Chapter 336: Room of Fools

Shock—Ranni had felt it a dozen times since stepping into this inexplicable scenario. Month after month had trained her nerves raw, and still the things she’d seen kept finding new ways to baffle her.

Yet she hadn’t imagined that one boy could match every shock she’d endured these past few months in a single day.

She forced her burning hands—a Master’s hands—to stay steady as she held a Grandmaster’s mana core. A Grandmaster’s core... taken by an Expert.

While the room reeled—everyone reaching the same terrible conclusion except the elderly couple and the child—Azriel laughed.

He laughed, wheezed, spat blood, and laughed again, until no one knew how to react.

"M-Master...?" Nol asked, his voice was tight with worry, but Azriel only kept laughing.

"Hah... hahahaha—ah, gods..." He coughed.

"Look at you all. How... can you be so... gullible?"

They stared at him, uncomprehending. Azriel turned to Ranni, his ruined mouth pulling wider, clearer.

"I didn’t... kill him."

"...!"

"He killed... himself."

"...What?"

Ranni let out a shaky breath. He... took his own life?

"But... why?"

Azriel made a small, broken shrug.

"He couldn’t live without... his daughter."

Ranni’s eyes lifted a fraction.

’

His daughter... Lady Mio.’

Azriel had told her about the girl. To think the village chief had been here all along—hidden—and his daughter lost to the forest.

What

was

this place?

There was a larger story coiled around all of them. And the prince—he wasn’t going to share it. Not really. Not when a Grandmaster had spoken to him alone and then died before his eyes.

What had they said? What had happened between those trees? Was this forest only a place where people came to die? What was the deal with this entire forest...

"Wait... then how did you get so—so injured?" Marco stammered, swaying as if he might faint.

Before Azriel could answer, the old woman spoke.

"Because he’s as much a fool as Maxime was."

Azriel and the others turned. He gave a dry, ghostly chuckle.

"You’re still alive, antique? I thought you’d... be dead by now—from scamming... half the town... or a heart attack."

The old woman snorted.

"If anyone’s dying of a heart attack, it’s you. By the Sun, I regret giving you free food if you’re going to waste it by dying the next day."

"You want to... bet which one of us can last... more heart attacks before... dying?"

"Enough," Ranni said, stepping in. She walked to Azriel, slipped the core into her storage ring, and took his other arm gently, her voice was soft with concern.

"Sit. Please."

He looked at her without much expression as she and Nol guided him to the couch. He sank down, limp and shaking. On the far end, the little girl—Lia—peered around the armrest at him. Azriel glanced away at once; she did the same.

The one-armed old man came to his side and began to examine him with brisk, practiced hands.

"I haven’t properly introduced myself. And for what you did for this village—for saving us—I—"

"I... don’t give a shit."

Azriel cut him off, meeting his eyes with no warmth at all. His voice was sand-dry, and the cold in it said everything.

They stared at him, startled; the old man flinched. Azriel kept speaking.

"You’re a fool—one who let his village fall into danger because you were afraid. Even after I tore your arm off, you praise me as a hero. I would’ve taken your head too, if I’d had to... and I wouldn’t have lost sleep over it. You’re a fool, and I’m in no mood to talk to fools."

"I—"

Words failed him.

"So I don’t care what you think—or what your name is."

Before anyone could answer, Veronica clicked her tongue and cut in, glaring at Azriel with open irritation.

"Yeah, yeah—we get it. You don’t like him. Blah, blah. Now are you going to explain how you managed to mutilate your entire body, or not?"

Azriel’s mouth twitched, amused. The old woman, ignoring his contempt for the old man, spoke up instead.

"He dug out Maxime’s mana core," she said flatly. "The blood that burst from it burned him. And that dirt on your legs? You buried the body too—still hot enough to cook your hands. Who would’ve thought—at least you show a shred of respect to some of your elders."

Her words widened more than a few eyes—especially the last part.

He had buried the body.

Azriel noticed the looks. What did they think he was—a mindless void creature that killed without a second thought?

Veronica only grew sharper.

