The city lord was not there; only two painters were in the hall, putting the finishing touches on a portrait.
The painting depicted two males and three females. A middle-aged man sat in front with a half-grown child standing beside him, while three women stood behind him.
He looked like quite an ordinary middle-aged man. The other four shared a distinct resemblance to him. All five wore stern expressions, without a trace of a smile on their faces.
Unless something unexpected had happened, this was the city lord and his three daughters.
The painters revealed that the city lord had been here not long ago.
Over the past few days, they had been working overtime at the city lord's command just to rush out this portrait. The city lord seemed to place immense importance on it; no matter what happened during these days, he would bring his three daughters here to sit for at least eight hours a day for the painters. As for the boy, he was copied from an older portrait.
The city lord had paid them handsomely, his sole requirement being that they finish the painting before tomorrow. The two painters had pulled out all the stops and finally completed the artwork by noon today. All that remained was some final touch-ups, and they would be able to deliver the finished product tonight.
Overjoyed by this, the city lord had rewarded them with a large bonus on the spot.
Oh boy. We're screwed.
The funeral portrait was already prepared. It seemed he had made preparations for the absolute worst.
But why? Was he truly willing to pay any price just to resurrect his son?
According to the painters, only the city lord had come today. However, since it was just the finishing stage, it didn't matter whether the others came or not. The city lord had sat here all morning letting them paint. It was clear his mood remained quite good; he had even joked with them a few times, looking as if his long-cherished wish had finally been granted.
That was until ten minutes ago, when Steward Locke suddenly arrived, catching the city lord quite off guard.
But Mr. Locke seemed unwell and didn't say a word. He simply handed the city lord a letter. After reading it, the city lord departed in a hurry, his destination unknown.
Afterward, Mr. Locke stood there staring at them as they touched up the oil painting, giving the painters goosebumps. He ignored them when they tried to speak to him, and after staring for a while, he turned and left.
Lynch looked at the two painters with an odd expression for a moment before patting them firmly on the shoulder. To survive being alone in a room with an infected person—these two had bragging rights that would last until this ancient memory ended.
In truth, it wasn't surprising that the butler had become infected, which was precisely why Dr. Sven intended to compound the medicine before seeking out that corpse. Anyone coming into contact with the corpse without taking the medicine would rapidly transform into an infected. If Locke had been accompanying young master Jack since last night, he was bound to be infected.
What was truly strange was that Locke remained controlled after infection.
The few infected who had fled earlier had already put Lynch on alert, and Locke's appearance only confirmed his fears.
Suppressing the urge to feed on human flesh and even delivering a letter were classic signs of being controlled.
None of the earlier test subjects had shown any signs of control. The earliest one to exhibit controlled behavior had been young master Jack, and every infected after him had displayed controlled characteristics.
Perhaps Old Sven had only recently discovered a method to control the infected, but Lynch leaned toward the theory that Jack was what enabled Old Sven to control them.
Or perhaps Jack himself was the key to controlling the infected, and Old Sven was merely controlling the infected by controlling Jack.
A clear picture formed in Lynch's mind. This was likely Old Sven's true motive behind causing all of this—he wanted to create an army of obedient, controlled infected.
The four exchanged glances, feeling a dark, subtle sense of relief.
Fortunately, Dr. Sven had ultimately perished alongside the entire city. Otherwise, if the infected had been produced on a large scale, it would have been an unwinnable deadlock in an era of cold weapons, and the world's history might very well have ended in the Third Age.
Terry hadn't thought that far ahead. He pressed anxiously, “So you don't know where Lord Jackson went either?”
“Forgive us, Sir Knight,” one painter said timidly. “His Lordship didn't say.”
Terry let out a heavy sigh. Just as he was about to say more, Lynch shook his head and pulled him out of the castle hall.
“Asking them is useless. Let's go to the basement; we'll check the room where young master Jack's belongings are kept first.”
Realizing Lynch was right, Terry immediately led the four of them through a maze of castle corridors before heading down a dark, narrow staircase.
They encountered several servants along the way, all of whom said they hadn't seen the city lord, but had seen Mr. Locke pass by not long ago. Surprised, the group nevertheless continued down.
It was cold and damp. The heavy stone walls were covered in dirty water droplets. However, it was bright enough to clearly see their surroundings.
There were no servants in the basement, only a few labyrinthine, winding corridors. Terry glanced around briefly before choosing one and leading the way down.
“I asked Locke last night, and he gave me the exact location of the room,” Terry said with a somber, sorrowful sigh. “At the time, even he couldn't understand why Lord Jackson had set up a room like that.”
As he spoke, the group halted in front of a door.
It was a heavy, ornate wooden door, closed tight. Terry grabbed the handle, but his movement suddenly froze.
The door was unlocked.
“Hold on.”
Lynch stopped the armored knight, who was hesitating whether to enter. Turning his hand, Lynch took the Torch of Light handed over by Miss Diana, while transforming his cane into the serrated sword with his other hand.
Beside him, Officer Natalie needed no reminder; she drew her sword at the same time. The two stood left and right, shielding Miss Diana and Judy behind them.
“Alright, let's go.”
“Don't rush in after opening the door,” the policewoman reminded. “Close it immediately, then open it again.”
Being a member of the city's upper ranks, Knight Terry lacked a sense of crisis even in this Dark Age. Tensing up, he took a deep breath and carefully opened the door as instructed.
Yet the room was not dark at all; instead, it was brightly lit. By the light of the glowing candles, the group witnessed a bizarre scene.
The space behind the door was arranged like a dining room, complete with a long table, wooden chairs, and a feast laid out across the table.
A group of people was gathered around the table dining, looking not as if they were in a dark basement, but in a normal dining room.
They were young and old, male and female, some sitting and some standing.
The steward they had seen moments ago was wandering by the table, carrying an empty tray with stiff movements, while the others sat around the table.
At a glance, Lynch recognized the three adult women as the city lord's three daughters from the portrait. As for the other two men and three children, they were presumably the city lord's sons-in-law and grandchildren that Terry had mentioned.
Why were they here? And why were they in the same room with an infected?
No sooner had the question arisen in their minds than the group inside moved.
Seemingly disturbed by the sound of the opening door, the group slowly turned their heads, coming face-to-face with the five people standing outside.
Their eyes were blood-red, their expressions monstrous, and hungry saliva dripped uncontrollably from the corners of their mouths.
As their eyes met, the air seemed to freeze instantly.
In the next moment, Lynch abruptly stepped forward and swiftly pulled the door shut, blocking the infected group's view.
Sorry, wrong room. Excuse us.
Rate on N.U.
