Chapter 6: The Mindspace of the Yellow King
I stepped closer to the thing on the bed.
The world around me unraveled. Darkness swallowed everything—shadows swirling, whispers echoing in a space that stretched beyond reason. Then, as abruptly as it had disappeared, my vision returned.
I stood inside a modest cottage, warm and eerily inviting. The air carried the scent of aged wood and something faintly metallic. Across the room, a young man with neatly trimmed blonde hair and a short beard sat at a rough wooden table, methodically sewing a robe. His fingers worked with practiced precision, his expression a forced mask of warmth stretched too perfectly across his face. Something about him—his presence, his stillness—felt deeply wrong.
Next to him, Leon materialized, appearing far older—his silvered hair and deep-set eyes giving him the aura of a man who had lived long enough to see the rise and fall of empires. He wore a majestic robe, heavy with forgotten power, the threads woven with history itself. In this space, free from the constraints of reality, he could move as he once had.
The Yellow King—this abomination pretending to be human—lifted his gaze and offered me that same unnatural smile.
"Welcome,"
His voice was smooth, almost melodious, but beneath it lurked something predatory.
I swallowed hard. The contrast was surreal. Here, in this fabricated world of memory and illusion, the Yellow King appeared… normal. A man, charming yet unsettling.
"Its such a wonderful treat to get visitors"
[Shut up. Tell us what you need to let us go.]
A pause. The Yellow King's smile didn't waver, but something in his posture tensed, as if he'd expected more pleasantries.
"What a comedian you are,"
hen, with a casual flick of his wrist,
"Very well. I need you to kill the High Priest."
I blinked. That was… unexpected.
[...The staff, I assume?]
The Yellow King's eyes were unreadable giving me no hint to what his true emotions might be other than his evident impatience.
"Indeed."
His voice forcibly.softened, almost tender as if he was trying to get my sympathy.
"My staff—the symbol of my dominion—was stolen and repurposed. Its power keeps the High Priest from rotting away completely, which is why he won't give it up. I require its return."
I glanced at Leon. No words were exchanged, but the understanding between us was clear.
[Pay us.]
The Yellow King's expression remained fixed, yet there was a flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps. If his eyebrows could move, they might have arched.
"How shameless."
He leaned back, feigning amusement.
"I have wealth if that's what you seek. But what you truly want? I cannot promise to give it willingly."
[You sit here, sewing your robe, unable to do anything outside this space.]
"I could kill you with a thought."
[And then you'd wait centuries for another adventurer stupid enough to wander in.]
The Yellow King's smile cracked for the briefest moment. Then, with a sigh of impatience:
"Fine. A fraction of my heart is yours."
Before I could react, the world around us cracked. Reality blurred at the edges, and I felt the pull of something cold and relentless yanking me back.
I woke with a jolt. My body trembled, my pulse hammering in my skull. My fingers clenched around the spade.
[If you haven't realized already—it lied, there is no way he would have given up some of his mana stone for this.]
"No shit. But what do we do now?"
[We do exactly what it wants us to do.]
"…You mean we actually kill the High Priest?"
[Yes.]
Footsteps echoed in the cavern. The High Priest emerged from the shadows, shuffling toward me.
"I assume his talk with you went swimmingly?"
His voice held a sickening smugness. Behind his golden mask, I could almost picture the satisfaction twisting his rotting face.
I tightened my grip on the spade.
"Fuck you, bitch. Can't even do your job properly."
The High Priest froze. He seemed… genuinely taken aback as if no one had ever spoken to him that way before let alone heard those words.
The opportunity was too good to waste. With the spade at my side, I lunged, driving it into the exposed, decaying flesh of his abdomen. The blade sank deep.
Silence.
The High Priest stared down at the weapon impaling him, then slowly lifted his gaze to meet mine.
"…Hahahaha. What a pitiful attempt."
His mask tilted slightly. His voice was calm, almost had a bemused air to it.
I gritted my teeth and tried to yank the spade free—but it wouldn't budge.
"Perhaps I was too quick to assume you came to volunteer,"
"My fault, really. Too trusting."
He raised a decayed hand and snapped.
"Kill him."
The statues moved. Hundreds of them, faster than before, surging forward like a stone avalanche.
'Leon, do something!'
[Confringe inimicos meos cum tonitruo.]
A crack split the air. My hair stood on end, static crawling across my skin.
A blinding surge of electricity coursed through me, into the spade, and into the High Priest's chest. His body seized—muscles locking, limbs jerking. He collapsed, writhing, spasming. His mouth opened, but no scream came out.
The statues stopped.
They watched. Silent. Motionless. They didn't help him. If anything, they seemed to enjoy watching him die.
Moments passed. Then, stillness.
The High Priest's body lay limp. The statues remained frozen in their circle.
I exhaled and sat back, staring at the aftermath.
