Holy Communion

The violent ice and snow finally subsided, but the cold wind on the pier remained bone-chilling.

The brief yet brutal battle had temporarily drawn to a close.

Xia'an and Dabu stepped out cautiously from behind their cover.

The two elite investigators of the Seventh Agency did not lower their guard just because the enemy had been wiped out.

Maintaining their tactical formation, they began to efficiently sweep the battlefield.

Their main task, in fact, was clearing away the Spirit-Eating Slugs scattered all over the ground.

Xia'an retrieved a flat, pure-silver flask from thin air, filled to the brim with highly concentrated holy water.

Uncorking it, she generously splashed the holy water onto the dark red flesh fragments and mycelium that were still writhing mindlessly on the ground.

“Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle—”

The moment the holy water came into contact with these necromantic contaminants, it was like cold water hitting a boiling pan of oil.

Bright white flames erupted into the air.

Instantly, the holy light dispersed the thick fog over the pier, illuminating the chaotic area with brilliant clarity.

Only after confirming there were no lethal parasites left underfoot did Elias finally breathe a long sigh of relief.

Shaking out his slightly aching arms, he motioned to Bloodsong, and the two walked together toward Old Crowley, who was hovering in mid-air.

The old captain was currently taking his sweet time relighting his pipe.

“Hey, old man.”

Elias walked up to Crowley and demanded point-blank.

“I was risking my neck just now, trying to establish a 【Mental Channel】 with you to coordinate our tactics.”

“But you just bounced me right back!”

“Why couldn't I establish a mental channel with you?”

Old Crowley exhaled a thick ring of smoke. Through the swirling haze, his wrinkled face looked utterly innocent.

“Can't be helped.”

The old man shrugged, showing absolutely no sincerity.

“I did it just to be safe, kid.”

He tapped the edge of his pipe with a rough finger and explained righteously:

“You wouldn't want your dear supply captain to get mind-controlled by cultists, would you?”

“Heh.”

Elias pulled his lips into a dry, mirthless smile.

He should thank his lucky stars if this old geezer didn't actively screw him over.

“Where did you take that girl?”

Elias was, of course, referring to Ophelia.

“On the ship.”

Old Crowley pointed his pipe stem toward the schooner supply ship anchored out on the water in the distance.

“She's with my crew.”

Having said this, the old man suddenly grinned, revealing a deeply suggestive, sleazy smile.

“What?”

“Afraid I'll lose your little girlfriend?”

Old Crowley patted Elias on the shoulder, wearing a greasy, “I get you” expression.

“Don't worry, Malcolm and the rest of the crew are keeping an eye on her.”

“She won't go missing.”

Hearing this, Elias rolled his eyes massively.

“Seriously, I don't get it.”

“Why do you old geezers love trying to hook people up so much?”

“Is this some kind of weird hobby that comes with old age?”

First, there was Old Ed trying to play matchmaker in his head, and now this white-bearded old man was trying to force a couple.

Was this some traditional pastime for middle-aged and elderly men in the Kingdom of Velen?

Hearing this, Old Crowley was visibly taken aback.

His hand holding the pipe froze in mid-air, a rare look of bewilderment crossing his weathered face.

What did he mean by “you guys”?

However, before Old Crowley could voice this question, Elias rudely cut off his train of thought and pressed on:

“So, what are you actually after?”

Elias stared intently at the old captain.

“You went to all this trouble to bring along an ordinary person with zero spirituality.”

“What are you planning to do?”

This definitely didn't align with the profit-driven nature of this old fox.

Old Crowley dropped his playful grin.

He cast a calm glance at Elias.

“She has a major role to play.”

The old man spat out those few words, unwilling to reveal a single syllable more.

Perhaps feeling that this answer was too perfunctory, he added, “Besides, the girl asked to come herself.”

What kind of answer was that?

Elias knit his brows, about to dig deeper.

However, Bloodsong spoke up weakly from the side, cutting off the tense back-and-forth between the two.

“Gentlemen...”

Bloodsong pointed at the frozen fortress radiating a terrifying chill.

“So, what are we going to do with those Mist Veil Society people?”

“We wait for our people.”

Xia'an walked over, offering the standard official response.

“The scene must be handled professionally by the Seventh Agency's containment team. We cannot disturb the site without authorization.”

She sighed, looking toward the city center where flames still painted the sky.

“Though, given the current situation, we might have to wait a while.”

Saying this, Xia'an turned her head to look at Old Crowley.

Although she didn't know the identity of this white-bearded old man, the high-level spell he had just displayed was more than enough to earn her respect.

“Sir...”

Xia'an spoke tentatively, a trace of worry in her eyes.

“Your spell just now was incredibly powerful.”

“But they are, after all, Missionaries of the Mist Veil Society.”

