CHAPTER 464: BUYING A HOUSE II

Cold air wafted up from the passage, carrying with it the faint smell of damp stone and something older—like ashes that had never quite cooled. Asher descended carefully, each step ringing softly against the metal-rimmed edges of the stone stairwell. The light from above faded quickly, replaced by a dull red glow that pulsed somewhere far below.

He reached the bottom after what felt like several minutes. The air was heavy, thick with stagnant energy. The chamber opened into a wide underground hall—a vault carved directly into the mountain beneath the manor. Faint veins of crimson ore ran along the walls, glimmering like half-buried veins of blood.

At the center of the chamber lay a heap of corpses. They were old—long dried, their flesh blackened and shriveled—but they hadn’t decayed naturally. Their bodies were twisted, their bones warped as if something had been feeding on them even after death. A ring of old runes encircled the pile, their color drained to a sickly gray.

Asher crouched, eyes narrowing. "So this is what’s been poisoning the place."

Asher muttered under his breath, "The family never ran away..." His gaze darkened as he studied the twisted corpses more closely. "They were cursed—driven into madness. Locked down here together until they tore each other apart like beasts."

He stood slowly, the light from the runes flickering across his face. "What a cruel way to kill someone," he said quietly. "To let them destroy themselves while still believing it’s their fault."

His voice was calm, but the faint bitterness in it betrayed his disgust. He’d seen it before—the cruelty of the powerful disguised as punishment, or worse, justice.

"That’s how power plays usually go," Asher said, stepping closer to the pile. His boots crunched over brittle bones. "When you’re strong, you can do anything you want. But weakness..." He paused, staring down at the blackened skulls. "...Weakness is treated as sin, no matter the world."

He sighed—a slow, tired sound that echoed faintly through the hollow chamber. "And this family paid the price for someone else’s arrogance. Typical."

With a flick of his wrist, crimson and gold light erupted from his palm. A radiant flame unfurled in the air—its core a deep, molten red shot through with streaks of golden divinity. The fire’s glow rippled like liquid metal, bending the air around it.

This was Sanguine Flame, his personal creation—born from the fusion of countless fires he had conquered and claimed: celestial, demonic, spectral, and divine. It wasn’t just a flame; it was a culmination of every path of purification and destruction he’d ever walked, all merged through the limitless potential of his Infinite Fusion ability.

The chamber reflected its light in haunting beauty—walls turning gold and red, runes flaring weakly as if recognizing a power older than themselves.

Asher raised his hand slightly, letting the flame hover above the heap of corpses. "Rest now," he murmured. "Your madness wasn’t your fault."

The Sanguine Flame dropped silently, spreading in a smooth wave. It didn’t burn in the way ordinary fire did—there was no heat, no smoke. Instead, it dissolved, stripping corruption away in layers. Bones flaked to dust. Flesh evaporated into red motes.

The air trembled as faint spectral silhouettes began to rise—echoes of those who had died here. Their forms were hollow, their faces twisted with pain and confusion... until they saw him. Then, one by one, their features softened.

They hovered in silence, twenty or some of them, gazing at Asher with hollow eyes that slowly softened into peace.

He watched quietly, his hand still raised, as they drifted upward through the ceiling like wisps of smoke, finally freed.

"Go," he said under his breath. "You’ve waited long enough."

He stood unmoving, eyes faintly glowing gold as he channeled a steady flow of soul energy into the Sanguine Flame. The last of the cursed essence burned away, and the pale spirits drifted upward, melting into streams of light that vanished through the ceiling.

When the final soul faded, silence returned—clean and deep. The stale air shifted, and for the first time in centuries, the underground hall felt empty in a peaceful way.

Asher didn’t let the flame fade. Instead, he turned his hand slightly, and the remaining embers swirled around him like a living tide. The Sanguine Flame pulsed once—then shot upward through the stone ceiling in a column of crimson-gold light, threading through the mansion’s foundation like veins awakening after a long sleep.

Every corridor, every cracked wall, every forgotten corner of the manor drank in that fire. It wasn’t a consuming blaze but a living purification—one that erased centuries of decay and despair. The frost melted, rot turned to dust, and old runes flickered back to life, glowing with renewed clarity.

Aboveground, the entire mansion trembled softly. To those passing by on the frost-lined road, it looked as though the cursed house itself had come alive. Pale light streamed through the windows, and for a brief moment, the structure seemed to glow from within—its outline shimmering against the dawn sky.

In the nearby district of Averin, people stopped what they were doing. Shopkeepers stepped outside, guards on their patrols turned to stare. "It’s the Velmir estate," someone whispered. "The cursed one."

Another voice replied, half in awe, half in fear. "It’s... burning?"

But the fire that enveloped the manor wasn’t destructive. As the minutes passed, the eerie red hue softened into gold, then to pure white. The frost vanished entirely. The once-cracked walls gleamed as if newly built. The ruined glass of the conservatory reformed itself, crystal panes fusing seamlessly into place. The gardens outside bloomed with frostflowers and silver lilies that hadn’t existed there for centuries.

By the time the light began to fade, the mansion stood whole again—restored to the grandeur it had when first constructed. The obsidian walls gleamed with silver veins, runes traced faintly across their surface like living art. The soulwood doors looked freshly carved, the chandeliers inside shone with steady light, and the once-cursed air was now filled with quiet warmth.

From the city below, the watchers saw the transformation in stunned silence. Then whispers began to spread like wildfire.