How's the preparation going?"
Are we sure we want to release these things?
"Bliny, we will become the target of everyone's hatred. The world will remember us, but not for a good reason. You and I will be on the pillar of shame for the next five, ten, or even a hundred years, until the next era!"
"Brinny, people will despise us. Are you sure you want to sign this order and turn yourself into a war criminal?"
Faced with questioning from his friend and deputy, Brigadier General Blini, the current highest-ranking official of the Republic of Intis in Port Caesar, gave a cold glance at the flustered and red-faced man's face.
Their gazes met in mid-air, one lacking warmth, the other burning fiercely, but just two seconds later, the frantic fire that was just visible to the naked eye burned out.
Grabbing the file from the table, Blind pressed his hand to his deputy's chest. His hand, covered by a silk glove, trembled slightly, revealing that the brigadier general was not as calm as he appeared.
He couldn't control his strength, and the file, consisting of several pages, rippled and wrinkled along his deputy's chest.
Blind stared at the valuable cobalt blue robe embroidered with bronze threads hidden beneath the paper, his seemingly calm tone concealing a trembling voice on the verge of exploding.
"I know better than you what I'm doing, Pierre."
"If possible, I would not want to use this on anyone… even the Highlanders, but God told me to do so."
God… The man called Pierre opened his lips slightly, but no sound came out.
The situation had developed far beyond his imagination, and he dared not even speculate on who, in the name of God, had given Brinnie such a cruel order.
"I don't care if I will be infamous for eternity. I only know that before I put on this brigadier general's coat, I am first and foremost the shepherd of the god of steam and machinery, his priest."
"I left the church not to find another way out, nor for considerations of my future development."
"Don't doubt whether I've been bewitched, Pierre."
"The shipment you received came from His Highness Bonova; it was a direct divine decree."
As soon as he finished speaking, Blind released his hand from his friend's chest, his dark gray eyes like dried-up coals.
"Go ahead and do it. I'm prepared to resign. Submit my complaint to the parliament as well."
...
On the other side of the mountains, unlike the warm and pleasant harbor, despite being only a few dozen kilometers away, Entreles has unusually entered winter.
Thick linen was coated with a thick layer of Doningsman tree sap. This liquid, derived from the Doningsman tree, has excellent waterproof and scalding properties and is the raw material for making temporary waterproof tarpaulins in many warehouses. This inexpensive and useful material replaced velvet curtains, and the earthy color of the linen ruined the overall aesthetic of the house.
The clock in the corner of the hall had stopped long ago. The "Rose School" followers who occupied Entrepreneurs did not want to waste their precious resources on useless ornaments, so they let this exquisite mechanical creation quietly decay after it lost its function.
The servants who used to work in the mansion lost their jobs after the "Rose School" took over Entres. They were driven out of the wealthy merchant's house, and their rooms were "voluntarily" given to members of the "Rose School" who had a certain status. The overseers waved their whips and drove the worthless male servants to the underground mines, leaving only a few young female servants who were not ugly.
The wooden furniture had become damp due to lack of care for too long, and within just one week, a faint musty smell could be detected in the corners of the house.
In this enclosed space, which is mostly sealed off at night, the only source of light is the burning fireplace.
This is also the only facility in the house that is valued and is still being well maintained and cared for.
The firelight from the fireplace shone on the opposite wall, the outline of the flames swaying and dancing, casting long shadows of the maid who came to add more firewood.
The maid, wearing a uniform with stiff cuffs, looked numb as she poured the blocks of wood she was holding into the fire.
She squatted in front of the heat source for a while, not noticing anything unusual, until a man's rude voice rang out. She was filled with fear and ran away as if startled awake, not even noticing the flea that had jumped onto her shoulder and was firmly clinging to the surface of her uniform.
Klein watched the maid's figure disappear into the shadows, and couldn't help but sigh.
"What a waste. It's not easy to find a clock made in Trier in such a remote place."
Jerry Zarathustra was also expressing his amazement.
When the poor maid came to add fuel to the fireplace, he didn't even glance at her; his gaze remained fixed on the abandoned clock standing in the other corner of the hall.
"So, any ideas?"
"Sir, officer."
Jerry Zarathustra emphasized the last two words.
"Damn it, don't let me hear you use that awful, affected tone to disgust me."
Even his anger is well-controlled; poor Mr. Moretti, he's still not good at swearing... Oh, right, even though I disgusted him before and deliberately crossed his line, the worst word he could think of was "beast"...
