(First update of the day, asking for recommendations, bookmarks and shares)
Having been plagued by nightmares all night, Manda woke with a start to the soft strains of a harp.
He sat on a plush woolen carpet and gazed around by the dim light of a candle. He saw pale yellow walls, an arched ceiling, a fireplace with a flickering flame, and curtains billowing in the wind.
Everything was right before his eyes, yet felt so far away. It was an enormous hall, more than twice as spacious as the Baron's.
By the fireplace, a man was playing the harp. Manda could not make out his features, only the plain white robe he wore.
Whoever owned such a magnificent castle must be a noble, and no ordinary one at that.
Comparing this to Baron Cloudsail's brightly colored finery, such a simple garment seemed utterly out of place in this age.
Could he be an evil spirit from ancient times? Had he killed every soul that had entered the valley?
Manda stared at the man for a moment, then suddenly felt a sharp kick to his back.
"You uncouth fool, do not look directly at the Count."
It was her—the woman whose voice he remembered, the one who had choked him and flown him through the air, asking those bizarre riddles.
So she must be the Count's servant, and this Count, the master of the Valley of Malignant Mists.
Manda glanced over his shoulder from the corner of his eye. He saw the hem of the woman's dress, a pair of ashen gray bare feet, and a pair of elegant leather boots.
The dress belonged to the woman, the bare feet surely to Quinta. And the man in the leather boots—who was he?
What did they intend to do with him here?
His hands and feet were unbound, and he had been allowed to sleep soundly. It meant things were not entirely hopeless, and there might yet be a chance to live.
Manda forced himself to listen to the Count's playing. The Count was in high spirits, playing one melody after another. At the most moving parts, he would tap the harp's neck gently with his fingers, a look of narcissistic rapture that was almost unbearable to watch.
After fourteen pieces, the Count finally stopped playing and walked over to Manda. The three figures behind him stepped back in unison and bowed to the Count.
"The fourteen-stringed harp is such a thing of beauty, far surpassing the thirty-six-stringed one. Young man, lift your head and let me see your face."
Manda looked up at the Count. He was a middle-aged man of around fifty, with short brown hair, a long face, thick eyebrows, deep-set eyes and a high nose. His face was clean-shaven, not a hint of a beard in sight.
It was rare for a man of his age to go unbearded. If the followers of the Lord of Divine Wrath saw him, they would seize him as a heretic.
"What is your name?" the Count asked.
"Manda."
"Are you of the Cloudsail blood?"
"I am the Baron Cloudsail's son."
"So your name is Manda Cloudsail?"
Manda shook his head. "I am a bastard. I am not worthy of a family name."
"Why have you come here?"
"I struck my brother and sister. I could not bear their torment any longer."
"Poor child," the Count sighed. "Do you know the consequence of coming here?"
"My father told me that everyone who enters the valley dies."
The Count nodded. "This is a pact I made with the Cloudsail family, decades ago. No living soul has ever left this valley. Are you ready?"
Manda's lower lip trembled, his nose wrinkled, and tears splashed down his cheeks. He whimpered and cried like a terrified little boy.
It was a genuine cry. The Count exuded an aura of unrivaled authority that filled Manda with overwhelming dread.
At the same time, he activated the cheat ability in his right hand, feeling the hardness of his fingers carefully, ready to fight to the death.
The Count caught a strange scent. He studied Manda from head to toe, yet could not pinpoint where it came from.
This boy was truly special. Fear had awakened his power.
"Do not cry just yet. I can give you a chance to live, but you must answer every question I ask you honestly."
Manda nodded vigorously.
"Which god do you believe in?"
Manda's heart tightened. He thought again of the deadly warning from the original owner's memories—the Lord of Divine Wrath was the one true god.
Manda wiped away his tears and replied solemnly: "I believe in the all-knowing, all-powerful, great and sacred Lord of Divine Wrath."
As the words left his mouth, a cold chill swept through the room. Manda felt the temperature drop sharply, and the candlelight dimmed considerably.
The Count stared at Manda with a frigid expression. He was far from satisfied with the answer to his first question.
"Do you know whose divine blood flows in your veins?" the Count asked his second question.
Manda froze, then burst into ecstasy.
So that was why they had let him live—he had the blood of a god running through his body.
"Is what you say true?" Manda looked at the Count eagerly. "Do I truly have divine blood in me?"
The Count's face remained impassive. "What is there to be proud of?"
Manda stared in surprise. "Is this not something to be proud of?"
They stared at each other for a long time, and the Count was certain Manda was not lying.
The woman behind him let out a laugh. "What a foolish boy."
After a minute of silence, the Count also broke into a smile, and the temperature in the room slowly rose again.
