Chapter 289: Mafia
Kael held the rune strip between two fingers and stared at the glowing characters.
[ᛖᚳᛋᚪᚾᚷᚹᛁᚾᚪᛏ - Exsanguinate - Rare Rune]
The sewer around him remained dark, damp, and wrong, but for a few seconds, most of Kael’s attention stayed on the thin piece of rune-bearing material he had pulled from beneath the rusty wrapping of the cleaver’s hilt. It was filthy, stained with old blood and whatever black residue Vanitas left on everything it touched, but the rune itself remained clear. Rare. Permanent, if properly socketed. Not a fragment, not a temporary item, not some one-use trick like the Beast Rune.
A real rune.
The name alone told him enough to be interested.
Exsanguinate.
Blood loss. Draining. Wounding that refused to stay simple. A rune like that would not be clean, but very few useful things in the Tower were. Kael slipped it carefully into his inventory, making sure it went somewhere separate from the Lesser Vanity Essence shards and the boss loot. He did not want a rune getting scratched by a rusty cleaver because he was careless for one second inside a sewer.
The moment the rune left his hand, the chamber changed.
Not physically. The torn gate remained torn. The Corrupted GigaRat’s body remained split across the stone floor. The Torch of Vanitas still burned blue in his left hand, pushing back the thick dark pressing close from the corners. But the pressure of the floor shifted, as if something vast had looked at him, acknowledged that he had taken what he came for, and decided that was enough for now.
A notification appeared.
[Your advent in the Floor of Vanitas has come to an end.]
[Once invited again, you will continue from where you left off.]
Kael blinked. "What?"
The darkness behind the broken gate folded inward.
[You have not set any records in this floor.]
"That’s rude," Kael muttered.
Another notification appeared before he could decide whether he was annoyed or relieved.
[By surviving the Floor of Vanitas, you have skipped Floor 6 of Penance.]
[You can now directly enter Floor 7.]
The Torch of Vanitas burned lower, the blue flame shrinking without going out. Kael looked at it, then at the sewer path beyond the torn gate. He had expected to go deeper. The objective had been to reach the sewer entrance, then the sewer had led to a gate, then a boss, then loot. Apparently that was enough for the first visit. Or maybe Vanitas had never intended to let him explore past this point without another invitation. The wording bothered him.
Once invited again.
Not if.
Once.
"Of course," Kael said. "Because coming back here sounds like something I’d look forward to."
The notifications continued.
[Your achievement in the Floors of Penance has been recorded.]
[You have the lowest rate of Fracture ever achieved after surviving all Floors of Penance.]
[Reward generated.]
[You have obtained: Serenity.]
[Epic Necklace.]
Kael’s irritation paused.
A necklace appeared in his hand.
It was shaped like a teardrop, small enough to rest comfortably against the center of his palm, but heavier than it looked. The material was neither crystal nor metal, or perhaps it was both. Pale silver framed a clear blue stone that seemed calm in a way Vanitas was not. The Torch of Vanitas forced darkness away. This thing did not force anything. It simply existed with a quiet steadiness, as if the world around it had to lower its voice.
The system window opened.
[Serenity]
[Level: 0]
[Requirements: None.]
[+3 to all stats.]
[+5% to all elemental resistances.]
[Once a day, a full cleansing of all mental and harmful effects, including but not limited to: Curses, Hexes, Illusions.]
[Can be activated manually, or forcefully if the user is under a stunned or unable to act status effect.]
[Flavor:]
[Serenity is sought for a lifetime, but can only be found at the pits of despair.]
Kael read the description twice.
Then a third time.
His expression shifted slowly from tired suspicion into something closer to appreciation. A daily cleanse that could activate even if he was stunned or unable to act was not just useful. It was the kind of item that could save his life before he knew he needed saving. The Tower loved effects that took away choice. Fear, paralysis, illusions, curses, mental corruption. He had already seen enough floors to know that being strong meant very little if his mind was turned against him before he could throw a punch.
He lifted the necklace and watched the teardrop catch the torchlight.
"Not bad," he said.
From Kael, that was almost praise.
He placed it around his neck. The moment the chain settled against his skin, a cool sensation spread through his chest and shoulders, not healing exactly, but easing a tension he had not noticed he was carrying. The remnants of Vanitas’s acidic touch faded from his skin. The long pressure from Doubt and Ignorance seemed to loosen somewhere behind his eyes. Even the lingering discomfort from the sewer’s atmosphere dulled slightly.
The Torch of Vanitas went out.
Before the darkness could rush back in, the floor vanished.
Kael’s boots touched grass.
He went still.
The shift was so abrupt that his body almost attacked the air on instinct. One moment he had been in a black sewer beneath a dead city, surrounded by metallic rats and darkness that ate skin. The next, he stood beneath trees. Actual trees. Green leaves filtered soft sunlight from above. Birds chirped somewhere in the branches. Insects buzzed lazily near patches of wildflowers. The air smelled of soil, bark, and living things.
Kael did not relax.
If anything, the peacefulness made him more suspicious.
After Vanitas, this looked too kind. After the desert, the ravine, the Dark Beast, the darkness, the sewer, and the boss ratman, a forest with birds felt like someone had set a painted curtain over a pit trap and expected him to admire the scenery.
A notification appeared.
[You have arrived on the Seventh Floor.]
[Objective: Identify and find the Werewolf hiding among the village you are assigned to.]
[The Werewolf is cunning, smart, and becomes much more dangerous at night.]
[It will kill one person each night.]
[Six other climbers have joined your village.]
[There are a total of 30 people in the village.]
[Your goal is to survive for 7 days.]
[Or identify the Werewolf.]
[During the morning, if the Werewolf is correctly identified, it will transform and fight back in a weakened form.]
[Be careful.]
