How is the captain...?"
Upon hearing this question, Isin Blunn, the "Secret Seeker," who had just left Charnis Gate and returned to the surface, instinctively avoided his teammate's expectant gaze, his face showing reluctance as he shook his head slightly:
"...Not very optimistic."
George Wood, the "Gravedigger," who had been trying to appear cheerful, gradually lost the strength to maintain his smile. The upward curve of his lips distorted and twisted, as if being dragged down by some invisible, heavy force, gradually revealing a ridiculous expression that was both sad and happy.
In the past, if Isin had seen George's abnormal behavior, the two, who were close friends, would have made some harmless jokes, which would have eventually escalated into a Gwent showdown.
But now, the mood surrounding Isin, George, and even the entire Connor Market Nightwalker team was one of loss, depression, worry about Captain Mooney Kahn's continued risk of spiraling out of control, and a deep sense of uncertainty about the future.
"They say… a bishop is considering downgrading the Connors Nightwalker Squad's status, blaming us for not only losing a Level 2 and a Level 3 sealed artifact, but also causing most of the team members, including the captain, to be mentally corrupted by evil heretics, which could lead to extremely serious consequences… simply because they can't be sure if those who were mentally affected have truly broken free of control and returned to normal."
"That's complete nonsense!" George clenched his fists. "I don't believe they can't set up ritual magic. Just pray to the goddess, and she will prove it all!"
"...But George, you can't deny that just a few days ago we all thought the captain had returned to normal. Even Deacon Dario agreed with the captain's assessment that he had 'broken free from mind control.' But less than half a day later, an informant reported that the captain was behaving strangely... He went to a well-known wedding planning company in the city and almost finalized the wedding venue and date with the client manager. He even tried to have a wedding dress custom-made for his imagined fiancée."
It was after this incident that Mooney Kahn, who was thought to have returned to normal, was once again detained and controlled by the executors dispatched by the church. But this time, it wasn't just simple isolation and observation.
Mooney was locked behind the Charnis Gate underground.
"…Even if he recovers, the captain probably won't be able to lead us anymore." Isin said slowly, head bowed. "He might be assigned to be an internal guard, or he might be taken to the Sanctuary to await further instructions. Unless a miracle happens, the captain will have to step down… We probably won't fare much better. Maybe we'll be reorganized, split up, and transferred to other squads. Then the Sanctuary will appoint a new squad to take charge of Connaught City…"
George fell silent, and after a long while, he finally managed to find his voice:
"Why us?…No, I mean, why did we the only ones who escaped? If we had also participated in the witch's escort mission, would the captain have…"
"We're joining the escort team too? Do you want Bartrick to shoulder all the pressure these past few days alone? He wasn't promoted long ago, and he's not in great shape. Do you want us to lose another teammate? George! Don't think you're so important, like everything will be alright with you here!"
Isin's tone was almost a roar by the end, but she didn't have the energy to control this unladylike, uncouth emotional outburst. Rather, it was precisely because she knew her own powerlessness that she so resented the cold, cruel reality before her.
A deathly silence spread like a malignant disease throughout the room, eroding the minds and bodies of the night watchmen. For a moment, no one spoke, until someone gently knocked on the door of their duty room.
Isin turned his back, struggling to control the possible hoarseness in his voice, and called out,
"Come in! The door's unlocked!"
"Then excuse me.
" The newcomer was dressed in the black trench coat and white shirt typical of night watchmen, his short, neat, golden-brown hair neatly styled, his face thin, his lips thin, and the collars of his shirt and trench coat turned up high.
"You are..." George looked up at the unfamiliar man, trying to recall a face that matched his features.
Isin, however, jumped up abruptly when his gaze met those deep, dark green eyes.
"Lord Cecima! What brings you here!"
George was startled by his teammate's reaction and instinctively stood up as well, his mind racing through the familiar name.
Cecima... wait, a high-ranking deacon, "Goddess's Sword" Kreste Cecima?!
That's a high-sequence powerhouse!
Upon realizing this, the two Night Watchers from Connaught City exchanged a glance, their faces showing surprise and a hint of apprehension.
"Lady Cecima, is there some new order from headquarters…?"
Isin, who had just returned from outside the Charnis Gate, knew slightly more details than George. At least she knew that the discussion she was allowed to eavesdrop on didn't include the follow-up to their team and Captain Mooney.
But that didn't mean these matters hadn't been decided in the discussion after she left…
"Don't be nervous, come, let's go downstairs to talk, it's not convenient here."