"Go underground. They turned the wine cellar in this house into a temporary sacrificial site and prison. There are still living people there."
Are you sure you don't want to just take action?
"With your current skill level, turning everyone in this room into a secret puppet wouldn't take you more than five minutes, right?"
Jerry Zarathustra's gaze remained fixed on the not-so-expensive grandfather clock.
This scion of the angelic family scrutinized the creation with a discerning eye, sometimes shaking his head, sometimes nodding.
"A can request His Holiness the Pope's attention, and His gaze will fall upon our town. The demigods of the 'Rose School' in the neighboring town will not notice, and we can take over Entress quietly."
"Believe me, even someone as demanding as His Holiness the Pope would approve of our actions."
It's not impossible. Entreles is only about 30 kilometers away from Caesar Port, and replacing the "Rose School" here wouldn't be too difficult. As he said, in five minutes at most, the Empire could gain a nail driven into the heart of the colonies of the northern continent, and another hidden springboard...
After careful consideration, Klein ultimately rejected the proposal.
He sighed in relief, but remained stubborn.
"No, let's go to the dungeon first."
"Is it true or false? Aren't you tempted?"
Despite his reluctance to give up verbally, Jerry Zarathustra obediently turned around and followed Klein's footsteps.
Protected by the illusion, the two walked through the corridors filled with members of the "Rose School" as if they were in an empty place.
"This is very likely the only chance."
"What if you trigger a trap in the dungeon later… I mean, you know there are always dangers we don't know about lurking near the 'Rose School's' sacrificial rituals."
"After tonight, we may not have another chance."
The wooden door leading underground was right in front of him, and Klein stopped in his tracks.
He turned and stared at Jerry Zarathustra for a moment, then suddenly flipped his hand and tossed a coin high into the air.
Their eyes followed the trajectory of the coin as it fell freely through the air, holding their breath to witness its final outcome of landing heads up.
"There is danger."
"And not small," Jerry Zarathustra said. "If you come to a divination and get a positive answer of 'danger,' then it must be very dangerous."
"Okay, let's go downstairs and take a look."
With that, Jerry Zarathustra took a step forward and pushed open the door to the dungeon that he hadn't originally intended to open.
With a snap of his fingers, the "Master of Puppets," holding a paper torch that appeared out of nowhere, pushed the light source toward the darkness that the two could not see clearly even with their spiritual vision activated.
The tunnel was long and damp, forcing the two explorers to quicken their pace. The closer they got to the underground, the more the perceptive Klein could smell the nauseating, sticky, bloody stench and foul smell.
The dense black threads obscured Klein's vision, as did Jerry Zarathustra's. The sudden anomaly forced the two "Master Puppets" to shut down their "spiritual threads" and observe the environment with their naked eyes.
In fact, the moment Klein noticed this anomaly, he had already considered stopping, as had Jerry Zarathustra.
But after a simple divination, the two decided to continue.
Finally, when the crimson light was poured equally onto their faces, they were able to witness the hidden source of blasphemy.
"Don't let A know, he'll go crazy."
Klein had never seen Jerry Zarathustra so cautious; the libertine from Trier tightened his vocal cords to the extreme, almost conveying language with trembling.
Twisted chests and heads, flesh pierced by sharp pieces of wood, hung in mid-air; they were the source of the dense network of spiritual threads.
These flesh and blood could no longer be called life, but they were indeed still alive, maintaining the most basic vital signs under the effect of the blasphemous ritual.
What first caught the eye of Klein and Jerry Zarathustra was the "red carpet" meticulously prepared for their masters by the indulgent followers of the "Rose School".
The extreme pleasure and brutality highlight the art that belongs uniquely to "indulgence".
At this point, Klein finally understood why Sharon hated her compatriots so much for going down the wrong path because of "indulgence".
"Madman…" Klein murmured.
Unlike Señor, who is obsessed with killing, this "indulgence" group stationed in Entreles reveres the "Mother Tree of Desire," which represents the decadent pleasures of endless extreme emotions.
In contrast, Klein believed that the licentious behavior that witches had to practice on their path of "playing" could only be considered "entertainment." The craftsmen who shaped this underground tragedy—if they even deserved to be called "craftsmen"—were not pursuing advancement in rank; everything they did was simply to please and get closer to the god they believed in, a god they themselves did not understand.
"Can you please stop watching?"
I'm about to throw up.
Jerry Zarathustra cautiously avoided approaching the filthy lair standing beside the dungeon, avoiding the bloodstains on the ground and even holding his torch further away.
