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The heavy tolling of a bell echoed over the deathly silent village.
On the rooftop, Leon S. Kennedy slowly lowered his hot shotgun. He leaned against a rough chimney, watching the incredible scene below.
The Villager—monsters who just a second ago were climbing up like madmen, fearless of life or death—were now like marionettes with their Souls snatched away.
They dropped the sickles and axes in their hands. The fanaticism and violence on their faces melted away in the sound of the bell, returning to that numb and hollow appearance.
Turning around, they walked with stiff steps, completely ignoring the two uninvited guests on the roof and showing no concern for the corpses of their companions and the pools of blood everywhere.
They simply formed a loose queue and walked step by step toward the towering Church in the distance.
Only the sound of the wind and the fading footsteps remained in the air.
Leon watched the last villager's figure disappear behind the Church doors, followed by a heavy sound of the door locking.
He let out a long breath. "They're just leaving?"
He looked around at the ladders he had kicked down himself, the weapons scattered in the blood, and the mountain of corpses in the distance.
"I thought they were sincerely inviting us for a barbecue feast, and it just so happened that we were the main course."
"Maybe they're going to sleep."
"Sleep?" Leon laughed at the word. He looked at the corpses and severed limbs strewn at his feet, and the smell of blood in the air.
"Well, it seems their bedtime ritual is quite... grand."
He dropped his joking tone, feeling his tense muscles and nerves finally get a moment of relaxation.
He sat down on the slope of the roof, leaning his back against a thick chimney. He pulled an energy bar from his tactical vest pocket, tore open the wrapper, and took a listless bite.
"Regardless, we should take a break."
Noah nodded and casually tossed the blood-stained axe onto the roof.
This place was currently the safest high ground in the entire village—open view, easy to defend, hard to attack, and for the time being, no one would disturb them.
The two of them sat on the cold tiles, leaning against the equally cold chimney, replenishing their strength by the hazy moonlight.
Noah took a bottle of water from his backpack, unscrewed it, and handed it to Leon.
Leon took it and gulped down several mouthfuls. The cool liquid slid down his throat, diluting the dry, cloying sweetness of the energy bar in his mouth.
"Thanks."
"Damn, I'd rather go one-on-one with that chainsaw guy from earlier than eat this stuff again," he grumbled indistinctly.
"I'm incredibly nostalgic for a real hot meal right now. Even if I made it myself."
Noah also took out an energy gel, tore a small opening, and slowly squeezed it into his mouth.
Hearing Leon's words, his movements paused. He lifted his eyelids and glanced at him.
"Are you talking about that Spanish Seafood Paella you made for Ada last time?"
A look mixed with pride and self-satisfaction immediately appeared on Leon's face as he straightened his back.
"Hey! Don't look at me with that skeptical gaze. That was a perfect display of culinary art, a symphony for the taste buds. I'm telling you, Ada loved that dish."
He recalled the scene at the time, his lips curling up unconsciously.
"The aroma of the saffron, the tenderness of the fresh shrimp, and that rice with just the right hint of the ocean... it was a work of Genius."
Noah silently finished his energy gel, carefully folded the wrapper, and put it in his pocket.
Then, he spoke unhurriedly.
"Then why did you pour nearly a whole tablespoon of salt into that bowl of Cream of Mushroom Soup you vowed would completely conquer her heart?"
The confident "God of Cookery" smile on Leon's face froze instantly.
"That... that's called culinary passion! An explosion of inspiration!" He stiffened his neck and retorted somewhat awkwardly.
"Top-tier cuisine is about daring to break conventions and creating bold, impactful layers of flavor!"
Noah looked at him as if he were a clown and continued to press him.
"So, that kind of 'impact' that can make a tongue lose all sensation is the 'love and passion' you wanted to bring to Ada? I remember you even wanted me to help you cover up the lie, saying it was a mysterious'salt bath therapy' from the East that was good for physical and mental health."
"I..."
Leon opened his mouth but couldn't say anything.
That face, which could remain calm in the face of any crisis, now rarely showed a hint of embarrassed red.
He deflated, slumped back against the chimney, and resentfully stuffed the last bite of the energy bar into his mouth, chewing hard as if it weren't food, but Noah's merciless mouth.
"Fine, fine," he muttered, "that was a mistake, a tiny, insignificant mistake. Who hasn't had a slip-up?"
Just then, a sudden electronic beep broke the rare relaxed atmosphere between the two.
The sound came from Leon's tactical vest.
The expression on his face immediately transformed from a man whose embarrassing secret had been exposed back into that of a cool and capable ace agent.
He quickly pulled the reinforced Satellite Communicator from his pocket and pressed the answer button.
A clear, professional female voice with a hint of electromagnetic static came through.
"Kennedy, report your status. There was severe interference with the communication signals in your area just now; I lost contact with you for a while."
