042 breathed in ragged gasps.
The corpse of the unidentified figure had already collapsed onto the ground, yet the face — familiar, and somehow horribly wrong — wrapped invisible fingers around his throat.
A trembling mist crept in from every direction. With each breath he took, it seeped deeper, numbing his nerves little by little.
"Something's wrong… this isn't right."
He turned toward his companions. The same terror lingered upon their faces.
That indescribable sensation was growing stronger now, like a massive hammer striking against the hearts of all three hunters. And with every passing second, the blows became heavier.
Slowly, 042 raised a hand to his face.
It had only been a simple swing of the blade, yet after killing the creature, exhaustion weighed on him even more heavily than before. His heart thundered violently in his chest, but his blood felt frozen within his veins — no matter how fiercely his heart pumped, nothing flowed. Everything inside him felt stiff, dead.
"There's no sign of corruption… and yet it feels exactly like corruption."
011 spoke quietly. He too had noticed the swelling tide of negative emotion. His thoughts were being suppressed, twisted apart piece by piece.
"No abnormalities at all… and that itself is the greatest abnormality."
042 stared into the mist, now so dense it seemed almost tangible. Something was interfering with them. They simply did not yet understand what it was.
"A hallucination?"
016 suggested.
"Impossible. If it were a group hallucination, you'd have sensed it already."
042 glanced back at her.
"Then what exactly is causing this?" 011 asked.
042 did not answer.
He forced down the violent emotions surging inside him, relying upon a Witch Hunter's iron will to maintain his sanity.
Lowering himself cautiously, he pulled apart the grotesque corpse before him.
"He… was human."
Wiping away the blood upon the face, 042 realized with surprise that the distorted features had been deliberately altered afterward. Though perhaps some part of the deformation also came from whatever cursed influence haunted this valley.
As the strange markings were erased, the suffocating sensation within his mind gradually began to fade.
042 narrowed his eyes in thought.
"I think I understand now."
He spoke slowly.
"It's the symbols."
016 cast him a puzzled look.
011, meanwhile, never turned his attention away from the fog. He continued activating Shandafon intermittently, ensuring that no creature would suddenly emerge from the mist and catch them unprepared.
At last, the truth behind the nightmare seemed to reveal the faintest fragment of itself.
Lloyd spoke calmly to his listeners.
"Do you know what cognitive pressure is? As hunters who fight demons, you've probably encountered something similar before."
"The overload caused by excessive information intake?"
Joey answered immediately, understanding his meaning.
"When the brain receives too much information in too short a time, it initiates self-protective responses. But cognition itself can also be distorted."
"You mean demon influence?" Joey asked.
Lloyd shook his head.
"No. Things like this are not necessarily connected to demons. It's closer to psychological suggestion. For example, if you fear fire, then under enough stress, the sudden appearance of flames will amplify your psychological pressure and intensify your fear."
"In the same way, certain things can guide and manipulate perception. That is the true core of the Terror Valley mission."
Lloyd looked toward the Witch Hunters disappearing into the mist.
"Those symbols appeared to be some form of strange alchemical script. They generated cognitive pressure and fear in the observer, imitating the sensation of demonic corruption. The difference is that corruption leaves you nowhere to escape… while these symbols only affect you if you look at them."
"It took me a long time to reach that conclusion. After all, Witch Hunters are not ordinary people. The greatest difference between us and normal humans is this — even under the harshest conditions imaginable, we are capable of maintaining absolute rationality. That is the key to resisting fear."
042 pressed onward with a frown.
Once he understood that the strange terror originated from those symbols, the pressure upon his mind eased considerably.
More often than not, fear was born from the unknown.
And now, the unknown was no longer unknown.
Yet even so, the entirety of Valley Town remained buried beneath a suffocating shroud of fog and gloom. 042 intended to uncover the truth hidden within it.
The three-man team continued forward for what felt like hours.
No enemies appeared along the road. Perhaps the townsfolk themselves had become hopelessly lost within the mist… or perhaps they had all gathered somewhere, preparing for the final ritual.
"How are you feeling now?"
042 asked.
He needed to know the cognitive strain his teammates were enduring.
