Chapter 463 - 425: Edmond’s Autopsy Report

Chapter 463: Chapter 425: Edmond’s Autopsy Report

Screams tore through the night sky of Zelheim.

In Central Square, the once impeccably dressed nobles could no longer be bothered with decorum, shoving and pushing as they fled. Trampled peacock meat mixed with mud, expensive velvet tablecloths snagged on collapsed chair legs, and red wine spilled across the ground, a glaring, bloody red.

Against the torrent of the crowd, two figures stood unmoving, like reefs in a raging sea.

Prince Willandar raised a hand, unhurriedly straightening the cuff of his trench coat, which had been wrinkled by the crowd. He glanced aside at the monster gnawing on a table leg, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Velin, your malice toward the Church is a little excessive."

The Prince’s tone was calm, yet laced with an absurd sense of knowing.

Velin stood at his side, his eyes fixed on the ever-expanding bishop at the center of the stage. At the Prince’s words, he sighed, a touch of helplessness in his voice.

"Your Highness, I must reiterate, this truly was an accident." Velin casually placed his wine glass on the base of a toppled statue, his voice dripping with innocence. "I never imagined this bishop’s appetites were so much more sincere than his faith. It only took a little nudge for him to blow up."

Willandar gave a slight nod, outwardly accepting the explanation. But inwardly, he gazed upon the horrific scene—a tableau from hell. ’An "accident" of this magnitude? Not unless the sun rises in the west.’

A shard from a broken silver plate flew past the Prince, embedding itself in a wooden pillar behind him.

"Let’s go, Your Highness." Velin turned. "The show is over. If we stay any longer, they’ll start charging admission."

Willandar took one last look at the monster, now being surrounded by a group of High-Tier clerics who had just arrived, and let out a scoff.

Moving against the terrified crowd, the two vanished with unhurried steps into the shadows of the night, leaving behind them only soaring flames and inhuman roars.

...

The next morning, a thin mist shrouded the Royal Capital.

The bells of the Cathedral of Holy Radiance rang twelve times, their tolls muffled and oppressive.

A crowd of frightened citizens packed the area before the notice board. Several fully armed Templar Knights stood guard nearby, hands on their sword hilts, driving away anyone who tried to approach and ask questions.

A huge parchment notice was posted in the most conspicuous spot, stamped with the bright red wax seal of the College of Cardinals.

[OBITUARY]

[Lord Cardinal Moros, during last night’s ’Saint Sinclaire Banquet,’ suffered from Spiritual Power exhaustion due to his tireless service to the state. A demon from the abyss exploited his moment of weakness and launched a vile sneak attack. To protect the faithful, the Cardinal fought the demon to the death with his mortal body, ultimately succumbing to exhaustion and returning to the embrace of the Holy Light.]

[The entire city is to be placed under martial law for three days to mourn the saint and purge the lingering demonic aura.]

"It was a demon... It really was a demon..."

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Some believed it, clasping their hands in prayer as if they had just witnessed a miracle. Others had a flicker of doubt in their eyes and tried to exchange glances, but they wisely shut their mouths under the cold gaze of the Knights.

The lead Knight seemed satisfied with this oppressive silence. He withdrew his gaze and tightened the reins on his heavily armored warhorse, which snorted. He ignored the carriages still tossing Gold Coins, instead turning his mount and passing through a side gate on the edge of the square, one not open to the public. The Knight leaped from his horse, casually tossed the reins to a squire in the corner, and walked straight into the shadows of the cathedral.

After crossing a gilded atrium, he expertly bypassed the main prayer hall and arrived behind an inconspicuous holy statue. With the dull groan of a mechanism, a hidden door slowly opened. The Knight strode onto the winding spiral stone staircase that led down.

As his footsteps echoed down the deep, dark staircase, the clamor from above faded away entirely.

Cathedral of Holy Radiance, Third Basement Level.

Cold, damp stone walls and ever-burning magestone lamps lined the corridor. The air was thick with the pungent smell of Alchemy Potions, mingled with a nauseating stench of rot.

This was the "Holy Purification Chamber," also the place where the Church disposed of its "internal waste."

Archbishop Edmond stood before the autopsy table. He wore a simple gray robe with no adornments, his hands clasped behind his back. His hawk-like eyes were fixed on the lump of mangled flesh on the table.

It could no longer be called "human."

Moros’s corpse had been laid open. His belly looked like a burst sack, and his skin had taken on a strange, translucent, gelatinous quality.

"Your Eminence, you must see this."

The Grand Inquisitor of the Judicial Court, wearing thick leather gloves, held a scalpel still dripping with black blood. He pulled the bisected stomach lining apart.

SQUELCH.

A pile of indigestible debris spilled out. Shards of a silver plate, the corner of an oak table, torn silk, and... a few of his own severed fingers, not yet fully digested.

But that wasn’t the most terrifying part.

Lurking in the middle of this debris was a malformed, dark-red mass of flesh.

It didn’t look like a living creature at all, but rather a "foreign body"—an amalgam of countless organs that had melted and been forcibly fused together. Its surface was riddled with thick, throbbing blood vessels and purple-black fascia. Though it had now stopped twitching, its over-expanded volume had filled nearly all of Moros’s chest and abdomen, like a monstrous fetus gestated to maturity within him.

That was the "Stigmata."

Or rather, what remained after it had lost control and proliferated wildly...

"It... it crushed all his internal organs." The Grand Inquisitor’s voice trembled as he carefully prodded aside the adherent fascia with a silver knife. "The heart, the liver, the lungs... they’re all gone. No, not eaten. They were crushed into a paste by this thing, plastered against his ribs and spine. It expanded endlessly within its host, seizing all the nutrients, turning the host into a mere husk."