"I overheard the miners talking. They said that every day when they return to the surface, those who can no longer work are taken away. It turns out they are taken here…" Klein's voice was slightly hoarse.
He also avoided eye contact, and a rare hint of fragility appeared on Gehrman Sparrow's usually cold and hard face as he subconsciously quickened his pace.
"Hurry up."
The two fled from the ritual altar as if escaping, turned a corner, and came to another wall that was stained with blood but looked much normal.
The iron fence divided the original wine cellar into several small sections, and some figures with intact limbs, which clearly shone with a different spiritual radiance and were different from the sacrificial offerings in the previous ceremony, appeared in their eyes.
The illusion was dispelled, and the group noticed Klein and Jerry Zarathustra.
The prisoners in the cell were all men, most of them with blank expressions, their various gray eyes no longer sparkling with intellectual brilliance. Only one person took the initiative to approach after seeing the two men clearly.
"Are you Intis people, or Loen people?"
This was a young man with the typical appearance of the Southern Continent. Even though his face was filthy and his hair had turned white prematurely due to long-term persecution and heavy labor, Jerry Zarathustra, a veteran "Faceless Man," recognized the man's true age at first glance.Jerry Zarathustra, more experienced in dirty dealings, gave Klein a look and stepped in to take over the conversation.
"No, we're from Trensoust."
Clearly, the light of hope in the man's eyes had vanished.
"Trensost?" he murmured. "Have you…the Highlands vanished?"
"Is the war over? Was it lost?"
"God has already..."
"No, I'm sorry, your guesses are all incorrect." Jerry Zarathustra interrupted the man's speculations in time. He was unwilling to explain to the lowly man who had lost his freedom in the cage, and asked coldly, "Why are you locked up here?"
"Don't lie, you should have heard about our methods."
The cold question was like a bucket of ice water poured over the man's head, slightly bringing him back to his senses.
The man, who had been starving, was silent at first. He licked his chapped lips and gestured with his chin, as if indicating something.
"Dog nose..." Jerry Zarathustra followed his gaze downwards, his eyes lingering for a second on the trench coat pocket. He cursed under his breath, pulled out a revolver from another pocket, and pointed it at the man's forehead.
"Answer my question and I'll give you something to eat."
"good."
The man easily overturned any non-existent mental barriers, and his chapped lips curled up slightly.
He continued to scrutinize Jerry Zarathustra and Klein, who looked even more aloof, with eyes that were either originally golden vertical pupils or had changed later, as he spoke in a low, hoarse voice.
"I am a heretic."
He pointed to the ceiling above his head.
"Please don't mistake me for a 'temperamentalist,' I am neither. My faith is that of the 'Eternal Sun.'"
"I suppose so?" Jerry Zarathustra raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. It was Klein behind him who raised the question.
"You are an extraordinary one, 'Prisoner'."
The man paused, as if some unknown force was urging him to continue.
"Yes, but I didn't become this voluntarily... What do you call this? Extraordinary?"
"I started working at a post office in Kukwak, Uttar Pradesh, but then you started attacking the highlands, and the warlords in Kukwak and the lords of the Northland cut my salary…"
Unpleasant memories flooded his mind. The man swallowed hard, suppressing his sadness, and only mentioned the most insignificant reason that drove him to make the subsequent decision, thus glossing over the real reason with vague words.
"In short, I couldn't take it anymore. I had lost my job and didn't want to die on the street, so I escaped from Kukva and joined the resistance led by Maihams, along with many other young people who had fled like me."
"When I got inside, they gave me a gun. I guess I was born with a talent for guns. I killed a few people, and the boss took a liking to me and gave me a bottle of strange-tasting potion. And that's how I became... well, what you call an Extraordinary."
He's practically a protagonist in a novel, so lucky... Jerry Zarathustra tightened his grip on the revolver and subtly exchanged glances with Klein, both of them noticing the apprehension in each other's eyes.
This guy is indeed a "prisoner" pathway, and he's not powerful at all, at most a Sequence 8. Even if you untie him, he won't be able to threaten them.
However, the man's account of his experience was simply too unacceptable.
Is it really that much of a coincidence?
Although they failed to find their original target—the "Temperance faction"—the man they stumbled upon inexplicably fulfilled their needs.
Possessing reason, capable of communication, and even with clear enough logic, they can be a good decoy, or rather a guide, with a little training, to accelerate their infiltration of the "Rose School" and create chaos, thereby drawing out Gostals's plan.
"So, why are you locked up here?"
