Lucy watched Martha April with open suspicion. Her gaze moved over the woman, analyzing every detail—from her perfectly arranged hair, to her gleaming eyes, to the scar on her forehead.

  "How do you know?" she finally asked, trying to keep her tone neutral. "How do you know about what happened?"

  Martha smiled politely.

  "I was summoned by the authorities. There was a chance I’d have to use amnesia on those children again. But then… they sent me back. They told me it wouldn’t be necessary anymore."

  Lucy frowned slightly.

  "Because the children are dead," Martha finished, her tone unchanged.

  Lucy felt something inside her tighten painfully. Something was off.

  And more importantly—how did she know?

  That was supposed to remain strictly confidential.

  The man standing beside Martha—Igor Kot, the owner of a pharmaceutical company—glanced at his watch.

  "We need to go," he said. "We have a lot to handle."

  Martha nodded and turned back to Lucy.

  "Once again… my condolences."

  Lucy nodded, not taking her eyes off her.

  As the woman and her companion left, an uneasy feeling started to take root in Lucy’s heart.

  Meanwhile, Cornelius was moving through the crowd when something suddenly caught his attention.

  The outline of a familiar figure.

  His heartbeat quickened.

  A man he knew well passed through the crowd and headed toward the terrace.

  That’s impossible.

  Cornelius didn’t hesitate. He followed.

  On the terrace stood a tall man dressed in an elegant suit, holding a glass of wine. His back was turned to him, but Cornelius had no doubt who he was.

  Jacob.

  His master.

  The man who had taken him in after the tragedy of the Violet Night. Who had taught him everything.

  He wore his signature blindfold, embroidered with a symbolic eye.

  "You’ve changed," he said without turning around. "Since you decided to leave."

  Cornelius furrowed his brows.

  "You’re imagining things."

  Jacob smirked.

  "You’ve gone soft."

  Cornelius scoffed.

  "You’re talking nonsense."

  Jacob took a sip of wine, then slowly turned his head toward Cornelius.

  "You’re unlucky to show up at Dziady this year."

  Cornelius narrowed his eyes.

  "What are you—"

  But before he could finish, his master… vanished. As if he had never been there.

  In the main hall, Isaac looked around nervously.

  Where the hell is Jian?!

  He was supposed to come back any moment, yet there was no sign of him.

  Cornelius was also missing. What the fuck is going on?

  Suddenly, the enormous doors burst open with a loud bang.

  Conversations fell silent.

  A man in a long black robe entered.

  The Guslar.

  The one who would lead the Dziady ritual.

  Behind him, servants carried in two tables laden with food.

  The Guslar raised his hands, his voice echoing through the hall.

  "Tonight, we open the gates between worlds! The souls of the dead will return to taste the offerings and share their wisdom."

  Excitement among the guests grew.

  "But remember the rules!" the Guslar continued. "The food prepared for the dead must not be touched by the living. You must not touch the spirits. You must not disrupt the ritual!"

  Lucy and Cornelius rejoined the group.

  Isaac, though he appeared indifferent, was lost in memories.

  Father never let me or Mother attend Dziady.

  He knew the ritual was only permitted from the age of sixteen, but… why had he forbidden even Mother from going?

  King Joseph entered the main hall.

  The royal guard followed behind him, led by Prince Peter.

  The monarch took his seat on the throne and raised his hand.

  "Begin the ritual."

  The Guslar smirked slightly.

  I’ve waited fifteen years for this.

  Meanwhile…

  In a separate, dimly lit chamber, Matthew stood over two tables.

  One was covered with a white cloth, beneath which lay corpses—the bodies of those whose souls they were about to summon.

  The other, slightly smaller, was set with offerings for the dead—bread, honey, porridge, and vodka.

  Beside the clergyman, Adam Kraski and Jian waited. The air was thick with the scent of candles and incense burning slowly on wooden stands.

  Matthew closed his eyes and began the ritual.

  Adam clasped his hands over his chest, a growing unease settling in.

  "I have a bad feeling about this," he murmured, glancing at Jian. "And on top of that… there are only three generals at the ball. Most of them refused at the last minute. That’s never happened before."

  Jian remained silent, but Matthew could feel his tension. He sensed something, too.

  The clergyman did not stop his chanting, but… something was wrong.

  No soul appeared.

  A minute passed. Then two.

  The chamber was silent, broken only by the crackling of burning candles.

  Nothing.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Matthew opened his eyes, feeling a cold sweat form on his neck.

  Usually, the souls came almost immediately. But now…

  "Why isn’t anyone coming?" he murmured under his breath.

  He tightened his fingers around his rosary and tried again. His voice echoed against the stone walls, the words reverberating. The air grew heavy, as if something invisible was pressing down on them.

  And then…

  It appeared.

  Red. Trembling.

  Sister Anastasia.

  Matthew froze.

  Her soul wasn’t supposed to look like this. She wasn’t supposed to… suffer like this.

  Adam narrowed his eyes. Jian shifted slightly forward, ready to react.

  Matthew felt his stomach twist into a knot.

  Her lips were sewn shut.

  Threads black as the abyss, stitched in thick, uneven seams.

  The clergyman felt the blood drain from his face.

  "Anastasia…" His voice was quiet but firm. "What is the demon planning?"

  Silence.

  She couldn’t answer.

  In a flash, she lunged toward the table, desperately trying to consume the food. Her movements were frantic, starved, like someone dying of hunger.

  But… she couldn’t eat.

  She jerked backward, her body arching in a spasm. She couldn't speak, but a terrifying, inhuman wail escaped her lips.

