Chapter 21

That seems the only possible outcome. Even so, you grasp the hilt of your katana. You drop your hips deep, then rise. Your vitality is running low, you see no chance of victory, your companions are behind you, but you simply cannot run away. A familiar voice sounds in your head: “You are a master. So is your opponent.” You never thought you would hear that voice again. “Your opponent carries a master blade, while the weapon in your hand is just a lump of iron.” Her eyes seem to be watching you, piercing through you: mellowed with drink and yet the eyes of a tiger, never to be mocked. “So. What do you do?” “Ha, you’ve come so far… But there’s still so far to go.” Before you can find the answer to the question in your mind, the man speaks, sounding like a child who’s grown tired of playing with his toy. He strikes his shoulders with the flat of the red blade as if giving himself a little massage, and then he moves, swaying. Not toward you and the others, but toward the great, thick door in the far wall. He reaches out, and the door opens without a sound. Whoosh—a terrible wind, so cold it seems not of this world, fills the dungeon chamber. “I’ll be waiting for you…,” the man says, as casually as if he were going for a stroll, though he stands on the brink of an abyss. “Please, come find me anytime you like. But I urge you to hurry. For otherwise… “…your little world is done for, eh?” The man in the black outfit sounds practically giddy—then he flings himself into the depths of the darkness and disappears. The doors hang open, and you have no way of knowing where the blackness within them might lead. No, that’s not quite true. One thing is clear: This abyss must lead somewhere, and wherever that is, something is waiting for you. The Dungeon of the Dead. A labyrinth of magic and murder calls to you…