As soon as Baron Blackmist spoke, Byrne looked down to see the meat on his plate instantly revert to black mist. Like a film being rewound, the twelve clusters of mist gathered once more in the center of the long table.
However, the mist did not dissipate. Instead, it transformed into a black pot, its shape resembling a common electric rice cooker. The pot had a matte finish, its body entwined with intricate misty patterns identical to those on the Baron's cane crystal. The lid was open, revealing an empty interior.
On the side of this "Soul-Devouring Pot" were eighteen small indentations, each corresponding to an invitee's seat number. Green flames flickered within these slots like beating hearts—except for six of them, which remained dark. Those six corresponded to the individuals devoured during the appetizer phase.
"This Soul-Devouring Pot can create your Soul Main Course, but it requires your souls as ingredients. As for the dish itself, it is the manifestation of your soul's characteristics."
"To put it simply, the flavor of the dish depends on the nature of your soul. The cowardly will taste of bitterness; the greedy will be cloaked in sickly sweetness; the resentful will be steeped in pungent spice; the anxious will reek of sourness. And the sober..."
At this point, Baron Blackmist paused, his glowing red eyes scanning the room.
"The sober are bland, possessing almost no flavor. In my opinion, it is best not to be served such a dish."
The Baron tapped his cane lightly. The patterns on the Soul-Devouring Pot ignited, and eerie green fire crawled along the lines, enveloping the pot in a supernatural glow. Next, a pair of scales appeared beside him.
The scales were crafted from ink-colored metal, lacking standard increments. The edges of the trays were wrapped in the same misty patterns as the pot. A small red crystal was embedded in the base, echoing the one on the Baron's cane. As soon as the scales appeared, they floated directly above the Soul-Devouring Pot.
"Rest assured, making the Soul Main Course will not take your entire soul. As for how much is required, that depends on the weight of your soul."
With a flick of his cane, a skull-shaped weight appeared on the right tray of the scales. The skull weight possessed a cold white luster, with wisps of black mist lingering in the bone crevices. When it landed, the scales immediately tilted all the way to the right.
"This is the Soul Weight. Only when the soul placed in the left tray outweighs this skull can the requirements for the Soul Main Course be met. We shall proceed in an order determined by drawing lots."
Immediately, a spinning wheel identical to the one used by the man in the suit appeared beside the Baron, though it now lacked six numbers. The wheel spun rapidly, the green fire casting dancing shadows of the numbers into the eyes of the onlookers.
Byrne frowned as he watched the floating scales. Given the previous events, he did not believe a word Baron Blackmist said. This Soul Main Course was likely far more sinister than described.
The wheel slowed down, the pointer finally stopping on the number six.
The tall, thin man at seat number six was the cold-sensitive fisherman Byrne had suspected of lying during the voting phase. Although he wore a thick coat, perhaps influenced by the appetizer phase, his face turned deathly pale upon seeing he was first. He began to tremble uncontrollably.
"Mr. Six, there is no need to be nervous. Next, you simply need to raise your hands high and silently recite the words 'Offer the Soul' in your heart."
Number Six froze in his seat, staring at the floating scales and the skull weight. His Adam's apple bobbed several times, but he couldn't make a sound. Fear flooded his eyes like a rising tide. The image of the six people losing their souls was still fresh; being asked to voluntarily offer his own soul—even just a part of it—filled him with dread.
Seeing Number Six hesitate, the Baron's voice grew colder. "Mr. Six, do not waste time. Your green fire will not wait. If the Soul Main Course isn't prepared within five minutes, the flame will go out."
These words struck Number Six like a whip. He shivered violently and slowly raised his trembling hands. Finally, he closed his eyes and recited the phrase "Offer the Soul" in his mind.
After a moment, a wisp of grey light drifted from the top of his head. Drawn by an unseen force, the light flew toward the left tray of the scales. As the light landed, the tray sank slightly, but it lacked the power to even budge the skull weight. The scales remained firmly tilted to the right.
At this result, Baron Blackmist let out a chuckle. "Heh. It's not enough. It seems your soul is a bit light, Mr. Six. You can't make a main course like this. According to the rules, you must supplement the weight until the scales are balanced."
Number Six stared blankly at the scales above the pot, shaking his head. "No... I've already offered my soul. How can it not be enough?"
Toying with his cane, the Baron explained, "Mr. Six, the weight of a soul is not for you to decide. Only the scales can measure it. Not enough is simply not enough. Please continue to offer your soul."
Number Six's body jolted. The color drained from his face, leaving even his lips a leaden grey. He stared at the motionless skull weight, his voice breaking into a sob. "I've already offered a part of it. If I offer more, will I end up like them?"
He looked toward the empty seat at number seven, the terror in his eyes nearly overflowing. Baron Blackmist sneered and tapped the floor.
"Rules are rules. Only by supplementing the soul can you eat the main course that belongs to you. If the green fire goes out, not only will your offered soul be wasted, but you will also be devoured directly by the pot—leaving not even a husk behind."
"Fine... I understand. I'll continue."
The Baron's words were the final straw that broke Number Six's remaining hope. He closed his eyes, raised his hands over his head, and began to recite again.
This time, the wisp of soul drifting from his head was twice as thick as before. The grey was shot through with streaks of white light, like soul fragments being forcibly torn away. They drifted into the left tray.
The tray sank under the force, and the scales finally wobbled slightly. However, they were still far from balanced; the skull weight remained firmly pressed down on its side.
Number Six swayed. His face was as white as paper, and large beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His breathing became faint. Forcibly offering more of his soul was clearly causing him immense agony.
Baron Blackmist stared at the scales for a while, then turned his gaze away, saying with feigned helplessness:
"I didn't expect your soul to be so light. You can't even reach the minimum weight. In that case, I can only express my regrets. Mr. Six, you are out."