Chapter 103: The Graveyard Castle. [FIXED!]

Ylva’s hand brushed against Jason’s arm. Light, casual, and affectionate.

But her claws were out.

"Don’t react," she whispered, her lips barely moving. "We’re being watched."

Jason’s stride didn’t falter nor did his face didn’t change. But his eyes flicked sideways, scanning the shadows between the twisted trees. He saw nothing, and heard nothing. But he trusted Ylva.

"How many?" He moved only his lips, the words barely a breath. He had no idea if the thing watching them had superhuman hearing, but he wasn’t going to take chances.

Ylva’s ears twitched. She angled her head slightly, pretending to stretch her neck. "One, maybe two. I can’t tell. The scent is faint—like nothing I’ve smelled before."

Jason’s jaw tightened. Not the watcher. Something smaller. Something new.

Behind them, Mae walked in silence. The ant king’s tiny form was wrapped against her back, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. He was in a deep slumber—so deep that not even the crunch of boots on grey soil stirred him. He had more than earned that rest.

Jason glanced back at the sleeping creature.

"I expected nothing more from him," Jason thought. "He saved her life, stitched her back together nerve by nerve. If he can fix injuries like that..."

He didn’t finish the thought, there was no time. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

The thing watching them was still there.

Ylva’s voice dropped even lower. "It’s not the one we just faced. Ir has a different scent. It is weaker. Whatever it is, it’s just watching. Not attacking."

Jason nodded slowly. The thing he had defeated—the eyeless creature with the hollow voice and the crushing magic—was not the one following them now. That was something, a piece of good news.

He turned his head toward Ylva. "Are you okay?"

She blinked, surprised by the question. Then her expression softened—just a fraction.

"I’m still sore," she admitted. "Mae’s milk helped, but... I had a hole in my stomach, Jason. That doesn’t just go away." She rolled her shoulder, wincing. "But I’m good overall. I can fight."

Jason’s chest tightened. "Do you want to rest?"

"No." Her answer was immediate and firm. "Every minute we wait gives the enemy time to recover. You saw what he could do. If we don’t find him while he’s weak—"

"We won’t get another chance." Jason completed her sentence.

"Exactly." Ylva muttered.

Jason looked ahead. The path wound between more pillars of black stone, the grey soil giving way to something darker. The air grew colder and the shadows grew deeper.

And then they saw it, a castle standing in the middle of nowhere.

It rose from the center of the forest like a wound in the earth—massive, and utterly wrong. Its spires pierced the grey sky, jagged and uneven, as if they had grown rather than been built. Its walls were black, slick with moisture, and wrapped in roots.

But these roots were alive.

Unlike the withered, skeletal branches that clawed at the sky elsewhere in the Marrow, these roots pulsed. They moved and curled around the castle’s base like serpents, sliding over the stone, disappearing into cracks, emerging from windows. Some were as thin as Jason’s finger. Others were as thick as his torso.

And they were green. Deep, vibrant green—the first living color they had seen since entering the Marrow.

Jason stopped walking for a brief second, he could feel it.

He had no idea why—couldn’t explain it, couldn’t rationalize it—but something in that castle was calling to him. Not with words or with sound but with presence. A weight at the edge of his perception, like pressure behind his eyes.

"Could it be because of the mana I absorbed?" Jason thought to himself even though he was immune to mana related assaults as it stood.

He didn’t know why but the feeling was undeniable.

"That’s not natural," Mae whispered, her hooves scraping against the stone. She had stopped beside him, her brown eyes wide. "Roots don’t move like that. Not on their own."

Ylva’s claws extended fully. Her ears were flat against her skull. "Something lives in there."

"Something dangeous," Jason said.

But since the watcher they had just fought was a creation of this being, they possessed the same scent.

They stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at the living castle. The roots slithered, walls pulsed and somewhere deep within, a low hum resonated through the ground—felt more than heard.

"The enemy" Ylva said slowly. "His trail leads inside."

Jason looked at her. "You’re sure?"

"I’m sure." Her green eyes met his. "He went through that door." She pointed at the entrance—a gaping archway framed by roots that twisted together like clasped hands. "And he hasn’t come out."

Mae shifted the ant king’s weight on her back. "So what do we do? Walk into the creepy castle with the moving roots and the unknown creature?"

Jason stared at the archway, the feeling grew stronger. Something was in there. Something that knew he was coming.

"Yes," he said.

Mae sighed. "Of course."

Ylva stepped forward, falling into position beside him. Her claws gleamed in the dim light.

"If I die in there," she said quietly, "I will make sure to take you with me,"

Jason almost smiled. "Deal."

"The both of you are so damn weird!" Mae whispered in disbelief.

They walked toward the castle.

The roots parted, as if reacting to Jason.

The roots parted like a curtain, and Jason stepped into the castle.

The air inside was cold—colder than the Marrow, colder than anything he had felt before. It clung to his skin, seeped into his lungs, made his breath visible in pale clouds. The hallway stretched before him, wide and tall, its walls black and slick with moisture.

