"So, it really doesn't work?" Sam murmured to himself, his tone indifferent.
At that moment, the elongated, skeletal black hand moved. It seized the subordinate's arm with an iron grip and yanked him forcefully into the darkness.
The subordinate struggled violently, but it was futile. The surrounding darkness surged like a tide, engulfing him entirely. The shadow dragged him away, its movements slow yet resolute, each step pulling him deeper into the abyss.
As the distance grew, the subordinate's figure blurred. His faint cries of struggle were mercilessly swallowed by the oppressive blackness until, at last, both he and the shadow vanished into the infinite, despairing void, as if they had never existed. Only an eerie silence and lingering fear remained.
The chilling scene struck a heavy blow to the group's spirits. Even Simon and his companions, who had encountered the shadow before, couldn't suppress the dread welling up inside them.
To them, the shadow was an almost invincible force, immune to any form of attack and far more terrifying than the humanoid monsters. At least with the humanoid monsters, they could fight or seek refuge in a house. But once the shadow targeted someone, there was no escape. Its appearance was a harbinger of death, sparing no one.
"Let's move on," Sam's calm voice shattered the suffocating atmosphere.
He seemed entirely unaffected, as if nothing had happened. Leaning on his snakewood cane, he walked forward with elegant steps into the darkness. Behind him, the eleven remaining black-clad subordinates followed silently, their expressions blank and unflinching.
Sam had learned enough about the shadow. Now, he was ready to meet the villagers of Willow Village.
In the boundless darkness, the group pressed forward, holding their breath. The sound of their pounding hearts and labored breathing wove together into a chilling symphony of fear. Each step resonated with trepidation, each breath seemingly swallowed by the oppressive silence.
Their figures flickered in and out of the darkness, the dim candlelight illuminating only a tiny area beneath their feet. They kept their distance from one another, understanding all too well that shadowy figures lurked in the darkness, watching them with predatory intent.
The darkness hung like a heavy curtain, concealing everything within its folds. The fear of death lingered close, an ever-present companion.
On either side of the path were village houses shrouded in black. Most were single-story buildings, which Simon had already dismissed as unsuitable. With so many people in the group, a single-story house couldn't accommodate them all while maintaining safe distances. A two- or three-story building would be ideal.
They moved cautiously through the darkness. At some point, the oppressive blackness began to thin. On the distant horizon, a faint white edge of light appeared.
Daybreak was approaching.
Simon and the others froze, a sharp jolt of realization striking them.
"This isn't good! Dawn is coming. Mr. Sam, we need to pick up the pace! Once the sun fully rises, the villagers will appear!" Simon's voice was tinged with urgency.
Sam glanced toward the distant horizon, his brow furrowing slightly. "The timing is off."
From his pocket, he retrieved a dark-golden pocket watch. With a crisp click, the watch snapped open, revealing its face. The hands pointed to three o'clock.
The pocket watch gleamed in the candlelight, its intricate details captivating. A mysterious ouroboros—a serpent devouring its own tail—was etched onto its surface.
Simon and the others instinctively looked at the watch, but Simon quickly shook his head and urged, "Time in dreams is erratic and unpredictable. A watch won't help us. Let's move—quickly! We can't afford to waste any more time."
His voice carried unmistakable anxiety, a testament to the deep impression the villagers had left on him.
Sam discreetly closed the pocket watch and returned it to his pocket. With a subtle glance toward Ryan, he signaled his intent. Ryan immediately understood, hastily removing a compact, foldable stretcher from the backpack slung over his shoulder.
Once the stretcher was set up, Sam sat down on it calmly. Two of the black-clad subordinates lifted the stretcher without a word.
"My apologies, everyone," Sam said nonchalantly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I don't like running. Let's proceed."
Simon and the others were dumbfounded, their faces twitching in disbelief. Who is this guy? Even at a time like this, he's acting all high and mighty?
In truth, Sam wasn't trying to flaunt anything—he simply couldn't run. If he were forced to sprint, he wouldn't need the villagers to catch him; he'd collapse and die of exhaustion on his own.
As the group began to sprint, Sam remained seated on the stretcher, calmly taking in the scenery. Earlier, the pitch-black darkness had obscured everything, but now he could make out more of the village.
Willow Village was desolate, as though it had been forgotten by time. Many of the houses were made of crude mud bricks, leaning precariously as if ready to collapse at any moment. The narrow village roads were marked with deep ruts—not from cars, but from what seemed to be horse-drawn carts.
Weeds sprouted stubbornly from the cracks in the ground, while along the roadside, broken fences leaned haphazardly, enclosing small plots of abandoned farmland.
As the daylight grew brighter, Sam's gaze extended further. He could now see the dense black fog encircling the outskirts of Willow Village. The thick mist enveloped the village like a cage.
Sam recalled what Ethan had mentioned earlier: the black fog marked the boundary of the nightmare. Willow Village, surrounded by the fog, constituted a complete nightmare. If one were to step into the fog, they would fall into the cracks of the dreamscape. With luck, they might emerge in another nightmare. But without it, they could become eternally lost in the void.
It was said that no one who entered the black fog had ever returned alive.
Sam gazed at the black fog with fascination, a spark of intrigue glimmering in his eyes. His heart raced slightly, though not with fear but with anticipation. To him, the Nightmare World was like a peerless beauty, cloaked in luxurious robes. Beneath every layer lay untold mysteries, tempting and seductive. He wanted to peel back each veil, slowly, savoring every discovery to its fullest.
The prospect of stepping into the black fog, even if it meant death, only made the idea more tantalizing. Isn't that what makes it thrilling? Without the pressure of death, how can one witness the sparks of life ignited at the edge of mortality? How can one truly experience the brilliance of existence?
Roar!!
A guttural, inhuman roar shattered Sam's thoughts.
He turned his head toward the sound and saw a figure standing in a corner of the village. It had appeared without warning, as if materializing out of thin air. The figure was hunched over, its posture crooked, and its gaze carried an unsettling, indescribable eeriness.
Then, more roars erupted, coming from every direction in the village.
The sound was a cacophony of anguish and fury, as though cursed souls were enduring endless torment. Every howl dripped with malice and resentment, sending chills crawling down the spines of those who heard it.
One figure became two, three… a hundred.