Chapter 454 - 418: Gilded Rotten Fruit

Chapter 454: Chapter 418: Gilded Rotten Fruit

’I have to go see for myself.’

"Take this to the Prince." Velin pulled a black cloth-wrapped box from his coat. Inside was a handwritten copy of the documents from the Plague Workshop. "Tell His Highness to read it, then have him keep a tight rein on everyone who hasn’t drunk the Holy Water yet."

The butler took the box, feeling its considerable weight.

"Understood. And you, my lord..."

"I’m going out for a bit." Velin stood up. "Don’t have anyone follow me."

In a guest room on the second floor, the night grew deeper.

Xiaolan, mindful of Velin’s instructions, had washed up early and changed into a set of soft pajamas. She had intended to rest up and conserve her energy for the busy day ahead, but when she actually lay down to rest, she couldn’t quiet her mind.

She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, a wave of embarrassed frustration washing over her.

Thinking back to that moment in the sky, Xiaolan felt so mortified she could die.

Being held so tightly in his arms the entire way had made her think, uncontrollably, of the kiss he had once placed on her jaw. The memory made her blush so hard her whole body was still burning.

"So embarrassing..." she mumbled in frustration, curling into a ball under the covers.

KNOCK KNOCK.

A sudden knock at the door.

Xiaolan jumped, frantically stuffing the few pieces of lingerie she was holding under her pillow. She took a deep breath, hurried to the door, and pulled it open.

Velin was standing in the doorway.

He had changed out of his conspicuous lord’s attire and was now wearing a patched linen tunic. His pant legs were rolled up, revealing mud-splattered boots. His face was smudged with some grime, making him look like a down-on-his-luck laborer trying to make a living at the docks.

"Get changed." Velin pointed at the pajamas Xiaolan was wearing. "Wear something ragged. We’re going somewhere filthy."

Xiaolan froze.

She stared at Velin’s matter-of-fact expression, and all the messy, romantic thoughts that had been swirling in her head moments ago shattered into a million pieces.

"...Yes."

「Five minutes later.」

Two inconspicuous figures scaled the estate’s rear wall and vanished into the night.

...

The Royal Capital of Zelheim was known as the "Pearl of the Canals."

But no matter how brightly the pearl shone, its light could not reach the sewers.

The slums were located downstream along the canals. Here, the water was slow-moving and turbid, with all sorts of household waste, excrement, and even bloated dead rats floating on the surface. Dense shanties clung like bloodsucking barnacles to both sides of the riverbank, some even built suspended directly over the stinking water.

The air was thick with the smell of mold, rotting food, and despair.

Velin pulled his hat’s brim low as he walked through the muddy alley. Xiaolan followed close behind, half a step away, her hands hidden in her sleeves as she scanned their surroundings vigilantly.

People were curled up in the shadows everywhere along the path. They were so thin they were skin and bones, with deeply sunken eyes, like skeletons draped in human skin. Occasionally, a corpse lay in the middle of the road, ignored by everyone. Only a few stray dogs lingered nearby, their green eyes fixed on the flesh of the dead.

"Up ahead." Velin stopped and lifted his chin slightly.

At the end of the alley was a small, open clearing.

Several large cauldrons were set up in the clearing over firewood, their contents of thin, watery gruel bubbling away. Dozens of ragged paupers stood in a long line, clutching cracked bowls, their eyes fixed on the cauldrons with a fanatical gaze.

A few Priests in white robes stood by the cauldrons. They held bottles filled with a pale golden liquid, and for each person they served, they would add a single drop of "Holy Water" to the bowl.

"Praise the Holy Light!"

Those who received the gruel didn’t wolf it down. Instead, they first knelt on the ground and kowtowed to the Priest. Only then would they carefully lift their bowls and sip the contents slowly, as if it were the most exquisite nectar.

Strangely, after finishing the gruel, the look on their faces wasn’t the satisfaction of a full stomach, but one of flushed, feverish excitement.

They sat in the mud, giggling foolishly with vacant eyes. Some even began to dance, seemingly oblivious to the pain, though the festering sores on their feet were still oozing pus.

"Something’s wrong." Xiaolan leaned close to Velin’s ear, her voice a bare whisper. "Their heartbeats... are very fast. And their pupils are dilated."

"Of course something’s wrong."

Velin stared at the eerie smiles on their faces, his own expression chillingly cold.

"It’s parasites."

"Parasites?"

Velin’s voice was laced with ice. "That ’Holy Water’ is full of eggs. After it’s ingested, the eggs hatch in the stomach. The parasites secrete a toxin that numbs the nervous system, creating a false sense of euphoria. They can’t feel hunger or pain... not until the parasites have eaten their organs from the inside out."

’Is this the church’s "miracle"?’

’Using parasites to create a legion of living dead who feel no exhaustion, no pain, and know only gratitude.’

"I won’t drink it! I won’t drink this devil’s brew!"

Suddenly, a commotion shattered the eerie silence.

A gaunt, middle-aged man had knocked over his bowl. Scalding gruel splattered onto the ground, mixing with the mud.

"It’s poison! My neighbor drank this stuff! His belly swelled up like a ball, and last night he died in agony! His stomach was crawling with worms! You’re all devils!"

The man roared, lunging forward to try and knock over the large cauldron.

"Blasphemer."

A nearby Priest spat the word out coldly.

CRACK!

An iron-gauntleted fist smashed heavily into the man’s face.

Two fully armed Templar Knights emerged from the shadows. Without a word, they seized the man, his face now a bloody mess, and began to drag him like a dead dog deeper into the alley.

The people in line merely watched with indifference. Some even complained that the man had wasted a bowl of "holy" gruel.

"Help... help me! It’s worms... It’s..."

The man’s desperate screams faded into the distance, finally replaced by the dull crunch of breaking bones.

Xiaolan’s fingers tightened abruptly around the dagger hidden in her sleeve. She looked at Velin, her eyes asking a question.

If Velin nodded, those two Knights wouldn’t last three seconds.

Velin did not nod.

He stood in the shadows, looking in the direction the man had disappeared, then back at the paupers still lining up for gruel, blissful smiles on their faces.

"Don’t move." Velin put a hand on Xiaolan’s shoulder. "Killing two Knights is pointless. This whole place is a rotten fruit. Just shooing the flies off the skin won’t solve the problem."

"Then... what do we do?" Xiaolan asked, her heart heavy as she looked at the crowd.

Velin pulled his gaze away and turned to leave.

"We’re going back."

With heavy hearts, the two returned to the estate. By the time they had cleaned up, it was the dead of night.

Velin sat on the sofa in the study, idly spinning a quill pen in his hand. The bottle of "Holy Water" sat on the table before him.

Xiaolan stood to the side, removing her disguise. She kept stealing glances at Velin, feeling that her lord was in a dangerous state right now.

"Xiaolan."

Velin suddenly broke the silence.

"Here."

"Are you afraid of ghosts?"

Xiaolan paused, surprised by the sudden change in topic. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No. The living are scarier than the dead."

"Yes, the living are scarier than the dead."

Velin smiled.

He picked up the bottle and held it to the light, observing the minuscule particles inside, almost invisible to the naked eye.

"Since the church loves to play God, to fool the hearts of men..."

"...then I’ll give them a ghost story."

Velin rose and walked to the window, gazing at the brilliantly lit Cathedral of Holy Light in the heart of the Royal Capital.

Outside, dark clouds obscured the moon.

Velin’s profile was half-hidden in the shadows, but his wine-red eyes glittered with a light colder than any will-o’-wisp.

"Get ready. Tomorrow night, we’re going to ’pay a visit’ to the cathedral."