The Huntsman Of Death:A Gamer's POV As Side Character-Chapter 134 - 136

Before me, a screen of fog appeared, slowly clearing to reveal the outside world.

The moment my spectral eyes focused on it, I was momentarily blinded by a flood of saturated colors. They converged and shifted constantly—bright reds turning into pinks, then blues, and so on. It was overwhelming but mesmerizing at the same time.

I squinted, adjusting to the chaotic view. My body, sitting cross-legged on the bed, came into focus on the screen. It looked lifeless, like a puppet. Surrounding it, particles of various colors floated gently, emitting soft glimmers of light.

"Looks like there’s nothing unnatural here," I muttered. "The ones with natural blessings probably have spirits hovering around them. If I step outside, I might see more... but I can’t control my body while I’m in this space."

Frustrated but unwilling to take unnecessary risks, I decided to hold off on further exploration.

Sighing, I closed the fog screen and leaned back on the throne. My mind wandered to the events of the day. Reaching out, I summoned my diary, a mental construct designed to keep tabs on everything I’d learned or experienced.

The pages flipped open, and I scanned my notes. "Nothing significant has happened recently. My progress is slow, but... that’s to be expected. The start is always slow," I murmured, reassuring myself.

I paused, my eyes lingering on a particular entry. It was about the symbols and the contract with the Death Specter—the very things that had brought me here.

"How did the original Lukas come up with those?" I wondered aloud. My thoughts drifted to his past. After his mother’s death, someone had saved him—a figure who was both a mentor and a mystery. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t recall their name or face.

"All I remember is pain," I whispered. "Torture, agony... it’s like my mind blocked everything else out."

That thought gave me pause. How did I even stay sane through all of that? Or rather, was I even sane?

I let out a bitter laugh. "Maybe there’s something wrong with me after all."

To separate myself from Lukas, I’d always relied on small acts—mocking his weak-willed nature, joking about his pauper appearance. It was like a mental anchor, keeping me from fully merging with his identity.

"I don’t like this look," I muttered, glaring at my reflection in the diary’s surface. "It screams ’sugar mommy’s kept man.’"

Shaking off the thought, I focused on the task at hand. "I can use the Repository to uncover the truth about the Death Specter."

With that, I rested my head against the throne and directed the space’s energy to dive into my consciousness. It was a strange sensation, like invisible hands reaching into the depths of my mind, pulling at hidden memories.

At first, it was calm. Then—

CRUNG!

The sound echoed through the Repository, snapping me out of my trance. My eyes shot open, wide with horror. My body was drenched in cold sweat, and a shiver ran down my spine.

I looked ahead, expecting to see a vivid replay of my memories. Instead, I was met with a blank screen.

"What the hell?" I whispered, my voice shaky.

I stood up from the throne, staring at the emptiness in disbelief. It wasn’t just blank—it was like the memory had never existed.

"It’s gone..." I muttered. "How is this even possible?"

For a moment, I just stood there, my mind racing with questions. The blankness felt more sinister than anything I’d ever encountered. It wasn’t just an absence; it was an erasure.

"Just what the hell is buried in my past?" I whispered, my hands clenched into fists.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to let itself be uncovered easily. And that only made me more determined to find out.

As I fell into deep thought, I noticed another presence there.

"Ohh!he is here.I should take a look."

.....

The library was quiet, a vast expanse of towering shelves filled with books that smelled of old paper and secrets. Ashton sat amidst a chaotic pile of tomes, scanning through one with intense focus. His brows furrowed, his fingers occasionally brushing over words as if to absorb their meaning. Around him, the scattered books formed a small fortress of knowledge.

I appeared silently, observing from a distance, hidden behind my white mask. The sight of Ashton so deeply engrossed in study made me chuckle inwardly. But I wasn’t here just to watch.

"What are you doing?" My voice cut through the stillness, startling him.

Ashton looked up, his expression briefly startled before he masked it with calm composure. He didn’t answer immediately, merely giving me a sidelong glance as if assessing whether I was worth responding to.