Kreste Cecima smiled slightly, gesturing with her free hand towards the Charnis Gate.
Seeing this, the two young Night Watchers suppressed their doubts and unease, following the high-ranking deacon downstairs. They passed through a hidden door and stopped in a small room with almost no clutter.
"Sit down."
Since the "Sword of the Goddess" had spoken, Isin and George no longer felt constrained and each found a chair to sit down.
As for Kresta Cecima, dressed in a black trench coat and white shirt, he simply placed his briefcase on the only wooden square table in the room, then casually pulled over a simple small round stool and sat down opposite the two young night watchmen.
"First, I need to inform you about the witch you encountered half a month ago… well, the heretic later nicknamed the 'Mirror Witch' in the reports. The Sanctuary has now readjusted her danger level, and you no longer need to consider further pursuit. The case involving this witch is now entirely handled by me and my team.
As for the issued arrest warrant… it will not be withdrawn for now, but headquarters will issue new guidelines to all night watch teams to prevent ordinary night watchmen from discovering clues but wasting opportunities due to rash action."
The "Sword of the Goddess" and his team were personally in charge of the pursuit of that witch?!
Isin and George exchanged a glance, both finding it somewhat unbelievable.
"Then… then our team…" Isin tentatively began.
"The Connaught Night Watchers did a great job. There's nothing to criticize about you."
Kreste Cecima nodded slightly, his calm, moonlit eyes sweeping over the two haggard-looking Night Watchers.
"The evidence left at the scene, as well as the subsequent investigation, all indicate that the black magic ritual that was taking place at the 'Green Fields and Lake Women' manor was likely a sacrifice offered to a hidden being, requesting the descent of a spirit... The 'witch' you encountered may not have been the one presiding over the ritual, or in other words, outwardly a member of a witch cult presiding over the ritual, but in reality, she was already dominated by a spirit of the god she worshipped..."
"The birth of an evil god?!"
Although both of them had been members of the Night Watchers for many years, such concepts had only ever appeared in books. Neither Isin nor George had ever imagined that they would personally experience such a terrifying thing.
"I know you find it hard to believe, but I have received a divine message from the goddess, and you need not question the truth of this matter."
"No, no… Of course we don't doubt it, it's just… Goddess, please forgive our ignorance and negligence. If we could have prevented those disappearances from happening back then, wouldn't everything have turned out differently…"
George pondered for a moment, not falling into self-blame with his teammates who were praying with their eyes closed, but instead digging out a name from his limited knowledge of the Witch Cult.
"The hidden being worshipped by the Witch Cult is called 'Primal Witch'?"
Krestai gave the gravedigger a deep look.
"That's right. Not to mention the 'Primal Witch' herself, even just a newly born fragment of her spirit, for a low- to mid-level Extraordinary, direct visual contact could cause serious contamination and lead to loss of control… You are very lucky that you didn't go crazy on the spot, so absolutely do not consider any revenge, and it's best not to even think about such thoughts. Also, you mentioned the disappearances…"
He paused here, as if searching for the right words.
Soon, Isin and George learned the reason for the high deacon's behavior.
"Besides the remains of the victims in the recent disappearances, our Night Watchers, the Punishers, and the Mechanical Heart team have searched the 'Green Fields and Lake Maidens' manor and found no fewer than five hundred human remains... I think you wouldn't want to know the specific details. In short, the earliest year of death among the corpses can be determined to be three years ago, which corresponds to the time of the manor's last large-scale renovation."
Krestai stated that the three righteous churches had reached a preliminary consensus that the dead in the manor should all be people who had gone missing in recent years.
Moreover, judging from this staggering number, it's likely that not only Connor City, but the entire Disappearances in Desi County could be related to this inhumane sacrifice...
Clearly, the Witch Cult had planned this for a long time. They carefully manipulated the overall disappearances in Desi County in secret, keeping the crime frequency data within a normal margin of error for several years, until they hastily accelerated their plan when they hadn't collected enough sacrificial offerings, which alerted the official forces.
"Currently, we cannot determine the connection between the missing persons… that is, the criteria the Witch Cult uses to select 'sacrifices'," Krestie said solemnly. "The oracle from the goddess reveals that the key lies in the number '6.' My personal guess is that the number of dead involved in that ritual should be exactly six hundred and sixty-six."
The two Night Watchers fell silent.
