NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 32: Pressure and Interrogation

Jiho's fingers were still wrapped around the rusted door handle.

The cold, damp metal had seeped into his skin. His eyes caught on the cracks along the edge of the door. No sound came from inside anymore.

The rattling had stopped, and the hum was nearly gone.

He stood there for a while.

It was as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

Then he inhaled—a deep, long breath.

His nose still burned with the stench of rotting flesh.

His stomach churned slightly.

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Then... he slowly pushed the door.

It was heavy. It creaked open.

The warm, humid air from inside hit Jiho's face.

His vision blurred for a moment; the overwhelming smell filled his throat again.

His throat burned.

But he didn't step back—he moved forward.

For a moment, his pupils dilated.

A cold shiver slid down the back of his neck.

His gaze shifted to the center of the room.

And there he was.

Ravien.

Standing in the middle of the dungeon under the flickering light of a dim lamp.

Half of his face was soaked in dark red blood.

His chin, cheek, and part of his neck still bled, drop by drop.

His clothes, his shoes—they were drenched in blood.

But there was no flicker in his expression.

His eyes were empty.

Silent.

Expressionless.

Right behind Ravien, within the shadows, stood Asogi.

His body seemed to ripple; tiny eyes had sprouted from the flesh around his shoulders, locked onto Jiho.

They made no sound.

They didn't blink.

They just watched.

When the door was fully open, Ravien slowly turned his head.

His gaze locked onto Jiho.

Jiho took a deep breath and stepped inside.

That's when he realized.

There was an aura around Ravien.

Not visible, but heavy—crushing, intense, sharp.

It compressed the air, and when Jiho breathed, it didn't fill his lungs—it crushed his chest.

His eyelids fluttered involuntarily.

His throat dried.

(POV: Jiho)

With each step... the air around me changed.

But it had nothing to do with temperature or moisture.

As I moved forward, I felt it—an unidentifiable presence wrapping around me.

An invisible weight, but very much there.

It was like the air was thickening, collapsing inwards.

I felt it in my feet first—as if they were sinking.

Then my chest tightened.

That aura...

It didn't touch my skin—it pierced through me.

Like an unseen substance slipping beneath my flesh and traveling through my veins.

It slithered into my muscles, filled my lungs with every breath.

And with every breath, it expanded.

Breathing wasn't a reflex anymore. It was a fight.

My feet were on stone, yet it felt like I had no anchor.

My stomach twisted—not a simple nausea, but a spiraling burn.

Like something inside me was being reshaped.

And the source was clear.

Ravien.

No... I shouldn't call him that anymore.

Young Master.

But he wasn't how I remembered.

Not the cold detachment I was used to, nor the dark tendencies I had once tolerated for the sake of duty.

This... had turned into something completely different.

---

I... shouldn't feel like this.

My mind wasn't trained for thoughts like these.

Because when we were young, they taught us one thing:

"Serve your master without question. Do not trust your own thoughts."

And I did just that. I believed.

The Young Master didn't leave his room for five years.

Then one day, he reappeared—quietly.

And he looked at me.

His eyes... they were voids of darkness.

But I told myself I was used to it.

Even then, I didn't hesitate.

"It's fine," I whispered to myself.

He gave the order.

I carried it out.

He... created formless creatures.

Things trapped between man and beast.

Eyes bursting from flesh, pulsing heaps of meat that moved on their own.

Terrifying, maybe—but I wasn't surprised.

"This is my job," I told myself.

Obey. Don't question. Keep going.

And so I did.

---

But now...

Now there's something about this aura.

It's not a murderous intent.

It's not rage.

It's something deeper—something I can't define.

Corruption.

Like a contaminating presence.

A part of me—some inner part—is trying to retreat.

I want to protect myself.

To hide.

To pull away.

But my legs won't stop moving.

I'm moving forward.

Because that's what I've always done.

But now, my body doesn't seem to agree.

My knees are trembling.

My breath is erratic.

My lips are cracked, and my throat is burning.

With each step, the aura consumes more space within me.

I don't know what this is.

But I know one thing for certain:

I've never felt this from any member of the Pendragon family.

This... is filth.

A darkness that rots a person from the inside, creeps into their nerves, clings to their thoughts.

Even my loyalty—even my faith—feels powerless against it.

They're starting to fracture.

I take one more step.

My vision fades.

My ears ring.

Is the room spinning, or is it just my mind?

My body is still here, but my mind wants to run.

Every cell in me is screaming:

"Enough."

But I don't stop.

Because I'm Jiho.

That's who I was.

And my duty... was always to move forward.

Now I'm standing just a few steps away from the Young Master.

This is the threshold.

Trying to move by will alone feels like swimming against a massive current.

It used to be easy.

No matter what I thought, the path was clear.

But now...

Now there's a scream inside me.

For the first time...

For the first time, I don't want to be myself.

[Deep breath]

Jiho had reached the front of Ravien.

But he couldn't lift his head.

Looking around didn't even cross his mind.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, splashing against the stone floor, leaving small, wet marks.

He was gripping the papers in his hands so tightly, his fingers had gone pale.

Ravien stared at Jiho silently for a long while.

He tilted his head slightly to the side.

(POV: Ravien)

Jiho stood before me, his shoulders slumped, his body trembling slightly.

Sweat streamed down his forehead and into his eye sockets, making him squint—yet still, he didn't lift his head.

His breathing was quick and shallow.

Strange...

I had never seen him like this since coming into this world.

At first, I didn't understand his reaction.

But now I realize—

The source of it... was me.

Or more precisely, my seventeenth experiment.

I had wanted to test the sensation of killing intent that spread from me.

I was trying to figure out why others perceived me as a "threat."

Was that feeling just instinct?

Or was it some tangible energy radiating outward?

Over time, I found the answer.

What we call "killing intent and aura" isn't exactly what it seems.

It's simply a leak—just a portion of one's capacity seeping out.

It doesn't decrease... it spreads.

But here's the interesting part:

Whatever I feel in that moment—anger, hatred, cold calculation—it all mixes into that emission.

And I gave it direction.

Not instinctive—deliberate.

I infused it with the traits of my fate ability and shaped it.

In the end, I gave it a name:

Wind of Deformation.

It affects not only living beings, but the environment itself.

It twists, bends, and suppresses.

Asogi and the creatures I created didn't react to it, so I didn't think much of it.

But humans... they're different.

Looking at Jiho makes that clear.

The spread is still ongoing.

And this amount... is too much.

If I continue, Jiho's body will collapse.

I need to retract the aura.

And in that moment...

The aura emanating from Ravien vanished like a curtain being pulled away.

It was as if an invisible hand had swept up all the weight in the air and taken it away.

The suffocating pressure disappeared, leaving behind only a dense, sour atmosphere—hard to breathe, but bearable.

Jiho took a deep breath, even with the acrid stench burning in his throat.

"Shhh... haa..."

Finally, his lungs seemed to find some relief.

His chest slowly rose and fell.

His knees were still trembling, but he had managed to stay on his feet.

With effort, he lifted his head.

As the sweat ran down his cheeks and hit the ground, his gaze was finally steady.

He looked exhausted.

Tense.

But he was starting to recover.

Ravien's eyes shifted to the papers in Jiho's hands.

"Did you finish the task regarding the villagers?"

Jiho tried to steady his breathing.

He pressed a hand to his chest and swallowed.

Then, with trembling fingers, he adjusted his clothes a bit.

His voice was still shaky when he answered, but the panic was gone.

"These... they're all here. Everything about the villagers."

He held the papers out to Ravien.

The sweat on his hands hadn't dried yet,

but this time—his grip hadn't loosened.

He was holding them tight.