Monster Evolution System: I became a Rat-Chapter 98: Misty Gate

"Captain Beelzebub, what do you hide with it?" Amara whispered as she opened the chest. Within it, a silver lamp glistened in the light as it came into view.

She slowly touched its surface, moving her hand across it as she measured it. In an abrupt motion, she pulled her hand away and closed the chest again.

She then turned toward her table, pulled out a parchment and ink, and started writing.

When she was done, she placed it inside an envelope and quickly slipped it into her bag. She then drifted toward the street. The city had been in lockdown for days, but it finally seemed that it was going to be over.

She passed through dark alleys and streets, quickly moving and hiding between people. Soon, she stopped before a large building. It was colored red from top to bottom, and in Ermanji, a board hung that read, "MyPost: From Every Point."

She entered the building, its door embedded with a caricature of a man running with letters.

Amara smiled at it as she pushed it open.

Inside, people were constantly moving. Everything was in motion. Lettermen were taking letters and moving out of the station, while other counters were taking people’s letters, and for the wealthy, another counter was open.

She moved toward a counter like the others, and when her turn came, she moved forward toward the receptionist behind it. "To Mount Borrow," she said with a faint smile on her face.

The receptionist took the letter from her hand and gave a polite smile in return.

Then Amara turned around and quickly exited the station.

Ten days later, in Mount Borrow, a letterman knocked on a door engraved with ancient and esoteric symbols. He did not want to come, but his job required it, so with haste in his heart, he held the letter tightly.

With a creaking sound, the door opened by itself, and a man behind it, holding the handle, tilted his head.

The man was fat, with his underbelly exposed. He was balding, with teeth crooked like a pirate’s, and his large nose almost covered his face.

"Letter, sir." The letterman quickly handed the man the letter and, holding his hat, hurriedly ran down the hill.

The fat man, with the letter in his hand, closed the door, looking annoyed at the letterman for disturbing him.

He stood at the closed door for a while, expecting the man to return for the letter. But when no knock came for several minutes, he finally decided to go to his room.

Thick smoke was pouring out from beneath the door of his chamber. Grey and sluggish, it crawled across the floor like it had weight of its own. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, unfazed, as the smoke parted slowly around him, reluctant to move.

The room was dimly lit by three crooked braziers burning with blackened coals. Strange powders crackled inside them, releasing sharp metallic scents that clung to the tongue. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars, bones, rolled skins, and bottles containing things that shifted if stared at too long.

He waved his hand lazily, dispersing some of the smoke as he stepped inside. The door shut behind him with a dull thud, sealing the room in its suffocating haze.

Without sitting, he tore open the letter as he walked toward a wide stone desk cluttered with instruments, cracked lenses, and rusted surgical hooks.

The parchment slid free.

His eyes skimmed the first line casually.

Then they stopped.

His brows twitched, and he dragged a stool with his foot, dropping his weight onto it with a heavy grunt. The stool protested loudly but held.

He read again, slower this time. The smoke curled around his head like listening spirits, drifting closer as his crooked teeth slowly revealed themselves in a widening grin.

"...still in business, Amara," he muttered under his breath.

His thick finger hovered over the symbol at the bottom of the parchment, tracing its shape without actually touching it.

The smoke around the braziers stirred violently for a moment, rising higher as if reacting to the mark. The coals inside them cracked loudly, releasing sparks that floated upward and dissolved into nothing before reaching the ceiling.

He leaned back, his exposed belly rising and falling as he chuckled.

"How much for a silver lamp?" he murmured, savoring each word. "Hmmmm, Amara, you’re as resourceful as always."

He folded the parchment once, then again, far more carefully than his clumsy hands suggested he was capable of. From a drawer beneath the desk, he pulled out a thin iron case etched with spiral wards and slid the letter inside before snapping it shut.

For a few seconds, he simply stared at the case.

Then he turned his head toward the far corner of the room where a heavy curtain made of stitched hides hung loosely. Behind it, something shifted. A faint dragging sound scraped across stone before stopping abruptly.

He licked his lips.