Edmond said nothing.

He stared at the mass of flesh. Normally, this thing should only be the size of a walnut, an extra organ resting dormant near the spine, granting its host power. It would only pulse briefly under the guidance of a Divine Art.

But now, it had become a rapacious mass of dead flesh that had not only consumed its host but destroyed itself in the process.

"Reason." Edmond bit out the single word, short and sharp.

The Grand Inquisitor set down the silver knife and turned to pick up a crystal vial from a nearby tray. It contained residue scraped from Moros’s stomach. "If this were a normal loss of control, the Stigmata would cause the host to wither and die quickly, not... not this kind of hyper-aroused ’fecundity.’"

The Grand Inquisitor swallowed, his expression turning a bit odd. "We found residue of an Alchemy Potion in his gastric fluids. It wasn’t a sophisticated poison designed to counter Divine Arts. Most of its components are actually... actually quite common on the black market."

Edmond looked at him coldly. "Get to the point."

"It was originally a potent Alchemy Potion used to intensely stimulate a mortal’s body—a powerful aphrodisiac." The Grand Inquisitor pointed at the huge, deformed mass of flesh, his voice hoarse. "It enhances the user’s sensory experiences and their innermost desires."

"But through a bizarre twist of fate, it caused a catastrophe."

The Grand Inquisitor took a deep breath and explained, "’Source Blood,’ though sacred, has an instinctive resonance with the host’s spiritual fluctuations—especially ’desire.’ This potion pushed Moros’s ’appetite’ and ’greed’ to their physiological limits... The rest followed naturally."

"In a state of hyper-arousal, the Stigmata lost control. It surrendered to that desire, taking root, sprouting, and expanding with reckless abandon until... it ruptured everything."

Edmond’s gaze was locked on the deformed mass of flesh, a storm brewing in the depths of his eyes.

’Was it a coincidence? Some arrogant fool who blundered their way into this?’

Edmond’s eyes lingered on the mass for a moment before he mentally dismissed the thought.

’No. If they just wanted to kill Moros, there were a thousand cleaner, more direct ways—deadly poison, a curse, assassination. But they chose the most absurd method: an "aphrodisiac."’

’Moros’s food and drink are purified by triple-layered Divine Arts. A lethal, malicious poison wouldn’t have even worked. Only this kind of drug, one that isn’t lethal but merely stimulates the body’s base desires, could bypass the divine detection and brazenly enter the Cardinal’s throat.’

What truly sent a chill down Edmond’s spine was the perpetrator’s mastery of the "dosage" and "consequences."

’How much did the mastermind behind this really know about the "Stigmata"? Did they know its true nature? Was this just a "test" based on superficial phenomena, or was it a targeted toxin engineered based on the Stigmata’s properties?’

’But how could that be possible?’

’The living nature of the Stigmata is the Church’s highest secret. Even within the Church, only the Silent Order, which performs the "Holy Rite" transplant surgeries, and the core cardinals certified with the "Holy Bloodline" are permitted to know.’

’For ordinary bishops and mid-level clergy, it is all a matter of widespread speculation; they know the "what" but not the "how" or "why."’

’Who leaked the secret? And how much did they leak?’

Edmond’s fingers rubbed together inside his sleeve.

’Could there be a traitor within the Church? A scribe who once had access to the original "Purity Act"? Or was it a survivor from the purge of the "True Believers" faction, someone who escaped with research notes on "Eve’s Blood"?’

’Or even... could it be a political rival from the Holy City, using this opportunity to set a death trap in Zelheim?’

Countless questions exploded in his mind, each possibility pointing toward an abyss deep enough to shake the very foundations of the Church.

Edmond spun around, fixing the Grand Inquisitor with a deathly stare, and asked the most critical question:

"Do you think this potion is a poison developed specifically to target members of the clergy?"

The Grand Inquisitor was taken aback for a moment. He glanced at the mass of flesh again, cold sweat beading on his forehead, and hesitated before answering:

"I... I daren’t say for certain. But based on the alchemical analysis, it seems... it wasn’t specifically targeted at us."

"It wasn’t?" Edmond narrowed his eyes.

"No. Its fundamental design is still that of a common black-market drug, one made for pursuing extreme pleasure." The Grand Inquisitor swallowed, his voice a little dry. "In other words... it’s as if someone casually tossed a match, not expecting that we were all wearing clothes soaked in oil."

Hearing this, the tension in Edmond’s stiff back and shoulders eased for an imperceptible moment.

’It wasn’t a specialized toxin targeting the Stigmata’s mechanics, nor an alchemical product capable of reverse-engineering "Eve’s Blood." This meant the theory that had been robbing him of sleep—that a core secret had been leaked, that there was a high-level traitor within the Church—could be temporarily ruled out.’

’As long as that secret remained safe, the foundations of the Church were not shaken.’

"Though it wasn’t a targeted breach, that doesn’t mean we can rest easy."

Edmond tightened his grip on his Black Ebony Wood cane. The fear in his eyes faded, replaced by an even colder killing intent.

"A low-grade aphrodisiac... actually made its way brazenly into a Cardinal’s wine glass..." Edmond’s voice grew even colder. "This is a blasphemy against order. Find them. Round up everyone who handled Moros’s drink last night, from the vintner at the winery to the servants at the banquet."

"Shall they be interrogated, Your Eminence?"

"Interrogation is unnecessary. I have no interest in hearing their excuses," Edmond said coldly. "Purge them all. I want everyone to know the price for letting something ’unclean’ near a member of the clergy."

"As you command." The Grand Inquisitor bowed his head, then asked with some hesitation, "Then... how should we handle the commotion outside? Too many people witnessed Moros’s mutation last night. Rumors are rampant in the city now... saying the Church worships monsters..."