It was another stormy night. Torrential rain poured into the deep pits carved across the ruined ground, filling each one like hollow cavities in the earth.

The entire place was devastated—

the very same spot where Cyn and Valgean had clashed.

Several investigators were scattered around, hoping to find traces or clues that could explain what happened here.

A man stood out in the rain.

He wore a long coat, spotless despite the mud and downpour.

His leather shoes remained clean.

His brown hair fell slightly over his eyes as he stared blankly at two people crouched near the pits, examining the soil and cavities.

One of them was a young girl—almost like a teenager whose growth had stopped midway.

Her hair stood in strange, spiky tufts held together by straw sticks, and she wore colorful, eccentric clothing.

The other possessed sharp, permanently narrowed eyes and a strange fixed smile.

He looked like an oddball.

The girl rose with a sigh.

"Mmhm… it's hard to trace anything clearly. My retrocognition is a mess—too many overlapping auras from everyone who passed through here."

The sharp-eyed man spoke as well.

"All I can say for certain is that something evil was here. It's better if—"

But the man in the coat focused solely on them.

He pulled out a leather pouch and opened it before their eyes.

The girl smiled instantly.

"How could I refuse you, handsome? And my Lady sent me here for your sake anyway. I've identified one of the individuals involved."

The sharp-eyed man clicked his tongue, disappointed.

"How easy it is to buy you people… House of Discord."

The girl shrugged with a careless tone.

"We cause discord—we don't act it out ourselves."

She added in a playful voice,

"Lady Velvet is willing to cooperate for free. But if Sir Gospel Malachai chooses to pay for the service, I'll gladly give it my all."

Gospel didn't reply.

He simply stared, waiting for her to speak so he could leave.

Sable did not disappoint—she began her report:

"It's hard to be certain… but one of the fighters belonged to the Raging Floods Guild. You know them, Sir Gospel. It was Valgean Fork.

As for the one he fought—my sight goes blind every time I try. But he was evil… a monster.

Valgean escaped, but the other didn't. His partner Tristan… does this help—aaah—"

Sable froze.

Danger.

Gospel's killing intent slammed into her like a wave.

In a flash, without warning, he appeared right in front of her.

She tried to defend herself, clutching her head with both hands…

yet she felt nothing.

Even the sharp-eyed man was stunned. He hadn't seen what changed.

Sable regained her senses—far too close to Gospel—and her voice trembled:

"S-Sir Gospel~ what are you doing~? You're not my type~"

Feicher—the sharp-eyed man—noticed something alarming and leapt behind Gospel to shield himself.

Sable realized Gospel's eyes were fixed deep into the forest.

When she looked back—

Gospel was holding a dagger, its blade gleaming.

"What the—!? Someone's trying to kill me!" she screamed, diving behind Gospel with Feicher.

Both of them were seers, not fighters.

Even if they fought, their skills were weak.

They came here under Gospel's protection, knowing he'd defend them.

And then—

From between the trees, several groups emerged.

They carried swords and weapons…

each marked with the same symbol:

a tattoo of an inverted sword engraved on their necks—

though tattoos were supposed to scar individually, and no two scars should be identical.

One of the men inspected his blade, speaking with a mocking tone:

"Go go go—Gospel.

Not good to walk around alone at night, is it?

Go go go—Gospel!"

For the first time, Gospel spoke.

He held a pendant in his hand—

a cross, inverted.

"'Lord, cleanse the sinners—cursed copies born of false creation.'"

He sensed someone behind him—

someone other than the two fools he brought along.

He turned.

A man stood there in a monk's robe—

yet nothing about him resembled a monk in manner or ethics.

He carried a bottle of alcohol, hair wild like a feral creature that crawled from the woods in search of prey.

He spoke with disdain and pity, directed at the victims of Gospel's aura.

"You didn't have to kill them like that, did you?

Go go go—Gospel?"

Gospel snapped,

"Stop calling me that!

This is the best mercy I could give them. They lost their real selves long ago—nothing but puppets now!"

