Chapter 40: Another one

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“The outsiders have departed, Lord Prinn. Do you think we should kill these three individuals as we did in the past, to ensure their assimilation into our city of Zobeide?” The girl’s voice was soft and well-mannered. Unlike the common tongue she used earlier, she now spoke in Iberian—a very pure form of Iberian, more commonly used in the southern regions of Lether continent. After understanding what the girl meant, the soft voice immediately became like a cold snake, wrapping around his neck, causing his heart to skip a beat. Brunod immediately upgraded the danger level of these two individuals.

I need to stay calm, he told himself, just stay calm as usual.

His name was Brunod Hearst, a chaplain accompanying the Knights of the Holy Cross, but he was also adept at taking on the role of a scout. Ultimately, he and the Inquisition were not of the same affiliation.

After the girl finished speaking, there was a dead and dry silence. Brunod hid outside the door, peering in through the Eye of Insight—his only usable scouting spell in this place. After the Inquisitor who conspired with the Dark wizard disappeared, only the pair of man and woman who seemed to be the locals remained. From Brunod’s experience, dark wizards were adept at disguising their nature, and the scene inside the room confirmed his thoughts.

He had dealt with priests who had connections with cultists before, and they usually didn’t end well. But in the past, the highest-ranking individuals he dealt with were local bishops, and whether they were executed secretly or tried publicly, the outcome was not much different.

But this time, it wasn’t a mere local bishop that caught his eye—it was a member of the Inquisition. And not just any Inquisitor, but La Pucelle herself, famed for her nearly a hundred burnings and for driving the Britons back to their borders in the Someria conflict!—God knows why the French called that inquisitor ‘La Pucelle’, perhaps because she gave up all her authority and returned to the Church after signing the treaty?

Fear gradually gave way to excitement. If he brought this intelligence back, the benefits he could gain might exceed his ow imagination. Then, he heard the man speak.

“The Inquisitor and the knight in women’s clothing pose little danger—especially in this Warren,” the young man said with a detached tone, “However, the Dark wizard is another matter entirely. I have some information on demon-aligned dark wizards, and judging by his characteristics, he’s capable of conjuring a substantial gateway right here in the Warren.”

“Hmm—does that imply he poses a great risk?” the girl asked softly, “If we’re ready for them, it shouldn’t be too difficult to kill them directly, should it? I’ve never tasted the soul of a dark wizard before.”

“If you’d like, you can have a taste of my soul,” the young man said, his tone very natural.

“Hmm… Lord Prinn, you’re completely different before and after your amnesia,” the girl laughed, “I feast upon your progeny nightly; let’s forgo discussions of souls, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Why then do we spare them? Was not Hood’s servant, the harbinger of Death, also felled by our hands and delivered to this city for assimilation?”

“I seek to forge a lasting bond with him. We’ve already begun to share our knowledge, a first step towards collaboration. His nature mirrors mine, and the war-skilled Inquisitor, she’s destined to be a pivotal force in the conflicts to come,” the young man explained. “Saya, I just extracted some intelligence from that Nascarl’s memory yesterday—the Roman Empress intends to strike at the Holy City of Genabackis, the bastion of the Holy Cross and the Moon’s Spawn. The Hood’s priests' quest for the Moon Goddess is merely just the first step, followed by the hounds’ pursuit of the Jaghut lineage…”

The girl interrupted the young man’s speech, her voice low and soft: “That has nothing to do with us, right? Our purpose is to dwell here in tranquility, to fulfill Lord Nyarlathotep’s wishes, to endure until the world’s twilight, isn’t it?”

Brunod was almost suffocating. Then, he began to ponder how much his status would rise if he reported the intelligence about Nero’s plans against the Holy City, even thwarting the heretic Empress’s conspiracy and becoming a saint in the annals of the church.

As for the Moon's Spawn—the affairs of the dark elf lord were better left to the higher echelons of the church.

He harbored dreams of grandeur, yearning for recognition and valor, yet his spirit was faint, unlike Jeanne’s, who braved the perilous depths of cultist lairs. His brush with death in the dungeon, under the Lord Inquisitor’s watch, was a stark reminder of his fragility. To walk the path of Jeanne meant to court the same grim end met by the three batches of church knights who perished under her bold command.

Now, however, he glimpsed a different destiny, one that could etch his name into the annals of the church’s history. All it required was his silence turned to whispers, funneling every overheard secret to the upper echelons of the church. This included the Inquisitor woman who conspired with the Dark wizard and nefarious schemes of the heretic Empress

“By the way, there’s another question—” the young man continued, turning his face with a kind expression and an extremely eerie smile, “Have you heard enough?”

Impossible!

“It seems he hasn’t heard enough, Lord Prinn. The priests these days are really bold,” the girl said with a soft tone, her voice as smooth as velvet.

Startled, he sprang up as if from a night terror, then bolted. But at once, a chill, viscous sensation clung to his face—like a lump of jelly. Dizziness overtook him, an odd flavor in his mouth, a peculiar presence enveloping his form, akin to tentacles' suction pad…

He felt himself bleeding, yet his blood hung suspended, not spilling…

He heard a nauseating cold laugh—not like a human laugh.

Forget it, my heart is about to burst out of my chest, he thought.

Forget it, just get away.

Deep breaths, dust, cold air, and the taste of rust, then he collapsed to the ground.

He felt his arteries burst, his breath obstructed by an unseen force..

He wanted to vomit, his whole body trembling with strange agony and invisible blood loss, leaving him numb and frigid.

He wanted to stand up, but his limbs were so light, as if they had lost their weight.

He looked up—

It was a mass of blood-red, swollen tentacles, or a writhing clot of plasma jammed into a drain. Numerous grimy tentacles, each tipped with a sucker and shrouded in wrinkled skin, sprouted from its amorphous, eyeless form, which boasted with only a blood-red mouth—three, four, perhaps innumerable, latching onto his skin. The sensation was as delicate as his wife’s caress, her lips upon his cheek—equally as subtle as the pain that now clouded his consciousness.

It sucked his blood in large gulps, gradually taking shape like a transparent outline being filled with color, the color deepening…

That was the color of his blood…

“I hope you can forget the memories that the Star Spirit brought you when you wake up, poor fellow,” he heard the young man say behind him, his voice calm and gentle.

The girl squatted in front of him, looking at him with a cold gaze, as if she was looking at tonight’s snack… reminiscent of his nephew’s inquisitive stare on his first day of school.

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