"You killed them all." Burton’s gaze turned grave as he studied Sabo, trying to discern what kind of person lay beneath the bull mask.

  "Yes, all dead. The Mentor demanded it. They returned thinking they’d be praised, and they were—fed well, given as much hallucinogen as they wanted. Then I sealed their room and poured kerosene through the gap under the door. By the time they died, the hallucinogens had taken effect. They only felt the gentle embrace of heaven as they fell into eternal sleep," Sabo said indifferently, showing no sense of committing atrocities.

  "Why kill them..." Burton was about to speak when he suddenly realized everything, his expression changing before he tightened his grip on the Winchester.

  "Is this why you were willing to tell me all this?"

  The great detective finally realized the anomaly: there was never unprovoked kindness, not for Burton, and not for Sabo.

  "Yes," Sabo nodded, his tone neither happy nor sad. Burton had seen this demeanor before, in the dying at Victoria Central Hospital, who were impervious to everything in the world, feeling neither joy nor sorrow, only resignation and calmness toward their impending death.

  That was a destined fate, with no room for change.

  "It’s something no mortal should touch. Even learning of its existence is a great sin... like staring at the sun—you pay the price of having your eyes burned," Sabo said.

  "So this is their price? Death," Burton said.

  He didn’t directly answer Burton. The dwarfish figure jumped down from the chair, swaying unsteadily, creating an indescribable atmosphere.

  "Death is a relief, at least better than living. You don’t understand what that thing is, Detective."

  "Does that mean this is why you’re being so charitable? Anyone who knows about this must die, whether it’s the Silver Fish crew or us here tonight—everyone here must die, right?"

  This was why Sabo had been so candid. Burton’s arrival was just an unexpected bonus. Everyone who entered this orgy tonight had to die; they were sacrifices to the forbidden, and only blood and flesh could appease it.

  The lethal shotgun pointed at Sabo, Burton’s entire focus on him. If he pulled the trigger, the shotgun would release a cone of buckshot, and with his dwarfish stature, Sabo was destined to be hit.

  "Then what about you? You know all this too. Will you die tonight as well?" Burton demanded.

  Sabo answered calmly, "Yes, I will die tonight too."

  From the start, Sabo had no intention of letting anyone leave alive. The previous gamble had just been a final game for a dying man. With his few remaining fingers, he picked up the rapier, and a flick of the wrist made it whistle through the air, the blood on it falling like rain.

  "Stop!"

  Eve picked up the revolver from the gambling table; only one bullet was in the firing position. Now two guns pointed at Sabo—they had won.

  "Wait, Eve!"

  Burton suddenly stopped Eve’s action, a hint of confusion in his icy gaze as he realized the danger, his voice sharp.

  "So that’s your purpose. This is why you had the leisure to play coin games with us, right?"

  Sabo nodded, the rapier in his control sharp and deadly.

  "You’re Burton Holmes. During the Red River Massacre, you killed hundreds of gang members with guns and swords. More than a detective, you’re a skilled killer. And I’m a freak; I’d never defeat you in a direct confrontation. Fortunately, you needed information, which bought a lot of time for the hallucinogens to take effect."

  This was the hallucinogen lingering in the air. Its concentration had been low, but with Sabo’s deliberate manipulation and delay, Burton had inhaled a significant amount. Hallucinations now appeared in his vision.

  The bull mask seemed to come alive, blood flowing down its strange face. Only then did Burton realize the mask wasn’t a bull at all but a horned monster; his common sense had made him subconsciously think it was a bull.

  "Get out of the way, Eve!"

  Burton roared as he pulled the trigger. He was already hallucinating and couldn’t be sure of what he saw, so all he could do was tell Eve to stay back to avoid accidental injury.

  But Eve didn’t respond. There was fear in the girl’s eyes; she wanted to calm down, but her gun-hand trembled. She was hallucinating too.

  Under the dome, thunder rang out.

  There was no time for Burton to hesitate. The scattered pellets shattered the gambling table but missed Sabo. The dwarfish figure was much faster than Burton imagined. The rapier left a silver trail in the air like a swimming cuttlefish, then slashed sharply at Burton.

