"For the Beast of the Herd."
Tino whispered his prayer. Unlike Yidir, who was a non-believer motivated solely by profit, Tino shared the sa fervor as Hamr. Just the thought of what was about to happen filled him with imnse joy.
Striding forward while the others surrounded the small chapel, Tino pushed open the door and walked inside alone. A gentle breeze wafted from the chapel, carrying the scent of incense.
Tino imdiately saw York sitting before the statue, head bowed, holding a string of prayer beads as if in prayer.
Tino thought the priest should convert to the lady, as the lady was at least real, sothing one could see and touch.
The chapel was dimly lit, with only a few candles burning quietly. Just like when Bologue first comnted, Tino couldn’t understand why such a noble priest had such a simple chapel.
York had explained this part many tis, but people filled with desires found it hard to believe that anyone would truly abandon all desires and willingly endure poverty and asceticism.
"I don’t care about material pleasures."
As he approached, Tino heard York’s soft murmur. It sounded like York was talking to himself, or perhaps speaking to Tino.
"Food only needs to stave off hunger, and a house only needs to provide shelter from the elents...
Anything unnecessary is useless."
Just as Tino was about to reach York, York suddenly stood up, turned around, and looked at the visitor, Tino.
"Good evening, follower," York said.
"Hello, Father."
Tino nodded, just as he was about to say more, he caught the scent of blood in the air. It was a real, tangible scent, unlike the special abilities of the Sect of Rotten Flesh.
The sound of dripping liquid echoed, and Tino could almost envision the scene—crystalline droplets of blood shattering into pieces on the hard ground.
As if sensing Tino’s attention, York raised his hand, showing his blood-soaked palm.
"I was just confessing and flagellating myself, apologies."
Tino tried to see York’s face, but the dim light made it impossible to illuminate it clearly. All he could see was a pair of tea-colored glasses on York’s nose.
"What are you confessing for?" Tino asked, almost involuntarily.
York turned his body, and only then did Tino notice York’s other hand dragging a chain full of thorny spikes.
"For killing you all,"
York explained coldly.
Startled, Tino locked eyes with York, shattering his expectations. It was as if York had anticipated their arrival, and before Tino could recover from the shock, York, who had been prepared all along, launched an attack, swinging the chain in a crimson blur towards Tino.
Tino instinctively dodged, but the chain seed to have a will of its own, coiling around him like a serpent. The mont it touched him, its dense spikes tore off large chunks of flesh, instantly turning his skin into a bloody ss.
"A creature from the dark!"
York donned his prayer beads with his other hand, grabbed a candelabrum, and held it high.
Illuminated by the firelight, York berated Tino, wildly swinging the chain.
From the mont he killed the first batch of Sect of Rotten Flesh followers, York knew this incident wouldn’t end so easily. These people would co eventually, and he had been prepared.
Whatever these people planned, York was determined to fight back; this was his town.
The chain swept across, easily smashing everything in its path. Debris and fragnts flew everywhere; even though Tino’s exact position was unclear, York could sense the evil aura surrounding him.
It was the maddening power of the Devil, which York had sworn to destroy.
Tino gritted his teeth, feeling a poison-like agony from the wounds inflicted by the chain, almost causing him to pass out.
An Alchemy Armant?
The thought flashed in Tino’s mind. This priest before him seed to be a Condenser too.
With no intention of holding back, Tino’s eyes filled with rage. The glow of Ether reflected in his eyes, and a dense web of lines crawled across his body. There was no point in hiding his power now; he wanted a quick end.
Seeing Tino’s reaction confird York’s suspicions. The opponent was a Condenser. With his theory proven, a natural sense of danger surged in York’s heart, knowing that his only ans of attack was the Contract Object in his hand.
York swiftly retreated as more noise ca from all directions, the followers surrounding the chapel, now aware of the fight, were closing in.
Tino drew the Short Knife from his waist and leaped up, leveraging the power of Ether. With great force, he swiftly advanced on York. York swung the candelabrum in response, but the old tal was easily cut by the blade, prompting York to throw it. The blazing light rapidly expanded in Tino’s eyes.
The blinding brightness left Tino montarily sightless. The chain swung again, like a cunning serpent, striking precisely at Tino’s head. The blow could have shattered his skull, but as the chain made contact, it passed through Tino’s body as if striking an illusion, then crashed into the ground.
Secret Energy!
York cried out inwardly, not the first ti encountering this mysterious power. More Tino images appeared before him.
Secret Energy·Illusionary Thicket.
Tino roared in anger as countless illusions moved in unison, brandishing blades toward York as they charged again.
Amidst countless fatal phantom strikes, one true blade awaited.
York spun, rolling up the chain to shield himself, indiscriminately sweeping through the illusions, ultimately clashing with the real blade and releasing a trendous sound.
Having deflected the attack, the chapel’s doors were pushed open again. Tino’s illusions obstructed York’s vision, but the chaotic footsteps allowed him to roughly discern the enemy numbers.
Gunfire erupted.
York’s movent hesitated as a bullet hole abruptly appeared in his chest, blood gushing out.
The illusions had blocked York’s view, leaving him oblivious to the enemy’s raised guns. Seizing the opportunity, Tino lunged, the sharp knife piercing York’s chest effortlessly.
This was not the end. Tino delivered a fierce blow to the knife handle, driving it fully into York’s body until the sharp tip slowly erged from the back.
Retracting the Short Knife, York collapsed heavily, blood pooling in his throat, still tightly clutching the chain, his eyes wide open, as if in disbelief.
Amidst pained gasps, York writhed uncontrollably, like a dying beast.
Tino stood beside him, the knife tip to the ground, dripping with blood.
"How is it?"
The followers who had barged into the chapel rushed over, questioning Tino about the situation.
"It’s nothing," Tino glanced at the corpse, "he’s dead. Thoroughly search this chapel; this incident isn’t that simple."
Tino stepped over York’s body, brows furrowed. For so reason, he felt an unsettling unease since entering the chapel... No, since entering Gray Stone Town. There was a strange sense of distortion, sothing seed amiss, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.
Had the priest just killed really been the culprit? If so, he seed too weak. The only surprising aspect was the chain, but the priest clearly failed to harness its power.
An accidental event? A devout priest accidentally acquired an Alchemy Armant and mistakenly took it for a miracle?
As Tino pondered, a sticky sound echoed behind him. As soon as Tino realized and turned, a familiar sting spread from his chest once more.
The chain brushed past his chest, tearing much of his neck. Amidst a torrent of blood, the figure that should have been dead stood up again, the tea-colored glasses on his nose shattered, revealing those crimson blood-red eyes behind the broken lenses.
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