After leaving the kitchen, Duanmu Huai and the others arrived at the library on the right side of the second floor. It was just as empty. The place looked calm enough—aside from scattered papers on the desk, nothing seemed particularly unusual.
"Alright, next we investigate here."
"Huh? Do we have to flip through all these books one by one?"
Hearing Duanmu Huai's order, Lorena looked astonished. Duanmu Huai rolled his eyes.
"Of course not. No need to make it that troublesome… We just need to check if there are any records. Diaries, handwritten notes—things like that. Or you can look at what kinds of books are on the shelves and judge whether the owner was mentally stable. Oh, and if you find any locked cabinets or drawers, just call me."
Although she didn't quite understand what he meant, Lorena nodded obediently and began searching. Duanmu Huai walked to the desk and pulled open a drawer.
After rummaging around for a moment—
He found a diary.
…Of course.
From this alone, it was highly likely that the owner of this house was already dead.
In this world, people who kept diaries either had problems and were writing their last words, or had guilty consciences and needed an outlet, or were meticulously recording conspiracies and schemes in detail—
After all, what kind of normal person keeps a diary?!
Sure enough, Duanmu Huai found clues and records inside.
At the beginning, the diary only recorded everyday trivialities. It was clear that this distant relative loved art, especially paintings. He traveled everywhere searching, hoping to discover the next Picasso… and had spent considerable effort acquiring oil paintings.
So far, nothing strange.
But when Duanmu Huai flipped to the middle, the content grew bizarre.
During one exhibition, the relative had overheard a group of artists discussing a man named "Cliff Pitt."
He was apparently a painter too, but no one appreciated his works. According to them, Cliff Pitt's paintings were sickly and terrifying. Simply looking at them filled viewers with an indescribable ugliness and discomfort.
Most people would've dismissed it as gossip.
But this relative was different.
He keenly sensed that Cliff Pitt might be a uniquely gifted painter. The reason those artists couldn't accept his work was because they were too conventional. That meant Cliff might be a master creating his own new school!
If he could collaborate with him, maybe he truly could discover the next Picasso!
…Picasso would probably jump out of his coffin hearing that.
In any case, after that, the relative developed a strong interest in Cliff. He tracked down his address and visited him, introduced himself, and expressed his desire to see Cliff's paintings. If possible, he was even willing to organize an exhibition for him.
Cliff warmly welcomed him.
And the relative finally saw the paintings described as "unsettling, cursed, depraved, disgusting, and ugly."
His reaction was fully recorded in the diary:
"I never imagined I would see such absurd yet terrifying paintings. I have always believed that painting is the expression of a painter's thoughts and visions. But the thoughts in Cliff's mind are like demons from the abyss of hell. His style is wildly surreal, yet shockingly realistic. They look like creatures that could only exist in delusions, yet feel as though they truly exist in reality. Just by looking at his paintings, I can almost smell the stench of the monsters within, and hear the scraping of their sharp claws against stone…"
The paintings deeply shocked him and indeed made him feel the "ugliness and nauseating evil" the other artists had mentioned.
If he had fled in terror, perhaps it would have ended there.
Unfortunately—
The man was stubborn.
Yes, he found the paintings ugly and revolting.
But this wasn't 1900—it was 2000.
In an era where death metal and heavy metal thrived, such grotesque works held promotional value. To him, they were marketable.
Like a record company executive who didn't necessarily enjoy deafening death metal—but knew it could sell and make money.
That was enough.
So he suppressed his discomfort and lavishly praised Cliff's work, offering to organize a solo exhibition to make him famous.
Cliff was ecstatic. He said he was currently working on a series of themed paintings. The relative promised that once the series was complete, he would hold the exhibition.
At that point, the matter paused.
As an art dealer, the relative couldn't focus solely on Cliff. He sent an assistant to help him and returned home to prepare for the exhibition.
But things grew stranger.
The first employee he sent fled back in less than a day, terrified, claiming he would never return to "that blasphemous heretic cultist's residence."
The relative didn't think much of it. He knew the "power" of Cliff's paintings wasn't something ordinary people could withstand.
So he sent a younger, seemingly more compatible assistant.
This one vanished entirely.
Then, when Cliff called to announce that the paintings were finished, the relative had no choice but to personally visit again.
"I cannot describe in words what I saw. That blasphemous horror—just recalling it makes me tremble. I cannot believe a human could create something so hateful, as though it emitted a spiritual stench of madness and deformity. For the first time, I questioned whether my decision was correct. Perhaps his peers were right—Cliff Pitt is a madman, a demon, a messenger from hell. Through canvas after canvas, he delivers indescribable curses and distortions upon humanity… Perhaps I should reconsider…"
Clearly, the visit deeply shook him. His handwriting even trembled.
