Baptism.
The word sounded incredibly holy.
Had Isolde not known beforehand that this was a slaughterhouse for unicorns, she might have actually believed their lies.
Timing her reaction perfectly, she looked up, her face showing just the right amount of joy. “...Can I really go?”
The monk walking over looked down at her, his smile warm and reassuring.
“Of course. The Holy Court will not leave a lost child to suffer alone in the dark.”
That smile gave Isolde goosebumps on the back of her neck.
She submissively lowered her eyes, hiding the coldness deep within them, and whispered, “May the Holy Light illuminate us.”
The heavy wooden door of the baptismal chamber shut heavily behind her, sealing out all external noise.
A monk clad in intricate, high-ranking robes stood guard by the door, his hands folded across his chest.
His voice was flat and devoid of emotion. “Please, do not be nervous. The baptism of Grey Dove Monastery only strips away the unnecessary impurities on your body.”
Keeping her head lowered, Isolde took the opportunity to quickly scan her surroundings.
The place was even cleaner than she had expected—so clean it felt deliberate.
The white stone floor was polished to a mirror shine, and silver threads were embedded within the fine crevices of the walls, weaving together to form intricate, sun-shaped holy crests.
On the towering vaulted ceiling, stained glass depicted saints cradling white doves.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the glass, bathing the entire room in a soft, bright, and almost sacred glow.
Directly ahead stood a unicorn statue, its wings spread wide and its front hooves raised, as if ready to soar into the sky at any moment.
The monk walked up to the statue and reached out to take down a silver cup.
The cup held a pale golden liquid, perfectly still, which emitted a sweet, dizzying fragrance.
“Kneel,” the monk said, turning around to look down at her. “The Holy Light will perceive your pain and forgive your weakness.”
In the vast room, only the two of them remained. Isolde obediently walked over to the statue, looking up at the sacred unicorn as another wave of burning sensation flared in her palm.
The dying wails of the unicorn seemed to echo in her ears. Its agonizing cries mingled with the monk's chanting, creating a bizarre, grotesque opera.
The monk did not rush her. Holding the silver cup steady, he spoke in an extremely soft, coaxing tone:
“Everyone who comes here is afraid.”
“Afraid to confess their sins, afraid to let go of their obsessions, and even afraid to lose the sense of self that pain brings.”
As he spoke, he drew closer to Isolde. “But you are fortunate. All who believe in the Holy Light shall receive a chance at rebirth. As long as you surrender all resistance and completely entrust yourself to the Holy Light, you will find eternal peace.”
As if completely bewitched by his words, Isolde's knees buckled, and she slowly sank to the ground.
A flash of satisfaction crossed the monk's eyes. He stepped forward and tilted the silver cup.
A single drop of pale golden liquid fell precisely onto the center of her brow.
Boom.
Countless noisy whispers exploded in Isolde's mind.
“Let go... obey... forget...”
“Pain stems from resistance. Obedience is rebirth.”
The light before her eyes began to waver, and the unicorn's face seemed to descend, speaking in a voice that overlapped perfectly with the monk's.
“Tell me, who are you?”
Isolde's eyes grew slightly vacant.
Looking down at her, the monk rested his fingers soothingly on the rim of the silver cup, a confident smirk finally tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Tell the Holy Light, who are you?”
With her head lowered, Isolde's lips parted slightly.
“I am...”
To hear her better, the monk leaned in closer.
“I'm your ancestor!”
In the next instant, Isolde activated her skill, 【Soul-Binding Thread】. The soul threads shot out from her hand.
The monk's pupils dilated. Before he could even retreat, the Soul-Binding Threads wrapped around his throat, wrists, and chest simultaneously.
The silver cup clattered to the floor. As the pale golden baptismal water spilled onto the white stone ground, it immediately hissed with a thin wisp of black smoke.
His face turned deathly pale. He opened his mouth to scream, but the silver threads squeezed his throat, reducing his voice to nothing but raspy, broken gasps.
His eyes bulged wide. The panic in his gaze was far more pleasing to look at than his previous pious expression.
Isolde leaned close to his ear, whispering like a phantom from hell:
“So your so-called baptism is just wiping people's brains clean to turn them into obedient puppets?”
Despair filled the monk's eyes, and the terror of impending death made him tremble all over. “The... the Holy Court will not...”
Before he could finish his threat, Isolde gave her wrist a violent twist.
The Soul-Binding Threads instantly sliced into his flesh, tearing his soul to shreds.
