Chapter 320: The Defeated

The silver-haired specter leaped into the air and landed gracefully on the long-eared rabbit's head, settling down.

"Follow me."

She patted the rabbit's head with an unquestionable tone, leaving no room for refusal.

Hoffa was overjoyed—happiness had arrived so suddenly that it felt surreal. The ups and downs of life could hardly be more dramatic. So, she did remember him after all. Otherwise, why would she let him sit by her side? She must have just been too busy earlier to pay attention to him.

Eagerly, he scrambled up onto the long-eared rabbit, quickly taking a seat beside her. Though the rabbit was massive, sitting on its back felt oddly like resting on something hollow.

Bartie's expression turned slightly frustrated. He stood below, glancing at Hoffa, who was beaming with joy, then at the silver-haired specter, who remained indifferent. After hesitating for a moment, he decided to float up and sit beside them.

Once all three were seated, the rabbit's ears grew astonishingly large. It lifted off the ground effortlessly, soaring upward like a bird.

"Is this the magic you learned in the Underworld? That's incredible!"

Hoffa immediately expressed his admiration. "Can you teach me someday?"

As soon as he settled onto the rabbit's back, he began flattery. However, the silver-haired specter rested her hands on her knees, completely unmoved.

Aglaea remained silent, ignoring him entirely. Hoffa, unwilling to give up, glanced at the long-eared rabbit beneath them. After some thought, he came up with another idea.

"Hey, I have a joke about rabbits. Want to hear it?"

The silver-haired specter remained silent as the rabbit flapped its ears, continuing its ascent through the dark and eerie organs inside the giant's belly.

Feeling a bit awkward from being ignored, Hoffa scratched his head. Thankfully, Bartie, seated behind him, came to his rescue.

"A joke about rabbits? What is it?"

"Ha!"

Hoffa was so grateful he could have cried. For the first time, he found Bartie to be oddly endearing.

Excitedly, he began telling the joke:

"Once upon a time, three little white rabbits found a mushroom. The bigger ones told the smallest one to go gather some wild vegetables so they could eat together.

But the little rabbit refused. 'I'm not going! If I leave, you'll eat my mushroom!'

The two bigger ones reassured it, 'We won't! Don't worry, just go.'

So, the little rabbit left.

Half a year passed, and it still hadn't returned.

One of the big rabbits said, 'It's not coming back. Let's eat it.'

The other big rabbit hesitated. 'Let's wait a little longer.'

Another year went by, and the little rabbit still hadn't come back.

Finally, the two big rabbits decided, 'There's no need to wait anymore. Let's eat it.'

Just as they were about to take a bite, the little rabbit suddenly jumped out from the bushes nearby, furious.

'See! I knew you were going to eat my mushroom!'"

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

Hoffa burst into laughter at his own joke. Bartie, following his lead, forced out an awkward chuckle.

"Ahahaha!"

"Ahaha."

"Aha…"

"Ah…"

"..."

But as the laughter faded, both of them fell silent.

The silver-haired specter remained completely still—her gaze unwavering, her expression unchanging, her posture frozen as if she had turned to stone.

What the hell was I just saying?!

A chilling sensation crept up from his feet to the top of his head. Hoffa buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed with regret, wishing he could disappear into the ground. His face burned with embarrassment—if he had any dignity left, it was surely melting away.

Bartie leaned in and whispered into Hoffa's ear, "Since I arrived in Helheim, I've seen people try to flatter her every single day, hoping to gain a physical body. They praise her far more enthusiastically than you."

Hoffa's expression darkened. "How do they do it?"

"They kneel before her, kiss the ground at her feet, recite meticulously crafted poems, and some even enshrine her statues in their altars, worshiping her day and night."

"So that's how it is! No wonder!"

Hoffa clenched his teeth. "And how does she react?"

"Well… kind of like now. But compared to you, she's slightly more tolerant of them."

Hoffa nearly exploded with frustration. He thought about all those desperate souls, groveling, eating dirt, and fighting each other like madmen. Could it be that, in Aglaea's eyes, he was even less significant than a mere underworld spirit?