"Are you deaf? I asked why he’s burned like this, not for some saintly spin to make this idiot look noble."

The old woman sighed.

"Poison. Maxime drank something very, very lethal. And because this one stayed with the body too long, it hurt him by exposure."

"...What kind of poison can kill a Grandmaster?" Ranni asked, skeptical, while the old man continued his careful examination.

"A Dark Basilisk... King," Azriel rasped, coughing.

"You mean a Dark Basilisk?" Veronica narrowed her eyes.

"No... a Dark Basilisk

King

."

"What... what the hell is a Dark Basilisk King?"

"Am I... Wikipedia?"

"A wikiwhat?"

She ground her teeth, clicked her tongue, then smiled with a mean sort of delight.

"Fine. We all know about Dark Basilisks. But a Dark Basilisk

King

—poison that can kill a Grandmaster? That’s new. Word like that will be rewarded. Shame you’ll be dead before you can tell anyone, so I’ll do the honors and report how you gave your life—"

"We’re not sure he’s dying yet," Ranni cut in.

Veronica’s face twisted.

"What? Why not?"

Ranni met her glare without flinching. The old man pressed his fingertips gently to a bloodless patch on Azriel’s chest.

"Breathe," he said.

Reluctantly, Azriel obeyed.

The old man’s face darkened.

"There’s mild inflammation in your lungs..."

Everyone—except Veronica—went tense, faces darkening.

"I-Is Master going to be okay? He’s going to be okay, right?" Nol asked.

"That depends," the old man said, studying Azriel. "Honestly... that Maxime. We knew him the longest. Who would’ve thought he’d bow out like this—endangering your life—and not even die from the poison itself."

"What do you mean?" Ella asked.

"The poison can kill a Grandmaster, but it isn’t guaranteed. If a Grandmaster fights it properly—and someone at Maxime’s level certainly could—he might survive. He didn’t. He took the poison after he returned here, and since he didn’t resist it, it still would have taken time—likely by nightfall. But since he died before that, it means he took his own life before the poison finished him. I’m right, aren’t I?"

The old woman narrowed her eyes at Azriel. He exhaled.

"That’s correct... he ripped his own heart out."

"..!"

"What? So he drinks poison, then kills himself with his own two hands?" Veronica’s smile sharpened as she looked at Azriel.

"Wow. He must’ve really wanted to pay you back for those mana bombs."

Azriel ignored her.

"So... what about Master?" Nol asked, worry fixed on Azriel.

"That depends," the old man said. "When you were talking with Maxime, did you notice anything wrong with yourself?"

Azriel gave a small nod.

"The air felt... like it stung. I coughed blood."

The old man sighed and nodded.

"That means your lungs didn’t take a direct hit. What you felt was a side effect—an aerosol the poison forces out of the victim’s body."

His gaze moved over Azriel’s burned skin and ruined hands. Ranni’s voice cut in, taut with worry.

"How does this poison actually work?"

The old woman drew a breath.

"It’s complicated. Even I don’t fully understand it. I watched him finish it and helped make it, but it hasn’t been tested much on humans. It acts in stages. From what I know, it binds to the endothelium and crystallizes into micro-thorns. The skin begins to marble; purple veining shows. The eyes redden; the pupils go glassy. Those thorns pressurize and pop in chain reactions—micro-explosions—that aerosolize the blood into a violet, burning mist inside the body. The first pops start deep in the capillaries. The detonations travel vein to vein like fire jumping rafters. Tiny blisters bloom and burst. The mouth and nose bleed in spurts, not streams. Touching the sweat or blood burns like lye, and cutting the skin makes exposed blood detonate in flecks. A little later, the lungs seed heavily; every breath carries a violet aerosol that stings eyes and skin. The pulse stutters as vessels rupture from within. After a few more hours, the pores themselves begin to mist poison. Animals die. Any life gets infected. Wind carries the motes, killing plants and trees as it goes. Anyone entering the area without protection suffers chemical burns and marbling within minutes."

By then, nearly every mouth hung open—everyone but Azriel, who only looked exhausted and half-dead; little Lia, who didn’t understand but covered her mouth to match the others; and the two elders.

