96. The Nightwalker Tribe
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The Layton couple worked together to carry a fainted “offering” up the stairs, their children following behind.
“Remember to address that esteemed one as ‘Master.’ When you meet him, do not raise your voice or make direct eye contact—that would be seen as provocation.”
“You must respect him as you would your former grandfather, showing humility and reverence.”
“Any command he gives must be obeyed.”
Dean halted mid-step, exchanging apprehensive glances with his three excited older siblings.
“So if he orders us to die on the spot, are we supposed to commit suicide?” Peren half-joked.
Layton and Shannon stopped and shot Peren a stern glare. “He is our ancestor; he would never harm his descendants. Just don’t act foolish and flippant.”
“I understand,” Peren’s smile stiffened as he pressed his lips together. “I swear, if I say nonsense again, I’ll sew this foul mouth shut.”
“What exactly does this Master look like?”
Christine slowed her pace, her stunning face a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. “I’m afraid I might be too shocked to behave properly when I see him.”
“He maintains a basic humanoid form,” Layton said, scanning his four children. Turning, he carried the offering’s back and retreated down the left-slanting staircase. “But he is a born hunter—his physique combines strength, agility, explosive power, and intimidation, so he’s not exactly handsome.”
So, a monster?
Dean noted the investigation progress bar rising to ten percent in the system and asked,
“Will we be able to communicate with him? Maybe ask a few questions, like where he came from?”
Layton pondered.
“Don’t ask questions without permission. Watch my expression and act accordingly.”
...
The six of them reached the second floor, passing through a dim corridor, entering a lavish master bedroom.
A velvet bed made from violetwood, bedside tables, wardrobes... The furnishings gleamed with noble purple hues, adorned with intricate and delicate patterns, reminiscent of precious antiques.
Yet Dean noticed something odd: along the way, not a single window appeared in the corridor to allow air or light.
This bedroom had glass windows, but they were nailed shut with wooden boards and heavy curtains drawn tight, blocking out the brilliant midday sunlight.
Only the ceiling held a dim yellow electric lamp, barely illuminating the room.
Was this strange arrangement due to the Master’s particular preference or weakness?
Dean made a mental note of this detail.
The Layton couple set down the offering, then together lifted the velvet bed and moved it aside. Behind it, they parted a grid-like wall covering, revealing a pitch-black stone door secured with two massive locks.
“Click,” “click.”
Each pulled a key from their chest pockets and unlocked the door.
With a humming sound, they pushed the stone door open to reveal a pitch-dark corridor, ink-black and profoundly gloomy, barely wide enough for two to walk side by side. A nauseating stench of rot poured out, like the gaping maw of a Komodo dragon.
Dean and his three siblings couldn’t help but furrow their brows and cover their noses.
They ate meat—but not carrion.
...
“Stay calm, children.” Shannon produced a candelabrum holding three pure white candles and lit them one by one. “This is just the stench of ‘food’ decay mixed with some ‘filth’.”
“Filth?” Dean looked at her.
“It’s akin to the scent predators like lions or tigers use to mark their territory. The Master likes to mark his bedroom this way.”
“Once you cross this threshold, don’t speak or touch anything. The Master dislikes rash behavior... Now, follow me.” Shannon led the way into the dark corridor with the candelabrum held high. Layton dragged the offering behind her.
Then came Hudson, Peren, eyes wide with curiosity.
Christine affectionately wrapped one arm around Dean, letting him feel the softness of her embrace. Her wild yet beautiful face radiated a gentle glow.
But Dean could never forget the scene of her savage nature.
Not one of us.
...
Dean entered at the rear of the group.
The dim candlelight revealed ancient brick walls on either side, not bare but etched with numerous murals in pale and vivid red pigments—
At the entrance stood a rusty iron gate that split open sideways.
Beyond it lay a graveyard.
Tombs rose amidst the grass, housing countless white bones and decayed corpses. The dense tombstones bore intricate, indecipherable epitaphs.
Nearby, the sun just dipped below the horizon, weaving eerie gray dusk clouds that draped the graveyard in a pale mist.
