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Chapter 287  Stay?

Chapter 287

The deserted lands that had stretched endlessly earlier were nothing more than a wasteland of cracked earth and twisted trees clawing at a sky choked with ash.

For days, they’d trudged through this forsaken place, their boots crunching over bones and their lungs burning with sulfur.

So, suddenly seeing such a scene involuntarily made him suspicious.

Oliver inhaled deeply, testing the air. It was sweet, almost cloying, lacking the bitter tang of ash he’d grown accustomed to. A faint miasma lingered beneath it, not a scent but a feeling—a prickling on his skin, a whisper of wrongness. He glanced at Agnes, who was still gazing at the village with wide-eyed wonder.

Even her breath seemed to ease in this air, her shoulders losing their usual tension, as if the village itself was lulling her into comfort.

“Stay close,” he said, his voice low but firm. “This place isn’t what it seems.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the village. “It’s too perfect,” he murmured. “In demon territory, nothing stays this pristine. There’s something wrong here.”

Even the wind was wrong — carrying no scent of rot, no stench of charred wood, just an unnatural calm that clung to his skin like damp cloth.

Agnes shrugged, her cloak rustling. “Maybe it’s a safe haven? Perhaps some demons are different, Teacher.”

Her voice held a hopeful lilt, one Oliver found almost painful to hear.

“Demons and humans are mortal enemies,” Oliver replied sharply. “There’s no safe haven here for us. Adjust your cloak—we can’t let them see we’re human.” The edge in his voice made her hands tremble slightly as she pulled up her hood.

The fabric slipped from her fingers twice before she finally secured it.

He felt that Agnes was still not used to this; being a slave to demons, she was used to their presence and did not feel the risk as much as he did.

To her, demons were cruel masters—but they were familiar. To Oliver, they were death wearing a face.

“We need supplies,” Oliver said, keeping his voice low. “Food, water, anything we can carry. But we stay cautious. And if possible, a map too.”

Agnes nodded, her eyes bright despite the tension. “I’ll follow your lead, Teacher.”

They stepped into the village, and a figure emerged from a cottage—a demon woman in a simple dress, her hair neatly tied back. She smiled warmly. “Welcome, travelers! It’s been so long since we’ve had visitors. Please, come in, rest yourselves.”

Her smile was wide—too wide—and didn’t quite reach her glassy eyes.

Oliver hesitated. Her tone was friendly, but it felt rehearsed, like lines from a play. “Thank you,” he said carefully. “We’re just passing through. We need supplies.”

Her smile didn’t falter. Not once.

Their scent should be thick given how long they had been travelling for, it should be able to distort their sense of smell. At least, it should not give away their identity as humans.

Still, Oliver subtly adjusted his cloak, pulling it tighter to hide his skin.

“Of course!” she replied, her smile still fixed. “We have plenty to share. Follow me to the market square.”

She turned too smoothly, as if gliding rather than walking.

Oliver felt a strong sense of unease from the woman, he knew that something was very off about her.

The warmth in her tone was skin-deep—beneath it, Oliver could almost hear the brittle silence of something waiting. Watching.

The surroundings felt… weird.

Every flower bloomed at the exact same angle, each leaf too perfect, no decay or broken stems. Nature, frozen in time.

He could not express it clearly, it was just a feeling. He slowly started to probe around with his senses, making sure he was not alerting anyone.

It was like dipping his mind into oil—thick, cold, and slippery.

‘What is this weird feeling…?’

As they trailed her, more villagers appeared, each echoing her warmth: “Welcome, travelers!” “So good to see new faces!” “Make yourselves at home!” Their voices overlapped, unnervingly similar, and their eyes held a glassy sheen.

All of them smiled with their mouths, but not their eyes.

Agnes leaned close. “They’re friendly, Teacher. Maybe it’s not so bad.”

Oliver didn’t answer, but his jaw clenched, a vein twitching near his temple.

He took a deep breath to calm his mind.

Oliver didn’t answer, his gaze darting between them. Their movements were smooth, but something was off—something lifeless.

At the market square, stalls overflowed with goods: apples gleaming red, loaves of bread still steaming, jugs of water. Oliver picked up an apple, its weight oddly light. He bit into it—sweet, but empty, leaving his stomach as hollow as before.

It dissolved too fast, like mist pretending to be fruit.

He stopped and looked in the air, noticing something again.

A faint shimmer curled above the square, like heat rising off stone—but the air was cold.

Agnes’ voice suddenly sounded, she frowned, holding a piece of bread. “Teacher, this… it’s like air. It doesn’t fill me.”

He nodded grimly, his eyes cold. “This place isn’t real.”

Closing his eyes, he reached out with his senses, this time in a wider range. Nothing. No heartbeat, no warmth—just a cold void and a strange miasma, thick and cloying, coating his throat.

“Agnes, do you feel anything alive?” he asked without looking at her.

She had started to perceive espera, her senses were now opened and she should be able to feel some changes as well.

She concentrated, then shook her head. “No, Teacher. It’s empty, but they’re right here.”

Her fingers curled into the bread until it crumbled.

“Exactly,” he murmured. “We’re not dealing with the living.”

Agnes had a great talent, she was able to quickly sense this. Oliver felt that a normal exorcist might not have caught it so easily.

The woman approached again. “You must be tired. We have an inn—free of charge. We’re happy to have guests.”

Oliver wanted to refuse, but exhaustion gnawed at them, and staying might reveal more. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll take it.”

For now, he felt that it was better to not say anything odd and continue behaving as if they were really just normal travelers.

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