Dawn Walker-Chapter 166: Ghouls and numbers III

---

Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed slightly as his mind reached backward.

"One and two..." he murmured.

He remembered them... The city guard and Lily’s bodyguard.

They had been turned inside the purgatory, in that chaos moment when kobolds attacked and blood decided everything. They had saved him and Lily. They had helped drag the kobolds deeper.

He didn’t find them afterward...

Sekhmet’s jaw tightened.

"Number one and two," he said quietly, as if speaking to the void itself, "belong to someone whom I lost."

Auri looked at him.

"You cannot find them," she said carefully, not accusing, just stating the obvious.

Sekhmet’s eyes sharpened.

"I don’t know if I can," he replied. "But they are not dead."

Auri blinked once.

"How do you know," she asked softly.

Sekhmet did not answer directly.

Because the answer was too close to the system. Instead he said the truth in a way that did not expose it.

"If they were dead," Sekhmet said, voice low, "I would feel the loss."

Auri’s expression tightened. She accepted it without pushing. Because she knew pressing too hard on his secrets was like pressing on a wound.

Sekhmet looked around again.

There were bats clustered everywhere, hanging from void land rock formations he had not designed, only accepted. The Ghouls were standing awkwardly like half-trained animals. There was Auri, a Harpy batgirl in a space that had no bed, no table, no walls.

Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.

He spoke out loud.

"Auri," he said.

Auri stepped forward instantly.

"Yes, master," she replied.

"There is nothing here," Sekhmet said, sweeping his gaze across the empty dark. "You are a girl."

Auri blinked, slightly confused by the phrasing.

Sekhmet continued, tone flat as if speaking of business.

"You should build a house here," he said.

Auri’s eyes widened slightly.

"A house," she repeated.

Sekhmet nodded once.

"Yes," he said. "A place to sleep. A place to store things. A place for discipline. Not this... cave gathering."

Auri’s gaze shifted, imagining it.

The bats fluttered softly like they were offended by the implication their cave was unworthy.

Sekhmet ignored their opinion.

He continued.

"Ask the bats and the ghouls to help," he said. "Tomorrow, I will let you out. You will bring materials."

Auri’s posture straightened.

"Yes, master," she said, voice steady.

Then she hesitated, just slightly.

"Master," she added, "how often should I feed number three and four?"

Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed slightly, calculating.

"Small amounts daily," he replied. "More if they become useful. Less if they remain useless. Do not let them starve again."

Auri nodded once, accepting the harsh logic without flinching.

Sekhmet stared at the void land for a moment longer. It still felt like an empty kingdom. But kingdoms began empty.

They became dangerous later.

He turned back toward the opening point. His body reminded him of the system’s warning.

Thirty minutes.

Not ten anymore.

But still limited.

He was stronger, but the void still demanded respect. Sekhmet stepped toward the tear in reality, then paused and looked back once.

"Auri," he said.

Auri lifted her gaze instantly.

"Yes, master."

Sekhmet’s voice softened by only a fraction, the smallest edge of approval.

"Good work," he said. "You find the ghoul."

Auri’s eyes widened slightly. Then she bowed deeply.

"It is my duty," she replied.

Sekhmet did not answer. He stepped out of the void land and returned to his room.

The space tear closed behind him. The candle still flickered weakly. The house was still quiet.

But Sekhmet’s mind was no longer trying to sleep. He stood in the darkness, thinking only one thing.

Tomorrow, the void land starts becoming real.

Sekhmet stood in the darkness of his room for a long moment after thinking about it, letting the sentence settle like a nail driven into wood. It was not a poetic thought. It was a decision that would demand labor, money, secrecy, and patience. The void land could not remain a hollow pit where bats hung like ornaments and ghouls starved because their master forgot to feed them.

He exhaled slowly and finally lay back down, not because sleep felt inviting, but because resting was still a weapon. Even monsters needed discipline, and discipline began with knowing when to close your eyes even if your mind refused to be quiet.

When sleep came, it did not come gently. It came like the drop of a curtain.

The next morning arrived with the sound of Dawn House waking up. It was not a loud awakening. It was the soft, practiced rhythm of servants sweeping, kettles heating, cloth rustling, and distant footsteps that moved with purpose rather than panic. A house that survived long enough learned to hide its anxiety behind routine.

Sekhmet opened his eyes before the sun fully reached his window. He sat up, washed his face, and dressed in clothing that did not scream noble blood or street desperation. Practical merchant wear again. That style annoyed him because it reminded him how much of his life had become calculation, but it also kept him alive because it did not attract unnecessary attention.

He stepped into the corridor and immediately felt the presence of Elena.

She was not standing dramatically in front of his door like a guardian. She was simply there in the hallway as if she had always been there and would always be there, holding a tray of folded cloth and a list that looked like it had been sharpened into a weapon.

"You are awake early," Elena said.

"I will be busy," Sekhmet replied.

Elena’s eyes moved over him, checking him the way a soldier checked armor. It was subtle, but she noticed everything, and the only reason she did not annoy him more was because her noticing kept the house from collapsing into gossip and incompetence.

"Breakfast," she said, and it was not a question.

"I will eat after," Sekhmet replied.

Elena’s mouth tightened. She hated that answer the way a mother hated excuses, but she did not argue immediately because she had learned that pushing Sekhmet directly only made him more stubborn.