Inside the grand chapel of the Hymn Cathedral, upon the shattered floor, the enormous corpse of the direwolf now lay silent. Within its freshly split-open abdomen, a strange parasitic worm was coiled, using its tendrils to rapidly flip through the pages of the book it was wrapped around—The Crimson Holy Mother—as if ravenously absorbing the knowledge within.
“What is… this?”
Startled by the bizarre sight in the wolf’s stomach, Vania instinctively stepped back. Sensing the change in external light, the parasite paused its reading and turned its tendril-covered head toward the opening of the stomach.
As if it had detected an enemy, its tendrils suddenly bristled. Then, it released The Crimson Holy Mother, coiled its long body like a spring, and launched itself out of the corpse—hurtling directly at Vania, seemingly trying to either attack or parasitize her.
Vania, though initially shocked, quickly composed herself. With a swift swing of her sword, she sliced the incoming parasite into several pieces mid-flight. The twitching remnants fell to the ground, still writhing faintly.
“Miss Dorothea… what was that thing?”
Watching the still-squirming bits of flesh, Vania asked with slight confusion.
Dorothy quickly responded in her mind.
“It looks like some kind of parasite. Might be related to that Beyonder who could control insects earlier. Check that mystical text now.”
“Mhm… right.”
Following Dorothy’s instructions, Vania turned back toward the bloody, slime-coated stomach and, resisting the nausea and stench, retrieved the mucus-covered Crimson Holy Mother. Dorothy, through Vania’s eyes, began a rapid surface-level inspection.
“That parasite we just saw probably wasn’t a creation of the Wolfblood Society. From its nature, it more closely resembles something from the Filth Coven—another sect within the Afterbirth Cult. Given that the werewolf team included a Beyonder capable of controlling mosquitoes and rats to spread disease, it seems the Filth Coven may have collaborated on this operation as well.”
“According to past intel, the Afterbirth Cult is rife with internal strife because of its reliance on blood-feasting rituals—everyone sees each other as a walking meal. As a result, the three sects within the cult rarely cooperate, and intra-sect devouring incidents are frequent. The last time all three worked together dates back to the Muddy Stream War centuries ago.”
“But now… if the Filth Coven has taken the initiative to help the Wolfblood Society seize The Crimson Holy Mother, does that mean relations among the three sects are softening?”
So pondered Dorothy, shifting her focus to the text of The Crimson Holy Mother, which she had just begun scanning.
“The Wolfblood Society went to great lengths to obtain this text—even sending out a Crimson-rank Beyonder and collaborating with the Filth Coven. Just how important is this mystical book to them? What exactly does it contain that draws such interest from the Afterbirth Cult?”
Dorothy had suspected since the Cork incident that The Crimson Holy Mother was of value to the Wolfblood Society—but not to this extreme. If she’d known earlier how far they were willing to go for it, she might have prioritized deciphering it much more seriously.
‘Since this book was stored in the Hymn Cathedral’s restricted vault instead of at Holy Mount, that suggests the Church itself didn’t fully understand its value. But after this incident, they’ll surely start taking it seriously. The text will likely be transferred to Holy Mount for secure deciphering—making future theft or raids by the Afterbirth Cult virtually impossible.”
“However… judging by the parasite’s behavior, it looked like it was reading the book. If that parasite had some kind of long-range transmission capability, then it’s possible the Afterbirth side already has most of The Crimson Holy Mother’s content. Who knows what kind of impact that might have?”
Dorothy worried slightly. According to information previously obtained from Warren, the Wolfblood Society possessed a method for roughly tracking the location and condition of The Crimson Holy Mother, which meant she couldn’t simply swap it with a fake to fool them—doing so would have alerted them and risked the entire operation.
Now, if the Afterbirth side had managed to copy most of the book’s contents through the parasite, some unfortunate consequences might follow.
But this, Dorothy thought, was now the Church’s problem. She wasn’t about to trouble herself over it. If this matter hadn’t affected Vania’s internal Church standing, she wouldn’t even have intervened. After all, she couldn’t just watch Vania’s reputation get tarnished so soon after becoming acting Archbishop. Such an incident would damage her path of advancement.
“Alright then, back to proper business. Still some post-battle cleanup left to do.”
Thinking this, Dorothy reactivated her spiritual threads, manipulating the giant direwolf’s corpse once more. Then she telepathically said to Vania.
“Alright, Vania. Quickly grab some cloth and cover the parts where your clothes are torn. We’ve still got work to do.”
“O-Okay.”
Hearing Dorothy, Vania glanced down at the large expanse of skin exposed along her side. Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she quickly did as instructed.
…
Due to the direwolf’s powerful Fear Howl, the entire cathedral district of the Hymn Cathedral was now virtually empty. Nearly all believers and clergy had fled in terror, leaving the grand complex in eerie silence.
In one verdant garden within the district, a weak sound echoed through the quiet: labored, painful breathing. The source came from a patch of upturned soil—in which lay a shallow pit.
Inside the pit, Pritt’s Sky Render Sergeant—Harold Despenser, Director of Tivian’s Serenity Bureau—lay on his side. His face was ashen, his body shaking as he gasped for breath. Now and then he spat out blood as he dry-heaved. Ever since Duval had knocked him from the sky, he’d been trapped here, tormented by the deadly illness within him. He tried to struggle free, but it was no use.
Duval’s plague miasma, while derived from devouring a Plague Path White Ash-rank Beyonder, was itself of Crimson-rank strength. Thus, the virulence of the miasma exceeded the White Ash level. As a Beyonder on the Storm Path, Harold lacked any affinity with the Chalice Path—and therefore had little defense against the effects of disease.
