Ch.201201. Uninvited Guest

“Did I really teach you this kind of magic?”

The Dark Spiritmaster was clicking his tongue in admiration after I showed him a few spells created by my future self.

We had been drinking coffee, but somehow we’d moved on to sipping wine.

I felt more at ease seeing her slightly tipsy state—it was different, yet glimpses of the person I knew occasionally showed through.

When she was a ghost, she had lamented not being able to drink alcohol.

“Wow, I’m really amazing.”

Anyway, seeing occasional flashes of the silly side I knew made me miss the original Dark Spiritmaster.

“Most Black Mages know about you. I heard that even Dante tried to recruit you but failed.”

“Of course. They would naturally try to call for me.”

She nodded smugly, looking pleased with herself. During this period, she had been holed up alone in her laboratory, so her need for recognition was clearly stronger than usual.

As I watched the Dark Spiritmaster tilting her glass with satisfaction, I finally asked the same question again.

“So why are you studying spirit magic so diligently?”

“Ah.”

The Dark Spiritmaster had previously deflected this question, claiming she’d forgotten. But this time, perhaps due to the alcohol or because she actually remembered, she answered without much hesitation.

“Have you heard the story of the child who wanted the Lemegeton?”

“Yes.”

The story of a girl who wished to meet her long-lost mother again and received the Lemegeton from the great demon Learic.

“It’s similar to that. My parents died when I was very young.”

“…”

Splash.

The Dark Spiritmaster’s wine glass trembled slightly.

The emotion reflected in her eyes was something different from longing.

“They always said they would be with me. That I shouldn’t worry, that they would be with me even after death.”

“…”

“At first, I was curious. Were my parents’ souls really still with me?”

The beginning of the girl’s journey to become a spirit mage was both tragic and mundane.

“That’s when I learned about the Lemegeton. I found a child just like me.”

A question suddenly struck me. The Dark Spiritmaster was speaking as if about someone else, but wasn’t she the descendant of that girl?

‘Does she not know at this point in time?’

Thinking this might be possible, I rested my chin on my hand and focused on her story again.

“So I started learning spirit magic while searching for the Lemegeton.”

A faint blush had appeared on her face, visible through the semi-transparent black veil.

“But do you know what’s funny?”

“What?”

With a self-deprecating smile, the Dark Spiritmaster answered indifferently.

“I had forgotten until just now.”

“…”

“That’s right. Yes, I learned spirit magic to see my parents. How ridiculous.”

Despite her words, I couldn’t sense much emotional turmoil from her.

It’s common to forget which direction you were running in after running hard for so long.

Stories like deciding to make money for your family but eventually making money the center of your life were practically clichés.

“The more I learned, the more I thought I couldn’t see my parents because I wasn’t good enough yet.”

“…”

“But before I knew it, I didn’t care about that anymore. I just enjoyed learning spirit magic itself. Like inhaling a drug.”

“I see.”

As I continued listening to her story, it felt like I was hearing a confession.

Perhaps the Dark Spiritmaster felt the same way. She slowly rolled up her sleeve, revealing her pale wrist.

There were scars from multiple needle marks.

“The blood of the child who wanted the Lemegeton from the great demon Learic actually flows within me.”

“I know. You’re that child’s descendant.”

“Hehe, is that how my future self explained it?”

The intoxicated woman shook her head and replied.

“That child never married or had children.”

“…?”

I was confused, but the Dark Spiritmaster explained without difficulty.

“When I found that child’s corpse, her resentment was so strong that her spirit was wandering around the body, wailing. Her obsession with life must have been intense—even after hundreds of years, the body hadn’t decayed because of the child’s soul.”

Before entering Mongma Palace, I recalled discussing this with the Dark Spiritmaster. When I mentioned she was a descendant of the child who wanted the Lemegeton, her expression had grown notably dark.

“I tried to make the child’s evil spirit my own, but I failed. It was too powerful and I had no choice but to destroy it.”

“Then…”

Her gaze slowly shifted from the wine glass to me.

“That’s right, I transplanted all of the girl’s blood into myself. It took about a year, I think.”

I was speechless.

Her obsession with spirit magic was so extensive it made my skin crawl.

“Why would you do such a thing?”

Why would the Dark Spiritmaster, not a corpse mage, inject a girl’s blood into her own body?

She laughed hollowly, as if it were obvious.

“Because I didn’t know how the Lemegeton recognizes its owner. It was laying the groundwork to properly handle it when I eventually obtained it.”

I couldn’t find the right words.

Now I somewhat understood why the Dark Spiritmaster had wanted to hide her past so desperately.

“What do you think? Do I disgust you now?”

There had been enemies who repeatedly claimed that the woman known as the Dark Spiritmaster was more vile than I knew.

At the time, I hadn’t received a clear explanation, but hearing it directly from her now…

“My view of you has changed.”

I clearly realized that the Dark Spiritmaster had walked a path completely opposite to mine.

“I feel sorry for my future self.”

Though she said this, she downed her drink as if relieved.

Then she glanced at me as if something were fortunate.

“But it’s good, right?”

“…”

“You noticed.”

A moment of silence.

The Dark Spiritmaster’s gaze, which had been calmly observing me until now, began to sharpen like a blade on a whetstone.

We both slowly reached for our staffs placed beside us.

Our mana was slowly but clearly heating up like boiling water, preparing to shoot toward each other.

Crash!

