Chapter 910: The Disqualified
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 910: The Disqualified
A jackdaw swept past the branches, its cry raucous and desolate.
The priest sat before a headstone, the church’s Holy Scripture serving as a cushion beneath his backside. He stretched his crippled leg out casually and tilted his head back, exhaling a plume of ethereal smoke into the masking drizzle.
He looked as though he were lost in thought, or perhaps thinking of nothing at all, simply letting the familiar, bone-chilling cold soothe a scar that had been tearing at his heart for decades.
Unfortunately, it was a mere illusion.
Some things cannot be healed even by time; they only grow more agonizing as the weight of guilt deepens.
"Are you here?"
The crippled priest stubbed out his cigarette. "That was fast. I thought it would take longer."
"We received a direct report. We had to move quickly."
A man in a black uniform, his face as cold as tempered iron, appeared silently before the priest. His eyes shifted, sizing up the ordinary-looking cripple.
"I am Krit of the Saint's Eye," he said. "Are you the informant?"
"I am," the priest nodded. "That’s me."
"Your reason?" Krit demanded. "You should know what it means to report directly to us. Tell me why you did it."
"I believe I already said why." The crippled priest’s expression was calm, devoid of any hint of falsehood. He pointed toward the equally silent graveyard. "There are traces of evil cultist activity in my cemetery."
"..."
Silence followed his words. Even the crows had vanished to parts unknown.
Krit continued to observe the priest, who met his gaze without a hint of guilt. For a moment, the atmosphere fell into a strange, stagnant tension. Only a multitude of invisible shadows drifted through the graves, adding a layer of unnatural chill to the rainy mist.
"There is nothing."
Krit tilted his head slightly, as if receiving confirmation from elsewhere.
"My subordinates have inspected the entire cemetery," he stated. "There are no signs of cultist activity."
As the Saint's Eye—an organization specifically dedicated to such matters—they weren't there just to ask questions. In fact, before even stepping foot inside, Krit had deployed his highly trained subordinates to meticulously scour every inch of the grounds.
The result was exactly as he had expected: everything was normal.
This was just an ordinary cemetery. Judging by the tracks, the only recent event was a minor corpse reanimation—the kind of trivial matter a gravekeeper should be able to handle himself. There had been no need to involve the Saint's Eye.
"I hope you can provide a logical explanation," Krit said, staring into the priest's eyes with grim severity. "Trifling with the Saint's Eye is a very serious offense."
"..."
The crippled priest didn't flinch at Krit’s intimidation, nor did he answer immediately. Instead, he pulled a flask from somewhere and took a long, heavy swig.
"Burp—"
The priest let out a boozy belch, the pungent scent of alcohol wafting forward. He leaned back with the lethargy of a common drunk. "No wonder."
"No wonder what?" Krit frowned, his patience fraying.
"No wonder everyone says the Saint's Eye is nothing more than a vassal of the Church. I didn't misjudge you... you really aren't up to the task."
"What did you say?"
"Young man, do you know what the people from the Empire's Silence Bureau would do in this situation?"
Krit was on the verge of exploding at the priest's provocation, but the mention of the "Silence Bureau" made him freeze.
"What would they do?" Krit asked coldly, a trace of curiosity leaking into his tone.
"Upon receiving a report, they wouldn't care about the details. They would immediately lock down the cemetery and flip over every inch of soil. They wouldn't even let an earthworm go until they were absolutely certain of the area's safety."
"And if they were wrong?"
"If they're wrong, they're wrong. They’d execute the false informant first and handle the paperwork later. In short, whenever it involves that side of things, they respond with twelve-tenths of their focus. They rely only on their own repeated inspections—dozens of them, if necessary. Until they are one hundred percent certain everything is clear, everyone in the vicinity is treated as a potential cultist and a threat. They wouldn't approach them rashly, and they certainly wouldn't..."
The priest paused, looking at Krit, who stood right in front of him. He spoke with deep meaning: "...approach so boldly, let alone come specifically to interrogate the informant."
"..."
The veins on the back of Krit’s hand bulged as he instinctively gripped the black dagger at his waist.
A terrifying killing intent swirled around him, suppressed but potent. Though Krit didn't move, in the depths of his eyes, he had already rehearsed dozens of ways to tear this old man limb from limb.