They understood what the "Sword of the Goddess" meant.
Even if the Night Watchers of Connaught City successfully solved the missing persons case and rescued the dozen or so victims, they were powerless to nip other budding evils in the Ducey County. This bloody and cruel sacrificial birth ritual would happen sooner or later.
They didn't need to blame themselves for things beyond their capabilities.
But…
both Isin and George knew it was the right thing to do, but recognizing this right mistake undoubtedly caused them pain.
"—I assure you."
Krestie Cecima placed her hand on the surface of the silver-white suitcase on the table and opened it.
In the eerily dark, silent room, bathed only in the pure, white glow of the holy sword within the box, he solemnly recited his oath.
"I swear to the goddess, I will shoulder the responsibility and end this evil."
As the two night watchmen left the room and returned to the ground, a lingering, dreamlike sense of loss remained.
Krestai had demanded they swear an oath not to reveal the details of the "Primal Witch's" rebirth. It was said that the rest of the Connaught City team would undergo the same procedure to avoid any unforeseen complications.
As for their captain, Mooney Kahn, currently imprisoned behind the Charnis Gate, Krestai stated that a definitive conclusion was still difficult to reach at this stage.
But as long as the "Nightmare" could distinguish between dreams and reality, there was still hope of pulling it back from the brink of spiraling out of control.
"Don't worry, Isin, the captain will be alright." George grinned, speaking both to the woman beside him who was a spy and to himself. "He still owes Bartrick and everyone a big meal; we can't let him get away with this."
"…Yes, everything will be alright."
Without needing to exchange words, the two night watchmen drew a crimson moon on their chests with unusual tacit and reverence.
"Praise be to the goddess!"
…
Clang, clang.
As the gavel struck, signaling a recess, a trial in the dock district of Tingen City entered a fifteen-minute intermission.
This short break was actually not enough to accomplish much.
The judge and several court personnel wanted to seize the opportunity to quickly finish their lunch, because many messy cases and even more messy and frustrating defendants awaited them in the afternoon.
For example, there's the young boy who steals bread, the unemployed homeless person sleeping on the streets because they have no money for lodging, and the perpetrator who nearly committed murder just to get a poor tenant to pay two weeks' rent arrears.
The case currently on trial is similar in nature.
A woman is accused of murder because she attempted suicide by jumping into the water, survived, but miscarried.
After she was out of danger and left the welfare hospital, she was charged with murder and is now in the dock.
As a member of the "substitute offenders" team, this is what Eric Warden saw when he entered the small magistrate's courtroom—
a gaunt, middle-aged woman with disheveled hair standing in the dock, laughing, crying, and occasionally shouting vulgarities.
But the few people sitting in the gallery seemed indifferent. A man dressed as a dockworker, with a sorrowful and numb expression, huddled in an inconspicuous corner with three children in worn clothes beside him. When a stranger entered the courtroom, he merely glanced at them listlessly before looking away.
This was undoubtedly related to Eric's attire at the time.
The dirty navy blue work uniform and the rough face weathered by years of sun and rain made the man who was being punished look like an ordinary dockworker, one of the hundreds of other laborers who made a living by the water, earning a living by selling his physical strength.
Eric walked over to the defendant's husband and child, sat down a few seats away, and bluntly offered them a cheap cigarette.
"Do you have any matches? Can I borrow a light? But if you can answer one of my questions while you're at it, that would be even better—you can have this cigarette."
The dockworker just looked at him without answering, while stopping his four- or five-year-old child from reaching for the cigarette—with the storm raging above, Eric felt he would probably never be able to tell whether these dirty children were boys or girls.
"Don't be nervous. I work for Old Man Bob's Shipping. I was sent here to find out what's been going on lately."
The dockworker casually mentioned the name of a local tyrant in the dock area, and after a few more casual remarks, he quickly dispelled the middle-aged man's wariness with his carefully chosen words and the air of a "sailor."
"…Ask away."
The dockworker took the cheap cigarette from him, but didn't light it immediately. Instead, he held it to his nose with a look of rapture, sniffing it for a while before reluctantly stuffing it into his jacket pocket.
Eric waited until the other man had finished enjoying the faint tobacco scent before speaking slowly:
"I heard that when your wife was found jumping into the river and rescued, she claimed she saw a monster… a huge, deformed monster, in the dock area. You know, my boss always takes these kinds of rumors very seriously, so he sent me to ask you…where in the dock area did your wife choose to jump into the river?"
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