House of Mercy (2)
Mana was an inscrutable force that responded to the will of intelligent beings with sensitivity to it. It did not mix with the mana of other intelligent beings—it clashed. The stronger the mana, the greater the collision.
Mind magic required the ability to wield faint, diluted mana that wouldn't provoke such clashes. The mage's will embedded within it also had to be subtle, not overt. Only then could it interfere with the opponent's mind without triggering rejection.
Isaac's mana was too vast and sharp-edged for mind magic. But if someone tried to interfere with his mind, he could turn it against them. No matter how varied the forms mana took in each vessel—thousands of shapes and myriad manifestations—its laws were as uniform as the principles of nature.
For instance, the law that mana flowed from areas of high density to low. This was the root of mind magic's limitations. It couldn't be used against someone with stronger mana. The moment a connection formed, the caster risked being subjugated in reverse.
Isaac had slowed his circulation paths to lower his mana density, luring the Mother Superior into dropping her guard. The instant she reached out to connect their minds, he accelerated them again. His mana density overwhelmed hers. In trying to manipulate his mind, she ended up under his control instead.
"Hindina? What brings you here at this hour?"
At the end of the corridor stood a shabby room, guarded by a mercenary who eyed them suspiciously. The Mother Superior of the orphanage was escorting a finely dressed boy, and it was rather late for any work.
Come up with a suitable excuse. Isaac commanded through their linked minds.
"I have urgent work."
"Didn't hear anything from the captain."
The mercenary scanned Isaac several times. Isaac slumped his body and feigned a blank expression, as if under mind magic. But the man didn't easily dismiss his doubts.
"Isn't this kid some noble brat? You checked him out already?"
"There's a client."
"Hm. Something feels off."
Should he eliminate him? Isaac grew aware of the dagger hidden inside his tunic. Murder was now always an option on the table.
Screeeeech—
Right on cue, someone blew a whistle.
"Intruders!"
The corpses hidden in the reception room must have been discovered. Isaac tensed, anticipating an attack, and reached for his dagger. But then—
Awooooooo—
A clear beast's howl echoed through the orphanage. Carlson and the hellhound had arrived.
"Wh-what the hell?"
The flustered mercenary bolted toward the whistle's direction.
"Ah, damn it. We were winning. Don't touch it."
Three more mercenaries kicked open the shabby door and charged down the corridor after him. Isaac was beneath their notice.
Unlike the reception room, the interior beyond the door the Mother Superior guided him to was stark and barren. No decorations whatsoever—just a straw mattress and a rotting wooden table.
In the center, two mercenaries still sat on the floor, deep in a card game despite the commotion outside.
"Wasn't that a wolf howl just now?"
"Guess someone brought a pup along."
"Hey, flip the table and start over."
They seemed utterly indifferent to everything else, lost in their game.
Here it is.
Isaac caught the faint lingering scent of the Randolf brothers in the sealed room: garlic and milk, wildflowers and lavender. No doubt about it.
The Mother Superior issued orders to the remaining two mercenaries.
"You two, open the basement door."
"Ugh, what a hassle."
Grumbling but unquestioning, they obeyed. They shoved the bed aside and rolled up the rug on the floor, revealing a wooden door leading underground. It was thick, reinforced with iron bands to prevent warping or gaps.
"Fuck. Can't magic handle shit like this?"
One mercenary muttered as he tugged at the heavy handle.
Creeeeak—
After much straining, the two managed to pry open the thick door. A chilling hinge squeal accompanied a wave of stench and the acrid smell of alchemical reagents.
"Close it. Knock when you're coming up."
Thud—
Eager to return to their cards, the mercenaries slammed the door shut the moment Isaac and the Mother Superior stepped onto the basement stairs.
Darkness and foul air engulfed them in an instant.
Following Isaac's command, the Mother Superior groped her way down the stairs. Darkness posed no issue for Isaac, with his heightened senses.
After a long descent, an iron door came into view.
Creeeak!
The Mother Superior opened it, unleashing a stench beyond compare. Isaac felt a chill settle in his heart.
"Wolfgang and Hermann. They're alive and well, right?"
"For now."
About twenty steps past the iron door, the Mother Superior struck flint against stone on the wall. A spark flew, igniting the oil lamp embedded there. She lit a torch from a wall sconce with practiced ease.
"……!"
With light, the silhouettes in the darkness sharpened into horrifying clarity. Like stacked beast cages, three tiers of square iron-barred cells lined both walls.
Inside each cramped cell huddled a single naked boy. By rough count, there were at least fifty or sixty.
"Hic... sob..."
The boys couldn't even meet Isaac's eyes. They sobbed or buried their faces between their knees, curling up tight. The moment they heard footsteps, they clamped hands over their mouths, straining not to breathe.