No, impossible!

Or was he just not showing enough sincerity?

Maybe he should try kneeling as well?

A dangerous thought sprouted in his mind, galloping wildly like an untamed horse.

In the end, trembling slightly, he stood up on the long-eared rabbit. He had come all the way to the Underworld—what was a little lost dignity in comparison?

If she could just smile at him, like she used to, wouldn't that be worth it?

"Don't move."

The moment he lifted his backside just a centimeter, the silver-haired specter spoke coldly.

Busted before he could even act, Hoffa slumped back down in frustration. Damn it! How did she always see through him?

But then, a thought struck him, and his mood brightened.

She saw through me before I even made a move—that must mean we have an incredible connection!

Lost in his happy fantasy, he secretly stole a glance at her familiar profile. The more he looked, the more he adored her.

The long-eared rabbit continued its rapid ascent. However, the path it took was different from the one they had taken to descend. On the way down, Hoffa had seen countless giant organs and bizarre structures. But this area was eerily empty. The rabbit flew for a long time without encountering anything—not even the twin sun and moon above, which were shrouded in thick mist.

Eventually, they reached the level of the giant's head. The long-eared rabbit stopped, hovering above a desolate floating platform in the mist. The platform was small, with only a tiny space to land, while the rest was covered in razor-sharp steel thorns.

Some of these thorns stood over ten meters tall, pointing toward the sky like swords. Others were as small as sewing needles, densely packed across the ground, stained with rust-colored blood, creating a chilling sight.

Due to its massive size, the long-eared rabbit couldn't land on the thorns. The silver-haired specter was the first to jump down. Hoffa quickly followed, with Bartie right behind him.

The platform was minuscule, with barely any room to stand. The only path forward was a narrow trail leading upward, disappearing into the mist. Lining both sides of the trail were countless iron thorns, some towering, some tiny.

"Where is this?"

Seizing the opportunity, Hoffa tried to start a conversation with Aglaea. He was sure this was a question she would answer.

"The Path of Thorns," the silver-haired specter replied concisely.

"What kind of place is the Path of Thorns?" Hoffa asked, feigning genuine curiosity.

Aglaia responded briefly, "Walk."

With that, she floated toward the thorn-covered steps.

Hoffa followed behind her, grumbling to himself—would it kill her to say a few more words? He still remembered that fifty years ago, this woman was infamous for being a chatterbox.

Rumble…

They hadn't gone far before the ground trembled slightly, the vibrations growing stronger with each passing second.

A massive boulder came rolling down the high steps, rumbling toward them at incredible speed.

Hoffa and Little Barty were startled and quickly jumped to the side of the path, while Aglaia remained calm. She merely shifted three steps to the left, allowing the boulder to brush past the tip of her nose in a perilous but controlled dodge.

Boom!!

The boulder crashed into a massive iron thorn at the base of the stone platform, finally coming to a halt.

"Was that some kind of trap?"

Little Barty asked, still shaken.

"I don't think so," Hoffa replied, noticing a figure descending the steps with firm yet heavy steps. The person quickly passed them without even glancing their way.

Unlike the translucent ghosts, this was a man with bronzed skin. Standing at nearly two meters tall, he wore nothing but a simple loincloth. His muscles bulged like small mountains, every fiber of his body sculpted to perfection.

The man stopped before the enormous boulder, which was at least twice his height. Then, with great difficulty, he lifted it and began to push it back up the Path of Thorns, inch by painstaking inch.

The boulder rolled slowly upward, while the man's muscles trembled violently under the strain. His forehead bulged with veins, and his feet, enduring immense pressure, scraped against the thorn-covered path, leaving deep wounds that exposed raw bone. Blood seeped out, painting the thorns in a gruesome crimson.

Aglaia introduced him to Hoffa as if it were just another mundane detail.

"This is Sisyphus. He once defied death by capturing the God of Death himself, preventing mortals from dying. When Death finally escaped, he punished Sisyphus by forcing him to roll a boulder up a mountain. But the rock is too heavy, and every time he nears the summit, it rolls back down, forcing him to start over. And so, he repeats this labor, over and over, year after year, for eternity."