Raising his guard, Jerry Zarathustra's finger had already touched the man's spiritual line.
"Because I realized I'd been scammed."
The man, oblivious to the murderous intent emanating from the two strangers who appeared to be from the northern continent, slumped against the wall, indifferent.
"There are indeed many people in the resistance who are trying to save their fellow countrymen, and under normal circumstances, our leader, Maihamus, cares about us fellow countrymen."
"Under normal circumstances?"
"Yes, generally speaking."
"You saw that thing when you came down, right?" As he spoke, the man involuntarily gritted his teeth. "Many people in the resistance believe in the 'Rose School,' and they often perform rituals and the like, using living people."
"Some were prisoners captured on the battlefield, and some were comrades who showed cowardice during the charge. They did this almost every week, only the scale varied."
"I received my education from a church school run by the Eternal Sun Church from a young age, and my moral values do not allow me to accept their bloodline barbarity."
"When they captured Entreles, they did something big, killing more than a hundred people at once. I couldn't stand it, so I raised objections, and that's how it ended."
"The boss told me to wake up."
Wake up! Didn't you just throw him into the ritual sacrifice?
Klein's doubts deepened, and his fingers, hanging by his trouser seam, kept tapping his thigh.
"However, it seems that no ceremonies have been held recently since I mentioned it last time, otherwise the basement would have been full of them long ago." The man chuckled sarcastically.
Upon hearing this, Klein hesitated for a moment. He did not seek Jerry's opinion, as if his empty left hand had been covered with a layer of platinum behind the illusion.
After a temporary decree of closure was issued, the puppet Ludwell and a paper doll took their places, and with a burst of flames, Klein and Jerry Zarathustra returned to the ground.
"What's wrong?"
Feeling the sudden cold wind slapping his face, Jerry Zarathustra, still confused, asked.
Something's not right.
"Of course I know something's wrong, isn't that what I was just about to ask?"
"No, don't you think his description of the experience is too coincidental?" Klein frowned. "The 'liberals' are so concerned about rituals, I don't think he would not be torn apart by the extreme followers of the 'liberals' if he openly expressed dissent during the ritual."
"Why are you even using the word 'licentious' now?" Jerry Zarathustra quipped. "We've confirmed that Entreles doesn't have demigods, and you've done the divination, but contacting the people in the dungeon won't be dangerous."
"That guy doesn't seem to have been a member of the 'Rose School' for long. He's been locked up for almost a week. He's an outsider who doesn't even know the basics of mysticism. Let alone knowing any secrets, it's questionable whether he's worth rescuing instead of silencing."
Why are you thinking so much about him?
Klein couldn't answer why he felt something was wrong.
Looking up at the red moon, half-hidden behind the clouds, Jerry Zarathustra continued.
"Ontres is definitely hiding something. Your divination proves it. The fact that the 'Witch King' from the next town doesn't come to inspect often, and his nonchalant attitude, is also evidence of that."
"Based on my understanding of the 'Witch King,' he must have solidified a portion of his power through the blasphemous ritual we saw in the basement, or some larger ritual elsewhere, which would alert him if triggered."
"But on the other hand, if we don't trigger anything and do whatever we want, as long as we don't run into the 'Witch King', no one will know that we've been to Ontres."
"We can freely gather information in this town, can't we?"
After listening to Jerry Zarathustra's analysis, Klein finally spoke.
"According to you, there is only one 'Witch King' near Entreles, and even if the angels guarding the port have temporarily left, there are still demigods in Caesar Port. With the Church of the Eternal Sun, the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery, and the Intis military, I don't believe we can't gather three demigods or first-level sealed artifacts that we can use."
"Tell me, why did they just stand by and watch the two towns of Entres be occupied?"
Why haven't the 'licentious' groups held any ceremonies in the past week?
Jerry Zarathustra's eyes darted around.
"I think they were still doing something secretly in the basement. There was some fresh rotten meat piled up there, but the quantity was much less than described in the department's documents."
"Generally speaking, the 'Rose School' holds grand ceremonies to please the 'Mother Tree of Desire' whenever they occupy a new place. If the occupied town can stabilize, such sacrifices will continue for a period of time. It shouldn't just be limited to the beginning and the basement…"
He paused, then suddenly looked down and met Klein's gaze.
"Unless, the 'Rose School' is well aware that they haven't completely taken over Entreles yet, and the workers locked in the basement and in the mine are just temporary sacrificial reserves they've kept in captivity."The Intis people are also waiting... Their thoughts overlap; they want the next battle to decide the ownership of these two towns