Bodmar moved with incredible speed, like a leopard lunging at an antelope, completely unlike her usual slow and languid demeanor. Her long, bony hands stretched out, withered and blackened like dried chicken claws—anyone caught by them would likely be torn apart, pain searing to the core.
As she rushed to within a short distance of Malora, she suddenly dropped to her knees, her body sliding forward under the force of inertia, coming to rest just a few steps away from Malora's feet, as if begging for her mercy.
Before anyone could react to what had happened, they saw Bodmar clasp her hands over her mask with a sharp slap, letting out a piercing, agonized scream. Her whole body trembled uncontrollably, and soon, tiny streams of blood seemed to seep from every pore, gradually staining the red cloth wrapped around her, darkening its hue. Even the sunlight falling on her seemed to take on a tinge of red.
William clearly sensed that the spot where Bodmar had fallen was the source of the strange magical fluctuations he had felt earlier.
"Bodmar's magic seems to be out of control…"
Garth gently freed his hand from William's grip, his throat moving unconsciously. He took two steps back to Baelor's side, tilting his head slightly, observing the room with just the corner of his eye. Baelor and Mafalda were frozen, staring in shock at the bizarre scene, unable to move.
Suddenly, a small bulge appeared in the red cloth, quickly deflating. Then another, and another, rising and falling faster and faster, as if countless worms and snakes writhed beneath it. With a sharp plop, the lacquered mask fell to the floor. Along with it came strips of flesh, teeth, and eyeballs, which seemed almost alive, wriggling on the ground with squeaking sounds, scrambling back toward Bodmar's body, slipping under the red cloth.
Baelor could no longer withstand it; his eyes rolled back as he collapsed. Garth caught him in time, glancing at William, who was fully focused, and backed up two more steps while supporting Baelor.
William's full attention was on Bodmar's uncontrollable magic. He felt countless small streams of magic flying like snakes at high speed, rolling and darting through the air. Though increasingly violent, they could not escape the confined space before Malora. Gradually, the magic slowed, its movement becoming more uniform, eventually converging into a single point beneath the red cloth, falling silent. The writhing under the cloth mirrored the magic's rhythm—building from faint to intense, then gradually diminishing, finally returning to stillness.
At some point, Garth had already backed Baelor to the doorway, keeping watch on the room. Mafalda lay collapsed on the floor, trembling uncontrollably, his expression dazed.
William finally realized this was a trap aimed specifically at Bodmar. Even if he hadn't tried to stop Garth earlier, the charging Garth likely would not have been affected.
Although he couldn't see it, he sensed that a rune must be hidden near or in front of Malora. Just like the illumination rune in Harrenhal's secret chamber that operated automatically, the rune triggered the moment Bodmar stepped into its influence, disrupting her control over magic.
If Bodmar had only studied safe magic, the worst that would have happened would be a temporary loss of control, or at most, permanent loss of magical ability. But unfortunately, she was a Shadowbinder mastering countless dark magics. The moment her power spiraled out of control, those dark forces backfired, and the horrifying consequences were the result of her own magic.
Even Malora, who had been observing coldly, lifted her head at this moment, her expression calm as if nothing had happened. "William, bring it to me," she said, her tone indifferent.
William immediately understood. The scene when the mask fell replayed in his mind, and the thought of rummaging through the mess made his stomach churn. He instinctively covered his mouth, glanced at Malora, and met her unwavering gaze. Taking a deep breath, he stepped toward the pile of red cloth covering the remnants.
Bodmar's mask lay at Malora's feet, face down. This side was painted blue with strange lines, even stranger than the front. Next to it, a pile of miscellaneous objects was covered with a water-stained red cloth, dulled in color and uneven across the surface. It was impossible to tell a person had once been beneath it. Aside from this, the floor was clean—no blood, no bits of flesh, and the air carried no scent of blood.
William stopped beside the fallen mask, lowering his hand from his mouth. With a metallic clangclang, he drew his side sword, the tip probing toward the red cloth. Yet he lacked the courage to lift it and face the writhing mass of flesh and debris. Tentatively, he released a small amount of magic, and immediately, the red cloth began to writhe gently. Soon, a small bulge rose at the highest point, then shot out violently toward William, leaping from under the cloth.
It was an eye.
The almond-shaped eye was fringed with countless tiny tentacles, like the legs of a millipede. The black pupil on the white eye moved dexterously in all directions, as if searching for something, before finally staring straight at William.
A shiver ran down his spine; goosebumps erupted all over his body.
Malora clapped her hands twice, clearly approving of William's action. "Very good, William. Put it into that bottle."
Scanning the room, William noticed a transparent bottle on the table next to Malora. Palm-sized and plain in design, it clashed with the other ornate decorations, seemingly placed there specifically for this eye.
There was no need to touch the eye directly, which eased a heavy weight from William's chest. He strode forward and picked up the bottle. The eye, which had been tracking his movements, suddenly fixed its gaze on the bottle.
William turned to face the eye, removed the cap, and cautiously bent down, slowly extending the bottle toward it.
As the bottle approached, the eye's tentacles, still suspended in the air, began to writhe rapidly. When the bottle was still a short distance away, the eye suddenly leapt toward William.
Startled, William quickly judged the eye's trajectory. Holding the bottle steady, he let the eye crawl in, snapped the lid shut, and only then did his heart finally settle.
The eye spun twice inside the bottle, then stopped, still staring at William through the glass.
Feeling uneasy, William quickly placed the bottle on the table. No sooner had his hand left it than he heard faint footsteps and the clanging of armor from a distance. Shifting his focus, he sheathed his sword and moved beside Malora, assuming the posture of a loyal protector.
Soon, a group of knights rushed into the room, led by a fully armored knight. Bowing, his armor clanged loudly. "Lady Malora, I have been sent by the Lord to protect you and follow your orders."
Malora nodded slightly to the lead knight, then glanced at William.
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