It was the first time Aglaia had spoken so much to him, yet the excitement on Hoffa's face slowly faded, replaced by a heavy solemnity.

After introducing Sisyphus, Aglaia continued leading them up the Path of Thorns.

Before long, they reached a fork in the road—one path continued upward, while the other led to a floating cliff.

From the cliff came agonized wails and screams.

Hoffa saw a man suspended there, his limbs bound to stone pillars. His chest cavity had been ripped open, and his intestines and organs spilled onto the ground. The air reeked of blood.

Above him, a dozen vultures with red eyes circled hungrily. They stretched their bare, wrinkled necks and pecked relentlessly at his exposed organs.

The man shrieked in agony, tears of blood streaming down his face from the excruciating pain.

Yet no matter how much the vultures devoured, his organs regenerated at an unnatural speed, an endless feast for the birds.

"Prometheus," Aglaia said coolly. "The Saint of Fire. He stole fire and gifted it to humanity, allowing them to become the masters of the world. As punishment, Death bound him to this cliff in Helheim's Path of Thorns, where he is pecked at by vultures day and night. Every morning, they devour his liver, and every night, it regrows—an eternal cycle without end."

Hoffa remained silent. Little Barty shivered. Even the coldest of hearts would be shaken by such suffering.

But Aglaia showed no trace of sympathy. After letting them witness Prometheus's torment, she continued floating upward.

Along the way, they saw countless prisoners, each trapped in their own endless punishment.

Some were caged in circular prisons, forced to run without ever stopping. Others were tied to burning stakes, engulfed in flames but never reduced to ash. Some tried endlessly to construct domino structures, only to see them topple at the final moment, again and again.

And so on…

Eventually, they reached the very top of the Path of Thorns.

Above them loomed a massive dome—the skullcap of the giant. At the very top, a ten-meter-wide circular opening was visible.

Beyond the opening, life flourished—lush greenery, vibrant colors, the sounds of birds singing. The world beyond Helheim was full of vitality, a stark contrast to the gray, merciless underworld. Even from dozens of meters away, Hoffa could smell the fresh, fragrant air.

"This is…"

"That is Helheim's exit," Aglaia said flatly. "Pass through it, and you'll return to the living world."

"What!?"

Hoffa was stunned. He hadn't expected Aglaia to bring him straight to the exit. Without hesitation, he ran toward the circular opening—only to be blocked ten meters away by an invisible barrier.

Ripples spread across the transparent wall as he pushed against it with all his strength, but it wouldn't budge.

That was when he noticed something inside the barrier.

At the very top of the Path of Thorns, just beneath the exit, stood a lone, tattered figure.

An old man, dressed in ragged clothing, stood beneath the opening, jumping tirelessly—again and again, like a frog. His eyes burned with desperation as he gazed at the exit just within reach.

With every jump, he came agonizingly close—so close that he could almost touch salvation. But each time, he fell short by just a fraction of a centimeter.

"That is… Who is that?"

Hoffa's voice trembled as he asked.

Aglaia replied coldly, "That is Cadmus Peverell, an ancestor of Salazar Slytherin—the man who first discovered the resurrection spell. As punishment, Death cast him here, at the highest point of Helheim's Path of Thorns. He was given no chains, no shackles—just a simple challenge. The exit is 3.0001 meters above the ground. But Cadmus can only jump exactly three meters high. And so, for thousands upon thousands of years, he has done nothing but jump, hoping to one day break his limit. But he never has."

Even in the face of such a horrifying fate, Aglaia's voice remained as calm and emotionless as if she were reciting a script, completely devoid of feeling.

Hoffa stood frozen outside the barrier, staring at the ceaselessly jumping old man, his breath catching in his throat.

For the first time, he truly understood the sheer terror that lurked beneath the endless emptiness of Death's domain.

"Oh, and one more thing,"

Aglaia's voice, as cold as death itself, whispered in his ear.

"Every single person on the Path of Thorns once played a game with Death.

And they all lost."

(End of Chapter)

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