"Looks like we are travelling again," he said loudly, though his voice carried an odd softness, like he was addressing an old companion rather than a servant.

The curtain twitched.

A low, wet exhale seeped from behind it, followed by the slow clinking of chains adjusting their weight.

The man pushed himself up from the stool and grabbed a crooked staff leaning against the desk. Its tip was wrapped with dried vertebrae tied together with black thread. As he lifted it, the smoke inside the room thickened, spiraling upward toward the ceiling and gathering into faint shapes that dissolved before forming anything clear.

He moved toward a wooden cabinet and opened it, revealing rows of sealed vials glowing faintly with dull colors. He grabbed three without hesitation and stuffed them into his robe.

Outside, the mountain wind howled violently, rattling the shutters hard enough to make dust rain from the rafters. The symbols carved into the wooden beams above the ceiling flickered faintly, reacting to something neither inside nor outside the house.

He paused, listening.

"...Already? Damn this curse," he muttered.

The iron case holding the letter trembled once inside his robe, subtle but unmistakable.

His grin widened again, stretching across his crooked face.

"Haha, very good," he murmured.

He turned toward the door, the smoke curling away from him. Breaking through the binds and bonds, he cut through the haze and moved forward.

"Prepare the lower chambers," he called toward the curtain as he stepped out of the room.

Behind him, the chains rattled in response, followed by the slow, deliberate scrape of something heavy beginning to move across stone.

And far beyond the house, down the slopes of Mount Borrow, mist began to rise earlier than it should have, swallowing the path leading down the mountain one bend at a time.

"Magus Sankat is on his way!" the fat man cried as he got out of his house.

The door shook as he kicked it open and stepped outside. The mist was already curling toward him, creeping across the stone path the moment the door swung wide.

"Nah, not today!" he exclaimed as he threw the vials into the air. Then, gripping his staff, he made a sudden dash forward. The vials exploded mid air, releasing clouds of shimmering dust and thick fumes. He swung his staff in a circular motion, chanting in an esoteric language.

The air twisted with each syllable that left his mouth.

The powders ignited without flame, forming rings of dull green light that spun around him like rotating shields. The mist recoiled, hissing as it touched the spinning rings, shrinking back as if burned by something unseen.

The fat man laughed breathlessly as he ran down the crooked stone path leading away from the house.

"Boi! You can’t catch me, boi!" he barked, his crooked teeth glistening with spit as his chant quickened. The symbols etched into his staff glowed faintly, pulsing with every step he took.

Behind him, the mist thickened violently, slamming against the house walls like a living tide denied entry. The carved symbols on the door flared once before dimming again, as if acknowledging his departure.

The green rings spinning around him suddenly shattered outward, scattering sparks across the ground. Wherever they landed, the mist split open, revealing safe paths of bare stone beneath.

He continued chanting, his voice cracking but refusing to stop. The language twisted his tongue, bending his words into sounds not meant for human throats. The staff hummed loudly now, vibrating against his palm.

The hill trembled faintly beneath his steps.

From within the mist, faint silhouettes began to form. Tall, thin outlines that stretched unnaturally long, their shapes bending like reflections seen through warped glass. They followed without sound, gliding rather than walking.

The fat man glanced back once, sweat mixing with soot across his balding scalp.

"Oh, you really came hungry today..." he muttered.

He slammed the base of his staff against the ground. The impact sent a ripple of dull yellow light racing down the path ahead, shattering scattered stones and carving a temporary corridor through the rolling fog.

Without hesitation, he plunged into it, his heavy body moving with surprising speed.

Behind him, the mist collapsed inward again, swallowing the corridor whole. The silhouettes merged back into the fog, their presence dissolving but never truly leaving.

The wind howled across Mount Borrow, carrying with it faint echoes of the man’s chanting as he disappeared down the mountain, clutching his staff tightly while the iron case hidden beneath his robe trembled once more, warm now, as if responding to something calling from very far away.

"Jonny, you here too?" Magus called, beckoning as the mist swirled behind him.

A groaning voice finally broke the silence, hissing, "Vermissss."