After Steven finished pressing his palm against the wall, he wiped the remaining blood casually against his clothes before turning around.
Without a word, he handed the dark energy knife to Brant.
Brant caught it easily.
He glanced briefly at the wall covered in countless bloody palm prints, then shrugged slightly as if the act meant nothing to him.
With the same calm indifference, he dragged the blade across his palm.
A thin cut opened.
Dark red blood slid across his skin before he pressed his hand firmly against the wall.
Another fresh palm print appeared.
After him, the rest of the group followed.
Veronica stepped forward and silently made her mark.
Then the others.
One hesitated for only a brief moment before repeating the action, pressing his bleeding palm against the strange stone surface.
The wall accepted his blood just like the others.
When the final mark was made, Steven turned away.
"Let's go."
He began leading the group away from the castle.
But before they could take more than a few steps—
A cold voice stopped them.
"You should understand something."
The blindfolded general spoke without even turning around.
Her tone was calm.
But it carried an unmistakable sharpness.
"The land is free."
She paused slightly.
"But you will have to take it yourselves."
Steven stopped walking.
The rest of the group turned back slightly.
The general continued.
"Most of the good land within the sanctuary is already occupied."
Her voice was calm, almost bored.
"Occupied by some relatively strong mutants."
A faint pause.
Then her tone grew colder.
"The outskirts are for the weak and barely surviving ones."
She spoke the last words with complete indifference.
"Trash mutants."
The words hung in the air like a quiet declaration of the sanctuary's hierarchy.
Strength ruled.
Weakness was discarded.
Her head tilted slightly again.
Her hidden gaze seemed to settle briefly on One.
More specifically—
On the abomination heads he carried.
"General Redd will be responsible for collecting those tomorrow."
She said calmly.
Then she dismissed them.
Completely.
Just like that.
Her posture relaxed slightly as if they no longer existed.
Steven didn't react.
Neither did the others.
They had already expected something like this.
Instead, the group began looking around the deeper part of the sanctuary.
And immediately noticed the difference.
Compared to the chaotic and filthy outskirts—
This area was completely different.
The buildings here were large and carefully structured.
Stone walls.
Metal reinforcements.
Strong gates.
Some houses even had decorative designs carved into the outer structures.
There was a clear sense of order and status here.
Anyone capable of living in this area was definitely not weak.
Silence lingered for a moment as the group examined their surroundings.
Then—
Veronica finally spoke.
She had been unusually quiet ever since the incident with the fox girl.
Now she raised her hand and pointed in a direction.
The others followed her gaze.
Not far away stood a moderately large house surrounded by a tall metal gate.
The structure was elegant compared to most of the buildings nearby.
Clean lines.
Balanced construction.
Even the gate had a kind of rough beauty to it.
Clearly indicating the status of whoever lived there.
Veronica folded her arms and nodded slightly toward the building.
"I like that house."
Her tone was calm.
Almost casual.
"I want to stay there."
She paused before adding bluntly,
"I don't wanna wait for a new house to be built in the outskirts and live with those dirty and smelly mutants."
Brant slowly turned to look at Steven.
Steven looked back at him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
But both clearly saw the same helpless expression reflected in each other's eyes.
Steven sighed quietly.
Then he turned toward the group.
His gaze briefly passed over One and the fox girl before he spoke.
"I'm going to negotiate with the owner."
He pointed toward the house.
"You all wait here."
"I'll be back."
Without waiting for a response, Steven walked toward the gate.
He pushed it open and stepped inside the compound.
The metal gate creaked slightly as it moved.
The sound echoed faintly in the still air.
As Steven approached the house, something immediately felt wrong.
The place was too quiet.
Even for a wasteland sanctuary.
There were no footsteps.
No voices.
No movement.
Dust gathered in thin layers along parts of the structure.
Small patches of dirt had accumulated along the edges of the stone walls.
The place looked…
Abandoned.
For a long time.
Steven slowly approached the front door.
Then he knocked.
The sound was loud.
Sharp.
