Mad Hatter's Guide to Clearing The Game
Chapter 121: Ch119. It is a question

Chapter 121: Ch119. It is a question

The moment the Scryer spoke, the air in the Scrybay seemed to freeze.

Kurt went still beside Miles, the usual sharp glint in his eyes darkening into something unreadable. Miles, still gripping the newly transformed scythe, felt the weight of the Scryer’s words press down on him like a vice.

Another player? In The Horizon?

Then, realization dawned on Miles.

"Fuck..."

Kurt had told him not to summon anything from his inventory, but he had completely forgot about the [Harbinger’s Scythe], thinking that relying only on the makeshift knives Kurt had given him prior to coming to Luna Sea was going to be enough.

It was a bad choice.

Before he could react, the heavy thud of boots against scrap metal cut through the silence. The door to the Scrybay groaned open, and a group of figures stepped inside.

They were draped in layered coats of mismatched armor, some of it made of metal, some of it were reinforced cloth, all of it worn from use. Their faces were concealed beneath masks, some fashioned from bone, others from the broken visors of old helmets.

The tallest of them, a woman whose mask bore the intricate carvings of a shattered moon, stepped forward.

"The Master calls." Her voice was smooth, yet edged with something firm, something absolute.

"Of course he does." Kurt let out a slow breath.

"You expected this?" Miles turned to him.

"I was hoping we’d get a bit more time before the invitation, after all, I wasn’t expecting your scythe to put on a show like that." Kurt smirked, but it was thinner than usual.

The woman did not wait for them to comply. With a flick of her wrist, the rest of her group moved forward, surrounding them. The moment Miles shifted his stance, ready to resist, he felt the cold press of a blade against his side.

Not a straight-out threat, just a warning.

’Or I’d be dead by now.’ Miles thought, cold sweat trickling down his back.

"Move."

***

Luna Sea had been chaotic before, but now, walking through its depths under escort, it felt suffocating. The alleys twisted unpredictably, giving way to half-built bridges, rooftops turned into walkways, and sudden drops that led into scrapyards piled high with forgotten machinery.

The people they passed did not stare at them. They did not even acknowledge them.

They knew better.

They reached the heart of Luna Sea, a towering structure built from the remains of several fallen constructs – mech limbs, hollowed-out engines, and remnants of long-dead war machines stacked together to form a grotesque, multi-leveled throne room.

The entrance yawned open, swallowing them in shadow.

Inside, the chamber stretched wide, dimly illuminated by neon strips embedded in the walls. The floor was covered in shifting metal panels, some still adorned with the insignias of whoever had used them before. At the center, upon a throne carved from a single slab of blackened steel, sat Luna Sea’s Master.

He was an imposing figure, tall and draped in a coat made of stitched leather and wires, his face hidden behind a mask that resembled a cracked porcelain doll. Only his eyes were visible through the fractures. Dark and patient, like someone who had seen every possible outcome of this moment before it even began.

"Kurt." The Master’s voice was a whisper, yet it filled the chamber.

Neither Kurt nor Miles spoke.

"Do you know why you’re here?" The Master leaned forward slightly.

Miles tensed. He felt the weight of his new scythe, the vambraces tightening around his wrists. He glanced at Kurt, who simply raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"We have our guesses." Kurt finally said, voice light but careful.

The Master chuckled.

"I imagine you do." He rested his chin on one hand. "You brought someone who should not be here, and it stirs things. Even now," He glanced at Miles. "The walls of The Horizon shift in response to your presence, outsider."

"And that’s a problem?" Miles narrowed his eyes.

"It is a question." The Master tilted his head.

A flick of his fingers, and suddenly the air behind Miles shifted. A deep hum resonated through the room, like something awakening. Miles barely had time to react before a force slammed into his mind.

And darkness swallowed him whole.

***

He was falling. Not through air, not through space.

Through time.

He saw flashes, images blurred and fragmented. A corridor stretching endlessly, lined with doors that pulsed like living things. A tower spiraling upward, its surface etched with stories that had yet to be told and were ate the same time already told a million times. A figure in a long coat standing before a vast, endless abyss.

Then, a voice. Distant, yet deafening.

"Why have you come here?"

"To-" Miles struggled, his thoughts sluggish, but he forced himself to respond.

His voice was swallowed by the void.

Another flash.

This time, he saw himself, or something like him. Standing at the foot of a massive gate, its frame covered in shifting symbols that he could not quite understand. Behind him, shadows twisted, taking the shape of figures with hollow eyes.

The gate began to open, and then...

Pain.

A burning, searing pain that erupted from deep inside his chest, spreading like wildfire through his limbs. He gasped, snapping back into reality with a sharp intake of breath.

He was still standing in the chamber, the Master watching him with quiet amusement. The hum of whatever had struck him was fading, but Miles still felt the echoes of it reverberating through his mind.

"Interesting." The Master leaned back.

"You done violating his brain, or should we make tea?" Kurt straightened.

"You seek something." The Master ignored him, his focus solely on Miles.

"I seek what’s necessary." Miles exhaled sharply, steadying himself.

"And what, outsider, do you deem necessary?" The Master’s lips curled beneath the cracks of his mask.

Miles hesitated. He could feel the weight of the room pressing in on him, the unspoken tension thickening with every passing second.

Then, the Master gestured, and one of the masked figures stepped forward, drawing a blade. The steel caught the dim light, reflecting it in sharp, fractured lines.

"Would you sacrifice?" the Master asked.

Miles’ breath stilled. The masked figure turned, and in one smooth motion, the blade was at Kurt’s throat.

"Really? This is how we’re playing it?" Kurt didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

"Would you trade his life for your answer?" The Master ignored him, his gaze locked onto Miles.

The room was silent.

Miles’ fingers twitched. The scythe in his grip pulsed, as if sensing the weight of the decision hanging over him.

But there was no decision to be made.

His jaw tightened. His breath evened. And his eyes met the Master’s unflinching gaze.

"I came here to prepare." His voice was steady, unwavering. "Before I challenge The Last Verse."

Silence.

Then... The Master laughed.

A hollow, knowing sound that echoed through the chamber like distant thunder.

"Well, that’s going to stir the nest." Kurt smirked.

The Master rose from his throne, his coat shifting like living shadow.

"You are bold, outsider. But boldness alone is not enough." He gestured, and the blade at Kurt’s throat withdrew. "Very well."

His dark eyes glowed behind the cracks of his mask.

"Then let us see if you are worthy of the path you seek."