The monk's pupils fully dilated.
His lifeless corpse collapsed in a heap. With his eyes closed, he actually looked somewhat mockingly peaceful.
The baptismal chamber fell back into a dead silence.
Isolde quickly dragged the corpse behind the massive unicorn statue, hiding it from view.
Crouching down, she searched the body with practiced ease, pulling out a bronze pass and slipping it into her shirt.
Next, she picked up the silver cup, which still contained traces of the liquid. A faint grey light screen immediately appeared before her eyes:
【Degraded Brainwashing Liquid】
【Description: Brewed from withered grass and low-tier purifying dust, it weakens the target's free will. Prolonged consumption causes dependency, obedience, and memory confusion.】
Isolde read through it blankly and sneered.
Those who ran religious brainwashing schemes always relied on the same cheap tricks.
Too bad for them. To a transmigrator like her, whose mind was fully equipped with modern anti-fraud awareness, this level of potency was laughable.
Shaking off her thoughts, she quickly walked to the door. After pressing her ear against it to confirm there was no movement outside, she pulled out the map Ur had given her.
She ran her fingertips rapidly across the map, doing a final mental run-through of the route:
The Discipline Office was in the underground west corridor.
The Reliquary was at the deepest end, surrounded by three layers of passages, while the Mooncrown Lock was marked in the Quiet Bone Prayer Room behind the Reliquary.
The Silver-Robed Inquisitor was located in the Main Hall.
He was likely preparing to lead the night prayers, or perhaps waiting to drag an “important prey” like Herwin onto the judgment stand.
Just as she finished plotting the route in her mind and slipped the map back into her inventory, heavy footsteps suddenly echoed from outside, drawing closer.
Her gaze sharpened. Instantly concealing all her killing intent, she reverted back to her previous panicked and fragile demeanor in the blink of an eye.
She cracked the wooden door of the baptismal chamber open, keeping her head low and revealing only half of her face timidly.
Standing outside was an elderly member of the clergy.
He peered past Isolde's shoulder into the empty baptismal chamber. Seeing no sign of his subordinate who was supposed to be there, a look of impatient anger flared on his face.
“Why are you alone? Where is Monk Hill?”
Isolde lowered her head. “The master told me to wait here. He said he was going to fetch a new baptismal robe.”
“That lazy fool!” the elderly clergyman cursed under his breath. “The Lamp-Lighting Room has already called for him three times, and he still has the mind to dawdle!”
The elder's gaze swept across the area, finally landing on an extinguished holy lantern by the door.
Pointing at the lantern, the clergyman spoke in an unquestionable tone:
“Perfect. You, take this lantern and go to the Lamp-Lighting Room to get the wick replaced.”
Isolde looked up in feigned astonishment. “M-Me?”
“Is there anyone else here?” the elder interrupted irritably. “Give the lantern to the lamp-lighting monk. Once they replace the wick, take it straight to the outer corridor of the Discipline Office to complete your task. Be quick about it!”
Left with no choice, Isolde devoutly raised the holy lantern with both hands:
“Yes.”
Seeing her timid demeanor, the elder's expression softened slightly. He offered a habitual warning:
“Don't touch the wick along the way, and don't ask any unnecessary questions. The holy lanterns are the ‘suns’ of this monastery. If even one goes out, you will suffer the consequences.”
“I understand. May the Holy Light illuminate us.”
Carrying the lantern, Isolde walked out of the baptismal chamber. She needed a higher-level pass, and perhaps the Lamp-Lighting Room would have what she wanted.
Navigating by the map she had just memorized, she made her way down the dark southern corridor.
As the temperature steadily dropped, the thick, pungent scent of temple flowers in the air rapidly thinned, replaced by an increasingly heavy stench of blood.
Faintly mixed within it was the foul odor of flesh being scorched by red-hot irons.
On either side of the iron door to the Lamp-Lighting Room stood two pale stone statues with dove heads.
The statues drooped their heads eerily, their wings tightly folded around their bodies, with two glowing green crystals embedded in their hollow eye sockets.
As Isolde approached, she pulled out the bronze pass and slotted it into the side groove.
Cold light glinted from the eyes of the dove-headed statues. With the heavy screech of grinding metal, the sealed stone doors slid open to both sides.
A wave of heat, thick with the smell of blood and scorching temperatures, immediately rushed over her.
Isolde stepped inside, and the scene that greeted her nearly shattered her carefully maintained mask of numbness.
Rate on N.U.
