Byrne was deeply perplexed by the final page written by the quill in the light screen.
"Strange. Why is there an extra sentence? Did I miss it before, or was this line deliberately erased later?"
Just then, the images in the light screen vanished. According to the settings of the Live-Action Video Camera, a single playback lasted only five minutes, and the time had just run out.
Tsk, what a hassle.
Byrne grumbled and adjusted the needle on the dial once more. Soon, the light screen reactivated.
In the projection, Tim—who had just released the quill—shuddered violently. His dilated pupils finally refocused. He blinked, cracked his stiff neck, and looked down at his right hand. The bone-chilling cold hadn't fully dissipated, and the purplish-blue veins beneath his skin still throbbed with a dull ache, as if countless worms were writhing inside.
Tim panted heavily, cold sweat dripping from his forehead and soaking his hair. Everything that had happened after he grasped the pen was too absurd, like a twisted nightmare. But the sharp pain in his wrist and the lingering whispers in his ears told him this was no dream.
"What... what just happened?" Tim murmured. He turned his gaze toward the notebook.
While he was being controlled, his consciousness had been squeezed into a narrow crevice; he could only vaguely perceive the outside world and had no idea what he had written. Now that he was awake, the distorted handwriting came into view, each word exuding an unspeakable eeriness.
[Tim, put the iron box in the storage room, and your task will be complete.]
When he saw this sentence at the end of the last page, he was stunned. The reason for his bewilderment wasn't that the sentence was eerie or hard to understand. On the contrary, he found the task too blunt and far too simple.
That's... that's it?
When he took this private job three days ago, he felt that the reward of five hundred silver coins would be hard-earned. Especially after just experiencing the horror of a quill pen controlling his hand to write. But now, the final task given by the notebook was merely to place the iron box in Old Anton's storage room?
He had lived here for over two months and saw that storage room every day. In his eyes, it was a room as ordinary as they came, without even a proper lock. The mysterious Boss wanted him to leave the box containing that magical quill there. To Tim, this was no different from throwing it onto the street.
Tim stared at the handwriting and whispered, "Is it really that simple?"
Next, Byrne saw Tim sitting blankly on the bed like a man who had lost his soul.
"Don't overthink it. It's just placing an object. Once it's done, I get the money, and my sister's illness can be treated."
After a while, having made his decision, Tim stood up abruptly. He clutched the iron box to his chest and walked out of the room.
As Tim left the bedroom, the line of text at the end of the open notebook on the nightstand vanished into thin air. Then, the entire notebook flipped shut on its own with a snap, despite there being no wind.
Seeing this, Byrne wore an expression of realization.
"It's just as I thought. That final line was deliberately erased by the Boss. A pity I still don't know his identity."
Having seen Tim's actions before heading to the storage room, Byrne put away the camera and went back down to the first floor. Old Anton was still sprawled on the sofa, unconscious, his brows furrowed and the corners of his mouth twitching as if trapped in an uneasy nightmare.
Heh, this old man can really sleep.
Byrne shook his head helplessly and looked back at the storage room in the corner of the living room. Tim had entered and exited with the box, only to be consumed by the blood-colored symbol on the door. Now, having seen the events in the bedroom, Byrne was certain that the iron box—or more precisely, the quill inside it—was the key factor in Tim's disappearance.
Earlier, when Byrne used psychic threads to probe the room, he only sensed the interstitial energy of the spatial folds and couldn't see the iron box at all. Since it was daytime and safe to enter, he wanted to try replaying the situation in the storage room after Tim placed the box.
Byrne stepped into the storage room and adjusted the time. A pale blue light screen spread out, completely covering the interior. The image was blurry at first but sharpened within seconds, showing the scene after Tim's disappearance. The entire storage room was empty save for the iron box resting on the floor.
Initially, the box remained unchanged, lying quietly on the ground. Even when Byrne heard the sounds of Tim being murdered outside through the audio feedback of the screen, the box showed no reaction.
Byrne waited for five minutes until the projection faded, but nothing changed. Unwilling to give up, he adjusted the time again. After several consecutive adjustments, reaching roughly one hour after Tim's disappearance, the box finally changed.
In the light screen, the box on the floor vibrated slightly. The frequency increased rapidly, and the amplitude grew. As the shaking intensified, wisps of purple mist began to seep from the gaps in the lid.
This mist was much denser than what had radiated from Tim's corpse. As soon as it appeared, it flowed along the grain of the floorboards, spreading across the room like vines. Wherever the purple mist passed, the smooth wooden floor developed fine cracks, and the walls took on a grey, decayed hue, as if rapidly eroded by time.
Light refracted at bizarre angles within the purple mist. In the previously empty corners, overlapping shadows faintly emerged, as if another space were overlapping with this one.
The purple mist thickened, gradually converging into a small vortex in the center of the room. The vortex spun faster and faster, and the space at its center distorted until it formed a tiny black dot, like a miniature black hole. The iron box was not far from the vortex.
Finally, the lid could no longer withstand the pressure and popped open. The dark golden quill drifted out and flew toward the purple vortex. Just as it approached, it halted abruptly. A single eye suddenly emerged from the middle of the pen's barrel. This eye stared at the vortex, seemingly waiting for something.
Before long, the purple vortex twisted into the shape of a human face. The face formed of mist lacked clear contours, with the mist constantly flowing across its features. As soon as it formed, the face spoke to the quill:
"Apostle of Lies M, you must find the Child of Prophecy."