In his state of berserk fury, a peculiar transformation seemed to take hold. For instance, the paralysis spell that had previously rendered him sluggish no longer had any effect when it struck him. He was relishing this loss of rational self, having fully transformed into a wild beast breaking free from its cage.

  His kobold body, reshaped by the specialized bloodline, granted him exceptional self-healing—a primary fallback for this reckless experiment. Since Demonic Body had always shown such a volatile tendency, he took this opportunity to see exactly what kind of influence it would exert.

  Moments before the shadow cage shattered, some had already begun to flee. The second Tars lunged out, he instinctively charged toward the person bolting for the exit.

  Suddenly, a sensation of lethal crisis triggered his instincts, forcing him into a frantic retreat. As he backed away, he watched his intended prey escape. The rage in his chest felt tangible, boiling over until it saturated every drop of his blood, every nerve, and even every strand of hair. He realized he might have pushed the experiment too far; this abrupt turn of events made his fury nearly impossible to contain.

  Those nearby who hadn't managed to run far enough became the targets of his venting. He slammed his fists into the castle floor, desperately trying to force himself to calm down.

  "Powerful Demonic wizard, please extinguish your wrath before matters become irreversible."

  A withered old man wearing a silver-trimmed, high-collared uniform appeared at the sealed main gates, clutching a glowing stone in one hand. It was that small, radiant stone that sent a shiver of mortal peril through Tars's spiritual intuition.

  "Are you... threatening me?" Tars twisted his neck, his voice a guttural rasp.

  Rage scorched his brain. Seeing that the old man bore no immediate malice, he instinctively reverted Stenchful Skin to its long-unused first form. Instantly, a thick, nauseating miasma erupted. He looked like a fabled Stench-Devil; the foul air flickered around him like tongues of flame fueled by his inner ire. Though the stench spread slowly, it was already on the verge of filling the entire hall.

  The old man tossed a severed head toward him; it was Edgar, his face frozen in a look of permanent shock. It rolled to a stop at Tars’s feet. Without much explanation, the elder raised the glowing stone.

  "In the domain of the wizards, it has a beautiful name, but we prefer to call it the Sun Stone. Only a few were bestowed by the wizards during the city's founding, divided among the founding families. It is our holy relic and the symbol of absolute authority," the thin elder said. "It can channel the power of the light-stones in Starry City's ceiling to call down an irresistible punishment. It is precious, and I do not wish to waste it here."

  "You can try," Tars rasped.

  "Your strength exceeded our calculations. This was the Fendis family's error, and I believe we have paid the price." The old man spoke slowly, shaking his head as if the spreading stench was beginning to overwhelm him. "Furthermore, this matter was not orchestrated by the Fendis family. You should return and question your friend from the Starry Family..."

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  The elder's words struck the heart of Tars's earlier suspicions. His rage flared again, and the spiral markings across his body darkened in hue.

  Suddenly, two grinning figures—a man and a woman—stepped out from the shadows. Seemingly fearless, they walked step by step toward the fuming Tars.

  "Why are there Redeemers here!" the old man with the Sun Stone gasped.

  "He's finally lost his mind..." the grinning man said.

  "He's so resilient. That solidified mental energy is truly annoying," the grinning woman complained.

  "Indeed, annoying. It has drained my spirit."

  Both spoke while maintaining their eerie grins, ignoring the Fendis elder entirely. Tars abruptly shifted Stenchful Skin back to its second form.

  "Redemption!" "Redemption."

  The two grinning figures continued their steady approach. "We are here to help you, to grant you redemption," they said in unison.

  Consumed by anger and teetering on the edge of total insanity, Tars lunged. He hammered the grinning man into the ground with punch after punch until the body snapped in two. Yet the man's smile never wavered, and the more Tars struck, the higher his fury climbed. Both figures were eventually beaten down; a slap wiped away a nose and mouth, a follow-up punch erased the eyes.

  Suddenly, Tars froze.

  He let out a long breath and found himself within his mental space, where his composure and calm had finally returned.

  "You're finally in! Your mental space is beautiful!" "No wonder it's so solid."

  Two ethereal, grinning silhouettes appeared upon the surface of his mental sea. The rational Tars quickly processed the situation.

  "What do you intend to do?" he asked calmly.

  "Save you!" "Wash away your sins," they replied, grinning.

  "I have no sins, and I require no saving," Tars said with a smile of his own.

  His words seemed to irritate them, causing their smiles to vanish instantly.

  "We could have granted redemption to so many more." "But to save you and wash away your sins, we have discarded our bodies and abandoned our lives. This is our final mission, the final redemption."

  The two began to laugh again. As they turned, their faces morphed into copies of Tars's own face, only to lose all features a moment later. They cycled through these forms repeatedly, changing with every word they spoke. They began to float vertically toward the ceiling of the mental space.

  "From now on, you are me." "I am you." "You are the Faceless One." "The Faceless One is me." "We are all the Faceless."

  They chanted in unison, their forms shifting rapidly. Tars watched them, but for some reason, he felt no panic. His intuition remained steady. He realized their essence felt familiar—it was the same "substance" his mana-scars attracted during his daily meditations. He had encountered something similar when he first set out to collect an inheritance; a strange object that shattered upon contact and entered his mind.

  There is only one way to find out.

  He immediately began to meditate as if recovering mental energy. He was no longer the novice he once was; three mana-scars, each larger than the last, were arrayed above his mental sea. Even without active effort, the two figures showed signs of being drawn toward them, much like the spell models that orbited the scars.

  Every time he used a temporary spell, he felt as if the projection of the spell model was being "eaten" by the mana-scar. As he traced the runes of his scars, the two chanting figures fell silent. In Tars's perception, they shattered into countless fragments. Unlike his previous experience, these shards struggled, trying to flee in all directions.

  Tars ignored their struggle and focused solely on his meditation. The shards turned a pale white, lost their strength, and were sucked entirely into the mana-scars. In the blink of an eye, every foreign presence vanished.

  He braced himself for a flood of memories or visions like the last time, but nothing happened.

  He snapped his eyes open.

  He was back in the foul-smelling hall, still in a hunched, aggressive posture, but the rage in his heart had vanished. In the distance, the old man clutching the Sun Stone was observing him with a look of grim intensity.