Free Web NovelThe corridor was deep and silent.
Pavela lifted her outrageously heavy skirt, walking along the corridor covered in dark red velvet carpet.
Her high heels stepped on the carpet, making a dull and rhythmic "clack-clack" sound. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
Silk rubbed together.
Jewelry swayed gently.
She walked very slowly.
It wasn't to maintain some sense of elegance; it was simply because these clothes were as heavy as a set of magnificent shackles.
Pavela only now realized that the dress Eleanor had picked for her for that noble banquet in Victoria was actually a lightweight model.
Even though it had a corset, it was nothing compared to this one.
As she walked, she had to carefully control her breathing, soothing the protests of her ribs.
"I have to say."
"If I had to wear this outfit every day, I'd rather go back to piloting that drafty thug-iv type mecha."
The Gatekeeper floated diagonally behind her.
That crooked servant's uniform was constantly being charred and reborn along with the flickering of His void flames.
"Be content."
"At least you're wearing something a human would wear."
"Look at me."
He pointed at His leather shoes, which were constantly suspended in mid-air.
"I don't even have feet; these shoes are forcibly stuck to the edges of my flames. Do you know how uncomfortable that feels?"
Pavela ignored His complaints.
She just twitched the corner of her mouth.
This palace was much larger than Pavela had imagined.
The vaulted ceiling was high, with a massive crystal chandelier hanging from above, every glass bead swirling with a pale blue cold light.
On both sides were rows of tall arched windows; outside the windows was still that suffocating pure white void.
And on the walls between the windows hung massive oil paintings.
They were all of people.
There were generals in magnificent military uniforms, noble ladies wearing crowns, and monarchs astride warhorses.
But the faces of everyone in the paintings were blurred.
It was as if the moment the painting was finished, someone had taken a wet rag and wiped it harshly across their faces.
Features melted into a chaotic mass of colors.
Leaving only a layer of grey mist.
Pavela stopped in front of a painting.
In the painting was a man in hunting gear, holding an old-fashioned flintlock gun.
Above his neck, there was only a mass of grey mist.
"Did those guys do this too?"
She tilted her head.
"This taste is quite unique."
"No, this should be considered your doing."
The Gatekeeper leaned in, his bowtie turning to ash with a "poof" before growing back again.
"They used the power of the Path of the Tower to reshape this palace from the depths of your subconscious, combined with their own memories."
"They call this place the 'Winter Palace'."
"But the problem is, you don't know these people at all."
"And their souls have experienced too much wear and tear after death; their memories were already fragmented." freewёbnoνel.com
"So, these portraits can only present a concept. As for the faces—no one remembers them, so naturally, they can't be painted."
Pavela nodded thoughtfully.
"Winter Palace."
She chewed on the words.
"Sounds cold."
"More than just cold."
The Gatekeeper's voice carried a hint of lingering fear.
"When I came here last time, it wasn't like this at all."
"Back then, it was still a normal tower, with only crumbling masonry and screaming souls."
"Then after those guys broke out, they forcibly split this entire Black Tower into seven levels."
"Each level was remodeled according to their godforsaken rules."
"This is the lowest level, likely intended as a reception room specifically for that 'Princess'."
Pavela raised an eyebrow.
"So where are they now?"
She looked around.
"Didn't you say there were dozens of knights at Sequence III or higher? How come I haven't seen a single shadow of a tin can after walking for so long?"
She indeed saw no knights.
But people—or rather, souls—she did see plenty.
As they moved through the corridor, Pavela saw many servants and attendants.
They wore uniform attire—maids in black and white dresses, and male servants in dark grey tailcoats.
They were cleaning vases, wiping handrails, or hurrying past with empty silver trays.
Pavela recognized them.
These were all the weak souls that once wandered the Grey Wasteland or were imprisoned in the lowest level of the Black Tower.
Farmers, merchants, ordinary cannon-fodder soldiers.
But at this moment, their state appeared very peculiar.
Their soul bodies were still incomplete.
For instance, the male servant wiping the base of the crystal chandelier was missing the entire left half of his head; one could see the pattern of the wall behind him directly.
Or the maid carrying a tray, who had a transparent hole the size of a bowl in her chest, with charred marks around the edges.
Outside the tower, souls of this level would mostly have lost their self-awareness, doing nothing but endless prayers and kowtows toward the high tower.
But here, they were very calm.
Their movements were skilled and orderly.
It was as if the missing half-head or the hole in the chest was just a trivial matter.
But when Pavela walked past them...
All movement would stop in an instant.
They would immediately retreat to the wall, backs pressed tightly against it, and bow their heads deeply.
The angle was so sharp it almost seemed they would snap their translucent necks.
Some even knelt on the spot.
Pavela could clearly see them trembling.
A reverence that reached into their very marrow.
And—
An unmaskable fear.
They knew who she was.
They knew she was the master of this tower, the "Destroyer" who had devoured them and swept them into this mad world.
Pavela could only remain silent in the face of their fear and walk away quietly.
She ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) couldn't even grant them release now.
Given her current mental burden, she couldn't absorb even one.
The sound of high heels continued to echo through the palace.
Pavela and the Gatekeeper passed through room after room, corridor after corridor.
The scale of this palace far exceeded imagination.
It was like an endless labyrinth.
Every room was magnificently decorated.
Every corridor was laid with thick carpet.
Outside every window was that pure white void.
"So, do you know how to get out?"
"Or how to get to the next level?"
Pavela asked as she walked.
"Theoretically, I should know."
The Gatekeeper was somewhat uncertain.
"It should be right up—"
His voice stopped abruptly.
At that moment, the two had just turned a corner.
Ahead was an even wider gallery.
At the other end of the gallery.
A group of people was standing.
No, a group of souls.
They were lined up in a neat formation.
Slowly walking this way.
The instant Pavela saw them.
She froze as well.
At this moment, she finally understood what the Gatekeeper meant by "old perverts."