"If I ask you to renounce your faith and become a follower of another god, will you agree? If you do, I will let you live."
Quinta's eyes widened in shock, and he thought to himself: "This is a disaster."
In his experience, the followers of the Lord of Divine Wrath were all tough as nails, especially children of this age, who had no grasp of the value of life.
As someone of such lowly status, Quinta should not have spoken at this moment, yet he plucked up his courage and whispered a word of advice: "You are so young. To live is more important than anything…"
His words died on his lips as Manda dropped to his knees with a thud, looking up at the Count. "It would be my greatest honor to follow you."
The turn of events was so sudden that Quinta could barely keep up with Manda's actions.
He was not the only one. The Count was also astonished. After a long pause, he spoke again: "Not follow me. Follow the god."
Manda changed his words at once: "It would be my greatest honor to follow the god."
The Count waved to the woman. "Sphinx, show him the true form of a god."
The woman walked over to Manda and slipped off her robe.
Loyalty rewarded at once—Manda admired the Count's magnanimity!
The woman stood with her back to the window. The backlight made it hard for Manda to see the details clearly.
It was agony!
Manda was about to take two steps forward when he saw the woman arch her waist back and lean forward. Tawny fur sprouted across her skin.
Manda stared in stunned silence. In the blink of an eye, her body had transformed into that of a beast—a powerful frame, a thick tail, heavy paws and sharp claws. She looked like a lion.
Yet she still retained her pretty face, contorted into an eerie smile.
The woman shrugged her shoulders, and the transformation was not yet complete. Her back arched, and a pair of wings sprouted from it.
The Sphinx! The monster from Greek mythology, whose tales Manda had read in his life before last.
My god—she is the god I am to believe in? Manda collapsed onto the floor, his mouth agape, unable to speak for a long time.
"The Sphinx has attained the full power of a god and been granted a divine artifact. She has earned the title of god," the Count returned to the harp and plucked the strings gently. "This is the true form of a god. I ask you again—will you renounce your faith?"
"I… I will." Manda gritted his teeth. To live, he could bear anything.
"Leander," the Count said to the man, "show him your form too."
The man who had stood silently at the back walked over to Manda. It was the first time Manda had seen his face.
He was a man in his thirties, with black hair, brown eyes, a pale, beardless face—extraordinarily handsome.
The man said nothing, his expression cold. It was clear he was reluctant, yet he dared not defy the Count's order.
He tilted his head to the left and rolled his shoulders. Another head suddenly sprouted from the right side of his neck. Manda scrambled back two steps in fright.
Then the man tilted both heads to the right, and a third head burst forth from the left side of his neck.
Manda could not hold back a cry of shock. But what happened next robbed him of even the strength to scream.
The three heads twisted at the same time. Their ears grew pointed, their brow ridges jutted out, their snouts elongated, and black fur sprouted thick and fast. In the blink of an eye, the three human heads had become three dog heads. The man dropped to the ground and transformed into a massive three-headed dog.
The Cerberus walked over to Manda, sniffed him, and licked his forehead.
The Count began to play the harp again. "Leander has gained the power of a god, but not yet a divine artifact—and thus has not earned the title of god. If I were to make you look like him, would you agree?"
"I wi—"
Wait a minute. Becoming their follower was one thing, but why transform into their likeness?
Manda stared at the Count in shock. The Count's eyes were fixed on the harp, yet two more eyes suddenly opened on his cheek, from forehead to jaw, and stared at Manda.
"Have you made your decision? Join us as a follower of Typhon!"
Typhon? Typhon again?
So it was not following them—it was becoming them. It seemed all followers of Typhon were turned into monsters.
"I ask you one last time—will you?" The Count's playing grew frantic, and the Cerberus bared its fangs at Manda.
The sphinx, with her human face and lion's body, walked around to Manda's back and said softly: "What always holds a shield, and the shield grows higher and higher?"
Manda wiped his deathly pale face and stammered: "I-It's a finger. The shield is the nail."
"You got it right. Again," the Sphinx said dejectedly. "I must die. I have no face left to live in this world!"
In the tales of the gods, the Sphinx would kill herself if someone answered her riddle correctly.
The Sphinx crashed through the castle's great doors and leaped out. Manda then saw that beyond the doors lay a bottomless cliff—the castle was built on a sheer precipice.
The Sphinx vanished in an instant. She had tried to kill herself once before, so Manda wondered if this time she would truly fall to her death. But in the next moment, she flew back up, snatched Manda by his clothes, and cackled madly: "Die with me!"
The Sphinx clutched Manda's clothes and plummeted into free fall. Manda's screams echoed through the valley: "I will! I will!"