At the same moment the old man underwent his transformation, the other five who had eaten from the Dish of Memories froze as well. Immediately following this, a shadow emerged behind each of the six individuals.
Byrne narrowed his eyes and instantly recognized the sudden shadows as Night Demons. Initially, he was puzzled as to why these monsters would appear here. But seeing the intoxicated expressions on the faces of the six people after eating the appetizer, he immediately recalled the supplementary explanation from the rule refresh on Monday.
[...Opening your eyes does not mean keeping them physically open, but rather keeping your consciousness clear.]
The mental state of these six people was no longer clear.
The shadows, like melting ink, slowly coalesced behind them. The signature crimson eyes of the Night Demons lit up in the gloom. Although the surrounding mist wasn't as thick as the one Byrne had encountered before, it carried the same icy sense of devouring.
The sight of someone eating a meal while a Night Demon waits to eat them was enough to make anyone's scalp tingle. The figures of the Night Demons rose slowly against the backs of the six guests, their black mist acting like living tentacles that silently wrapped around their wrists and necks.
The tentacles were bone-chillingly cold, yet they carried a seductive warmth identical to the Dish of Memories. This bizarre interplay of hot and cold prevented the six from even letting out a cry before they were completely paralyzed.
The warmth on the old man's face hadn't faded, yet the glint of tears in his eyes froze instantly. His cloudy eyes lost all luster, leaving only a grayish hue stained by the black mist. The sweet scent of osmanthus cake remained in his mouth, but his body trembled uncontrollably, as if his soul were being extracted from its shell bit by bit.
The lady at Number Seven held her fork mid-air, with fine sugar still clinging to the corner of her mouth. The joy in her eyes froze into a blank stare; only the slight twitching of her nostrils proved she was still alive.
Just then, Baron Blackmist let out a light laugh from the head seat. He waved his cane, and the dark purple crystal at its tip erupted with a piercing red light, firmly enveloping the six guests and the Night Demons.
The misty tentacles wrapped around the victims seemed drawn by the crystal. They began to climb upward, stripping away the souls of the six who were drowning in their memories. Under the red light, their bodies began to turn translucent, as if their physical flesh and blood were being drained, leaving only a weightless husk.
The extracted souls turned into six wisps of light—some warm yellow like candlelight, others pale blue like morning mist. Guided by the tentacles, they drifted through the air toward the dark purple crystal on the Baron's cane. The patterns on the crystal's surface grew more radiant, acting like a greedy beast's maw as it swallowed every wisp of soul.
As the souls entered the stone, the mist surrounding Baron Blackmist grew denser.
"Indeed, souls immersed in memory are the most delicious."
The six husks, now completely void of souls, slumped into their chairs like deflated puppets. In less than a minute, six living beings had died before their eyes. The remaining invitees at the table could no longer remain calm.
Byrne looked down. The meat in front of him still carried the scent of his grandmother's braised pork, but now that aroma felt wrapped in a bone-chilling cold. He instinctively pushed the plate toward the center of the table and scanned his surroundings.
Many faces were filled with terror. Some couldn't stop themselves from gagging, clearly losing their composure from the scene. The dry heaving came from the young girl at Number Eight. She clutched her mouth with both hands, her face as white as paper, her eyes wide with lingering shock. The pastry covered in pale purple sauce on her plate was intact, but in her eyes, it was more nauseating than the filthiest thing in the world.
Baron Blackmist stared at the girl with interest and said playfully, "Dear guest, why lose your composure so? This is merely an encounter between souls and memories. Those six souls were already trapped in their pasts; I simply gave them a hand to find release while harvesting a delicious treat."
The man in the suit at Number Fourteen shouted angrily, "Release? You clearly murdered them." Even facing the Baron surrounded by black mist, there was no trace of retreat in his eyes.
Byrne noted Number Fourteen's reaction. He had a deep impression of this man. Before the time rewind, Number Fourteen had shown calmness and intelligence far beyond ordinary people, navigating dilemmas with ease. Usually, after witnessing six husks collapse and souls being swallowed, a person would either be scared out of their wits or hide their fear in silence. Yet, Number Fourteen chose to take the offensive.
To Byrne, this behavior seemed somewhat forced.
Baron Blackmist did not grow angry; instead, he let out a low laugh and waved his hand. "Murder them? No, I don't have the patience for that. They chose to sink into their memories, and their souls left their husks voluntarily. I merely accepted this gift from the Rules."
Number Fourteen sneered and continued his mockery. "Heh. You have a way with words. I just can't stand you using fake memories to bewitch people and then describing soul-devouring in such high-sounding terms. Since this is a banquet, either serve the food properly or state your purpose clearly. There's no need for these twists and turns..."
Before he could finish, Baron Blackmist raised his cane and pointed it at Number Fourteen. A small beam of red light shot from the crystal straight toward the man's face. Number Fourteen's pupils constricted, and he instinctively leaned aside. The red light grazed his shoulder and hit the back of the chair behind him. The solid wood was instantly corroded by black mist, burning a hole the size of a fist.
"Additionally, I must remind you all: the rules of the banquet do not permit you to be rude to me. If anyone provokes me again, it won't be as simple as a warning."
The residual heat from the red light lingered in the air. From the hole in the chair, a faint gray smoke drifted out, carrying a bizarre scent similar to charred fabric that spread through the banquet hall.
The warning just now was so fast that no one could react. The sheer gap in power instantly crushed any thoughts of resisting through defiance. The girl at Number Eight stopped gagging; she bit her lip hard and didn't even dare to breathe too heavily, fearing she would be the next target.
The entire banquet hall fell back into a deathly silence. Only the light from the crystal chandelier cast mottled shadows across the long table, reflecting the fear and wariness in everyone's eyes.
Byrne watched all of this, his fingers consistently tapping the table as his mind raced. Number Fourteen's provocation was too abrupt. If it were purely out of anger, it seemed reckless. Could he have another motive? Or was he trying to test the Baron's limits?
While Byrne was pondering, Baron Blackmist withdrew his cane and scanned the group. "Very well. The appetizer phase is over. Next, it is time for the main course."