“Can your ice really keep them sealed completely?”

Hearing her doubt, Old Crowley shrugged indifferently.

He tapped his pipe against the sole of his shoe, looking exceptionally confident.

“As long as they don't blow themselves up inside.”

The old man grinned.

“If they don't have any other tricks up their sleeves, keeping them frozen for three days and nights won't be an issue.”

However, the moment the words left his mouth, a faint crack sounded.

“Crack.”

A soft sound echoed from the massive, grotesque ice fortress.

Everyone froze instantly.

That wasn't the sound of ice cracking under pressure.

It sounded more like something gnawing.

It was chewing.

“Crunch.”

“Crunch, rip.”

The sounds grew denser and clearer.

They were accompanied by hair-raising swallowing sounds.

“You old jinx!”

Every hair on Elias's body stood on end.

Without any hesitation, he retreated rapidly along with the others as a reflex.

At that moment, a dreadful image inexplicably flashed through his mind.

It was the keeper's log left by his predecessor.

Those delirious, nonsensical words scribbled down in a state of madness.

About the “crimson seawater.”

About the “chewing.”

It was the exact same description.

Just as sickening.

Elias shook his head violently, forcing himself not to recall that deadly name.

Staring at the ice fortress, he shouted back at Old Crowley without turning around:

“Old man!”

“What the hell is going on?!”

“How could you not even finish off nine Scale Three targets?!”

“Be honest, did you hold back just to save your spirituality?!”

“...”

Faced with Elias's interrogation, even Crowley's heavily wrinkled old face felt a bit hot.

His brow furrowed deeply.

This supply captain who had sailed all over Moon Bay had never expected this either.

These Missionaries of the Mist Veil Society were as resilient and troublesome as cockroaches.

“Cut the chatter and observe!”

Old Crowley didn't argue, merely shouting in a low voice.

The group quickly activated Spirit Vision and various other visual enhancement spells.

Under Elias's 【Moon Vision】...

...the original nine spiritual nodes inside the ice fortress were changing.

Eight of them were dimming at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Meanwhile, the single node situated at the very center was expanding frantically, bursting with a blinding and violent light.

“They are dying.”

Wait!

No, that's not it!

Elias's eyes widened suddenly, his pupils contracting violently.

They weren't fading out!

They were being eaten!

The central node was frantically devouring its companions!

Elias swallowed with great difficulty.

“Bloodsong.”

Elias stared at the monstrous node.

“Do the Missionaries of the Mist Veil Society...”

“...practice cannibalism?”

The air fell into a brief, dead silence.

Bloodsong's expression was incredibly grim.

“Under normal circumstances, no,” Bloodsong replied through gritted teeth.

Elias didn't feel the slightest bit relieved by this answer.

“And under abnormal ones?”

Bloodsong fell silent.

“If they have completely abandoned their human forms, choosing to offer their bodies and souls to their hidden 'Lord' without reservation.”

Bloodsong closed his eyes, as if he couldn't bear to look at the ice fortress any longer.

“Then it isn't cannibalism.”

“It's called...”

“...Holy Communion.”

Hearing those words, Elias felt a wave of profound disgust and dread wash over him.

Using the flesh, blood, and spirituality of one's companions as a sacrifice to breed an even more terrifying monster.

Was this what a Missionary of the Mist Veil Society truly was?

The chewing sounds within the ice fortress seemed to validate Bloodsong's conjecture.

They grew faster and louder.

The noise was like slow torture to their sanity.

Old Crowley narrowed his eyes slightly, a chilling aura of killing intent emanating from him.

“Keep backing away.”

The old man's voice remained calm.

There was no panic, no trembling.

Yet it felt like a freezing blade pressed against the spine of everyone present.

With unspoken coordination, they retreated further.

Just then, with a sharp “Crack—”, the seemingly indestructible, deformed ice fortress finally split open.

The crack didn't form from the outside.

Instead, something inside the ice fortress was forcing its way out, splitting it open.

A hand of absurd proportions thrust through, far exceeding the limits of human anatomy.

Its five thick fingers were twisted and deformed at the joints, looking as though the dorsal fins of a sea fish and human bones had been crudely forced together.

The nails had mutated into sharp, black bone spikes.

Clinging to those sharp fingertips were shredded remnants of black robes.

Immediately after, with a heavy “Thud!”, a second, equally deformed and massive hand slammed onto the icy surface.

Then a third hand.

And a fourth.

All four hands exerted force simultaneously, digging deep into the solid ice.

Web-like cracks instantly spread across the entire surface of the ice fortress.

A muffled, indistinct prayer seeped out through the thick layers of ice and flesh.

It sounded as if nine people were speaking at the exact same time.

Multiple voices overlapped, warped, and raspy.

“Lord...”

“Grant me...”

“...a stomach...”