Desolate and lonely.
The atmosphere thickened, as if cursed.
...
The light grew brighter.
Mother lit the torches on both sides of the corridor one by one.
Beneath the bright candlelight, the mural’s depiction of the sunset graveyard scene progressed with the passage of time.
Day turned to night.
The sun set, darkness fell, and the tombstones vanished into the night.
Under the night’s veil, the scene below the graveyard “surfaced”—
A tunnel winding deep underground.
Every few steps along the tunnel branched off narrow side paths, each containing a series of small interconnected rooms.
From afar, countless branches extended like a sprawling tree, clustered with leaves, forming a vast and complex underground kingdom.
Unlike the lonely, silent night aboveground, this underground realm glowed faintly with yellow light everywhere. Though no inhabitants appeared in the paintings, it felt lively, vibrant, warm, and full of hope.
Dean was captivated, a strange intuition rising as the progress bar surged: the graveyard and this immense underground kingdom were tied to the Master’s origins.
...
Footsteps halted ahead.
Dean looked up.
At the corridor’s end was a pitch-black chamber, where the pungent stench of blood reached its peak, making his eyes water.
Shannon entered, lighting oil lamps and torches that brightened the room—a circular chamber the size of a modest living room, windowless, with sealed walls and an oval dome.
...
Dean swept his gaze across, his expression faltering, eyes wide with horror.
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What kind of den of fiends was this?
Blood splattered wildly, and the floor and circular walls were stained dark red with black, foul-smelling excrement, like asphalt.
On the dark red floor lay a dense carpet of white bones—goat, pig, cow skeletons, and even human bones.
The environment was crude, rough, and primitive—like a terrifying beast’s lair deep in a cave.
A stark contrast to the earlier sumptuous bedroom.
Deeper inside.
At the carpet’s end, piled against the wall, was a throne made of bones.
A humanoid figure sat upright upon it, hands resting on knees, eyes closed as if dozing.
The flickering flames revealed human limbs, skull, and torso.
He wore only a tattered cloth covering vital parts, with vast exposed skin glowing fiery red, like molten lava or freshly forged steel.
His size was not exaggerated compared to a normal human—just over two meters tall, with long arms, thick thighs, broad shoulders and back, reminiscent of a professional wrestler.
But far deadlier than any wrestler—
His wrists, ankles, elbows, knees, and shoulders bore sharp bone spikes protruding outward. These jutted out and shimmered dark red with each steady breath.
His face was rugged and coarse, painted roughly with red pigment.
Most striking was the peculiar red hair—
From the ends of his eyebrows, cheekbones, side face, to the top and back of his head, thick flesh braids resembling snakes, each about the width of a pinky finger.
These braids hung down his neck, moving slowly and alive in the air.
They evoked the legendary gorgon.
Yet he was unmistakably male.
...
Upon seeing this monster, the investigation progress rose to thirty percent.
Due to the uncanny valley effect, this snake-haired man was even more terrifying and grotesque than the melting-candle wraith.
Moreover, none of the folklore stories Treasurebecka had told Dean mentioned such a creature.
Neither Wendigo nor werewolf...
What kind of species was this hunter ancestor, this so-called god?
Dean’s three siblings standing beside him were equally shocked, gasping.
The chamber was deathly silent.
...
Layton signaled the children to be quiet, then carefully stepped over skulls and filth, dragging the offering beneath the bone throne.
“Master, I bring you food.”
Layton placed his right hand on his chest, left hand hanging down, bowing deeply.
“These four young people are my unworthy children, your descendants—Hudson, Peren, Christine, and Gru.”
“They have long admired your bloodline and great power and wish to ask you some questions.”
Suddenly—
Two streaks of scarlet lightning flashed across the chamber as the creature opened its eyes.
Its almond-shaped, vertical pupils swept over the four young faces with oppressive, penetrating force, as if piercing their hearts and souls at a glance.
“Do not be afraid, young ones. I will not eat you.”
A hoarse voice, rough as a rasp, echoed.
It sniffed repeatedly.