Faced with Duval’s plague miasma, Harold had no particularly effective means of countering it aside from a sigil of the Chalice path that boosted his physical constitution. But relying on a sigil alone couldn’t fully negate the miasma’s effects. As its effect faded, Harold felt his symptoms worsening by the minute. By now, the sigil’s effects had nearly dissipated, and the only reason he hadn’t already lost consciousness—or died outright—was because a mysterious force had been persistently healing him. Harold believed this power was likely some form of the Church’s automatic defense mechanism.
“Cough… Dammit… move… I can’t go down here…”
In the pit, Harold pushed against the ground with his hand, struggling to stand. Though he was dizzy and clouded by pain, he still understood—this was not the time to sit and wait for death. That dangerous monster might still be alive, and it had far more combat capability than he did. If he didn’t act now and the creature found him, death was certain.
Harold tried with all his might to stand or summon his abilities, but the torment of illness made every attempt fail. The pain left him powerless, and his clouded mind couldn’t focus. He knew death was coming if he did nothing, yet he remained helpless.
Lost in a fog of pain and struggle, Harold didn’t know how much time passed—until he heard the sound of hurried footsteps nearby. Then he thought he heard someone speaking. Next, he felt a sudden wave of warmth sweep over his body. To his surprise, his debilitating symptoms began to ease, and his muddled mind gradually cleared.
“Your Excellency… can you hear me, Your Excellency?”
With his senses slightly recovered, Harold finally recognized the voice near him. He turned his head toward it and saw a familiar face by his side.
“You’re… Sister Vania Chafferon… the acting Archbishop of the Hymn Cathedral now…?”
Looking at the white-clad nun channeling healing into him, Harold muttered in confusion. Vania nodded.
“Yes, I am Vania Chafferon. I’m treating you right now, Your Excellency. Your condition is critical—please stay still and cooperate.”
While applying touch-based healing, which was stronger than ranged methods, Vania spoke solemnly. Weakly, Harold responded.
“Cough… This place is dangerous, Sister Vania! That Crimson-rank beast from the Wolfblood Society… it may still be hunting me! We can’t stay here…”
“I know, Your Excellency. I’ve already had a brief encounter with that beast. It attacked me, but I managed to escape after a short engagement. I realized it must be searching for you, so I came here to treat you in advance.”
Vania’s calm response surprised Harold.
“You came into contact with that creature and escaped? How did you manage that?”
“The creature appeared quite weakened, possibly due to your earlier attacks. I struck it with a sigil enhanced by the Cathedral’s blessings, which was enough to force it to retreat for now.”
Harold nodded faintly upon hearing her honest reply.
“So… that thing is nearly spent too? Damn it… If only I were in better shape, I could’ve finished it off!”
Just as Harold finished speaking, a howl suddenly rang out from nearby.
“It’s him… He’s found us! Your Excellency, can you move? We need to leave now!”
“Huff… huff… No, Sister Vania. In my current condition, I can’t retreat freely. If we run, he’ll just chase us down. We can’t escape—we’ll die if we try!”
Panting heavily, Harold forced himself to stay conscious. Vania hesitated.
“If we can’t run… then what do we—?”
“We counterattack! With your healing, I can still cast some abilities. If that monster is running on fumes, it’s not unbeatable. Prepare for battle, Sister Vania—keep doing what you did before!”
Harold’s voice was firm.
No sooner had he spoken than a loud crash erupted nearby. A wall at the edge of the garden collapsed, and through the cloud of dust crawled a towering figure—Duval, the direwolf, on all fours.
“ROAR!”
After smashing through the wall and entering the garden, the direwolf let out a deafening roar. Its eyes locked onto Harold—who had only just stood again with help—and it charged with full force.
Harold, seeing the charge, swung his hand and released a modest wind blade. Duval dodged with a sidestep, suffering only a scrape on one forelimb.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, Harold continued launching wind blades. However, they were slower and weaker than before. Duval pressed forward, evading where possible and pushing through when hit. Though it moved slower than before, its massive form still carried a heavy presence.
At last, when the direwolf reached them, Vania acted. She infused a sigil with a massive amount of spirituality from the Cathedral and hurled it. In midair, the sigil erupted in blinding flames. Harold followed up with a gust of wind to fan the blaze, multiplying the flames several times over. The inferno engulfed Duval, who howled in agony, its charge halted. It rolled, trying to extinguish the fire.
Harold seized the chance. He launched two more wind blades at Duval’s legs, carving deep gashes. Engulfed in fire, Duval collapsed. Harold could clearly see that the creature’s regeneration had greatly slowed—it was barely healing at all.
“Now’s our chance, Sister Vania—attack with everything you’ve got!”
“Understood!”
Responding swiftly, Vania pulled out several Explosive Flame Sigils issued by the Holy War Army. After fully imbuing them with the Cathedral’s spirituality, she hurled them at the downed direwolf.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
A series of violent explosions rocked the direwolf’s body, blasting it apart. Harold threw himself to the ground during the blasts, then slowly stood afterward, anxiously watching the smoking crater. He feared the beast might rise again.
But eventually, no movement emerged from the thick black smoke and flames. The air filled with the stench of burnt flesh.
Harold let out a long, relieved sigh.
The brutal battle… was finally over. Though the danger had been immense, in the end, they had won. Thanks, in no small part, to Vania’s support.
…
“Cut~”
Inside the distant carriage, Dorothy lazily muttered while watching the scene from afar. Then, like narrating a story, she continued in a murmur.
“Harold Despenser gazed at the fire and smoke ahead and sighed in relief. In his heart, he thought: this brutal fight is finally over. Though perilous, in the end, justice triumphed over evil. And all thanks to the aid of a brave and pious little nun. Though only a White Ash-rank, her timely support had turned the tide of battle decisively.
“All the power she displayed… remained well within expectations.”