The monk-like man scoffed.

"In your eyes, maybe!

Go go go—Gospel!"

On the opposite side of the forest, all the inverted-sword men lay dead—

heads severed, necks gone entirely.

Only bodies, heads,

and a river of blood remained.

Someone else emerged from the other side of the woods.

"Gospel! , you...!you always kill my puppet army!"

The monk glared at the thin newcomer, his friendly aura vanishing instantly.

The newcomer trembled.

"S-Sorry, Sir Anselm—

Go go go—Gospel!"

Gospel stared at Anselm, confused.

Anselm simply smiled.

Gospel muttered,

"He himself calls them puppets and doesn't care—so why are you upset?"

Anselm scoffed,

"When did I say I pitied them?Go Go-"

Gospel gave him a dead stare.

Anselm sighed.

"Fine, fine, I'm joking. So—any news?"

Gospel gestured toward the puppet-handler.

"Aren't you going to deal with him?"

Anselm understood the implication but replied,

"Just ignore him. He'll leave once he's bored."

Then he added,

"So what exactly happened here?"

Sable and Feicher watched in silence, completely lost.

Gospel turned to Sable, and she began recounting everything to Anselm.

"What? They woke me up and sent me here for this?"

Anselm groaned in disappointment.

As they talked, Feicher noticed the puppet-handler signaling at them—waving his hand in a strange "come here" gesture.

Everyone saw it.

The man was holding something… bleeding.

A stem—like that of a rose—

but unnaturally thick.

Anselm and Gospel felt it instantly.

A hideous, vile aura oozed from it.

In a blink, the two were upon him.

The puppet-handler smiled proudly, as if expecting praise for his "gift."

"Heaven preserve us… What is this?!"

Anselm's shock froze him in place.

The rose-like growth was crimson, soaked in blood-like nectar.

He couldn't touch it—

even the slightest contact felt like it would corrupt him.

Same for everyone—

except the puppet-handler.

Gospel grabbed Feicher and Sable, thrusting the object toward them—

a tendril belonging to Cyn.

Part of it.

As if telling them,

"Begin your work."

Both seers trembled.

Beautiful as it was, the aura inside was monstrous—pure evil.

Using their foresight would be dangerous,

but they might extract something…

some clue.

When they closed their eyes—

"This thing… its energy is like the one from the battlefield, but stronger—much stronger. It's like—aaaAH—!"

Both stopped.

Their eyes snapped open—

bloodshot.

Crimson.

Blood poured from every opening in their bodies.

Every opening.

Anselm froze.

Something had touched them—

something wicked.

Gospel reacted instantly.

He seized the stem with his left hand and pressed the inverted cross against it, stopping the flow of that corrupting force.

Feicher and Sable gasped—

relieved, freed—

then collapsed unconscious.

It had to be the object.

Their souls must have clashed with its vile energy.

Thankfully, they survived—

otherwise Gospel would have carried grave responsibility.

"There were people here before us… so how didn't they find this?

Wait—Gunner!"

Anselm thought the same.

He grabbed the puppet-handler—Gunner.

"Damn you! Did you plant this?!"

Gunner smiled with cold madness.

"You think I planted it? Sir Anselm, please—spare me. I'm just like you. I found it in one of the pits."

Anselm gripped his throat, nearly crushing it.

"You're teasing me?! People searched this place last night! You think they'd miss something like THIS?!"

Gospel placed a hand on Anselm's shoulder.

"Enough. Leave him.

He's telling the truth."

Anselm hesitated—

but Gospel's certainty forced him to accept it.

But how?

If not Gunner… then who?

How could trained church investigators sweep this place and miss something so obvious?

Were they fools?

Playing around?

Gospel ignored the chaos.

He stared at the discovery pulsing in his hand like a living creature—

A discovery that almost forced Malachai to act.

He thought deeply:

I need to return these two fools to their home…

send a report to the Church…

and to her as well.

She's the one who sent me here to investigate in the first place.

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