"So... wait—are we all infected now!?" Veronica shouted. The others paled.

The old woman shook her head.

"No. It hasn’t been long enough. Even buried, the body will eventually leach into the ground and spread through the forest."

"No—I mean

this idiot

you’re all praising as a hero!" Veronica snapped. Azriel’s face twitched.

The old woman turned to him.

"You took the health potions he made, yes?"

"Yes. I drank one... after digging out his mana core, and another after... burying him. My body’s stronger than... the average Expert, and I have a skill that lets me... heal automatically."

She nodded.

"Then you should be mostly safe. The poison in you ought to be nearly gone—too weak to infect the rest of us."

Relief broke across the room—except on the old man’s face. His voice dropped.

"I wouldn’t be so sure."

Ranni’s head snapped toward him.

"What do you mean?"

Worry sharpened her features. Nol looked at Azriel as if he might cry; Azriel sighed. The old man’s eyes glowed as he studied Azriel’s body.

"The blood he got on him contained the poison. All this blood on his skin—the poison can seep through, then into the flesh, multiply, and become as dangerous as a full vial—the same dose Maxime took."

Silence fell. Heavy. Stunned. The old man stood, crossed to Ranni, and took her hands, eyes glowing as he scanned them. Then he moved to Nol and did the same. Everyone understood why.

They were the ones who had touched Azriel’s body.

But the old man frowned.

"How... how do you two show no signs of poison at all?"

Ranni and Nol looked down at their hands—and saw something very, very strange.

There was no blood on them. In fact... they were perfectly clean.

Then they looked at Azriel. He was staring at the floor. He coughed blood.

Before anyone could move, he spoke in a hoarse rasp.

"...As if I didn’t know the blood was poisonous."

He coughed again.

"I’m not so stupid as to let either... of you get poisoned. I used ice—sheathed the places you touched. A barrier."

Their eyes widened. Ranni frowned.

"No... how is that possible? I would have felt it. I didn’t feel anything when—"

She stopped. She hadn’t felt anything. No cold at all.

She studied him properly. His breaths were shallow. Sweat slicked his skin. The rims of his ears, his neck, patches along his face—flushed red.

Her eyes widened again. For the first time, Azriel managed a real smile.

"I must be one of... the few Experts to catch a fever," he murmured, and gave the faintest laugh.

Ranni pressed her lips together. His body was burning—that’s why even the mana core had scorched her palms; Maxime’s corpse must have been hot as coals. The fever was a side effect. Azriel’s skin was so hot that the ice he conjured where Nol and Ranni touched him had already lost its heat by the time their hands reached it.

"You need another health potion," the old man said.

"Then pour another over your body as well."

Azriel held his gaze for a beat and shook his head.

"No... there aren’t many left. They shouldn’t be used... on me. I’ll heal... eventually."

"Master, you need to take another potion!" Nol pleaded.

"Your Highness, if you don’t, you might actually die," Ranni added.

Azriel looked from one to the other and shook his head again.

"Yelena needs it—to wake from the coma. The rest... we may need for others who need... it more than me."

"Master, how could anyone be worse off than you right now? Please!" Nol’s face twisted.

Ranni bit down on her frustration.

"Can a potion really help her? We’ve tried healers—dozens. Our own potions did nothing to anyone. How sure are you that these will work?"

Veronica cut in, flat and cold.

"By steamrolling the poison that plague dude pumped into her."

"What do you mean?" Ranni asked, thrown.

Azriel answered for her, each word scraping out.

"If we gather enough healers... the Saintess, the Frost Heiress... others... and add the potion—maybe more... than one—then focus on the source of the coma... the poison might not survive. It could be cleared. She might wake."

He was seized by another coughing fit. Nol started toward him, but Azriel shot him a look that stopped him cold.

"Master..."

"But then you’ll— you’ll..." Ranni faltered.

The old man spoke.

"There is another way."

Every face turned to him—everyone’s but Veronica’s lit with a brittle hope. But he didn’t share it also. He looked at Azriel instead, troubled.

