Vonjo leaned against the cracked hallway wall, his lips curling into an amused grin as he watched the robbers scramble like frightened rats.

“Hehehe, what should I do? I feel like I want to act on something my body is urging me to do.

“Should I corner them or just let them go? After all, if I do, they might come back to the old fellas. It would be a problem if I don’t solve this right here, right now.”

Their boots slapped against the bloodstained tiles, their ragged breathing echoing down the corridor as they fled from the roaring laughter of the sandman behind them.

He didn’t chase, didn’t move—he simply watched, the thrill of the scene warming something deep inside him.

When he finally decided to move, he did so leisurely, his boots clicking softly against the floor before his bloodline ability devoured even that sound.

He descended the stairwell and slipped into the alley outside, knowing instinctively where the survivors would emerge.

True enough, a side door burst open with a clatter, and the surviving robbers stumbled out into the night air, gasping, looking wildly for a path to escape their nightmare.

Vonjo was waiting for them, hands tucked casually into his pockets, a silhouette framed by the pale glow of the streetlamp.

He let out a low laugh, the sound carrying in the empty street like the whisper of some lurking predator.

“Well, well,” he drawled, stepping forward with a pace too calm for the chaos around them. “Look who finally crawled out of their hole. Took me long enough to find your hideout, huh?”

The robbers froze as if they had seen a ghost.

Their eyes went wide, their memories pulling the image of this man—the one who had devoured the shadows, the one who looked so creepy and scary. First, the sand man had slaughtered them, and now he was here, waiting, as if the city itself had turned against them.

Vonjo tilted his head, letting his sharp eyes sweep across their trembling figures. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, voice light but carrying a weight that made their spines stiffen. “I finally found your hideout… again, it took me a while, but here you are.”

Their mouths opened, stammering excuses and lies. One of the older men among them, his hands still streaked with blood, stepped forward and shook his head frantically. “W-we… we didn’t… it wasn’t us! Our boss—our boss is the one who—who told us to go after you! We didn’t mean to offend you! We’re just following orders! Now, we failed, he wanted to kill us. Yes! Yes. He’s the one chasing us! And it’s his fault!”

Vonjo’s eyes glittered with dark amusement. Inside, he was laughing, his mind sharp as he dissected their lie. Framing your own boss? Or are you calling that ancient sand relic your ‘boss’? He let the thought linger, relishing the irony.

“Ohhh?” he murmured, feigning curiosity. “Your boss, huh? The one that’s after you?”

The robbers nodded desperately, swallowing their fear. Their voices overlapped, painting a picture of betrayal, of being nothing more than scapegoats to a monstrous leader.

Vonjo chuckled softly, pretending to buy into their story. “Alright,” he said at last, stepping aside with a casual sweep of his hand. “Go on, then. Run. I’ll take care of this boss of yours.”

A surge of relief crossed their faces, a fleeting moment where they almost believed they had survived this nightmarish spiral of death.

They passed by Vonjo cautiously, glancing at him out of the corners of their eyes, muttering shaky words of thanks as their boots struck the cracked pavement.

But the night was not done with them.

A low rustling sound echoed from the darkness ahead, followed by the dry slap of cloth against stone.

From the shadows, shapes began to emerge—misshapen humanoid figures wrapped in grimy, tattered bandages that flapped with each movement.

The bandages were smeared with old, crusted blood and strange runic stains, and some had dark, wriggling insects crawling within the folds.

Their faces were mostly obscured, sunken hollows with only pinpricks of red light glowing where eyes should have been.

Rusted spears and jagged blades protruded from their mummified forms, some fused into the wrappings themselves as though their weapons and bodies were one.

The robbers froze in horror.

Then the mummified creatures lurched forward. Their steps were uneven and jerky, yet impossibly fast, and the flapping of their bandages created a chilling rhythm in the empty street.

“W-what… what is that!?” one robber screamed before bolting.

The creatures gave no answer. They simply descended.

The first man was caught within seconds.

A bandage-wrapped arm shot out like a whip, coils of cloth twisting around his torso and snapping tight, crushing the air from his lungs.

His scream rose into the night as he was yanked off his feet, dragged across the concrete, and flung into the waiting grip of another mummy.

Its jagged, embedded spear rammed through his chest, and blood sprayed in an arc before the corpse was discarded like trash.

Vonjo remained where he was, standing at the center of the street, unmoving. His expression barely shifted, though his eyes watched every death like a spectator at some private theater.

The remaining robbers broke, screaming for help, for mercy, for anything.

Their footsteps pounded against the ground as they ran in every direction, but the bandaged horrors were relentless.

Another was caught, dragged down into an alley where his cries turned into choked sobs before abruptly cutting off.

A third was seized mid-run, a long bandage snapping out to wrap around his throat, yanking him backward with such force that his neck snapped before he hit the ground.

The air was filled with their panicked cries, the sound of fabric tearing, and the wet thuds of bodies hitting pavement.

Vonjo did nothing.

He simply watched, the chaos unfolding around him like a symphony he conducted without lifting a finger.

One of the last surviving robbers stumbled to his knees not far from him, reaching out with bloodied hands. “P-please… help…!” His voice cracked as he tried to crawl toward Vonjo, his eyes wide with a hope that was already dead.

Vonjo’s gaze lowered to meet his. He said nothing.

The man was dragged away before he could say another word.

Soon, the street fell quiet except for the dry shuffle of bandages.

The mummified humanoids now turned their glowing eyes toward Vonjo.

Slowly, methodically, they surrounded him, their ragged weapons raised, forming a jagged circle of rusted steel and rotting cloth.

Vonjo tilted his head, as if amused, and spoke to them as though they were people rather than corpses animated by some ancient curse. “You really think surrounding me like this is a good idea?” he said, his tone conversational, almost teasing. “You’ve been busy… but I’m not one of them. I don’t run. I don’t beg.”

The creatures gave no response, only tightened their circle.

Vonjo let out a slow breath, letting his bloodline energy ripple faintly in the air. “Tch… figures you wouldn’t listen. You’re not here to talk, are you?” He extended his hand casually, his voice deepening into a command.

“Bow.”

From the void of his bloodline space, the three-headed frog emerged with a guttural, echoing croak, its massive form slamming onto the street, each head blinking with eerie awareness as it stared down the cursed mummies.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep