Those Who Wait for the End, Part 4
"Do you think new supplies will come in today?"
"I hope they bring some good stuff."
We walked slowly through the entrance of the settlement, listening closely to the residents' conversations. There was nothing suspicious. They were simply going about their daily lives. That was precisely what made it so bizarre. There was no despair, no suffering. Yet, the world before my eyes was covered in deep, weeping wounds.
"It's so..."
"Peaceful. Though I understand it wasn't always like this."
Bishop Andre responded to Daphne's observation in a cold voice. The villagers glanced at us occasionally before quickly returning to their conversations. The bishop watched them quietly for a moment, then approached one of them. The villagers shrank back, eyeing us warily.
"What brings you here?"
A middle-aged man stepped forward. Like everyone else here, he was dressed in filthy rags, his hair a tangled mess. He had a rugged but simple face, and his thick arms and calloused, raw hands suggested he was a fisherman.
"I am Andre Jung, from the Royal Palace's Ministry of Internal Affairs. I have been sent by Her Majesty the Queen to investigate the progress of the reconstruction and the living conditions in the Vaktins area..."
Bishop Andre spoke calmly, using a pseudonym with only his surname changed, but the man frowned and waved his hand dismissively.
"We don't need your help. What more is there to investigate? It's already annoying enough with your people constantly pestering us to pack up and go somewhere else. Don't go provoking folks for no reason and just go back. As you can see, we're doing just fine here, perfectly content."
The man was remarkably hostile. Refusing to be rattled, the bishop held up a calming hand, palms down, and met the man's gaze.
"I did not come to pressure you about relocation. I am merely here to see if anyone requires assistance, or if there are specific supplies we need to transport for you. I will not bring up the matter of resettlement."
The man grimaced and shook his head. His irritable demeanor gave me another prickle of unease. A few villagers merely glanced our way, while others paid us no mind at all, continuing their quiet chatter. It was strange. This wasn't how people reacted, not just in a ruined town, but in any normal village. If someone was arguing with a government official, at least a few onlookers should have gathered out of curiosity.
"We're fine. Our village gets along perfectly well without any of that. We receive our regular supplies. There is absolutely nothing left for you to look into here."
Perhaps Bishop Andre was thinking the same thing, as he looked past the man to scan our surroundings. Unable to hide his anxiety at the bishop's reaction, the man's eyes darted frantically, following the bishop's gaze. Then, suddenly, he grabbed the bishop's hand.
"Look, we appreciate the concern, truly we do. But our village really doesn't need anything. Please, just leave."
The man's hostile attitude had abruptly shifted to a desperate plea. Held fast by the man, the bishop's eyes flashed. I saw the man's pupils trembling. There was no way the bishop had missed what I just saw.
"We are here on Her Majesty's orders, so we must return with some results. We will take your circumstances into consideration, but we cannot simply abandon our investigation." Bishop Andre glanced back at Marianne and me, who were disguised as soldiers. The implication was clear: if they refused to cooperate and continued to obstruct us, we would arrest them.
"Are you really going to do this?"
"An investigation is standard procedure. We did not come here to harm the villagers."
The bishop replied calmly, trying to soothe him, but the man's anxiety only intensified.
"It's not that. It's not that..."
"Dear, what are you doing here?"
The man froze. His head turned with a stiff, mechanical creak. I watched the woman walking toward us. Slipping her arm gently through his, the woman—presumably his wife—looked at us. She, too, was dressed in shabby, unkempt clothes.
"And who... might these people be?"
"It's nothing. Go on back inside first."
Before she could, the bishop spoke up quickly.
"A pleasure to meet you, Madame. I am Andre Jung, an official from the Royal Palace's Ministry of Internal Affairs. We have come to survey the damaged areas. Would you mind cooperating with our investigation?"
The man's face drained of all color, while the woman's eyes widened slightly in surprise. The bishop's sharp gaze captured every micro-expression.
"Oh my, you've come from so far. Yes, of course. We would be happy to help."
"Dear! I told you to go back inside!"
The man pushed his wife back in a panic. Though she only stared at him blankly, he ignored her look and flared up in anger.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Your broken leg only just healed! You shouldn't be walking around like this! Go inside, now!"
The woman blinked, looking down at the hand he had placed on her shoulder. Then, placing her own hand over his thick fingers, she whispered in a voice that was incredibly light and soft.
"Dear. I told you, didn't I? Anger is entirely meaningless."
The man's eyebrows twitched. Terror flooded his eyes for a split second before they returned to normal. Gently nudging her husband aside, the woman stepped toward the bishop with a pleasant smile. Stray hairs poked out messily from her tied-up hair.
"How can we help you, Officer?"
Daphne was growing pale, but Bishop Andre stood before them with an unbothered, serene smile.
"I would like to take a look around the village. The rest of our delegation has not arrived yet, so we plan to stay in the area for a while and conduct a thorough survey."
"I see. Then my husband and I will show you around."
The woman turned to her husband, and the man, unable to say a word, simply nodded. The man's sudden submission was unsettling, but the wife's sheer nonchalance was even more disturbing. It was as if her husband's emotions were completely failing to register with her.
"The village is very peaceful. I was under the impression that until recently, there were many chronic patients and wounded here."
When the bishop probed gently, the woman let out a soft chuckle.
"Ever since the Saintess visited us, most of the injured have recovered. That is how my broken leg was healed as well."
Her voice sounded as if she were dreaming. Her pace was incredibly slow.
"The Saintess healed our physical wounds, but she could not mend the scars on our hearts. This is all thanks to the Teacher who visited our village recently..."
"Dear!"
The man roared so loudly it nearly split our eardrums. Daphne flinched in surprise, and Bishop Andre turned his gaze to the man. The woman turned to look at her husband, her smile remaining fixed. Yet, there was absolutely no warmth or laughter in her eyes.
"Oh dear, I almost made a slip of the tongue. I am supposed to be showing you around, yet I keep getting distracted."
"It is quite alright."
Bishop Andre nodded reassuringly, but a faint, sharp trace of killing intent bled from him. He seemed to be piecing the puzzle together, analyzing the woman's slip of the tongue. I wasn't entirely sure why he chose not to press further about this 'Teacher.'
"This building here is used as a school for the children..."
The woman pointed out the makeshift wooden buildings one by one. The people walking the streets looked no different from those at the entrance. They occasionally spoke to the woman, but they only cast suspicious glances at us.
"Well, that is the general layout of our village."
"Thank you for your kind guidance, Madame."
We had arrived back at the entrance of the village. The woman and her husband stood together to see us off. The man hadn't uttered a single word since his sudden outburst, constantly looking around as if scanning for someone watching them. Bishop Andre glanced at the man before returning his gaze to the woman.
"If you visit again later, the other villagers will welcome you warmly as well. It is just that you are all unfamiliar faces..."
"I understand. We shall return, then."
Bishop Andre turned around, and we followed close behind him. As we walked away, I stole a glance back at the village entrance. The woman who had guided us was still standing in the exact same spot, staring at our retreating figures.
...What on earth is this?
For a split second, I felt as if our eyes had locked, and I hastily looked away. I kept walking, the quiet clanking of my armor keeping time with my steps. It felt as though her hollow gaze was drilling into my back, refusing to let go.
"We will need to conduct a thorough investigation tonight," the bishop murmured.
Daphne nodded beside him.
"The people... they're strange. Their faces look perfectly fine, but..."
"The fact that they look perfectly fine is the problem. Especially with the village in that state," Georg grunted, his brow furrowing in suspicion.
I tried to shake the image of the woman's vacant eyes from my mind as I spoke.
"And unlike her husband, who was terrified of us, the wife didn't seem to care who we were at all."
"Indeed. The man was practically shaking, arguing about eviction orders and the like."
Even without putting it into words, we all knew something was deeply wrong with that settlement. Marianne lifted her visor, letting out a quiet, expressionless breath.
"Are you alright, Marianne?"
"Yes. I am fine."
A cold, sharp light, identical to the bishop's subtle killing intent, gleamed in Marianne's eyes. As I frowned in concern at her pale face, Bishop Andre turned to me.
"At least we didn't leave empty-handed."
"Are you referring to the 'Teacher' the woman mentioned?"
The bishop nodded, a chilling smile playing on his lips.
"Yes... though whether that thing is human remains to be seen. It is highly likely this 'Teacher' is one of the cultists of the Evil God. Though, of course, he won't be their leader..."
The bishop clenched his hands together, the veins on his knuckles bulging with sudden force.
"We must capture him and use him to trace their roots. It has been a long time since they have shown themselves on such a scale."
The rosary in his hand rattled as he spoke. Realizing he had let his anger show too clearly, Bishop Andre cleared his throat softly.
"If we can catch them in the act of worship tonight, we can understand how they operate. It will make wiping them out much easier."
The bishop caught the swaying rosary and rubbed the beads.
"I look forward to the night."
Night fell.
Marianne followed close behind Bishop Andre, wrapped in a concealing cloak. The inquisitors moved more silently than shadows. Not a single blade of grass rustled beneath their boots, and even at a full sprint, their cloaks made no sound against the wind.
"Not a single light," the bishop whispered, his voice devoid of emotion.
This was the Bishop Andre that Marianne knew best—a voice like a spearhead carved from solid ice.
"An environment they thrive in."
The rain had stopped, but the sky remained overcast. A black shroud, devoid of both moon and stars, stared down at them like a massive, unblinking pupil.
No lights flickered in the settlement. There were no campfires, no burning barrels, no lamps, not even a candle. Though it was not yet midnight, there was barely any sign of life.
Bishop Andre raised a hand, signaling the inquisitors. Like mist dissolving into the air, they dispersed seamlessly into the darkness.
Standing behind the bishop, Marianne stared at the settlement. Devoid of light and life, it looked no different from the ruins outside.
Bishop Andre pulled a pocket watch from his coat. Five minutes to midnight. The bishop's eyes flashed, and at that exact moment, a change swept over the settlement.
Creeeeak. Creeeeak.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
One by one, the doors of the shacks creaked open, and people began to step outside. They moved in absolute, suffocating silence.
Like filthy water draining into a sewer, the villagers gathered and began to march toward a single destination.
It was a half-ruined brewery sitting at the very edge of the settlement. The brewery's door creaked open, and the darkness within began to swallow the villagers one by one.
Bishop Andre slipped his watch back into his pocket and stared at the brewery. There it is. A faint but deeply sinister, malevolent energy was seeping like smoke through the cracks of the brewery door.