“We all share the hunter’s gift; therefore, we are comrades.”
Ha ha ha!
It burst into wild laughter, a sound charged with magic, shaking the snake hair, the circular dome, and the bone piles on the floor.
The four young ones jumped, paling further.
The snake-haired man reached out, lifted the offering before him like a butcher hoisting livestock.
“It is but a lump of meat.”
Crunch.
He bared jagged yellow teeth, remnants of red meat stuck between them.
He bit off a strip of flesh and swallowed it greedily without chewing, a satisfied smile spreading across his fierce face.
“The meat is tender and juicy. How thoughtful of you. Care to share?”
“This offering was specially prepared for you.” Shannon stepped forward, cheeks flushed, eyes shining with admiration. “We have already eaten before coming here.”
“Very well, young ones. Before I finish this meal, while I am in a good mood, ask whatever questions you have.”
As he spoke, the monster fed himself with swift, precise motions, the joint spikes slicing and tearing with efficiency, no wasted movement.
He knew animal anatomy intimately, brutalizing the offering like a master of butchery, effortlessly dismantling it into countless pieces.
Blood gushed like a fountain, sliding down his red skin, soaking into skulls beneath, then oozing from empty eye sockets and nasal cavities.
Even after witnessing a horrifying midday feast before, Dean still felt intense discomfort, nausea, and anger.
But he forced himself to remain calm.
The time was not yet right.
...
Seizing the rare opportunity, Peren, encouraged by his parents’ nods, was the first to speak.
“Master, how long have you lived in this chamber?”
“About two years. I have survived thanks to Layton and Shannon’s support.” The snake-haired man glanced gratefully at the couple. “Without them, I would have gone mad from hunger.”
Layton and Shannon’s faces reddened slightly, honored.
“Have you ever left the chamber during this time?”
“I have always stayed within.” He looked around with satisfaction. “This is my second home. I go nowhere else.”
“But don’t you find it boring? This place is dark and foul. No TV, not even a radio—completely cut off from the outside world.” Peren looked incredulous. “I wouldn’t last three days.”
“Bored? The essence of life is boredom, especially for those with excessively long lives.” The snake-haired man greedily licked meat scraps from a leg bone. “Sleeping, eating, dreaming, flying and transforming in dreams—that’s all the joy I have now.”
“That’s enough.”
...
Dean imagined himself living in such a place for two years—he probably would have ended his life.
Monsters truly had different thoughts.
Though he was lucky not to have triggered the supernatural convergence law all this time—Dean hesitated, thinking, wasn’t his arrival here itself a result of that law?
A surge of boldness welled up within him.
I am this monster’s calamity!
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...
“Layton and Shannon say you are a god. Are you omnipotent like a god?” Hudson asked next, his sharp eyes shining, voice sincere. “Can you grant any wish?”
“No, that’s nonsense.” The creature casually snapped a meaty bone, extended his barbed tongue to lick the blood and flesh, sucking marrow from the fracture. “I don’t do magic, not even simple tricks. I’m just faster and stronger than ordinary people.”
“That’s quite normal.”
He spoke condescendingly.
“We are hunters, lions; other animals are prey.”
“It’s natural for lions to be stronger than their prey.”
Dean glanced at the system—investigation progress had reached forty percent and was climbing rapidly.
“How many years have you lived? Are you truly our ancestor?” Christine suppressed her fear, wearing a face of reverence. “Did you mate with our forebears to produce our parents?”
“How long?” The snake-haired man scratched his smooth chin with dagger-like thick nails, his tone revealing a hint of weariness. “Over a hundred years, I suppose.”
A hundred years?
Dean studied the creature’s well-defined muscles and wrinkle-free, peculiar face.
He could easily pass for someone in his thirties.
What great power could keep this monster youthful and vigorous at such an advanced age?
Completing this event—
Could he inherit such abnormal longevity?
The snake-haired man had no idea a young man was scheming nearby.
“I never reproduced with your ancestors; you are not my direct bloodline descendants.”
“Layton and Shannon call me ancestor only because our bloodlines share the same homeland.”
