Chapter 104: Illusion or Reality?

Both of them were a bit baffled. It was normal to scream while watching a horror film, but surely not to keep screaming like this? Could something have gone wrong? Yet, they couldn’t sense any eerie creature's presence. What could it possibly be?

They exchanged glances, both seeing the confusion mirrored in each other's eyes. Without wasting time pondering, they hurried toward that direction. The closer they got, the grimmer their expressions became. This aura of terror was unmistakably off—it wasn’t merely the fear from watching a horror movie or something trivial; it felt like the dread of death itself.

With that thought, they quickened their pace. Upon reaching the entrance of the horror art exhibition, they wasted no time and kicked the door open. As the door swung wide, they were met with a chilling scene.

Everyone inside—without exception—was running about wildly, eyes tightly shut, aimlessly fleeing while continuously screaming. But aside from that, there was nothing else. Could this group be hosting some bizarre party? Were they all feigning this? That seemed unlikely. Even if it was an act, it was far too convincing—they looked on the verge of tears from sheer terror. Fear might be faked, but the palpable aura of dread radiating from them could not be fabricated.

Faced with this puzzling situation, the two ghost wardens were at a loss. Finally, with no other option, they stopped one of the frantic runners.

“Stop! What’s going on here?”

The man, sporting a distinctive mustache, was trembling so violently that his entire body seemed to vibrate uncontrollably. Pointing fearfully behind him, he stammered, “The paintings… the paintings… ah!!!” Before he could finish, he seemed to see something horrifying and bolted away again.

Both ghost wardens were nearly ready to vomit—what on earth was happening?

They looked behind the man. Besides a few others similarly clutching their heads and running in panic, there was nothing there.

“Right, what do you think is going on?” one asked.

The other narrowed his eyes, rubbing his chin and, frustrated, lightly thumped his head. “I have no idea. If some eerie creature was responsible, there should be some trace or presence, right? But here, there’s absolutely nothing—just a crowd gone mad.”

Helpless, they used their powers to seal off the area instantly. With a casual punch to an unlucky bystander’s stomach, the man collapsed. One of the wardens grabbed his collar.

“Talk. What’s really going on?”

A punch from a ghost warden was no joke. Blood immediately seeped from the man’s mouth, but he seemed clearer-headed. After a brief daze, he frantically pointed in several directions. “The paintings! Where are those terrifying paintings?”

This wasn’t the first time they’d heard something about the paintings; curiosity piqued, the crowd gathered around the man.

“What paintings? Be specific.”

“The horror art exhibition’s organizer—he came here to host the exhibition, and we came too. But suddenly he vanished. After that, the paintings came to life… The paintings depict demons, and those demons want to devour us.”

After saying this, the man paused, his eyes widening wildly as he glared at the two wardens. “They want to eat us! Do you understand? Those demons want to eat us!”

Throughout, one warden remained expressionless, placing his hand on the man’s neck, probing with his energy to detect any abnormalities. Upon careful examination, they indeed sensed something amiss.

“This man’s mind has been tampered with.”

Clearly, an external force, likely an eerie entity, interfered with his spirit. They forcibly cleansed the invasive energy and asked again, “Explain clearly—what is this horror art exhibition?”

The warden had a particular interest because just that morning, they had investigated a case related to this very exhibition.

“Horror art exhibition?” The man’s gaze finally cleared, though he still appeared dazed. After a moment, he exclaimed in shock, “I feel like I had a terrible nightmare. But… it doesn’t seem like a dream!”

The two wardens exchanged weary looks.

Unable to hold back, one warden seized the man’s collar. “Now, answer only my questions. Who organized this horror art exhibition? What’s the deal with those terrifying paintings?”

The man, overwhelmed by fear, swallowed hard before speaking. “The exhibition was organized by Swell. At first, all the scary paintings were locked inside glass cases. Then, somehow, they all came to life!”

“Swell?”

The wardens frowned upon hearing the name. Exchanging a glance, they swiftly moved to the glass cases. Upon inspecting their contents, both wore cold, mocking smiles.

One by one, they smashed every glass case, the sharp sound drawing everyone’s attention. The crowd seemed to regain some composure, looking toward them.

Holding up one painting after another, one warden declared, “Look carefully—these are the paintings that terrified you so badly. What are they really?”

The crowd peered at the canvases, which appeared utterly blank—pure white sheets. Yet, upon close scrutiny, one could discern two crooked, blood-red characters faintly etched on the blank paper.

“Devour.”

Before the crowd could react, the warden continued.

“This morning, my colleagues and I received a case about a man who committed suicide at home in a bizarre posture. That man was none other than Swell, the founder of the horror art exhibition.”

At this revelation, everyone’s eyes widened, staring dumbfounded at the wardens, speechless.

“You’ve been hypnotized. Everything you just experienced was akin to a dream. Swell has long been dead, so this so-called horror art exhibition never truly existed!”

This logical explanation convinced the attendees—or at least, they chose to believe it.

“What? Swell is dead? That can’t be!”

Though they cursed Swell as they left the exhibition, the outcome was inevitable. Whether they admitted it or not, the mark of horror art was indelibly etched in their hearts. They would never forget the night’s events or the nightmare the art had inflicted upon them.

From now on, the mere sight of a horror painting might drive them mad.

Yet, none of this was yet known to the headmaster of Saint Mildor Academy, who was preparing to have Lokaz create a horror painting live at the upcoming art festival to astonish everyone.