Then, silence takes place beyond the door, either from getting abruptly cut off by an unknown adversary or having their throats slit open. Shortly after, a series of banging vibrates across the door.
"H-help! Help! Someone!" Amidst the relentless banging, a familiar voice pierced through the air, reaching Märchen's ear.
Though the pleading for help was muffled by the distance, he recognized the faint voice immediately. It was one of his party members' voices, who took the role of an apothecary.
Märchen didn't halt his movement, yet his thoughts unconsciously drifted to the apothecary, whom she had ties with his childhood, Bleflir.
She was a short and spirited woman with a passion for witchery, which she had learned from an elf who was the party's only genuine mage, Sirce.
Märchen closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh before opening them, his expression bitter. Only when Märchen stood beside the door—the one screaming for help—did it strangely notice him approaching, her tone laced with an unusual elation and unhinged sense of familiarity.
"Märchen? Is that you?" Märchen widened his eyes, his emotions stirred slightly, pausing briefly before pushing himself forward.
"Aha! I knew it! It was you! Wait, this isn't the time for a chat! Märchen! Please open the door immediately! Hurry! Something terrifying is chasing me!" After briefly pausing to listen, Märchen continued, leaving his "childhood friend" behind.
The voice behind the door's tone became desperate, trembling as if she was on the verge of tears. "Märchen? Märchen! What're you doing? Please! Help me! Ah… Ah!!!" At that moment, the sickening noises of flesh tearing and bone snapping erupted inside, and a pool of blood seeped beneath from the door.
Almost like a cold-blooded murderer, Märchen remained unfazed. His expression was blank yet there was something eerily terrifying about it.
Suddenly, the gory sounds halted, and the voice of Bleflir emerged, giggling as was tinged with a twisted sense of joy and triumph."You. Have. Responded."
A chill ran through Märchen's skin at the comment, but he remained silent, knowing he had yet to truly respond to it. Throughout the ordeal, all he did was quietly harbor his anger and resentment toward it, with no responsive actions being made.
As he walked away, he suddenly heard a low creak behind him. Märchen lifted his eyelids widely as he slowly turned his body halfway to the door.
It had opened on its own, revealing a room swallowed in the viscous darkness that seemed to repel light itself.
Then, a long, exposed arm with blueish-dark veins extended out and gently squelched on the floor, rippling the pool of blood below.
Märchen retracted his head, his expression teetered in the depths of fear, and he attempted to grab the hilt of his damaged yet still useful sword. But he suddenly remembered the doll's words: you must not respond to it completely.
Trembling, he slowly withdrew his arm and went on, ignoring the monster behind him. He knew that he had yet to respond because, just like the other doors, this too was an illusion, designed to deceive him into taking action against it.
He knew that drawing his sword was useless because not only it might be considered a "response", but also because, as implied by the doll, it was too dangerous and time-consuming for him to handle.
This is why the doll emphasized the word "completely!"
Hence, he will just walk it off as though there were no oddities present.
"…"
As he moved away, nothing truly happened.
"Phew." Indeed, it was just an attempt to lure him into responding. At this moment, Märchen wanted to express his gratitude for the doll's warning and instructions.
If not for her, Märchen wouldn't have reached the door with the Bleflir's voice.
…
As time passed and he ignored some doors that were pleading for a response, he finally saw the large double doors that the doll had vaguely described.
With his sharp eyesight, he could make out flora-like designs etched into the glistening brown surface, crowned by an arch above.
Märchen eventually stood before the double doors and tilted his head towards their direction. Another hallway came into view, ending with a large doorway that spanned nearly the entire width and height of the hall.
Beyond the doorway lay a grand library, its towering shelves archiving an immense collection of books. Each shelf was spaced 5 meters apart, creating wide passageways between them. Resting along the brown-marbled floor near the entrance were rows of long, polished tables, each surrounded by plain yet finely carved chairs.
The whole space was bathed in bright light from the large golden chandeliers, regal by design, hanging gracefully across the flat, marbled ceiling.
As Märchen approached the excessively massive doorway, he noticed that he was walking at a speed that was incredibly abnormal for a person with a mutilated leg, especially without one's support.
Although the distance he covered per second was not that great, the sight of him walking with the aid of the sheath of his sword, displaying no signs of weariness as though it didn't have any injuries, was strikingly impressive.
He couldn't deny the apparent and itchy discomfort in his right leg, however. But its movement shows as if it had been completely healed, albeit still clumsy from the injury.
"I-Incredible! Such vitality isn't something that a normal human should possess… Could this be the so-called 'miracle', or even… perhaps a blessing?" Märchen muttered, impressed by his own endurance. He couldn't help but agree with the doll's previous compliment regarding his resilience.
Then, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—perhaps a deity had taken pity on him and bestowed a boon that enabled him to live longer.