[The Werewolf becomes invulnerable during the night.]
Kael stared at the notification.
Then he laughed once.
"We’re playing mafia now?"
The forest did not answer.
He dismissed the window and scanned his surroundings. The minimap appeared, though its range was normal again, no longer choked down the way it had been inside Vanitas. That alone felt like a relief. Ahead, beyond the trees, a thin streak of smoke rose into the sky. Not wildfire. Too narrow, too steady. A chimney or cooking fire. That would be the village.
Kael looked down at himself, then reached into his inventory and pulled out his helmet.
The Spartan-like leather helm settled over his head, the T-shaped opening narrowing the world without cutting off his sight. It was not perfect for hiding his appearance. Anyone close enough could still make out parts of his face, especially if they had reason to stare. But it was better than walking in bare-faced. He had already broken enough records. The Sun clan and the Leonards were looking for Anonymous. Kael did not know how many people on this floor knew his name, but he had no interest in making identification easier for them.
He adjusted the helmet, then started toward the smoke.
The walk took him through a stretch of gentle woodland that seemed almost deliberately calm. Sunlight shifted through branches. Birds flew from one tree to another. Something small rustled in the underbrush and ran away before he could see it clearly. Nothing attacked. Nothing screamed. No dark aura pressed against his skin. No invisible trial tried to make him doubt time itself.
That was what made it worse.
The village came into view after several minutes.
It was small, maybe a few dozen houses at most, built around a dirt road that widened into a central square. There were stables near one side, a well in the middle, smoke curling from a handful of chimneys, and villagers moving about with the wary stiffness of people who had been told strangers were coming and had already decided not to like it. Their clothes were simple. Rough-spun shirts, plain dresses, aprons, boots worn by work rather than fashion. Farmers, stable hands, woodcutters, a blacksmith, perhaps one or two hunters.
Then the climbers arrived.
They stood out immediately.
Not because they tried to. Because they could not help it. Gear did that. Armor did that. Weapons did that. Confidence did that too. One had a sword and shield polished too brightly for a villager. Another wore leather armor with a guild emblem stitched across the chest. Two walked together with the same badge, likely from some smaller faction. One had a long spear strapped across his back and eyes that never stopped moving.
And one wore the Sun clan emblem.
Kael noticed it and immediately turned his body just enough that the helmet’s shadow and angle would keep most of his face hidden.
The climbers began gathering near the village square, naturally pulling toward one another. That made sense. Six strangers thrown into a social deduction floor with a monster hiding among villagers would want to establish a basic plan. Discuss rules. Share names. Decide whether to vote, interrogate, guard houses, or split patrols. They would probably also try to figure out who among them had tracking skills, detection abilities, or authority enough to lead.
Kael wanted none of that yet.
Groups meant conversation. Conversation meant details. Details meant someone remembering something useful later. He moved along the edge of the village instead, stopping beside one of the houses and leaning back against the wall as if he were simply watching. His helmet faced the square, but his attention stayed wider than that. Villagers. Climbers. Doors. Windows. Children. Dogs. Chickens. The well. The stable entrance. The paths leading into the trees.
The Sun clan climber said something to the others and gestured toward the center of the village.
Kael looked away.
Just as he did, a small voice spoke near his side.
"Uncle?"
Kael lowered his gaze.
A child stood a few paces away from him, small enough that the top of his head barely reached Kael’s waist. The boy had messy brown hair, large eyes, and both hands cupped around a broken red brooch. One side of the brooch had cracked, leaving a jagged silver edge exposed beneath the red enamel. It looked like cheap jewelry, the kind a village woman might wear on a good day and treasure because it belonged to someone she loved, not because it was valuable.
The child lifted it toward him.
"Can you help me fix this?" he asked. "It’s my mom’s brooch."
Kael did not move immediately.
One of the villagers nearby stiffened. An older man with a bundle of firewood in his arms had been watching the newcomers with open distrust, his eyes moving from the climbers in the square to Kael beneath his helmet. When he saw the child approach, his mouth tightened, as if he was ready to shout the boy back. But Kael turned slightly, and the hard line of his posture softened.
He smiled.
It was gentle enough that the villager’s grip on the firewood loosened.
Maybe, the man seemed to think, not all of them were dangerous.
Kael reached down and accepted the brooch.
The child stepped closer.
Too close.
Kael’s thumb brushed the broken edge of the red enamel. The crack was fresh. Not from a fall. Not from being stepped on. The metal beneath had been twisted by pressure from two uneven points.
Kael’s smile did not change.
"Of course," he said.
The child’s mouth opened in joy.
There was no windup. No shouted warning. No question. His gauntleted hand came down with brutal precision and smashed into the child’s head.
The head burst apart.
The sound cracked across the village square like a melon dropped from a rooftop. Blood and dark matter splattered against the dirt road and the wall behind him. The small body dropped bonelessly at Kael’s feet, the broken brooch falling from his other hand and landing beside it.
For one impossible second, the whole village froze.
Then everyone screamed.
The older villager dropped his bundle of firewood and staggered back, horror emptying his face of color. The climbers in the square spun toward Kael, hands flying to weapons. The Sun clan member’s mouth opened in raw disbelief. A woman shrieked from a doorway. Someone shouted murderer. Someone else called for the guards, though there were no guards in a village like this.
Kael lowered his fist slowly.
His gaze did not leave the body.
The corpse twitched.
The screaming changed.
The child’s limbs began to lengthen with wet cracks. Fingers curled into claws. The small torso swelled, ribs pushing outward beneath the torn shirt. Brown hair thickened into dark fur along the arms and neck. The smashed remains of the head pulled inward for a moment, not healing properly, but trying to rearrange itself around something far less human.
Kael watched the transformation begin and let out a quiet breath.
"That was easy," he said.
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