Mystery: The Stranger

Snow Serin's dagger was slightly warm, and Salatas's light laugh, with its usual lazy allure, echoed in Snow's mind.

"Once I regain enough power, I will be able to re-anchor my Void coordinates. Returning to Azeroth will be a piece of cake."

Snow remained expressionless, his fingers slightly clenched. As a transmigrator, he knew all too well how adept the being within this dagger was at weaving hope, drawing its host step by step into utter depravity, turning them into its puppet. The so-called return to its homeland was merely a bargaining chip to keep him in check.

"So, I can't go back for now." He said calmly, and the dagger phantom in his palm slowly dissipated, turning back into a faint black line that remained beneath his skin.

Xalatas remained unperturbed, his whisper still gentle: "Given my status, as long as you don't flaunt it, the gods of this world will not be able to sense our wisp of foreign void aura."

"Yes, that's the only good news."

Snow understood. This dark dagger was quite ancient, said to have originated from the remains of an ancient god. It was definitely a divine artifact with a very high status. Since Xalatas was sealed inside, there was no fear of it being exposed. The contract between the two parties could also provide Snow with some protection.

"That valley over there has a strong demonic aura," Xalatas said, a hint of satisfied anticipation in his voice. "Perfect timing, we're all starving. How about we go feast on some souls?"

Snow touched his gaunt and thin face, his stomach was empty, and he felt weak all over.

Having transmigrated, the body he occupied was also tattered and broken, which was perhaps the norm for ordinary people in this era.

"He's so thin, it's like he hasn't had a proper meal in centuries," he muttered to himself, as he strode toward the valley where the fog thickened.

Snow Serin walked through the ruins, the cold mist carrying decay and blood, mixed with the salty smell of the sea breeze. There should have been a village here, but it's gone now. A ritual to summon demons from the abyss destroyed everything.

All that remains are these bloodstains and a series of irrational and mindless individuals.

"The abyss here seems quite gentle."

Snow used his vampire touch to drain the two mindless individuals dry, and only then did a trace of color return to his face.

Judging from these ordinary people who have been corrupted and transformed, the power of the abyss in this world is much milder than the shadow or fel energy of Azeroth. Perhaps it is because the demonic projections they summon are generally weak, just ordinary demons of Sequence 6.

"Gentle? Darling, don't you think that should be called sweet?"

Zaratas's light laugh was both mocking and cruel, like cold threads binding Snow's soul, the last note lingering long.

"If you like, I'll feed you lots of complicated things."

"And I'll keep these inferior remnants to nourish my body."

As Snow ventured deeper into the valley, clearing away the wandering Lost Ones along the way, he realized that there was no true, complete demon here. This was merely an inconspicuous seaside village on the western side of the Northern Continent; now that all the living were dead, how could any powerful supernatural creature possibly exist here?

It was all just an absurd deception. The village, on the verge of destruction, managed to summon a wisp of demonic projection by sacrificing its children as offerings, thanks to a flawed demonic summoning spell obtained by chance.

The two sides reached a fragile deal: the demon would take the offerings in exchange for helping Rye Village scare away the invading supernatural beings.

The transaction should have ended there, but before the projection dissipated, the demon deliberately made this area briefly abyss-like, in order to gain absolute control over the next transaction.

This abyss-like corruption is something ordinary people simply cannot withstand; they are all ultimately corrupted and become the heartless people he encounters along the way.

"These corpses should be enough as offerings."

Snow flipped through a hastily written booklet he'd found on the body of a heartless person. It contained rudimentary details of a demon summoning ritual. "They even have to be particular about plating and categorizing things? Does that really increase the success rate of the summoning?"

He was slightly surprised, not expecting that the demon cultists of the Fourth Age would have developed such a ritualistic approach that was almost like performance art.

Without much hesitation, he decided to follow the instructions in the booklet. After all, they were just a bunch of corpses drained of their life force, and using them as sacrifices was already perfunctory. If he didn't pay attention to the details of the ritual, he probably wouldn't even be able to summon a demon projection.

He meticulously dismembered parts of the corpse, categorizing the internal organs and displaying them on the stone altar like sacrificial offerings. The abyssal aura still lingered on the bluish-gray stone slabs; perhaps by connecting with these remnants of mysticism, he could once again summon the demon that had once answered his call.

"The source of all evil, the land of depravity, the lair of demons, I beg for the abyss's mercy, I beg for the demons' grace..."

Snow did not prepare any auxiliary props such as candles or spiritual materials.

Those are external things that only low-sequence extraordinary beings need to rely on. With his current spiritual foundation, he has long since passed that stage.

The air suddenly became even colder and more biting, and a layer of black, viscous liquid slowly seeped from the ground, emitting a faint stench of the abyss.

With his understanding of the rules of the abyss, Snow remained calm as a demonic projection with twisted ram horns and bat wings slowly coalesced before the altar.

In Azeroth, he had seen far too many of his own kind of abyssal creatures, and was all too familiar with the methods by which demons projected themselves across realms through faith and sacrifice.

In essence, it's nothing more than borrowing the power of the abyss...similar to how the Fool of later generations borrowed the power of the Source Castle.

"Mortal, you summon me; you need more sacrifices."

The projection of the abyss demon paid little attention to the neatly arranged offerings on the altar. Its eyes, glowing with eerie green fire, were fixed on the gaunt young human figure before it. It vaguely remembered this body; it was the unfortunate soul who had shown disrespect to it during the last sacrifice and had been abandoned and driven away by the entire village.

This creature's demonic language was fluent and violent, but when translated into Old Fussak, it was stiff and obscure, with only a few words barely discernible. But it didn't care about such things; the more obscure and mysterious it was, the more awe it inspired in lowly mortals.

"I'm willing to give anything for you, just please bring my family back to life..."

Snow ignored the low laughter of Saratas in his mind, and without hesitation knelt on one knee, his voice trembling with unease and trepidation. In his eyes, which were looking at the demon projection, there was a mixture of expectation, fear, and a trace of deeply hidden disgust and hatred.

idiot.

The demon dismissed it as just another mortal's delusional and wishful prayer.

It is merely a Sequence 6 demon, and naturally cannot perform such a near-miraculous act as resurrecting the dead. However, this does not prevent it from feigning agreement and deceiving souls.

"I agree. In return, your body and soul belong to me."

It was already very familiar with this kind of transaction, and even lacked the interest to play around with it; it only wanted to complete the harvest as quickly as possible. The demonic projection, carrying a violent abyssal aura, pounced directly on Snow, who was kneeling before the altar, attempting to forcibly possess his body—

But in the next instant, it was as if they had fallen into a boundless, deep, and deathly silent void.

"Since you've made a promise, then fulfill it properly." Xalatas's lazy yet cruel whisper echoed slowly in the depths of this void.