He rose.
And headed towards the hidden path that ran along the wall, leading to the rear courtyard where he could enter unnoticed.
But after taking a few more steps along this narrow strip of land between the cliff and the thicket, Sai suddenly stopped.
Everything inside him tightened from an unexpected impulse—not fear, but a strange, cold contempt, as if an inner instinct was saying: Why are you sneaking? For what?
He looked at his hands—at the black gloves, at the revolvers hidden beneath his coat that seemed to breathe darkness.
He no longer hid.
He no longer fled.
He was not one who feared attention.
He took a breath—mechanical, unnecessary.
And turned, leaving the path to return to the open road.
If he was entering, he would enter openly.
The mist lay low, clinging to the ground as if trying to hold him back, delay him, dissuade him.
He walked straight, neither speeding up nor slowing his pace. Confidently. Straight towards the fortress's massive gates.
The dark walls loomed before him like the remains of a huge, long-dead monster that still retained its fangs. The stone was black, as if saturated with something ancient and heavy. In the cracks—a crimson light, slow, pulsating, as if something inside was breathing.
As he drew closer, Sai paused for a second—only long enough for the System to break into his consciousness, displaying a red line:
[Location detected: Fortress of Blood]
Threat Level: Critical
Advice: Leave the area immediately]
He blinked.
The System could say whatever it wanted.
But he was already at the gates.
Two massive doors towered over him, ten meters high, entwined with metal bands and chains, as if someone had sealed the entrance and then forgotten about it for a thousand years.
Nearby—faded flags, torn by claws. A symbol—a golden lily on a black-and-red background—had almost vanished.
When Sai touched the surface of the gates, the metal was cold, but not dead.
Beneath his fingers, he felt a faint, rhythmic vibration—the door seemed to be breathing.
He pushed.
The gates did not creak.
They did not resist.
They simply… parted.
As if the fortress itself had been waiting for him.
Cold air struck his face—the smell of old blood, damp stone, smoke, and something cloying, almost sweet.
Inside was semi-darkness—not complete, but strange, as if light filtered through an invisible veil.
He took a step inside.
The floor of black stone gleamed faintly, as if after rain. Sparse torches burned on the walls—the fire was not orange, but blood-red, as if someone had forced the flame to burn on blood.
The corridor was long, wide. His footsteps did not echo—the sound seemed absorbed by the walls.
A couple of times, he thought the stone was moving—but he was already accustomed to the darkness altering his perception.
He kept walking, not turning aside.
After ten minutes, the corridor began to widen. Arches appeared—each adorned with reliefs of creatures: vampires, shadows, unknown beasts.
Their eyes seemed alive.
But he ignored them.
Soon, the space fully opened up, transforming into a vast inner courtyard of the fortress.
The sky above was gray, but rays of light broke through the clouds, reflecting off the black walls.
Long staircases stretched across the courtyard, leading upwards to the central entrance of the main hall.
At the entrance stood stone statues of knights—two on each side. Their heads were bowed, their eyes hidden beneath visors, from which a dark liquid occasionally dripped.
Sai ascended the staircase.
Each step felt heavy not from fatigue—he did not tire—but from sensation. As if the air was pressing down on him.
When he reached the upper platform, the massive door to the main hall was slightly ajar.
He entered.
Here, the air was much denser.
The hall—enormous, with high ceilings, columns disappearing into darkness. On the floor—a red carpet, torn in several places. On the walls—paintings depicting scenes of hunting, war, feasts, but all the figures were strangely distorted, elongated, as if the artist hated those he painted.
Sai walked straight, towards the far end of the hall, where a staircase led to the upper chambers.
But he stopped.
He felt a gaze.
To the left, on the steps leading to a side gallery, sat a figure.
Leg crossed over leg.
Shoulders relaxed.
One hand held a cigarette, from which a thin, silvery smoke rose.
A girl.
White hair, long, spilling over her shoulders and back. Too white—as if snow had settled on silver.
Red eyes—calm, unblinking, like those of a creature that has no need to blink.
Skin—that same deathly white, but not pale. More like perfect, without a single flaw, like porcelain, only not cold, but seemingly alive.
She looked about sixteen, but the aura around her was… ancient.
Too ancient.
On a level where age holds no meaning.
The fingers holding the cigarette were slender, elegant, and her nails—dark as obsidian.
She sat not tensely, not lazily, but in the way beings sit who know: the entire world is their territory, and no one has the right to interfere.
She had been watching him for a long time—he only felt it now, as he drew close enough.
Sai stopped in the middle of the hall.
She slowly raised the cigarette to her lips, drew in the smoke, and exhaled, without looking away.
And her first gesture—not a word, not a sigh, not surprise—was a slight tilt of her chin: she seemed to assess him… and did not understand what he was.
He did not say the phrase "I'm not looking for trouble."
He did not say he came in peace.
He did not say anything banal.
He simply stood.
Watched.
And waited.
The girl finally spoke the first word:
— You… don't fit.
Her voice sounded young, but too confident, too calm, devoid of emotion.
Like a creature speaking not to a human, but to an unknown object.
She tilted her head slightly, as if comparing his image to something in her memory.
— And definitely… not human.
The cigarette crackled softly.
She flicked the ash onto the step with a snap of her fingers.
— Well then… — her gaze slowly lowered to his revolvers, then rose to his mask. — …interesting. Very interesting.
Sai remained silent.
She smiled—briefly, but sharply, like a blade.
— Welcome… stranger.
The smoke dissipated between them, and the fortress seemed to freeze in anticipation.