Whoosh... whoosh...

Cold bit first, a needlework of frost pricking my skin, as wind rasped through grass and trees like a saw across rot.

It wasn’t the gentle winter chill; it was a grave-cold, marrow-deep, sending clammy sweat down my spine like dew on stone.

I eased my gaze around, each breath thin as mist, cautious as a fox threading ruins and thorn.

I stood inside a manor that looked centuries dead, an empty shell where silence pooled like stagnant water.

The sky was iron-gray, the moon a blurred lantern straining through cloud, and the world held its breath in gloom.

Everywhere, dead timber slumped in decay, strange weeds tangled like seaweed in a black tide, and the ground stank like meat gone to sludge.

Farther off, a garden flickered through the haze, wrong and beautiful, its blossoms bright as embers in the ash.

Red spider lilies burned there, crimson like fresh blood, each petal a blade gleaming in moon-sour light.

Crows flapped and rasped, their calls hoarse as rust, and their eyes glowed red, like embers trapped behind bone.

I fixed on the big house inside the grounds, its windows and doors torn like wounds, darkness inside yawning like a mouth.

“Tonight the flowers are gorgeous, crimson that bleeds and begs for love. Corpses make fine soil, raising the forbidden blossom of sin...”

The song drifted out, aching and seductive, a silk ribbon around the throat, and my mind slid like a foot on wet stone.

I flared my Sword Intent, steel light inside my chest, and clarity snapped back like frost on glass.

The singing grew clearer, a thread drawing me in, while gloom pressed like a lid, sunless sky heavy as slate.

Ruins whispered, lilies smirked like painted masks, the house gaped like a hungry cave, and the song promised sweet, poisoned honey.

Fear hit first, raw and tight, my knees knocking like bamboo chimes; I’m awful at horror, and this place gnaws at the heart.

I wanted to bolt, to run back the way a deer flees a snare; the tremble wouldn’t stop, and dread kept blooming.

What do I even do? I don’t want to stay; this isn’t fair; the third floor’s Enchanted Forest was lonely, but at least it was heaven-bright.

“Wel—come—kid—to—the—fifth—floor—”

Her voice sliced into my skull, eerie by design, yet bright and bell-clear, and the effect hit like ice water.

“Ah!!!”

When I realized it was FrostyLily Dream, the knot loosened; my heart came down like dust after wind.

“Hey! FrostyLily Dream, you almost killed me with that scare. Don’t mess with me in a place like this.”

“Haha, that scared face of yours was gold. I’d love an encore... okay, okay, just kidding.”

Her tone smoothed, like a stream after stones: “First, congrats on clearing the fourth floor. Didn’t expect another breakthrough—your Sword Intent jumped.”

“Defeating Mirror in that short a time? Nice talent, no wonder my sister has her eye on you.”

“Ahaha... thanks.”

Praise always knots me up; heat climbs my ears the way dawn stains a ridge.

“Now, let me explain the fifth layer of the Nine Cold Labyrinth.” She paused, then let the name fall like frost. “It’s the Garden of Eternal Sleep.”

“A paradise for the dead,” she said, voice soft as smoke. “As you can see, it’s a place that grinds the nerves.”

A bad feeling stirred like a snake in leaves. “A paradise for the dead... you mean—?”

“Right. Everything here is spirit-type—undead, wraiths, ghosts—same for the floor’s guardian.”

“The guardian of the Garden of Eternal Sleep is spirit-type too?!”

“Half-spirit,” she corrected, cool as rain. “She has a body of her own, but she commands every spirit here, queen-like.”

“Got it.”

“Next, the guardian and your clear conditions.” Her words clicked like beads. “The guardian’s name is Sakurazuki.”

“She controls spirit-type creatures. Put simply, she’s like a necromancer among humans, and her power sits around Divine Novice.”

“As for her location—see that ruined mansion ahead? Somewhere inside.”

“Necromancer...” The word tastes of ash. On the Central Continent, that craft is a rat in daylight, hunted and hated.

I grew up there, traveled at Xinuo’s side, just left her not long ago; you don’t meet necromancers unless trouble walks to you.

“Clearing this floor is simple, two ways. One—find the guardian and defeat her. Two—fulfill whatever she demands.”

“Same deal as the second floor,” she added, her tone a shrug. “And the tip’s simple: face your fear. Don’t fear. Don’t dodge.”

“Good luck, kid.”

Her presence blew out like a candle in a draft, leaving quiet layered like ash; I gave a bitter smile and stared at the mansion.

“...Gulp.”

Fear pressed like a hand over my mouth; this place is a nightmare, and I swallowed hard like a fish choking on sand.

I couldn’t just forfeit, even if I wanted to; grit tightened like a belt, and I forced my feet forward.

Thud. Something dropped from above, hit my shoulder, then slid down to my boots like a dead leaf.

I looked, breath snagging. A doll lay there—filthy and torn, bloodstains blooming across its limbs like mold.

Its long hair clumped like wet moss, and that round little face wore a crooked smile that felt colder than iron.

Half-lidded eyes watched, or seemed to, slitted like a cat in the dark, and goosebumps raced my arms like ants.

Rumble. Lightning tore the sky, a white slash, and the doll shone stark in that blade-bright glare.

Its mouth seemed to open, slow as a flower at night, and blood streamed from its eyes and lips like threads of wine.

“Aa—aaa—aaaah!”

My scream ripped across the Garden of Eternal Sleep, startling crows into a storm of wings and ragged cries.

...