The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 458: Blackmoss Spire of the depths

Then pale blue light began to emerge from the corpse.

It seeped slowly from the dead man’s chest like breath escaping after being held for far too long. It was like a soft, unsteady air. The color of winter skies before dawn. It rose carefully into the air, trembling faintly, as though uncertain whether it was finally allowed to leave.

Haryntha frowned as she noticed the light traces.

Jolthar remained still, watching the light with a curious gaze.

The light gathered above the body, gradually taking shape—not fully human, not truly visible, but enough to carry the unmistakable impression of a person stripped of flesh and pain.

The soul turned toward Jolthar.

And then relief washed over the area so intensely that even the corrupted air seemed quieter for a moment.

The light moved towards where Jolthar stood and stopped right in front of him.

“Thank you.”

The voice was strange, but it was also gentle. Echoing slightly, like sound traveling across deep water.

Jolthar blinked once.

Haryntha explained, “It’s that man’s soul and he is thanking you.”

Jolthar looked at her and then towards the light.

Even after everything that had happened recently, speaking to a soul in the middle of a cursed wasteland still ranked fairly high on unusual experiences.

“You’re welcome,” he answered calmly.

The pale figure looked down briefly at its own corpse.

“I… could not stop fighting.”

The words came slowly now.

“The malice would not let me rest. Every moment was pain and I was full of rage. Unlimited hunger for battle and killing.”

“I could not hold all of those emotions, and it became too painful, and I was unable to stop it.”

The soul’s voice weakened slightly.

“I tried to die many times.”

Haryntha’s expression shifted faintly.

“But the corruption kept rebuilding me,” the spirit continued.

“Again and again and again.”

Something terrible lingered beneath those words—not physical suffering alone, but exhaustion so complete that death itself had become mercy.

“The hatred inside the Depths…”

The soul trembled faintly.

“It breaks you apart slowly. At first, you remember who you are. Then pieces vanish. Memories. Emotions. Names.” Its gaze lowered. “Eventually you keep fighting only because the malice demands it.”

Jolthar said nothing.

There was nothing useful to say to that.

The soul looked at him again, and this time there was unmistakable gratitude in its fading expression.

“You freed me before nothing remained.”

Haryntha lowered her head slightly toward the dead stranger.

The spirit turned, looking around at the endless corrupted wasteland surrounding them.

Then confusion crossed its fading features.

“Why are you here?”

“It is not a place where young men like you should be strolling around.”

Its voice sharpened slightly with concern.

“The living should not come this deep. It is dangerous.”

Jolthar glanced toward the darkness ahead.

“I’m here on an imperial mission.”

The soul stared at him silently.

Jolthar sighed faintly.

“There’s a long version involving a lot of people who sent me here, and I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

He gestured vaguely ahead. “Short version: I need to kill three duke-class nynthralls.”

Even Haryntha looked mildly concerned hearing it said out loud that casually.

The soul became still.

Then the pale blue light flickered sharply.

“You seek the dukes…”

Something changed in the air.

“Do you know what you are saying?”

Jolthar looked firm.

“I can tell that you are a strong young man but this place is not something that can be underestimated or taken lightly that you have come here.”

“Like I said, I had no choice.”

The air around the soul changed and intensified.

The spirit drifted closer, its form becoming unstable as though the effort of remaining behind was difficult now.

“I know where they gather.”

Images suddenly poured into Jolthar’s mind.

A towering spire covered in black moss.

Ancient stone disappearing into a sky stained with corruption.

Ley lines beneath the ground twisted into poisoned veins pulsing with dark energy.

And surrounding the spire—

Nynthralls, thousands of them.

Tall, armored horrors moving with unnatural synchronization, their bodies warped by concentrated malice. Elite guard-class nynthralls. Not mindless creatures, but extensions of the dukes’ will itself.

The sensation accompanying the vision was unmistakable: Death.

Not possible death.

Near certainty.

“All paths lead there,” the spirit whispered.

“You can find more than three dukes there. It is a place where they gather frequently. Like it was some sort of meeting place for them.”

The pale figure trembled violently for a second.

“The corruption deepens around them. Even the Depths fear that place.”

The information settled into Jolthar’s mind with perfect clarity.

Then the soul’s form weakened further.

Its outline began dissolving into drifting blue fragments.

“My time…” it murmured softly.

For the first time, something peaceful touched its expression.

“No more fighting.”

Jolthar gave a small nod.

“Thank you for the information and you can rest now.”

The spirit looked at him one last time.

“You are strange,” it said faintly, almost amused.

“The Depths fear you less than they should.”

Then the soul dispersed.

The pale blue light scattered into the corrupted wind and vanished completely, leaving behind only the dead body and the endless distant sounds of the Dreadland Depths.

Silence followed.

Then Jolthar explained what he saw to her and said where they should go next.

Haryntha exhaled slowly.

“A black moss-covered spire,” she said quietly.

“I heard that nynthralls are mindless creatures, but why are they acting like some commanders taking hold of their armies? A meeting? I cannot believe just how the realm has changed since my last time.” She had been learning a lot of new things even though she was a deity. The deities had no business coming into the depths, so she wasn’t aware of what was happening inside the depths.

Jolthar glanced toward her.

“There would be a greater number of nynthralls present there and even more dukes too.”

“And now we’re walking toward it.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Haryntha stared at him for a long moment.

“You say things like that far too comfortably.”

Jolthar began moving forward.

“The nyphorites concern me more than the dukes,” Haryntha continued as she followed beside him.

“Individually, they rival duke-class entities. As a coordinated unit…”

She shook her head faintly. “They are horrifyingly effective.”

“If we were to face

Jolthar rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Then this should be interesting.”

Ahead of them, the corrupted sky darkened further.

The deeper regions of the Depths felt wrong in ways ordinary language struggled to describe. The air had texture there, thick and diseased. The ground pulsed faintly beneath ancient rot. Even the distant screams sounded distorted, stretched into something almost inhuman.