He tossed a bone into the pile, his cruel almond eyes tinged with sorrow and melancholy.
“Homeland?”
The four young ones looked puzzled.
Layton and Shannon smiled with longing.
“Where exactly is this homeland you speak of?” Dean finally asked, a weighty question that made the snake-haired man ponder deeply.
After a long pause, he patted his slightly rounded belly and tilted his head. “Have you heard of Midian?”
Midian?
Dean frowned, racking his brain. He was certain he had never heard this name anywhere.
The snake-haired man’s gaze shifted to the others, all of whom looked troubled.
He shook his head regretfully, speaking with a unique cadence.
“I come from Midian, a place where various monsters dwell. It takes away pain and greed, granting us true freedom. It is where our souls find rest.”
Many monsters living in one place?
Dean’s heart raced wildly—
Wouldn’t that trigger the supernatural convergence law?
The investigation progress suddenly jumped to fifty percent.
Dean recalled the murals they had passed and ventured,
“Is the Midian you mentioned a graveyard with a vast underground kingdom?”
“Sharp young minds, indeed,” the snake-haired man praised. “You’ve seen my work from my boredom?”
“Yes. These murals are your creations born of homesickness?”
“Exactly.”
Nearby, the Layton family remained silent, listening obediently to Dean’s exchange with the ancestor.
“You painted it so vividly, so you must still remember your homeland’s location. Why don’t you return?” Dean looked at the snake-haired man. “Why live in this dark, sunless chamber instead?”
“Return? Ha, return?” The massive figure on the bone throne suddenly closed his eyes.
“Do you think I don’t want to go back?”
“I am a wanderer exiled for breaking Midian’s iron law. Unless it calls me, I can never return.”
“What iron law?” Layton, curious, interrupted. Although he had lived with this ancestor for two years, he had never dared ask due to respect and deep-rooted fear.
The snake-haired man smiled but did not answer.
“Can you tell me where Midian is exactly?” Dean stepped over a puddle of black filth, bravely approaching, gazing sincerely. “Perhaps I can visit and plead for your forgiveness.”
In that instant, Christine and the other two held their breath in shock. They never expected their youngest brother to be so bold—not only meeting the ancestor’s gaze but making such an outrageous request!
...
“No.” The snake-haired man rose from the bone pile, his massive form casting a hill-like shadow. His profound words followed.
“If you are valuable, a chosen ‘monster,’ Midian will call you in dreams.”
“Otherwise, you will sleep forever upon arrival.”
...
“All right, everyone, that ends the question session. Leave now; I need a nap.” The snake-haired man kicked the newly born skeleton to pieces and yawned.
Layton and Shannon placed their right hands on their chests, left hands lowered, bowed to him, stepped back, and signaled the children to withdraw.
“Respected Master, I have one last question.” Dean interrupted their plan. “We, including you, bear many grand titles—gourmet, hunter… Frankly, these titles are not dignified or representative enough.”
Dean asked eagerly,
“Is there no unified title?”
“In Midian, in our homeland, how do monsters like us refer to ourselves?”
The snake-haired man’s previously lazy demeanor shifted abruptly, like a predator awakened from slumber. His eyes flashed fiercely, exuding a menacing aura.
Dean trembled.
His family worried but dared not speak.
After a tense five seconds, the snake-haired man suddenly gave him a meaningful smile, easing the tension.
“Gru, you are not only the strongest member of the Stone family but also the one asking the most profound, pertinent questions. If you are called to Midian, perhaps you will earn a name.”
“Now I will tell you the answer—remember it.”
He suddenly turned his back to everyone.
“In Midian, from birth, whether body or soul, we are monsters.”
“This society has never accepted us, so we cannot appear in our true form before humans—under the sun, in bustling cities or streets.”
“Chambers, countryside, suburbs, graveyards... dark, secluded corners are our domains.”
“When darkness falls, and humans rest, that is when we come alive.”
His eyes gleamed with a captivating light as he proudly declared like a king,
“So we—all monsters rejected by the world—are nightwalkers!”
(End of chapter)