The three days of waiting felt like treading on knife’s edge, each moment unbearably long and suffocating.
Furenna forced herself to maintain an outwardly calm demeanor, even appearing more “submissive” than before.
She no longer tried to straighten her spine, kept her gaze lowered,
silently accepted Xiao Ling’s care, striving to suppress all her emotional fluctuations to the lowest point, like a stagnant pool.
The constant sense of connection from the collar to the Demon King remained.
The other end, the Demon King’s emotions, were mostly placid. A few times, there were extremely faint, elusive ripples,
which also made Furenna’s heart race, forcing her to redouble her efforts to calm her mind.
She covertly observed the activity outside the cell door.
The guard rotation times, patterns, faces…
Furenna silently memorized them all.
On the second day, she noticed a few unfamiliar faces among the patrolling demon soldiers in the eastern sector—faces with a somewhat yin-soft and pale temperament,
different from the usual rough, burly demon soldiers. Their eyes were sharper, movements more graceful—
traits of the Vampire Clan. It seemed Aviya’s information wasn’t baseless.
On the third day, when the specific rotation time arrived, Furenna’s heart leapt to her throat.
She had hidden the “Veil of Shadows” close to her body in advance, curling up in the darkest corner of the cell, like a lying-in-wait beast.
Heavy footsteps and a brief exchange in the demonic language echoed from the corridor outside the dungeon. Then…
The footsteps actually gradually faded away. The guard post seemed briefly unmanned, with only faint patrol sounds in the distance.
Now!
Furenna took a deep breath, suppressing her wildly beating heart and any possible subtle feedback from the collar.
She swiftly took out the semi-transparent cloak, shook it open, and enveloped herself from head to toe.
The cloak’s material was cold and smooth. The moment it touched her body, it seemed to come alive.
The shadowy, wave-like patterns swirled faster. A gentle yet secretive magical power rapidly enveloped her entire body.
A wondrous sensation washed over her.
Furenna looked down at her hands and found them in an unstable, semi-transparent state,
as if merging into a wavering shadow, outlines blurred, details indistinct.
It wasn’t just visual distortion. She felt the aura she emitted—
body temperature, breath, even her life field—
was greatly weakened and confused by this layer of magical membrane.
Of course, not completely vanished. If she remained still, she might pass unnoticed in the dim light.
But larger movements, close proximity, or encountering keenly perceptive beings still posed a risk of exposure.
Moreover, the collar around her neck and the manacles on her wrists and ankles couldn’t be fully concealed. Fortunately, they weren’t very conspicuous and were even harder to notice under the distorted light and shadow.
The young Heroine gently pushed open the cell door—
As expected, no one outside. The “negligence” Aviya had arranged was in effect.
Slipping out, Furenna immediately let the door fall half-closed back to its original state. Then, pressing herself against the cold, rough stone wall, she stood motionless for a few seconds like a gecko, listening.
Both ends of the corridor were silent, only the regular patrol footsteps from far away, moving in the opposite direction.
Recalling the map etched in her mind, Furenna took the first step away from her cage, heading east.
The manacles and short chain restricted her stride. She had to move carefully to avoid the clank of metal.
Each step was light as a cat’s paw, the toes testing the ground first before the sole slowly settled.
As she moved, the patterns on the cloak’s surface rippled,
making her look like a slowly drifting, unstable shadow,
perfectly blending into the gloom cast by the corridor walls.
The path to the fortress’s upper levels was winding and complex, full of forked paths.
The map only provided the main route; many details required on-the-spot judgment.
She tried to choose the darkest corners with the fewest patrol traces to advance.
At every turn, she held her breath to listen, only proceeding quickly after confirming safety.
The first close call occurred in a relatively wide corridor.
Faint footsteps and low chatter approached from ahead—two demon maids in plain dresses, carrying trays.
They emerged from another side passage, walking towards Furenna.
The corridor was straight, with nowhere to hide!
Furenna froze instantly, pressing her back against the wall, squeezing into a narrow shadow formed by a protruding stone pillar.
Simultaneously, she desperately reined in all aura, even her breath almost stopped.
The ripples of the Veil of Shadows also seemed to slow with her stillness.
The two maids drew closer. They were complaining about a strict kitchen overseer; one even gave a small yawn.
At their closest, they were mere two or three steps from Furenna. She could even smell the faint scent of incense and ingredients mixed together on them.
Furenna could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest, making her eardrums thrum.
She clenched her teeth tightly, controlling every muscle, fearing even a slight tremor or too-heavy breath would betray her.
A faint, tension-induced ripple came from the collar, but it didn’t seem to trigger any special reaction.
The maids remained utterly unaware, chatting and laughing as they passed “before” her, their footsteps gradually fading.
Only when they disappeared around another corner did Furenna dare to exhale slowly the breath she’d held for so long. Cold sweat had already soaked her underclothes.
She didn’t dare linger, immediately pressing on.
The rest of the journey was equally fraught with danger.
She had to avoid a squad of demon soldiers patrolling a fixed route, their heavy footsteps and armor friction sounds like muffled thunder.
She curled up behind a pile of discarded, dust-covered crates, listening as the footsteps passed nearby.
The closest soldier even casually prodded the edge of the crate she hid behind with his long polearm, causing dust to cascade down.
Furenna held her breath, making herself as small as possible.
Relying on the map’s guidance, extreme caution, and the peculiar effects of the Veil of Shadows, she laboriously made her way through the maze-like middle levels of the demon fortress.
This area was much “busier” than near the dungeons. She could often hear vague sounds from distant rooms or smell various strange odors.
The air was less stagnant and foul, but also more dangerous.
The closer she got to the rendezvous point Aviya marked—the third conduit entrance outside the “Hall of Congealed Blood”—the tighter the string in Furenna’s heart pulled.
This area, in a relatively remote region of the castle’s middle levels, seemed to have fewer patrols, but the environment was more complex.
Huge metal pipes of unknown purpose snaked along walls and ceilings, some still vibrating slightly, emitting low hums.
The air held a faint, mixed scent of iron rust and some kind of aged spice.
The light was also more dim and obscure. Only a few dark-purple crystals embedded in the walls provided limited illumination, casting eerie and distorted shadows from pipes and walls.
According to the map, passing through the storeroom ahead, filled with old wooden barrels and damaged equipment,
exiting through a narrow side door, then traversing a short passage completely reliant on pipe shadows for concealment,
would bring her to that hidden side junction where several large ventilation pipes converged.
The storeroom was silent and empty, only thick dust and cobwebs.
She carefully weaved around obstacles, trying not to stir up dust.
Her nerves were stretched to the limit. The prolonged high tension and stealth had consumed a large amount of stamina. The old wounds in her abdomen and elsewhere began to ache dully.
But hope was within sight. She forced herself to focus her remaining mental strength.
Her hand had already touched the rust-covered metal small door on the storeroom’s side.
The door wasn’t locked, slightly ajar.
Just as she prepared to gently push it open and step onto the final stretch—
A low, familiar female voice she absolutely did not want to hear at this moment, in this place, laced with just the right amount of suspicion,
clearly emanated from the shadows not far outside the door, as if merely an idle inquiry, yet instantly freezing Furenna’s blood solid:
“Hmm? What are you doing here?!”
It was the Demon King Iris’s voice!