"It's getting worse. Something really is interfering with us from the shadows… but it isn't corruption."
016 answered softly. She had always been especially sensitive to disturbances of the mind.
042 nodded.
Then, through the dense fog, a massive silhouette slowly emerged.
It was an enormous structure.
No light shone within it.
Only when they drew close did 042 realize the front gates already stood open. Beyond them stretched absolute darkness. A cold wind drifted outward from inside, carrying with it an overwhelming stench of blood.
It felt as though the darkness beyond led directly into hell itself.
"Are we going in?"
016 asked.
"I'll take point. 011, keep watch."
011 nodded.
Brilliant white light spilled faintly from his eyes as the power of Shandafon sheltered the hunters.
The Witch Hunters had faced countless powerful enemies before. But those foes had always possessed physical forms — tangible, understandable threats.
This mission in Terror Valley was different.
The enemy remained hidden in darkness the entire time, watching silently, spreading fear without restraint, waiting patiently until the hunters themselves could no longer endure it.
042 had no more patience left.
Nor did he have time to hesitate.
Protected by the Divine Armor, he strode directly into the darkness.
Inside was endless blackness.
The three hunters scanned their surroundings cautiously, their burning eyes the only light within the void.
Secret Blood had already been activated. Under its enhancement, the hunters could clearly perceive objects hidden in darkness. Their visible range was shorter, yes — but within blackness itself, it remained an enormous advantage.
Especially with 011's precognitive warnings protecting them.
Dust coated every corner of the interior.
Massive paintings hung upon the walls. Beyond the entrance hall, spiral staircases on either side twisted upward toward the higher floors.
042 breathed slowly.
The air was thick with dust, making every breath deeply uncomfortable.
Following the scent of blood, the hunters advanced. Their boots creaked against the rotting wooden floorboards beneath them.
When they pushed open a wooden door hidden in the darkness, the overwhelming stench of blood burst outward all at once.
With a Witch Hunter's vision, 042 immediately saw what waited beyond.
Firelight flickered within the chamber beyond the doorway.
It resembled a slaughterhouse from some unspeakable nightmare.
Countless iron hooks hung from the ceiling, and upon every hook dangled a corpse suspended upside down. Their blood had long since drained away, leaving their bodies shriveled and pale.
Dark, dried blood coated the floor.
The air itself reeked with nauseating decay.
042 raised a hand sharply, signaling silence.
There were still living people inside.
One of them had already lost nearly all strength. Though clearly in agony, only faint groans escaped him. He too hung upside down from an iron hook.
Around him stood the same creatures 042 had encountered earlier — their faces carved with those grotesque symbols. They lifted blades calmly, carving apart another body hanging nearby.
Or perhaps it was no longer a body at all. Merely a corpse.
They had not yet noticed the Witch Hunters.
So the hunters struck from the darkness together.
A pale nail-sword burst forward through the blackness.
At that moment, the terrifying physical power of a Witch Hunter revealed itself completely.
The instant the man noticed him, 042 had already surged forward, driving the nail-sword clean through his throat before he could even scream.
With a savage twist of the blade, flesh tore apart violently.
Another man reacted quickly enough to attempt a counterattack—
—but from within the darkness came the sharp, shrill whistle of steel.
Crossbow bolts sliced through the shadows, weaving between the hanging hooks with impossible precision before slamming directly into the man's skull.
And not just one.
Several bolts followed in rapid succession, striking lethally while 042 engaged them at close range.
The battle ended the very moment it began.
042 lowered his nail-sword.
The bodies of the men collapsed across the blood-soaked floorboards. He avoided looking directly at their faces whenever possible, unwilling to let those cursed symbols deepen the pressure inside his mind.
011 emerged from the darkness, Shandafon allowing him fleeting glimpses into the immediate future.
"Safe."
Only after confirming the area secure did 042 finally turn toward the man still hanging from the iron hook.
He carefully lowered the dying figure down.
The man was gaunt beyond belief, little more than skin and bone. No grotesque symbols marked his face.
At last, someone they might actually speak to.
"So…"
042 looked into the man's exhausted eyes as his breathing slowly steadied.
"What exactly happened here?"