The restaurant door shattered, and Hanso tumbled in with the fragments. The golden shield I had given him was split in half after less than a day, but he was still clutching the Maengcheonmubong tightly, determined to protect it.

The Dark Spiritmaster and I both turned our gaze toward the entrance.

Like Western gunslingers who had just drawn their revolvers at each other but wouldn’t tolerate interruption,

our staffs—essentially gun barrels—pointed toward the entrance.

There stood a woman entering with six corpses.

“Luanes?”

Among them, the smallest corpse caught my eye—Luanes, whose once-brilliant golden hair had been completely plucked out.

The boy who, as Heralhazard, had nearly destroyed the Griffin Kingdom, and later created an organization called Dante to save the continent with Black Magic.

Seeing his corpse stirred a faint emotion in me, but my expression remained unchanged.

Remembering Mule from Room 109 who had committed suicide saying “see you later,” I now questioned whether this Mongma Palace actually existed.

“B-be careful! Those corpses with that woman are no ordinary ones!”

Hanso urgently regained his composure and readied his stance.

But the Dark Spiritmaster questioned:

“What are you doing? Everyone was staying in their rooms, and they all died to that woman?”

The corpse mage was giggling with a chilling laugh. But seeing Mule’s corpse, I had a general idea.

“She sent corpses.”

After all, dead bodies aren’t bound by rules.

-24. When a guest dies, their room becomes accessible. Until then, entry is prohibited even with the room owner’s permission.

This meant corpses were simply classified as objects.

It easily explained how she had invaded rooms and killed all the other guests.

“Hee, heehee. So many high-quality corpses. This place truly is heaven!”

The woman was laughing as she looked us over, when suddenly her expression hardened.

Then.

“Six.”

She counted the corpses she was controlling.

The thin finger of the woman with distinctive stitched scars pointed at Hanso.

“Seven.”

Then next, the Dark Spiritmaster.

“Eight.”

Next, me.

“Nine.”

Then herself.

“Ten.”

Finally.

“The stupid brute.”

Including Jortu, who had already become prey on the fourth floor.

“Eleven.”

An eerie silence fell.

The corpse mage, who had been pointing at each person with her finger, scratched her chin and asked:

“But there are only ten rooms.”

From Room 101 to 110.

A total of 10 guests were invited here, but when we counted, there were 11 people.

“Huh?”

Startled, Hanso counted for himself and then stepped back in shock.

“Rule 2 and 27. There’s an uninvited guest here.”

-27. Guest rooms go up to 110. There is no Room 111. If you discover Room 111 and someone staying there, kill them immediately. They are an uninvited guest.

“W-who!”

The flustered Hanso urgently backed away and began to regard us with suspicion as well.

This is why I hadn’t mentioned it before.

If I had, our newly formed alliance would have quickly fallen apart.

The Dark Spiritmaster and I made eye contact.

She shrugged but her gaze demanded something, so I finally opened my mouth.

“While listing the rules, I had several questions.”

Mongma Palace has many rules. They seemed flimsy yet possessed a certain absoluteness.

The ambiguously written rules seemed to encourage using them for something, as if they would provide the key to the puzzle.

Well, actually.

This time, Mongma Palace’s rules did provide the key to solving the case.

“I, Deus Verdi, am staying in Room 110.”

I came from the furthest point in the future.

“Mule was staying in Room 109.”

Mule was from the time period after mine.

“The corpse mage is staying in Room 108.”

I saw her crawling to Room 108 after being hit by Jortu.

“The deceased Jortu was living in Room 107.”

“W-what does that have to do with anything?”

Hanso asked irritably, but I calmly recalled Jortu and Hanso’s first meeting.

“Jortu referred to Martial Artist Hanso as a middle-aged man.”

– The Hanso I know is quite a middle-aged man?

In Jortu’s time period, Hanso must have been middle-aged.

“If we generously estimate that Hanso living in Jortu’s era of Room 107 is at most forty-nine years old.”

“…”

Hanso gaped at the realization that his age was being used to determine the time periods of each room.

Still, he seemed to be following the conversation.

“In my era of Room 110, Hanso closed his eyes at the age of eighty-five.”

“Ehhh?!”

Hanso’s reaction to learning about his own death was quite entertaining, but that wasn’t the important part.

“So between Rooms 107 and 110, there’s approximately a 36-year gap.”

Considering that middle age refers to 40-49 years old, any error wouldn’t be significant.

“This is where the question arises, right?”

I glanced at the Dark Spiritmaster, who was actually listening to my explanation with amusement.

“The Dark Spiritmaster I know is at most thirty years old. But there’s at least a 36-year time difference between Jortu in Room 107 and myself.”

Hanso seemed to be struggling to keep up, but the corpse mage’s eyes flashed as if she had figured out the answer.

I don’t know my exact age in my time period, but I know the Dark Spiritmaster is either the same age as me or a year or two older.

After a year had passed, I turned 29.

But the Dark Spiritmaster standing before me now is 18 years old.

“Room 107, Jortu.”

I was like

“Room 108, Corpse Mage.”

a judge delivering

“Room 109, Mule.”

a verdict, impassively bringing down the gavel

“Room 110, Deus Verdi.”

and pronouncing judgment.

“According to Rule 11 of Mongma Palace.”

-11. The higher the room number, the further in the future the guest is from.

The uninvited guest to this mansion is…

“If you were truly an invited guest, your room should have been between Rooms 107 and 110.”

The 18-year-old Dark Spiritmaster—you.