It was Hunnigan.
Leon glanced at Noah beside him, then at the village below, a playful smile appearing on his face.
"Oh, we're doing great, Hunnigan. Very well. We're having a unique picnic. The location? On the roof of a scenic village with an excellent view overlooking the entire... well, local slaughterhouse."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the communicator; Hunnigan seemed to be processing the amount of information in his words.
"Glad to hear you still have your unique sense of humor, Kennedy."
"Well then, enjoy your meal. I have some important intelligence for you."
"I've cross-referenced satellite imagery with an old survey map I pulled from the Spanish government archives. To the west of your village, there should be a Giant Windmill structure marked as 'Molino de Viento'."
Leon frowned.
"A windmill?"
"Yes. According to the map, from that windmill's location, there's a path that leads directly to the Lake on the other side of the valley. The last signal we had from Ashley before losing her was near the Lake. If 'they' are moving her, that path is the most likely route."
"Copy that. Windmill, then the Lake." Leon repeated the mission objective concisely.
"Be careful. That village is their core stronghold; it's predictable that you'll encounter the most stubborn resistance. Out."
The communication was cut off cleanly.
Tranquility returned to the rooftop once again.
The mission objective was clear, and the road ahead remained perilous.
Leon put away the communicator and rolled his shoulders, preparing to move.
However, Noah just sat there quietly, his gaze sweeping over the empty streets below, the stone houses with tightly closed doors and windows, and the weapons abandoned in the blood by their owners.
"Leon," he suddenly spoke.
"Yeah?"
Noah turned his head to look at Leon.
"Look, they've all gone to the Church to pray."
His voice was very soft.
Leon's movements stopped.
Noah continued, "The entire village is empty now."
He extended a finger and pointed below.
"And they just hosted us in such a 'passionate' way. According to etiquette, shouldn't we... return the favor?"
Leon looked in the direction he was pointing. He looked at the dark windows, at the silent houses, and a string in his brain was instantly plucked.
He slowly broke into an aggressive and mischievous smile.
"You're right."
He stood up and brushed the dust off himself, his movements conveying an irrepressible excitement.
"As polite guests, we really shouldn't refuse such a generous... gift from the host."
"Which house do we start with?" he asked in a low voice, his tone full of eagerness.
Noah pointed with his chin toward a house not far away.
It was a two-story stone and wood building that looked much sturdier and more respectable than the surrounding residences. Especially its main door, which was one of the few made of thick planks and even had a rusty iron knocker.
Leon understood immediately.
If you're going to search, start with the wealthy families.
The two exchanged a look and vanished like two black shadows, quickly hugging the base of the walls and creeping toward that "mansion."
The air was thick with the smell of blood and a scorched odor, but to them, it was more like the unique fragrance of a hunting ground.
Leon held his shotgun and kicked open the front door.
BANG!
The decaying door panels fell inward, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Noah chose a stone house on the other side and flipped directly through the window, his movements so light they didn't make a sound.
A silent scavenging session officially began.
Leon was like an experienced treasure hunter.
He pulled open every drawer, flipped over every mattress, and opened every creaking wooden cabinet.
Soon, he found a whole box of red shotgun shells on a fireplace mantle.
He whistled and unceremoniously pocketed them.
At the other end of the village, Noah's goals were more specific.
He almost ignored the cabinets that might store ammunition; his gaze was primarily focused on tables, bookshelves, and anywhere that might hold paper documents.
In a room that looked like the residence of some minor village leader, he found a rather crude regional map drawn with charcoal on a cluttered wooden table.
Several locations were marked on the map: the Farm, the Church, and the Lake.
And at the location of the Lake, a large, hideous fish head pattern was drawn.
Noah carefully folded the map and put it in his inner pocket.
Just as he was about to leave, his gaze was drawn to something on the corner of the table.
It was a small notebook wrapped in some kind of animal hide, looking quite old.
He reached out and picked up the notebook.
Opening the cover, a stale smell of mold wafted toward him.
Inside the notebook, there were no words, only various frantic and distorted patterns drawn in dark brown ink.
The subjects of those patterns were monsters resembling arthropods. They parasitized human bodies, emerging from the host's neck, back, or even eyes, in various hideous and terrifying forms.
This was an ecological observation journal about the Church of Light's parasite—the "plaga."
He quickly flipped through the pages, the morbid drawings flashing by one by one.
When he reached the last page, his finger stopped.
On that page, there were no drawings of parasites.
Only in the very center of the page, drawn with dried, blackened pigment that looked like blood, was an extremely complex emblem.
A mutated arthropod mixed with features of plant vines, surrounded by twisted runes.
The insignia of the Church of Light.
Noah closed the notebook, his fingertips gently stroking the rough leather cover.
He looked up through the grime-covered window toward the distant Church, which stood like a silent giant beast in the night...
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