Krit was usually composed, but even he hadn't expected to be so easily provoked by a few sentences.
Yes, he knew much of what the man said was true, but it shouldn't have come from the mouth of this old wretch.
The Saint's Eye had guarded the Royal Capital for so long, diligent and decorated. Without them, the capital would have been riddled with holes by evil organizations long ago!
Who else could the city rely on? Those Security Teams who had grown fat and pig-brained from years of corruption?
Krit was seething.
"Mr. Krit."
Just then, a gentle voice rang out at the perfect moment, causing Krit’s rage to gradually subside. "Is the questioning over?"
"No." Krit released his grip, his gaze falling upon the Head Nun standing nearby. He realized that if he ignored the rules out of a moment of anger, the Saint's Eye truly would be as pathetic as the old man claimed.
On the contrary, the more others looked down on them, the more they had to prove themselves through results!
"The questioning is ongoing, but it seems we won't get much out of him."
"Is that so? In that case, would you mind if I asked a few questions?"
"Oh? Did you discover something, Sister?"
"No, but since we are already here, we shouldn't leave empty-handed. According to the records, this gentleman was once a member of the Church. Perhaps I might be able to draw something out." Sister Elinde tilted her head, offering a sweet smile.
"...Fair enough." Krit thought about it and decided she had a point. He stepped aside. "Please."
"Thank you."
Sister Elinde thanked him softly. Her voice was like a spring breeze; Krit felt the exhaustion of his overnight overtime shift dissipate.
As expected of a Head Nun of the Church, he thought.
While Krit was lost in thought, Sister Elinde had already stepped in front of the priest.
"Good evening, Father."
"Good evening, Sister."
"Your leg..." Elinde’s beautiful eyes naturally fell upon the priest’s crippled limb. She pressed her hands together in a gesture of prayer, her face full of compassion. "Would you like me to treat it for you?"
"No need," the priest shook his head. "Decades have passed. The bone and muscle have already set. This leg isn't so easily fixed."
"I see... what a pity." Elinde brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "Then, may I ask you a few questions?"
"Of course."
Whether it was because they were both of the Church or because he was moved by her gentleness, the priest’s attitude became significantly milder.
"Good. Then I shall ask," Sister Elinde said. "First question: those strange corpses you mentioned—did they truly appear out of nowhere?"
"Oh?" The priest raised an eyebrow. "Going straight for that, are we? I thought you’d choose to doubt their existence, assuming I was just a drunk with a failing memory."
"Sister, you..." Krit also looked over in surprise, wanting to remind her of his previous conclusion, but Elinde’s expression remained unchanged, her smile fixed.
"I have already seen those corpses. They indeed do not look like they belong to this cemetery."
"You have a sharp eye, Sister..." The crippled priest chuckled and took another sip of wine. "It’s nothing major. Their aura is completely at odds with this graveyard. Anyone who looks closely would know."
Sister Elinde tilted her head. "So, your answer?"
"Yes. They appeared out of nowhere."
"Did they all appear at once?"
"I’m not sure. The locations where they appeared were too random. I just happened to stumble upon them. Whether they appeared in my cemetery all at once or in batches... I don't know."
"I see..." Sister Elinde tapped her lip with a fair finger, lost in thought. "And do you recognize the identities of these corpses?"
"I don't. But judging by their clothes and the marks on them, they were residents of the Royal Capital. I just don't know why they died, or why they suddenly appeared in a graveyard—especially with those expressions on their faces."
The priest rubbed his chin. "Speaking of which, have there been any news reports about residents disappearing lately? I haven't seen anything in the papers..."
"...That simply means the city is at peace. The sudden appearance of the corpses must have another cause, and it certainly isn't the work of cultists, is it?"
Sister Elinde flashed that perfect smile again, like the gentle sun at noon, bringing a powerful sense of security.
After a few more strange, seemingly aimless questions, Sister Elinde appeared to have found the answers she wanted. She stood up and looked at Krit.
"By the way, Mr. Krit, word just came from the Church. It seems a terrible incident has occurred in the South District. They hope you can send some of your men to support them."
"Eh? The South District?" Krit was stunned. "But why haven't I received any word of this..."
