence, meeting someone capable of communication is cause for celebration."
"I’ve been observing you for quite some time."
Kafka continued speaking without pause.
"You’ve been collecting those unconscious fragments of soul. It must be for some special purpose, yes?"
Daniel didn’t respond. He merely looked at Kafka silently, waiting for him to continue.
Kafka raised his hand, pointing toward the drifting masses of translucent souls in the distance.
"Those are merely the dust of this land—insignificant and scattered. The real treasure isn’t here."
"Oh?" Daniel finally showed a flicker of interest. "And what treasure are you talking about?"
"Soul Stones," Kafka said, his tone taking on a note of solemnity.
"They’re special crystals formed from the highest purity of soul energy, compressed and condensed over tens of thousands of years."
"For souls like us—those who still retain consciousness—Soul Stones are essential for sustaining our existence."
Daniel’s mind stirred.
Soul Stones... They were precisely the kind of material he needed right now.
"Why are you telling me this?" Daniel asked. He didn’t believe for a second that a long-dead monarch would reveal such secrets out of simple goodwill.
"Because I need a partner," Kafka finally revealed, his gaze sincere.
"I know of a Soul Stone mine—a rich vein of it. But the place is guarded. Powerful protectors stand watch, and I can’t approach it alone."
He looked at Daniel, eyes full of hope.
"Your soul is powerful—extraordinary, even. Far beyond anything I’ve seen here. If we join forces, we can claim those Soul Stones."
"All I ask is thirty percent—just enough to maintain my presence. The remaining seventy percent is yours."
Daniel said nothing for a moment, weighing Kafka’s words carefully.
His Eye of Insight reported no signs of deception.
And the Soul Stones... they were indeed tempting.
An ancient king dead for nearly two millennia, a mine full of Soul Stones, powerful guardians shrouded in mystery—everything about this place was becoming more intriguing by the minute.
"How can I be sure you won’t stab me in the back?" Daniel asked bluntly, cutting to the heart of the matter.
Kafka, unfazed, spread his hands openly.
"I have no proof to offer. I can only swear by the honor I once held as the King of Humanity. And besides, with your power, even if I tried something, I’d only end up humiliating myself."
There was a raw honesty in his voice.
Daniel studied him for a moment, then slowly nodded.
"Fine. I’ll accept your proposal."
"But first, I want you to answer one question."
"What do you know about the Book of Souls?"
The moment the words left Daniel’s lips, Kafka’s expression twisted as if he’d seen a ghost—which, considering their current states, was ironically appropriate.
His translucent face was suddenly full of dread.
"Are you mad?! Do you want to be punished?!"
"The Book of Souls isn’t something we should even speak of—let alone inquire about! It’s—"
Before he could finish, the space beside them warped violently.
In an instant, two cloaked figures appeared.
They were draped in heavy black robes, with oversized hoods that completely obscured their faces. No flesh was visible—only the shadowed abyss within their hoods.
Each carried a massive, bone-white scythe in one hand.
The moment they arrived, the stillness of the Undead Lands changed.
The air grew cold. Heavier. As though the entire space had been pressed beneath a blanket of dread.
Daniel’s Eye of Insight triggered automatically.
[Name: Soul Enforcer]
[Level: 100]
[Role: Enforcer of Order – Undead Lands]
[...]
Level one hundred.
Daniel’s eyes narrowed with surprise, though his expression remained unchanged. After all, Kafka was only level twelve—a mere shadow of his former glory.
He didn’t move, instead calmly assessing the two newcomers.
One of the Soul Enforcers slowly raised his head. From beneath the darkness of his hood, a pair of invisible eyes seemed to lock onto Daniel.
Then a voice—cold, mechanical, completely devoid of emotion—echoed through the depths of Daniel’s and Kafka’s souls.
"You have violated the laws of the Lord of the Undead Lands."
Kafka’s soul form trembled violently.
He instinctively drifted backward several paces, trying to put distance between himself and Daniel. His voice broke into a whimper:
"It wasn’t me! It was him! He’s the one who mentioned that forbidden name—it has nothing to do with me!"
But the Soul Enforcers didn’t even acknowledge his plea.
One of them slowly raised his massive scythe.
Dark violet energy coiled along the blade, wisps of black mist twisting around it like serpents.
The entire energy of the surrounding space began to funnel toward that blade.
Daniel narrowed his eyes, already preparing to strike if needed.
But what happened next was completely unexpected.
The scythe came down in a flash of raw destruction—but not toward Daniel, the one who had spoken the taboo name.
It struck Kafka.
"NO—!"
Kafka let out a scream of pure spiritual agony.
He tried to move, to flee—but the overwhelming pressure had frozen his soul in place. He couldn’t even twitch.
The scythe sliced cleanly through him, leaving a trail of translucent fragments in its wake.
A soft ripping sound—like cloth being torn—filled the space.
Kafka’s soul was instantly torn apart, his once-vivid outline now faded and tattered.
His figure grew hazy, unstable—on the verge of vanishing entirely.
He curled inward, wracked with unspeakable pain. Soul pain—it was far worse than anything a physical body could ever endure.
Yet even more powerful than the pain was his shock. And fury.
He looked up, his blurred features twisted in disbelief and rage.
"WHY?!"
"Why me?!"
"It was him! He’s the one who said it! He broke the rule!"
The Soul Enforcer who had struck him slowly retracted his weapon.
His hood turned toward Daniel, as if evaluating him.
After a moment of silence, the cold mechanical voice once again echoed through the air.
The reply was for Kafka. And it shattered him.
"He has privileges."
"His actions do not constitute a violation."
Kafka went completely still.
The last remnants of defiance in his spirit faded away—replaced by blank incomprehension.
And just like that, the once-mighty king of a long-forgotten age drifted silently in the violet air, more ghost than soul.