'Leon… how many more times can you do that?'
[Maybe one more before I need to gather more power. The mana here is dense which helps recovery.]
'As long as it buys us time, it's useful.'
[You think I don't know that?Grab the staff.]
The moment my fingers closed around it, the world fractured again.
---
'What the fuck, is this the Yellow King's mindspace?!'
[No, probably a collection of his memories that make the Yellow King—the "Yellow King." He probably stored his most important memories in the staff so he would never forget them through the eons he will live.]
'So his personality lives in this staff?'
[More or less. Mana works best when someone knows what they want and what makes them tick. Without the staff, the Yellow King doesn't even know where he started, reducing him to the state he is now.]
[So, whatever we do, he cannot get this staff back.]
'Then how will we get his mana stone?'
[By killing him. How? I was hoping his 'origin' would tell us.]
—
I was in a cave reminiscent of the dungeon's entrance only this time there were no bones scattered about or murals on the wall. The cave was illuminated by the faint glow of a torch. Following the light, I came across a small opening where a group of people sat huddled around a fire gazing endlessly into the flames with expressionless faces, though enough grief was evident in some of their eyes. Their clothing looked ancient and unkept suggesting we were in a time even before the ancients.
The only sound echoing in the cave came from a young woman wailing with all her might off to the side; in her arms lay a blob of flesh wriggling in every which way, covered in its own blood.
One of the men stood up. In one quick motion taking less than five seconds he grabbed the obsidian-tipped spear resting on the wall then impaled the woman's head. Expressionless, he did not care he had just swiftly executed a mourning mother.
The loud wailing stopped—nobody from around the fire turned their heads to witness what had happened. They were indifferent to the poor woman's suffering, preferring instead to sit in silence.
I tried to grab the man to hit him, but my ragged hands simply went through him like mist.
[That… that was unfortunate.]
'FUCK! It infuriates me to watch this sack of shit does this so easily'
The man then picked up the terribly deformed baby from his arm, still clutching the bloody spear as if contemplating killing it as well, but the baby didn't cry. Its inability to do anything but breathe kept it alive a little longer. With the little bundle of flesh nestled in his arm crevice, he sat back down near the fire and continued watching the embers glow.
'But why do the others not care and only watch the fire?'
[Probably an imp or lesser demon is keeping them entranced so it can come and slaughter them later. That poor woman had just given birth, and the pain snapped her out of it. The hellspawn's corruption most likely affected the developing child, causing the deformity.]
'So that's the Yellow King?'
[Yes.]
—
Hours passed, and not one person moved except for the occasional blink or a slight shift in weight. I sat with the group, obviously unnoticed, as any attempt to touch anything caused me to phase through it. The fire was truly beautiful—it was a shame that such a thing was created by a creature so evil.
Just then, the slightest gust of wind swept through the cave—barely noticeable—but the fire danced with the breeze, and a single ember escaped. It floated through the air, brilliant as a star, landing elegantly on the tiny deformed body. A shriek like no other filled the air as the infant desperately tried to get anyone's attention to make the pain stop.
The man holding the screaming mass twitched in annoyance and, in one simple motion, tossed the bundle of flesh into the fire like a piece of wood to fuel the flame. The blob began to blacken, and the shrieks grew faint, replaced by a pungent smell reminiscent of burnt plastic.
'To think it would get worse…'
[…]
A minute passed and like a cocoon, the blackened layer on the blob started to crack, revealing a sickly, yellow—almost jaundice-colored—baby that now sat in the flames. With mouths covering its body and arms flailing in every direction, its form was only slightly more human than before; but this time, the fire didn't seem to affect it.
[The hellspawn's fire possessed the baby.]
'…w-wait, what?'
[A sacrifice was made to the fire, and the fire accepted it, transferring itself to the baby.]
Slowly, the fire began to dim, and life returned to people's eyes as the spell faded. Reality set in almost immediately as most of them remembered what had happened. The man with the spear beside him, instantly slit his own throat after realizing what he had done.
People all around the now-dim fire—which had lost its majesty—began weeping and embracing one another, screaming in tearful agony. The only thing that remained silent was the baby, watching them all cry with its numerous, curious eyes.
An older woman stepped forward, trying to maintain an indifferent expression, but it was clear she was terrified.
[Seems like she's taking responsibility for the child]
She picked up the abomination out of the still-hot coals and pressed it against her chest, comforting the now-husk of an infant.
—------
A cold wave washed over my mind and suddenly I was back in the stone cavern—just as dismal and ancient as before—but now with a heavy feeling of disgust and pity welling in my stomach.
[It appears the band of nomads raised the half-dead, half-demonic child long enough for it to develop a mana stone and become an elder god abomination.]
[To think what other wonders his staff holds, but we do not have time. Luozi, grab the spade and the staff.]