Isaac's face twisted.
"Why lock kids in a place like this?"
"To create artwork."
"What kind of artwork requires that?"
"It's inside."
"They're terrified."
"I drugged them. To them, you and I look like demons crawled up from hell."
The Mother Superior spoke in a flat, toneless voice. Isaac recalled the marquis's portrait in the reception room—the eerily lifelike devil's skin, the chilling edge of the depicted blade. The drug's effect, no doubt.
Thanks to the wolf king's rune stone, Isaac's body had gained detoxification abilities. He couldn't get drunk no matter how much he drank. The tea from the Mother Superior had been laced, but he'd shaken it off quickly.
Most children, however, couldn't.
"Where are Wolfgang and Hermann?"
"Here."
"Give me the torch."
Isaac took the torch from her and peered into the cells.
"……."
Two boys with distinctive auburn hair and green eyes. Just as Lady Randolf had described.
"Wolfgang, Hermann. Lady Randolf sent me."
Isaac called out, but they only shrank further. Drugged, they crammed themselves into the farthest corner of the narrow cell, away from the torchlight.
"Any way to detox the drug?"
"It's further in."
"Cell keys?"
"Here."
The Mother Superior handed over the keys with vacant eyes. Isaac hesitated.
He wanted to fling open the cells and rescue them right then. But the terrified boys wouldn't follow him—they wouldn't even emerge.
He couldn't wait forever for Carlson to buy time. Through his sensory link with the hellhound, he'd seen the orphanage garden already slick with blood. Carlson was unscathed in his standoff with the mercenaries, but reinforcements from the marquis could change everything. The Baismen were still a wildcard. Even if they'd been told Isaac killed Mayor Baris, they weren't likely to abandon the marquis immediately.
Time was short. Priority was the antidote and uncovering the orphanage's purpose.
"Lead me to the antidote."
The basement labyrinth twisted and branched. Some areas stored stacked wooden crates, others drinking water, dried meats and fruits, or more imprisoned boys. Some looked in dire condition.
"He likes white skin. Curly hair. Blond. He likes white skin... If he likes it, you're saved. White skin, white skin..."
The boy clawed at his skin relentlessly, muttering nonstop.
"What the hell is this?"
"The customer's standard of beauty."
The Mother Superior gave a vague reply and trudged on with her dazed expression.
"……."
A cloying, unpleasant dampness seemed to cling to Isaac's skin. His nose had gone numb to the stench, but nausea churned in his gut. Still, it was bearable.
Then the Mother Superior opened another thick wooden door. The odor seeping through was on another level entirely.
A smell Isaac knew well. The reek of death. Corpse rot.
"Where's this?"
"Workshop. Studio."
"……."
Isaac was speechless at her answer. Workshop or studio was far too genteel. This was a slaughterhouse.
On a rusty workbench shaped like a cross lay a bound corpse, limbs splayed. Naked, it appeared to be a young boy's—but headless. Freshly killed, dark purple livor mortis pooled on its lower back and calves.
Isaac had seen horrors aplenty. In the catacombs mid-heresy ritual, naked cultists devoured dismembered bodies. Compared to that, this was orderly.
That made it all the more repulsive.
The spacious stone chamber seemed designed for this purpose from the start. One corner piled headless corpses; another held an incinerator with an unknown flue. The steel furnace was caked in soot and rust from heavy use.
This wasn't a day's or two's work. It was systematic.
"……What's that?"
Isaac pointed to an ornate iron door in the corner. Roses were embossed on it, petals, stems, and thorns rendered in exquisite detail.
"Where the artwork is stored. The antidote's inside."
"Open it."
She obeyed meekly. Grasping the golden cross necklace at her throat, she pulled—the base detached like a lid, revealing an intricately wrought key.
Click. It fit the lock perfectly.
The iron door swung open.
"……."
Isaac stared inside, words failing him. A scene he'd half-anticipated but desperately hoped wasn't true.
Within finely wrought metal frames and filigree sat glass orbs. Some perched on the backs of golden-sculpted men, others on lion-embossed music boxes, still more on dragons or unicorns.
And inside each orb floated a severed boy's head.
Preserved in special solution, their faces brimmed with lifelike vitality. Petals or blossoms drifted alongside, hair undulating mysteriously in the fluid. Some seemed asleep, others lost in thought, smiling, or steeped in sorrow.
Whatever the expression, they were corpses. Children's corpses, unwillingly slain.
"Beautiful works of art."
The Mother Superior, still under Isaac's mental domination, offered no such query. Yet she spoke those words, her vacant eyes and wrinkled lips curving into a smile.