In the end, he changed his plan.
Instead of immediately hosting a public exhibition, he decided to hold a small private viewing at his mansion—like a pre-screening before a film release. He would invite relatives and friends to preview Cliff's paintings, then decide whether to proceed.
The diary ended there.
Now Duanmu Huai understood why he had been invited.
But…
What kind of painting could terrify a seasoned art dealer like that?
He was admittedly curious.
"Sir Knight, did you find something?"
Lorena and the maid returned.
"Something interesting."
Duanmu Huai chuckled and summarized the diary's contents for them.
"So that Cliff Pitt is the culprit?" Lorena frowned.
"For now, that's the likely conclusion. But I'd like to see what kind of paintings could scare someone like this… Did you find anything?"
The maid shook her head.
Lorena spoke.
"I found some strange books in the shelves…"
Most were art books.
But one nearby shelf contained volumes about myths, legends, and demonology.
Seems after seeing Cliff's works, the relative had done some investigating of his own.
"Let's go see what Cliff painted."
Duanmu Huai closed the diary and handed it to the maid.
"According to this, he converted the entertainment room into a temporary exhibition hall. It's next door."
Exiting the study, Duanmu Huai looked toward the large door across the corridor.
That was the entertainment room.
According to the diary, it had been turned into a small gallery.
Inside would be the paintings that had terrified the art dealer out of his wits.
But the moment Duanmu Huai stepped into the corridor—
The lights dimmed.
The shadows cast by the furniture seemed to come alive. They writhed and twisted, coalescing into dark, wriggling tentacles that lunged toward them.
The corridor warped and deformed. The wooden floor pulsed and squirmed, accompanied by low, rhythmic thudding—like the insides of a living beast rather than an inanimate structure.
"Hmph."
Lorena froze in shock. The maid assumed a combat stance.
Only Duanmu Huai glanced coldly at the scene and snorted.
"Get lost!!!"
His roar echoed.
The dark tentacles recoiled instantly, fleeing even faster than they had attacked. In the blink of an eye, they vanished.
The warped corridor returned to normal.
"Sir Knight… was that…?"
"Yes. Stay sharp."
In this world, monsters and curses alone weren't especially powerful.
But reality itself constantly twisting—that was another matter.
During investigations, the barrier between reality and nightmare grew thin due to the influence of those unspeakable existences.
It often felt as if the world flipped over, revealing an incomprehensible inner side.
This was why a Reality Anchor was so important.
It was Duanmu Huai's main reason for participating in this collaboration mission.
Warp intrusion behaved much the same way.
A Reality Anchor could block the schemes of Chaos Gods trying to influence reality.
He crossed the corridor and reached the entertainment room door.
The black cat on his shoulder stared at it and growled low.
Duanmu Huai's eyes narrowed.
He shoved the door open.
Bang!!
The heavy wooden door slammed against the wall.
The noise startled the creatures lurking inside.
They leapt up in shock—
More ghouls!
Three of them.
Ragged clothes. Hoof-like feet. Dog-like heads.
They glared at Duanmu Huai and shrieked.
[The Ghoul Group has seen you!]
[Looking directly at you causes the ghouls to feel incomparable pressure. Their senses are distorted, dominated by unspeakable pain.]
[Ghoul A Fear Check — Failed!]
[It bites its lips, suppressing trembling knees, feeling like an ant before you.]
[Ghoul A loses 8 SAN!]
[Ghoul A falls unconscious!]
[Ghoul B Fear Check — Failed!]
[It cannot believe such a terrifying existence exists in this world!]
[Ghoul B loses 9 SAN!]
[Ghoul B enters Frenzy!]
[Ghoul C Fear Check — Failed!]
[It feels your terrifying aura about to crush its soul.]
[Ghoul C loses 8 SAN!]
[Ghoul C struggles desperately, unable to attack!]
Motherfucker, this damn system is itching for a beating, isn't it?!
Duanmu Huai's face darkened.
No time to complain.
He charged forward.
"All of you—attack!"
He smashed through tables and sofas, lunging at the frenzied ghoul.
He grabbed its head—
His thick fingers drove into its skull like iron spikes.
Then, like holding a bowling ball, he swung Ghoul B's head straight into the trembling Ghoul C.
Bang!!!
With a single blow, the two skulls collided and fused into a bloody mess of flesh and bone.
On the other side, Lorena sprinted forward, holy scripture raised high—
Smash.
A wet sound.
The unconscious ghoul was purified completely.
"Phew… alright."
After finishing off the three ghouls, Duanmu Huai stood up and shook the blood from his fist.
He looked around the room.
"Let's see… just how disgusting Cliff's paintings really are."
(End of Chapter)