The numbers didn't match.
That was what they all gradually realized when recalling the earlier conversation. Excluding the leader, there should have been only seven men—corresponding to seven voices.
Yet earlier, there had been as many as eight different sounds.
Because the group was large and speaking excitedly, and with the room so dim that it was hard to pinpoint exactly where each sound came from, none of them noticed the presence of an extra voice slipping in—no one except the leader, who had remained silent, listening.
In the brightly lit yet enclosed room, the group now felt a chill run down their spines. It was as if they were sitting in a deserted forest at midnight, with dangerous Magical Beasts lurking unseen, waiting to strike.
"What the hell happened? Where did that voice come from?" The bearded man asked in fear.
The leader, grave in tone, ordered:
"Each of you, repeat carefully what you said before. We'll trace which line belonged to whom—and find where that extra voice came from."
He turned to the thin man:
"You start."
Swallowing nervously, the gaunt man repeated his explanation about scouting the village.
Then the bald man and the bearded one echoed their earlier questions:
"Only one? What level?"
The dialogue continued, beginning with the reply of the thin‑framed man:
"I saw him hunting. He's about D‑rank."
"Perfect. He's no match for our leader."
"Even without the boss, two or three of us could take him."
"Three against one of equal rank? Coward."
"Idiot, that's called caution. Or do you want to fight him alone?"
"Good idea, let him solo."
"I'd like to see that."
The dialogue continued, each man repeating his words. But when they reached the line— "Better yet, let the bald bastard and the scar‑faced bastard fight first to see which of them is tougher." —no one claimed it.
"Who the hell said that?"
The bearded man asked in fear, but none of those present uttered a word.
The leader pressed: "Does anyone remember where that voice came from?"
The one‑eyed man: "Boss, I heard it from my left."
The scar‑faced man: "I heard it from my right."
The two men turned to look at each other. Between them, there was no third person seated.
Immediately, not only those two but everyone in the room instinctively shifted away from the space between the one‑eyed man and the scar‑faced man.
All of them stared uneasily toward that spot. Yet no matter how carefully they watched, they could not see anything unusual.
And not just there—the entire hideout chamber appeared as ordinary as ever.
But it was precisely that normalcy which was the greatest abnormality. For they had all heard the voice of a ninth man who did not exist.
"Wait… could it have been that shaggy bastard sneaking in to mess with us?"
The one‑eyed man suggested, referring to another gang member who was supposed to be on guard outside.
The others weren't convinced—the guard's voice was different from what they had heard.
Still, they decided to check outside, to be sure.
After all, they wanted to know whether the guard had seen anything attempting to infiltrate the hideout.
Following the narrow passage outward, the men at the front suddenly stopped and refused to move any further.
"What's going on?"
"Damn it, what the hell are you bastards doing?"
The man whose foot was stepped on cursed aloud.
Instead of advancing, the front men stepped back, trampling those behind.
"Damn it, what the hell are you doing?" someone cursed.
"There are statues. Lots of stone statues."
The men at the front answered, their voices trembling as they beheld the strange scene near the cave's entrance.
In the faint glow of several magic lamps, they saw dozens of statues scattered along the passageway.
They were arranged in various postures—some standing, some sitting, others lying upon the ground.
All of those statues shared the same form, seemingly that of a young boy.
Unlike the earlier voice, which had no tangible presence, the sudden appearance of these statues was the clearest proof that something abnormal was unfolding here.
"Where did they come from? When did they appear?"
"Don't shove."
"You go first."
"Hell no, you go."
"Where's the shaggy bastard? What happened here?"
Chaos rose again.
"Don't retreat. Keep moving forward and get out of here."
The leader commanded.
Because of his authority, the rest of them, though fearful and uneasy at the sudden appearance of the stone statues, continued forward.
Since the statues blocked the way, each man had to keep twisting and squeezing past them to reach the outside.
"Why don't we just smash them?"
Annoyed by the statues blocking the way, the one‑eyed man suggested.
Hearing that, the others immediately rejected the idea:
"Don't start trouble—just hurry the hell up."
But then, they quickly fell silent, choking on their words as the scene unfolded.
The one‑eyed man who had suggested smashing the statues suddenly had his back pierced by the stone hand of a statue standing beside him.
Taking advantage of the darkness and blind spots, the statue snatched away his life before he could react.
Fresh blood gushed out, flooding the narrow passage with its unmistakable stench.
Terror instantly spread among those nearby who witnessed the scene.
"What happened? I smell blood."
One of them asked, his voice uncertain.
"The one‑eyed guy is dead—killed by a statue."
"Then what are you waiting for? Hurry up and smash—"
Before he could finish, the man with the sharp gaze was suddenly attacked by a statue.
Even though they saw the statue strike, the attack was too close and too fast.
He had no time to dodge or defend and took the blow directly to his chest.
The sound of bones breaking rang out, followed by the thud of his body crashing against the stone wall.
With a faint groan escaping his lips, he quickly breathed his last.
"Another one's been killed."
"It seems the statues will attack anyone who tries to harm them."
Those nearby, having witnessed the scene, immediately voiced their suspicions and warned the others.
Those moving among the statues, now aware that the figures around them could attack, were filled with dread.
They forced themselves to move faster, desperate to escape as quickly as possible.