It echoed strangely through the silent building.
He waited.
Nothing.
No response.
No movement.
Steven frowned slightly.
After waiting another moment, he grabbed the door handle and pushed.
The door didn't open.
Locked.
Without hesitation—
Steven applied force.
The wood cracked violently as the lock broke apart.
The door swung open.
And what greeted him inside—
Was a brutal display of human cruelty.
Steven stopped moving.
His eyes slowly scanned the interior.
Inside the large room were iron cages.
Huge.
Each one roughly the size of a human body.
Six of them.
Exactly six.
They were arranged along the walls like some grotesque collection.
Every cage was stained.
Blood.
Grime.
Old rust.
And something worse.
The smell hit him next.
Rotting filth.
Excrement.
Dry blood.
Human suffering that had soaked into the iron bars.
Even Steven had to pause briefly to adjust himself before stepping fully inside.
The stench was powerful enough to make a weaker person vomit instantly.
His eyes slowly moved across the cages.
Then he noticed something.
One of the cages still had fresh blood smeared across the bars.
Bright.
Wet.
Not yet dried.
Which meant—
Whatever had happened here…
Had happened less than a day ago.
Steven's expression darkened slightly.
Then he noticed the trail.
Drops of blood.
Leading deeper into the house.
Someone had been dragged.
Or carried.
Either way—
The trail disappeared down the hallway.
Steven followed it slowly.
His footsteps were almost silent against the dirty floor.
The deeper he went into the house, the stronger the metallic smell of blood became.
Eventually, the trail stopped in front of a large door.
This door was noticeably bigger than the others.
Heavy.
Solid.
As if something important was kept inside.
Steven slowly exhaled.
His body adjusted instinctively.
Muscles tightening.
Breathing steady.
Mind sharpening.
He prepared himself for what was likely coming.
In this new world—
Reasoning was something that belonged to the past.
Before the mutation.
Before the collapse.
Now…
Everything was decided by strength.
Steven reached forward.
And slowly pushed the door open.
What greeted him inside was a compact room with thick, solid walls.
The walls looked unusually dense.
Built not just for strength—
But for sound isolation.
The room had clearly been designed so that whatever happened inside it…
Would never reach the outside world.
In the middle of the room stood a large metal table.
The table was stained with layers of dark, rusted blood.
Not fresh blood.
But old blood that had accumulated again and again over a very long time without ever being properly cleaned.
The metal surface had turned rough and dark from years of repeated use.
A foul smell rose from it.
The heavy scent of iron and rot mixed together into something deeply disturbing.
Around the table were scattered pieces of torn clothing.
Different fabrics.
Different sizes.
Some old.
Some newer.
But what truly made the room horrifying—
Were the bones.
Human bones.
They were scattered across the floor carelessly.
Some leaned against the table legs.
Others lay in piles in the corners of the room.
They were strangely clean.
Too clean.
As if someone had carefully scraped every last piece of flesh and blood from them.
Almost like a person cleaning meat from bones with a utensil.
Every fragment of tissue had been removed.
Leaving behind perfect skeletal remains.
Some bones were small.
Thin.
Fragile.
Others were much larger.
The difference was unmistakable.
Some belonged to adults.
Others—
Belonged to children.
The bones were not arranged with any order.
They were simply thrown around the room like worthless garbage.
As if whoever did this felt absolutely no need for hygiene, respect, or restraint.
Even with Steven's hardened mindset—
A mindset forged by years of surviving the brutal wasteland—
He still felt something twist inside him.
Anger.
Disgust.
Disturbance.
But none of those emotions appeared on his face.
His expression remained cold and calm.
He wasn't a saint.
All the saints had died a long time ago when the apocalypse began.
Anyone who managed to survive in this world until now…
Had at least one or two lives on their hands.
But even then—
This place felt wrong.
Then—
Steven heard it.
A sound.
Slow.
Steady.
Breathing.
His eyes instantly sharpened.
He turned toward the source of the sound with full caution.
Someone—
Or something—
Was still inside the room.