  She howled. She howled like a creature suffering beyond the limits of comprehension.

  Matthew watched her motionlessly.

  "What did that demon do to you..."

  And then they heard the screams.

  Adam snapped his head up, his hand already poised to summon his spiritual weapon.

  "We’re going!" he called to Jian.

  Jian looked at Matthew.

  The clergyman didn’t take his eyes off Anastasia’s soul.

  He clenched his fists and spoke in a calm but firm voice.

  "Go. I’ll stay here. I need to get something out of her."

  Adam hesitated for a second, then nodded.

  "When you're done, help us in the main hall."

  And they ran.

  Ten minutes earlier – The ballroom

  The Guslar smiled beneath his mask.

  This is the perfect moment.

  The summoned souls had their mouths sewn shut. The gathered guests began murmuring among themselves, unease slowly rising among them. Some took a step back, others exchanged confused glances.

  And then the Guslar began to recite.

  Words in an unknown language echoed through the hall—melodic yet unnatural. The air thickened as if it had suddenly been drained of oxygen.

  At that moment, one of the souls approached Isaac.

  It was a middle-aged man with a mustache.

  Isaac didn't know him. But this soul wanted to tell him something.

  It tried to open its mouth, but the stitches on its lips tightened as if they had a will of their own. The spirit’s eyes pleaded for attention, for understanding.

  And then...

  All the souls went mad.

  They started attacking.

  Screams tore through the air.

  The guards leapt into action. The guests recoiled in panic—some tried to fight, but the spirits couldn’t be touched.

  Prince Peter evacuated the king.

  Chaos erupted everywhere.

  Isaac felt the freezing air wrap around his body as the mustached spirit suddenly passed through him.

  He shuddered.

  His body stiffened.

  The world around him disappeared.

  Darkness fell.

  He was inside his mind.

  He felt nothing. He heard nothing…

  And then…

  A voice.

  Soft, trembling, as if ripped from another dimension.

  "Curse… Seine… brother…"

  Isaac wanted to ask what it meant, but he couldn’t move.

  And then he saw him.

  A man.

  His face was blurred, as if someone had erased it from existence.

  But he saw his throat.

  Slit.

  Blood trickled down his body.

  And behind him…

  A white tiger.

  Powerful. Majestic.

  Its white eyes gleamed in the darkness, staring straight at Isaac.

  The stranger grabbed the soul by the throat.

  His fingers tightened, locking it in place.

  The soul struggled, trying to break free.

  But the man leaned in and whispered in a chilling voice,

  "You always talk too much."

  And crushed it.

  Isaac felt his mind shatter.

  He opened his eyes.

  He was on the floor.

  Lying on cold marble.

  Chaos. Blood.

  People fought. Souls took over bodies.

  Screams.

  His head pounded. He couldn’t catch his breath, but he managed to get up.

  Suddenly, someone grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back.

  "Sit this one out, freshman," a deep voice said. "I got this."

  The force of the shove nearly knocked him over. When he looked up, he saw a towering figure—the guy was at least two meters tall, dark-skinned, with long, heavy dreadlocks tied into a ponytail. His eyes glowed an intense yellow, like lanterns cutting through the darkness.

  Kayode.

  A fourth-year student from the elite class in Warsaw.

  And then, as if it was just a game, he knocked out the first possessed guest with a solid punch to the face.

  "That was satisfying." Kayode grinned, cracking his knuckles.

  At that moment, other upperclassmen from the elite division joined him. Each of them was battle-ready. There was no fear in their eyes—only determination and confidence.

  The rest of the first-years were frozen in shock.

  Cornelius stared wide-eyed, unsure whether to join the fight or help Isaac.

  Lucy knelt beside him, grabbing his wrist.

  "Isaac! What happened?!" Her voice was full of concern.

  Maya took a combat stance, ready to fight.

  Anna and Tommy watched in shock, trying to process what had just happened.

  Makoto swallowed hard, his hand trembling.

  "What the hell is going on…?"

  But Isaac didn’t answer.

  His thoughts were still trapped in darkness. He could still hear that voice.

  Curse… Seine… brother…

  In the distance, General Adam Kraski’s strong, commanding voice rang out:

  "Restrain them! They’re still just people—only possessed! No killing!"

  The order was carried out immediately. The students sprang into action. Some used spiritual bindings to immobilize the possessed, while others struck at paralysis points, cutting off their ability to fight.

  Isaac took a step back, watching them in action. The upperclassmen fought on a completely different level. They weren’t amateurs anymore—their movements were fluid, fast, precise. They didn’t fight chaotically like him and his peers—every action had a purpose.

  But the problems weren’t over yet.

  Adam Kraski looked at Jian, and the two of them moved toward the one responsible for this nightmare.

  But the Guslar didn’t retreat.

  Instead, he smiled.

  "It won’t be that easy, gentlemen."

  And then something changed.

  Jian immediately sensed the anomaly. The Guslar’s soul… wasn’t singular.

  He had two.

  One was his own.

  The other… was fused into him.

  This wasn’t an ordinary exorcist.

  Adam Kraski reacted instantly. His spiritual energy pulsed, and greenish sparks began to form around his hands. In the blink of an eye, the air trembled, and a revolver materialized in his grip—olive-colored, gleaming, radiating the aura of his soul. Adam raised the weapon, ready to fire.

  "This doesn’t look good." His eyes narrowed in focus.

  The Guslar laughed and lifted his head, his eyes shining with an eerie glow.

  "I’ve waited fifteen years for my revenge," his lips twisted into an inhuman smile. "No one can stop me now!"