"This message was issued by the Church, not the Saint's Eye high command. That is why the message is being relayed through me. Please do not misunderstand, Mr. Krit."
"This... of course I don't misunderstand, it's just..." Krit frowned. "The South District? Why would they need..."
"I heard they are short-handed." Sister Elinde toyed with a rebellious strand of hair, eventually braiding it into a neat plait for convenience. She said softly, "Of course, since you aren't members of the Church, I won't force you if you're unwilling. It’s just that the Bishop... he can be a bit difficult to talk to. He seemed a little dissatisfied with your organization last time..."
"No, you joke, Sister. It’s not that I’m unwilling, I’m just concerned about what’s happening over there." Krit gave a bitter, helpless smile. Faced with a command that left him no choice, he once again felt the frustration of being a "vassal."
Besides, it wasn't a huge deal. In these times of crisis, manpower was tight everywhere; it was common for one district to lack hands. He had received help from other parish churches during previous cultist crackdowns.
He had no reason—and no right—to refuse.
"I’ll arrange the men immediately."
Krit glanced around. The cemetery was peaceful. It was confirmed that there were no cultists, and with a Head Nun of the Church personally stationed here, there shouldn't be any major issues. He would redeploy most of his men to where they were needed more.
Krit raised his hand, lightly pressing the small sound transmission magic device in his ear, preparing to issue orders to his subordinates hidden in the shadows... but then, he noticed the old gravekeeper looking at him with a strange expression.
The old man’s eyelids were half-drooped, the corners of his mouth slightly downcast. He looked like he was trying not to laugh, his cheeks twitching.
If one were to describe that expression in common terms... he looked like he was watching an idiot.
"Young man," the priest said, taking another swig of wine. "If I were you, I wouldn't be foolishly following orders. I’d be thinking about how to run away."
"Huh?" For what felt like the hundredth time, Krit frowned. "What drunken nonsense are you spouting now?"
"Sigh, you really aren't professional enough. Haven't you realized yet... that there’s something wrong with this Sister standing next to you?"
"Don't talk nonsense!" Krit barked. "Insulting the Saint's Eye is one thing, but insulting the Church? Old man, do you have any idea that you’ve crossed a red line?"
"A red line? Haven't I already crossed it? After all, I’m desecrating the Holy Scripture right in front of a 'Head Nun.' Normally, I should have been pinned to the ground by now. But..."
The priest rubbed the thick book beneath his buttocks and turned to look at the still-smiling Head Nun. He asked curiously, "Why does this Sister look so calm?"
"..."
The atmosphere turned dead silent—so silent that one could almost see the veins in the wisps of white mist floating over the headstones.
Krit’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately went on high alert.
He actually found a grain of truth in the old drunk’s words. As a Head Nun, how could Elinde turn a blind eye to the desecration of the Scripture?
Could she...
"No!" Krit snapped back to reality. "What are you babbling about? Sister Elinde is a special advisor personally appointed by the Church, with all the proper identification and documents from the higher-ups. If you say there’s something wrong with her, are you implying the Church and the Kingdom’s leadership are compromised as well?"
It was ridiculous.
He couldn't believe he had almost been tripped up by such twisted logic. Sister Elinde hadn't reacted to the desecration simply because she was too kind-hearted to punish a disabled old man.
"But I am not so merciful." Krit’s face darkened as he walked toward the priest. "Old man, you have repeatedly interfered with official business and insulted the Saint's Eye and the Church. I have the right to arres—"
"Puchi..."
In the end, he failed to arrest the sinner.
Before he could get close, a crimson flower bloomed in the cemetery, hauntingly beautiful.
Krit’s gaze went blank. He first looked at the priest, who still wore the expression of someone watching a fool, then looked down at the hand piercing through his abdomen.
It was a slender, fair hand—now stained crimson.
That hand had once been pressed together in prayer to the Goddess. It had once brushed back hair, beautiful and charming.
Now, it was cold and sharp.
"Sister... you... why..."
"Oh my..."
The voice that answered Krit was lazy and demonic, stripped of every ounce of its former gentleness and poise.
"This identity really is excellent. I don't have to do a thing; I just have to sit on the shore and watch the stupid little fish jump around in front of me."