Chapter 373: Fires on All Sides

"What did you just say?!"

In a monastery several blocks away, a monk of nearly sixty bristled with fury upon hearing his fellow brother’s words. His eyes flew open, and he could hardly believe his own ears.

"Over a single Ghost Witch, they dare to disrupt His Eminence the Archbishop’s plan!"

"I’m afraid so, because—"

"That wasn’t a question!" The old monk cut the man off with a wave of his hand. He furiously threw his cane to the ground, then spun around and strode deeper into the monastery. "Everyone, assemble! Emergency assembly!"

"The plan has changed! We must all mobilize! We cannot allow the Religious Order’s plans to come to nothing!"

The monastery was as old as the monk himself. Moss grew thick in its many corners and shaded spots, and its walls were covered in withered, yellowing vines. The old monk passed through corridors and halls he had walked more times than he could count, his impassioned words echoing long throughout the entire building.

But to his confusion, the entire monastery was as silent as a tomb. No one responded to his words, not a single monk or nun emerging to answer his summons.

"What’s going on? Is everyone dead?! Have you all dropped dead?!" The eerie situation made a sense of unease creep into the old monk’s heart. He took out his Holy Emblem and pressed it to his mustachioed lips for a quick kiss. "Where has everyone gone?!"

They had been preparing for this day for nearly a month! How could they drop the ball now of all times?

Most of the monks and nuns in this monastery were elderly members of the Religious Order, or those plagued by injury and illness. Their abilities might be limited, but their loyalty was beyond question. How could they suddenly disappear at a time like this?

The old monk walked to the rear of the monastery and pushed open the courtyard gate. The scene here was much like the one outside, filled with the bleak atmosphere of late autumn. Standing on the steps amidst this desolation, the old monk clutched the Holy Emblem in his hand, his blue eyes, set above a hooked nose, narrowing to slits.

In his vision, everything else faded away, leaving only his brethren lying strewn across the ground and the single standing figure: a woman in a black dress, her face hidden behind a black veil.

"Who... who are you?"

"Shhh." The woman raised her left index finger. "No need to shout. They’re only sleeping."

"If you wake them up, I can’t be sure what will happen."

"You—you’re an Evil Demon." The old monk’s voice dripped with hostility. "When did you arrive in Rose City? How could I have failed to detect you?!"

"That just means you’ve been away from the battlefield for too long. Even your Perception has grown dull." The woman lowered her hand, folding them before her stomach as she stood quietly. Her dark, deep eyes peered maliciously into the old monk’s soul. "A person’s appearance may change drastically, but their soul is not so easily altered."

"You should have recognized me immediately. I spared your life on the battlefield once, Priest Thomson."

As the woman before him spoke his name, a wave of despair and helplessness surged across forty-five years to seize the old monk by the throat. His eyes flew wide. It was a voice he could never forget.

"It’s, it’s you! You demon!"

"I knew you wouldn’t let me be! I knew it! I’ve always known!"

The masked woman watched with satisfaction as the old man collapsed onto the steps. Her long tongue passed right through the ethereal veil, tasting the rare, soul-deep despair in the air. "I never imagined a soul could be aged like a fine wine. The flavor is simply intoxicating."

"But you’re wrong about one thing." The Pollution Worm Demon’s tongue snaked around the old monk’s torso like a whip, yanking him in front of her. "I am no longer a demon."

A thick, sulfurous stench assaulted the old man’s senses, throwing his mind into further turmoil. It was followed by the whisper of the Pollution Worm Demon, a whisper like that of a fiend—or rather, a devil: "Now, just like your Archbishop, I’m destined to ’go to hell’."

Similar incidents interfered with every group of Priests and Messengers on their way to surround the manor. Some were held up by belligerent drunks making a scene, others were entangled with the driver of an overturned carriage. The unluckiest group, however, looked up on their way to the manor to see black, frost-rimmed dragon wings flash like a nightmare through the cold air, accompanied by an inscrutable Dragon Roar.

As matters escalated, it wasn’t just the clergy who were affected; the whole of Rose City had descended into chaos. Countless reports and alarms flew like snowflakes to the Rose Council. Civilians, guards, merchants... everyone was pleading with the lords of the council to show mercy and intervene to end the commotion.

Yet the great doors of the Rose Council were like a gaping maw, mercilessly swallowing it all without a single response from within. Nearly every available legislator had gathered in the chamber, seated around the circular table, but none dared to be the first to speak.

Everyone had noticed the strangeness of this emergency meeting. The lesser sign was that Old Feibo, a man who usually kept a low profile, had his two strapping sons standing behind him. The most glaring sign, however, was that behind the Rose Council President’s chair, a male Zor with jet-black skin held a dagger to the president’s age-spotted neck. A cold sneer played on his lips as he continuously scanned every legislator in the room.

"Lord Feibo, what... what is the meaning of this?" The President’s voice trembled, yet he was the only one in the room—the only one being held at knifepoint—who dared to speak. "Whatever it is, we can discuss it. Why must we go this far?"

"The Rose Council was created to mediate disputes, was it not? Are you dissatisfied with the current administration’s work? Or perhaps..."

"Mr. President, at a time like this, are you still going to play dumb?" Old Feibo rapped his knuckles on the table, cutting the man off. "Two seats on this council have been empty for a month. As President, surely you know why."

All eyes immediately turned to the two empty seats. One belonged to Legislator Daniel of the Night Wind Tavern. The other, a distinctive, wider chair, belonged to this year’s newly appointed legislator: Mr. Hendrix.

"How would I know?" The President wore a pained expression. He started to shrug or gesture helplessly, but the Zor behind him immediately quashed any notion of small movements. "Feibo, you know them well. If you don’t know, how could I?"

"A fair point. In that case..." Old Feibo didn’t seem fazed. He leaned back in his chair, and as Seymour’s fingers twitched, the President let out a terrified shriek. "We’ll just have to keep waiting. We can discuss what comes next once they’ve arrived."