  In desperation, Burton could only pull out his cane to block. The chipped edge of the rapier was like a saw, cutting through the wooden outer layer and sparking brightly.

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  "A sword like mine!"

  Sabo shouted as he continued to slash down along the cane. The wooden shell completely cracked, revealing a bright metallic sheen beneath.

  Burton was knocked back a few steps by the blow, unable to fathom how such a body could unleash such strength. The Winchester was no longer useful in close combat, so Burton slung it behind his back and gripped the cane-sword tightly.

  Sabo was right; this was the same type of weapon as the rapier, with only a blade and handle—the protective guard was gone.

  A guard was the part of a sword that protected the swordsman’s hand, preventing it from sliding down the blade when two swords were locked. But neither of their weapons had this part, just like their owners, who didn’t care about protecting themselves or were confident enough to kill the enemy before being hurt.

  "You must be affected by the hallucinogens too," Burton said.

  Because of the hallucinogens, the world in Burton’s eyes began to twist slightly. He couldn’t be sure of what he saw, and firearms naturally couldn’t target the enemy, but the sword was different. Like a blind person’s cane, what the sword touched in his hand was real and wouldn’t deceive Burton.

  "I’m used to swinging a sword while hallucinating. You get used to this sort of thing. I was born weak, so I have to use underhanded methods. I hope you understand," Sabo said, twirling his sword.

  In his vision, the world was also distorted, but he had lived here so long that it no longer affected him.

  He was a born freak, unable to run fast or jump high, and had lost most of his fingers in gambling. He wanted to win, needed to win. From the day he was born, he had been a loser with nothing, so he would use everything he could to seize victory.

  "Long ago, I got used to hiding sand in my pocket and throwing it in the enemy’s face before slashing their throats," Sabo said, hiding one hand behind his back and bending his body like a bow, then charging forward like an arrow released from a string.

  The swords clashed, sparks from the impact looking like flames in the hallucinations, and behind the fire, the horned monster advanced ferociously.

  Sabo could only use a few fingers with force, and he was far less powerful than Burton in a direct fight. So the rapier was like a snake, striking at an angle with the force of the impact and never lingering, like a dragonfly skimming water.

  The cane-sword followed Sabo, but then Sabo spun in the air, and the hand that had been hidden behind his back suddenly released its grip.

  Burton had been waiting for this opportunity. When Sabo threw the sand in his hand, Burton immediately raised his coat to block Sabo’s view. To his surprise, what was thrown was not sand but a powdery substance.

  The small battlefield was instantly filled with red smoke. Burton realized the danger as soon as he inhaled.

  This was hallucinogen, a large dose of it.

  Holding his breath, Burton rolled out of the smoke cloud, while behind him, Sabo stood blankly in it, breathing steadily and showing no awareness of what he was doing.

  His nerves under attack, Burton put distance between them and tremblingly took out a cigarette from his pocket. It was his favorite, filled with stimulant herbs. He didn’t know how long it would fight the hallucinogens, but it was better than nothing.

  Before Burton could light the cigarette, a hellish illusion engulfed him. The ground beneath his feet became soft, and his skin felt slightly hot, as if the chandeliers in the dome had ignited like the sun.

  "When you take this, you see this... This isn’t heaven at all," Burton said.

  It had been a long time since Burton had seen such a scene, like a blasphemous ritual in hell. Under the dance floor, people’s bodies rotted and broke apart, and strange creatures emerged from within them. The moans of pleasure had become endless screams, and through it all, Sabo slowly walked out of the smoke, the metal mask completely embedded in his skull, merging with his flesh and blood. With his sinister grin, the mask slowly opened a dark mouth.

  "Aren’t heaven and hell relative? For me, this is already paradise," Sabo’s voice was distorted as he looked at the scarlet world, raising the rapier’s sharp tip at Burton.

  "Mr. Holmes, weren’t you once a priest? Pray for yourself."

  Then the dwarfish figure turned ferocious, and the air grew hotter with the mutation, as if bathing in lava.

  Burton knew these were all hallucinations, but he couldn’t find his way out. Now his senses were being misled; he thought he was standing, but maybe he had actually fallen, and the sword in his hand was no longer trustworthy.

  As for prayers... Did anyone really believe in that anymore?