Märchen was certainly not that pious, yet he occasionally found himself praying or believing in a higher power during specific situations, especially those that involved life and death.
Shaking his head, he gradually approached the doorway. Its frame was just as splendid as the palac—no, the mansion's structures, with various intricate designs and unknown symbols etched across the teal surface of it.
Without hesitation, he strode through the doorway, his entire figure casting a long shadow behind. Only once inside did he glance over his shoulder, staring at the now-distant double doors, which seemed smaller from where he stood.
After a few seconds, Märchen felt an ethereal, buzzing chime akin to a bell, almost too distant yet near, resounded in his head.
Clutching his head with both hands as his countenance distorts slightly, he watched as an illusory, transparent barrier simultaneously erected across the doorway, sealing off the space from the rest of the halls.
With each toll of the "bell," the lofty halls shook. The golden glow from the silver chandeliers and tall candelabras flickered sporadically and died one by one, plunging the entire halls in shadows.
How sinister… This place is almost like a haunted castle… Märchen's mind wanders if he had wasted 8 seconds during the trek, would he have been dismantled in half by the barrier, or would he be bounced out from the library, leaving him nothing but to face the hidden dangers that Mrs. Doll warned him to avoid it entirely?
The idea alone left him shuddering.
Without daring to touch the resplendent yet transparent barrier, a figure appeared near the double doors, at the far-left edge of the hall.
It held a gas lamp that radiated a blue glow, softly accentuating the figure's shadow. It appeared to have a receding hairline with unremarkable facial features, dressed in a butler's attire—a white-collared linen shirt beneath a pale red vest, paired with black trousers.
The figure, almost as if sensing him, turned his head at Märchen beyond the lofty doorway. Smiling, it briefly waved its free hand to Märchen before returning to whatever task he had been engaged in.
"…" Märchen contemplated whether this was the hidden danger that the doll firmly warned him to avoid. "Well, looks can be very deceiving since I'm already inside." He shrugged it off as he turned back to the library while the faint 'chiming' reverberating magnificently around him.
Märchen took a cautious step forward, his hands brushing the clean surface of the tables, merely avoiding the chairs. After a while, he went to one of the passageways, rows of books towering above him, untouched yet strangely recent.
As he rummaged through some shelves and books in vigilance, a certain book caught his eye. It was a thick, brown leather-bound tome that featured an unfamiliar planet on its cover.
Curious flickered in his expression, he leaned his sheath-covered sword against the shelves and gently took the tome. Its title read, "My Records of Planets… Record I: Earth and the Whole Solar System…" He flipped it open, briefly skimming through the table of contents and other prefatory pages before delving into the main text.
As he read on, his expression gradually tensed, his eyes widening in disbelief. "7 Continents? No beasts? No dungeons? An 'Emu'—What even is that? A 'Sperm Whale'? It seemed smaller than the sea beasts we have… A planet made of gas? Oh wait, we have those too." Unable to resist, Märchen skipped between random chapters, browsing through various fields.
Märchen furrowed his brows, his hand cupping his lips. "Hmm… Is the author an influential figure in the mystical world? Or is this just a result of a wild imaginative mind?" He flipped to another chapter at random, his expression suddenly went slack when he reached the section on the Earth's myths.
"Hera as Zeus' wife in 'Greek' mythology, yet the 'Roman' mythology depicted her as Venus… Isn't this the Mother Goddess of The Sky from the Western Paganism Faith?" He furrowed his brows again.
"Even the Holy Thearch of The Heavens (whose identity is 'Zeus' or 'Jupiter') was involved… And the rest of the gods from the faith too… Oh? Their 'Roman' names inspired the planets?" Märchen pondered whether his world and this "Earth" were somehow connected from the beginning. The latter handles it as a myth, while the former builds a religion upon it.
Seemingly engrossed in his speculations and attempted to infer the truth, a sly voice slipped behind him. "How curiosity drives a person to understand something that must not."
Startled, he instinctively gazes toward the sound, slamming the dense book in the process. There, across at the edge of his view, stood a strange, teenage-looking girl.
Her long brownish-pink hair cascaded freely and her purple eyes seemed to hold profound truths and hidden knowledge. With a plump face, lower nose bridge, and a pale complexion, she wore an oversized regal cape and a short white puffed dress adorned with some layers.
"Hello, Märchen." She cocked her head to the side, tugging a grin across her face.
A second had passed, yet the air had suddenly shifted. His instincts lay dormant, and his thoughts seemed unusually dulled, which alarmed him significantly.
Wha— Before he could comprehend, she spoke again, her tone laced with playfulness.
"Me? Oh, worry not, young hustler. For I am no adversary." She pointed a finger, almost scolding, almost amused.
"My name? Hmm…" She paused, long enough for the silence to ring louder than her voice.
Then, with a soft, final cadence, she spoke—
"Call me, 'Lady of Wisdom.'"