Infinite Mana Exorcist
Chapter 47: Dragon... F*ck

Chapter 47: Dragon... F*ck

On Fey’s and Logan’s side, the castle they had visited was in far better condition than the others they had encountered. Its walls remained standing, and the roof, though weathered, was still intact—a stark contrast to the ruins they had seen before.

From the outside, it didn’t appear particularly grand, just another remnant of a forgotten age. But as they stepped inside, they found a wealth of valuable materials—old antiques, sturdy metals, and exotic fabrics, all untouched by time.

Fey wasted no time. With his storage bag, he carefully selected materials he believed would carry worth in the market, should they find a village after following this lead. It was always wise to be prepared.

But then—he saw it.

His breath hitched.

Mountains of gold coins and shimmering jewelry, stacked in a single pile at the side of the tower, reaching nearly three hundred meters high.

The sheer volume was staggering. Coins spilled over like golden rivers, while crowns, necklaces, and gemstones gleamed under the dim light. It was more than a fortune—it was unimaginable wealth, left here, unguarded, in the open.

Fey swallowed, stepping closer, his heart pounding against his ribs.

"What sort of person lives here? To be so confident, to have this much gold just lying around?" he thought, moving toward the glittering hoard, his fingers twitching in anticipation.

But before he could take another step, a firm grip latched onto his wrist.

Logan.

"Wait," Logan’s voice was low but sharp. His fingers tightened, pulling Fey back. "This doesn’t feel right. The obvious choice is to go for the gold—but don’t. It might be a trap."

His words carried weight, the kind of weight that came from experience.

Fey turned to him, reading the tension in his expression.

Logan had seen setups like this before. Treasure placed so enticingly, practically begging to be taken—and the moment someone did, chaos followed. He had been through this game too many times, and the ending was never good.

Although he had never seen such an overwhelming pile of wealth used as bait, something in his gut told him this was no different.

"We should search the rest of the tower first," Logan continued, his voice steady but cautious. "Make sure we’re not walking straight into a massacre."

Fey hesitated, looking back at the gold, but ultimately nodded. It was better to be safe.

Leaving the hoard untouched, they moved to the next room. Unlike the last, this one had a massive hole torn through its stone walls, exposing the castle’s interior to the open sky.

The room was dim, filled with shadows, the lack of torches or bulbs making it nearly impossible to see.

They stopped at the entrance, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. Shapes began to take form—the remains of furniture, shattered stone, broken weapons scattered across the ground. The air smelled stale, thick with dust and something else... something old.

Logan’s stomach churned.

Something wasn’t right.

His mind replayed the layout of the castle. Why was the gold room untouched? Why were all its pillars still standing, its roof intact? Meanwhile, this room—and likely others like it—were in shambles?

Even if there had been a war here, destruction should have been more balanced. Yet, in the rooms that held nothing valuable, the damage was catastrophic.

Then, as his gaze traveled along the walls, he saw them.

Deep, jagged marks.

Claw marks.

Massive, unnatural scratches carved into the stone, as though something had raked its talons across it.

His heart pounded.

Fey had noticed it too, his expression darkening.

A cold sense of dread settled between them.

They pressed forward, moving deeper into the ruined chamber. The further they went, the less they could see, until finally, the darkness became too thick to navigate.

Fey reached for a wooden stick lying among the debris, wrapping a cloth around its tip before igniting it with a spark.

The small flame flickered to life, casting an orange glow around them.

The light pushed back the shadows just enough to reveal their surroundings. But somehow, that only made it worse.

Everything about this place screamed danger.

Logan slipped his hands into his coat, fingers brushing against the tools of his trade—prepared for whatever alchemic attack he might need to launch at a moment’s notice.

A shiver ran down his spine.

"Something is here."

Fey’s grip tightened around the hilt of his blade. "I can sense a faint aura."

Logan gave a slow nod, his voice low. "I can too. Also, why the hell are you making your voice sound so cool?"

Fey blinked. "No, I’m just trying to be quiet."

"Well, stop it. It’s annoying."

Fey rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

"Let’s just communicate with sighs," Logan whispered. "One means ’okay,’ two means ’be alert,’ and three means ’run.’"

Fey sighed once, acknowledging the plan.

They moved cautiously, their breathing shallow, every footstep calculated.

And then—

A heavy sigh echoed through the room.

It wasn’t from Logan.

It wasn’t from Fey.

A deep, guttural sound that rumbled through the chamber like rolling thunder.

They both froze.

Their blood turned ice cold.

Logan’s eyes snapped to Fey. Fey looked back at him, face pale, breath shaky.

Neither of them had made that sound.

Which meant—

Slowly, ever so slowly, they turned their heads toward the source of the noise.

Fey raised the torch.

The flickering light fell upon a massive red wall.

No... not a wall.

The realization hit them like a hammer to the chest.

It was flesh.

And from that same side, another sound rolled through the air.

A deep, heavy grunt.

A tremor rippled across the ’wall,’ and with an unsettling shift, a sliver of space parted, revealing—

A massive, golden eye.

A vertical, inky black slit rested at its center, zeroing in on them.

Fey couldn’t breathe.

Logan’s fingers dug into Fey’s arm, pulling him back ever so slowly. His entire body screamed at him to run, but he knew—knew—that any sudden movement could be their last.

Fey’s voice came out in a whisper, tight with fear. "What... what is that?"

Logan swallowed hard, his voice barely audible.

"It’s a dragon—"

The word barely left his lips before the ground rumbled beneath them.

The ’wall’ shifted further, scales grinding against stone.

And then—

A voice.

Low. Hungry. Amused.

"Uhm... food."

The air turned suffocating.

Every nerve in Logan’s body exploded with adrenaline.

"RUUNNNNNN!!!"

His own voice was raw, instinctive, primal—his legs already moving as he grabbed Fey and yanked him backward.

Behind them, the sound of shifting weight, of something enormous stirring from slumber, filled the chamber. The tremors intensified. The shadows twisted, engulfing the space in their deadly embrace.

And then—

The dragon moved.