"The poison is on your skin and may seep deeper. Theoretically, if you cut away every patch that’s been soaked—skin first, then flesh if it’s penetrated—you could survive without potions. I don’t know why yours don’t work, but you don’t have much time. The longer we wait, the deeper it goes."

Silence cracked the room. Ella stared, then clenched her teeth.

"Surely you’re not telling him to mutilate himself to live!?"

"There has to be another option," Marco said, grimly.

The old woman answered.

"Evacuation’s already started. There isn’t time to fetch more healers. Soon this forest will be a place only the dead can endure. My husband here, Bram, can blunt your pain—but proper healers won’t make it in time to clear the poison before it sinks too deep. And whatever ’automatic healing’ skill you have won’t cover this on time either."

"This... doesn’t make sense," Ella whispered, as if refusing the shape of it. She clearly didn’t care for Azriel—but that didn’t mean she wanted him to suffer. He was Jasmine’s little brother. That mattered.

Voices rose, colliding. Azriel tuned them out. He looked down at his burned hands. A ringing swelled in his ears, swallowing their words. He let out a long breath that hurt all the way through.

"Why the hell did that bastard you guys call Maxime even do this to him!? If he was going to take his life anyway, he might as well have just hung himself with a rope! There was no need to make Master endure this pain!"

’You are wrong, Nol... He did this to make me properly understand the consequences of the weapon he created, were I to use it...’

But Azriel didn’t say that out loud, to anyone. They didn’t need to know.

He made his decision.

"...I’d like to be alone."

All of them looked at him, their eyes went wide.

"Master, no!" Nol dropped to one knee, lips trembling. The room went still; throats closed on the things they wanted to say.

"Please just take the potion! Who cares about Yelena!? Why do you have to suffer for their mistakes!?"

"Nol..."

"I can’t believe I’m saying this," Veronica drawled, "but listen to your puppy. No need to hurt yourself for commoners who can’t keep their own footing."

Azriel glanced at her.

"She’s more useful... awake than asleep. She might be... the reason you make it out of here... alive."

"Well, you certainly won’t—if you choose this."

"Master, please take the potion," Nol begged.

Azriel met Nol’s pleading eyes and forced a gentler smile.

"I’m fine."

"Like hell you are, Master!"

"...!"

Nol’s shout stunned him.

"You don’t look fine! You’re not fine! Why do you always have to be so damn stubborn!? You’re in so much pain you can’t even breathe properly! How is mutilating yourself supposed to be fine!? This isn’t fair, Master! You’re not being fair!"

"Nol... I won’t die. Trust me. We still have to talk about a lot... and the key you hav—"

He broke off, slapped a hand over his mouth, and coughed hard. Blood splattered his palm. Nol went both pale and dark at once.

Azriel wiped his mouth and looked at him.

"Go. Get them all out—safely. Wait for me at... the end of the tunnel these two ancients... will lead you all. I’ll be there... soon."

He tried to smile again and failed. Nol bit his lip until it bled.

"You say I’m useful, but all you give me are scraps while you do everything alone. How am I supposed to believe you, Master? How am I supposed to serve you if you never let me?"

Azriel said nothing. No one did. The quiet simply pressed in. Nol blinked hard, forcing the tears back, and turned away.

"Fine. I’ll do as you wish, Master."

"...."

’You fool... how am I supposed to order you when I don’t even see you as my servant...’

The old woman cast one last look his way, took Lia’s hand, and followed Nol. Marco and Ella left with complicated, shamefaced glances. Veronica slipped out after them.

"I can perform the procedure and blunt the pain—" Bram began.

"No."

Azriel’s voice cut through, sharper than before.

"Leave. I can do it myself."

The old man studied him, sighed, and nodded.

Soon, only Ranni and Azriel remained in the cabin. They faced each other—both looking wrecked.

"You clearly have a lot to say... from before... There’s no need to hold back from... me in this state anymore... Instructor... please, speak... it will ease me... before I begin..."

Ranni’s hands closed into fists.

"I..."