"Do I need to answer that?" he finally said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Of course, you can’t," I replied with an exaggerated sigh, shrugging theatrically. "You see, it’s dreadfully boring being alone in this vast place. I need something to keep me entertained, but here you are, ignoring me and leaving me to suffer in solitude. How cold of you."

He shook his head, clearly unimpressed by my antics, and held up the book he had been reading. "I’m studying about Warlocks and Dark Mages."

I tilted my head slightly, rubbing my chin in mock thought. "Warlocks and Dark Mages? And what brought that to your attention?"

Ashton leaned back, closing the book with a soft thud. "I’ve been reading about them for hours now. Most Dark Mages seem to partake in sacrifice rituals. They don’t exactly appear friendly or trustworthy."

"That’s not surprising," I said, nodding. "Dark Mage pathways are heavily tied to death. Their rituals demand sacrifices—life in exchange for power. And when they move up the chain, many transition into Warlocks."

"Warlocks?" Ashton echoed, his voice tinged with curiosity.

"Yes, Warlocks. They’re the ones who form pacts with external beings, usually creatures that embody darkness or death. These beings—specters, wraiths, and sometimes high-level abyssal entities—grant the Warlocks their power. It’s a deal of mutual benefit, though the cost is rarely small."

Ashton’s lips curled in disgust. "That sounds vile. Absolutely repulsive."

I shrugged, spreading my arms in a dramatic gesture. "It’s the structure of the world, my friend. Like it or not, it is what it is."

He shook his head again, falling silent for a moment. His gaze drifted toward the shelves, as if searching for answers among the books. Finally, he turned back to me, his expression thoughtful.

"Why would anyone create something so… evil?" he asked, his voice quiet but filled with genuine curiosity.

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Huh?"

"I mean, when the Goddess created the world, why would she include evil? Why create negative emotions at all?"

Behind my mask, I fought the urge to laugh out loud. ’Is this guy serious? What is he, a philosopher in disguise?’

"Are you even sure the Goddess created the world?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral but playful.

Ashton’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward slightly. "What did you just say?"

"I mean what I said," I replied, folding my arms. "You seem to believe everything the priests say about the Goddess creating the world. But have you ever stopped to question it? To think, maybe there’s more to the story than what they preach?"

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"That’s blasphemy!" he snapped, sitting upright and glaring at me.

I waved a hand dismissively. "It’s not blasphemy. It’s perspective. Look, I’m not saying the priests are lying, but do you really think they know the full truth? Have you ever heard the old folklore about the One—an omniscient being from whom everything originated? The Gods we worship now supposedly came from the One and created order from chaos. But some of them came later, didn’t they?"

Ashton frowned, his curiosity overcoming his indignation. "You’re saying the history we know isn’t complete?"

"Exactly," I said, nodding. "You only know what you’ve been told. Do you really think you’ve been told everything? History is written by those in power. The truth often gets lost in the process."

He looked down, his fingers tapping idly on the book in his lap. "If that’s true… where can I find the real history?"

"I know people who know the truth," I said cryptically, keeping my voice low and mysterious.

"Who are they?" Ashton asked, leaning closer.

I smiled behind the mask, though inwardly I was cursing myself. Why had I started this conversation? Now I had to keep up the act.

"You’ll meet them at the meetings," I said finally.

"What meetings?"

"The meetings of the members," I replied, my tone vague.

"When are they held?"

I felt a bead of sweat form under my mask. I hadn’t thought this far ahead. Clearing my throat, I said, "When He decides the time."

"Who is He?" Ashton pressed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"You’ll know when the time comes," I said quickly, taking a step back. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."

"Wait!" Ashton called, standing up. But I was already turning away, disappearing into the shadows before he could stop me.

---

As I reappeared in the quiet of my own space, my heart was pounding. I reached up to adjust my mask, feeling the cool air against my flushed skin.

"That was too close," I muttered to myself, pacing back and forth. "I need to pull some people into this place, and fast. Otherwise, my loose mouth is going to get me into trouble."

The memory of Ashton’s wide-eyed curiosity made me groan. "Curse my own theatrics. Why couldn’t I just keep it simple?"

But even as I complained to myself, a small smile tugged at my lips. Despite the risk, there