And then he saw them.

Bodies, dozens and dozens of them. They lined the walls, impaled on thick branches that sprouted from the stone like grotesque trees. The branches pierced chests, stomachs, throats—skewering the corpses at odd angles, holding them aloft like sacrificial offerings. Some hung upside down. Some were twisted sideways but all of them were dead.

"This is fucking disgusting," Jason thought to himself, he was scared out of his mind because this felt different from the elves tortured.

Jason soon stopped, his boots scraped against the stone.

The stench hit him a second later—rot, decay, and something sweeter underneath, like overripe fruit left in the sun. It was overwhelming and his stomach lurched. He took a step back, his hand flying to his mouth.

"Gods," Mae whispered from behind him. Her hooves clicked against the stone. "How many?"

Ylva’s ears were flat against her skull. Her nose twitched. "Hundreds. At least."

Jason forced himself to look closer. The corpses were old—their skin was leathery, stretched tight over bone. Their clothes had rotted away centuries ago. Some still wore armor, rusted and crumbling, others had nothing but rags.

He couldn’t tell what race they had been, the decay had erased their features.

"Fifty years," Ylva said. "Maybe more."

Mae’s brown eyes were wide. "How can you tell?"

"The smell. The way the flesh has dried." Ylva’s voice was hollow. "This didn’t happen yesterday. This happened over decades."

Jason turned to her. "But you couldn’t smell it from outside."

"No." Her jaw tightened. "I should have. The moment we stepped into the clearing, I should have smelled this. It’s thick and overwhelming, there is no reason for me not to have sensed it." She looked at the branches. "Something was hiding it."

The branches, they were moving but they didn’t seem to be hostile.

Jason studied them. They were green—vibrant, alive—just like the roots outside. But unlike the roots, these branches held their victims with something that looked almost like care. They didn’t thrash or attack.

"Why aren’t they attacking us?" Mae asked.

Jason had no answer.

He didn’t know that the roots recognized him nor did he know that the watcher’s mana—the mana he had absorbed—still lingered in his body like a stolen cloak. The roots sensed it. They perceived Jason as the watcher, and the people behind him as his acquaintances or did the one in-charge simply let him through?

No one knew this.

No one knew the roots were meant to attack the moment anyone stepped inside.

Jason looked at Ylva. "Spread out. Inspect the area but stay close enough to call out."

Ylva’s ears twitched. "Separating is a bad idea."

"I know." Jason met her eyes. "But we need to cover ground. And the branches... they don’t seem aggressive."

She stared at him for a long moment. Then she nodded.

"Call out if you see anything," she said.

She moved left, her claws extended, her body low. Mae moved right, her hooves silent on the stone. Jason walked forward, deeper into the hall, the impaled bodies watching him with hollow eyes.

Mae walked alone in this desolate castle, she was scared out of her mind because it felt the very walls had eyes.

The ant king’s tiny form was strapped to her back, his chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. She had fallen behind—just a few paces, just enough to lose sight of Jason and Ylva around a corner. The corridor here was darker, the impaled bodies thicker, their hollow eyes watching.

She should have kept closer, she knew that but Jason had instructed them to spread out..

The roots moved, not fast or violently. They slithered from the walls like serpents, silent and deliberate. One wrapped around her mouth before she could scream—tight, suffocating, pressing her lips together until she tasted blood. Others coiled around her arms, her legs, her waist. They lifted her off the ground.

Mae struggled. Her hooves kicked at empty air. Her fingers clawed at the root around her mouth but she was not a fighter. She had joined guilds as a healer, as support, as someone who stayed in the back and kept others alive. She had never been strong.

In all honesty, Mae was a coward, and the encounter with the watcher proved that with utmost certainty.

And this was how she was captured.

-

Ylva heard the scuffle thanks to her heightened senses.

She rounded the corner just as Mae’s feet disappeared into the darkness above, pulled through a gap in the ceiling by a nest of writhing roots. Ylva’s claws extended as her tail went rigid.

But the roots were faster.

They erupted from the walls—dozens of them, green and pulsing. They wrapped around her ankles, her wrists, her throat. They tried to cover her mouth, but Ylva was not Mae. She bit down on the root before it could seal her lips. Her teeth sank into the living wood and the root recoiled.

And Ylva screamed.

Not a scream of fear—a scream of fury. Her evolution had been progressing since she mated with Jason, her body gradually strengthening and maturing. The sound that tore from her throat was not natural, it was a weapon.

The shockwave rippled outward.

Branches shattered, roots disintegrated and the impaled corpses along the walls were blown to dust. The stone cracked and the ceiling groaned. Everything in her path was destroyed—reduced to splinters and ash.

But more roots shot from the ground, from the walls, from the ceiling. Endless. Relentless.

Ylva’s chest heaved. Her scream had taken everything from her.

She looked up and saw Jason running towards her.