In the middle of the night, Crimson sat up in bed.
He had an uneasy feeling about the pale boy in the dungeon. The Eternal Church taught the child skills of killing and torture, as well as secret magic, and made him drink bottle after bottle of dangerous potions. Yet, they hadn't taken enough defensive measures, as if they were storing a nuclear bomb in a junkyard.
Where did those fools get their confidence? Was it because the boy had always been obedient? Or because of the so-called prophecy of the Chosen One?
A future priest told him, [The Chosen One traces the river of fate and returns to the land of bountiful grapes—the darkness in his soul remains.]
The boy in the dungeon was almost pure white, which was an ironic twist.
Every time Crimson had such bad intuition, he would quickly leave the area. After all, this intuition had helped him avoid police surveillance and tracking countless times. It must come from his God.
Crimson wouldn't mind staying out of the mess and watching the church burn. Compared to his own safety, the truth about past events was of no importance—curiosity was a serial killer's worst enemy. But before seeking refuge, he wanted to take advantage of the situation.
He decided to sneak into the archives for one last try—even if he couldn't see the prophecy, he might find other records, like when the boy first entered the church. Now that he knew the basic characteristics of the Chosen One, there were many ways to gather information.
Crimson put on his hood and silently left the room.
Deep in the dungeon.
Little Piel nervously gripped his new talons. The sharp talons on his forefoot almost cut his fingers. He looked haggard and tired but dared not close his eyes, shrinking like a startled bird.
The newly born demon was still adjusting to his body, unable to move outside or rest. Nol got some sweet milk with honey from Teest for Little Piel. The sweet taste and a touch of magic made Little Piel finally close his eyes.
"Now we finally have some time to ourselves." Teest sighed. "It's a pity we have to keep an eye on Crimson, though."
"Can I see you first?"
Asking this felt somewhat bold, Nol thought, but he was genuinely concerned about the young Teest's condition.
Teest smiled. "Of course, I always welcome your gaze."
Nol looked up at the man on the stone. The adult Teest held his hand, the warmth in his palm giving a sense of displacement.
The young Teest had returned to his cage. He ignored the clean straw inside and curled up on the cold stone. His body lay sideways, curled up, reminiscent of a baby in its mother's womb.
As the two approached, the young Teest opened his eyes. He propped himself up, looking around alertly—more vigilant than a wild animal in the wilderness. His hair was messy, but a perfect smile was already on his face.
It looked like a stress reaction.
Indeed, no matter how wild or indifferent the young Teest might act, pain was still pain, and no one liked to feel pain. In reality, Nol felt that the young Teest before him might need a hug even more than he did. However, fate could be unkind, and for now, he could only hold onto one of the boy's fingers.
The blue flame flickered, and Nol gently waved his staff. A faint breeze passed by, causing the strands of hair stuck to the young Teest's face to fall smoothly back behind his ear.
A fleeting look of confusion crossed the young Teest's face. He played with his hair, and the curiosity in his eyes gradually overshadowed his vigilance.
"Let's go," Nol said after a long pause.
"So, we used to be this close?"
Teest casually adjusted his hair, seemingly indifferent.
"Yes."
...
Crimson wasn't hard to find.
The murderer from the future never expected there to be other "travelers", so he didn't bother to completely mask his presence. Nol sensed his aura. By the time they located him, Crimson had just left the bedroom.
The man, cloaked, headed towards the top of the church. Without hesitation, Nol and Teest caught the hem of his robe, swiftly climbed to the top of his hood, and squatted in a comfortable fold.
They watched as Crimson sneaked into the servant's quarters, torturing the oldest servant for information about the location of certain documents. After he was done, they witnessed him killing an Eternalist—naturally, no one felt the need to stop him.
In a way, he was quite useful.
The document room was in the main tower of the church, and its defenses were weaker than they'd anticipated. The two rode on Crimson, smoothly reaching the archives of the Immortal Church.
[They actually hid the documents here.] Teest mused. [I previously thought this place was some kind of weapons storeroom.]
[Didn't you discover this when you were young?]
[I didn't investigate that thoroughly back then. There were many guards around,] Teest replied. [I'm bold, not stupid.]
Crimson didn't care about the number of guards. He played a standard patrol-stealth game using his Player skills. If it weren't for the unexpected guests on his head, his infiltration would have been nearly flawless.
Upon entering the archives, Nol finally felt a familiar sense of relief. He'd felt things were going too smoothly. See? Bad luck was bound to happen.
The archives was split into two. Their current space was filled with ancient books and scrolls locked in chains. Deeper in the archives was a door, carved from a single piece of magic stone—its magical defenses were hundreds of times stricter than the dungeon. Keyholes were placed on either side, clearly requiring two people to open.
"Damn it." Crimson sighed.
[Do you think they placed the records of important treasures in the outer room?] Nol pondered with a touch of melancholy from atop Crimson's head.
[Doubtful.] Teest shrugged. [On the bright side, at least we know where this place is. That's significant progress.]
Crimson scanned the room for a while. He casually skimmed through magical research documents, examined the accounting section, and seemed to find nothing. Ultimately, he stopped at the work records of various priests.
"Feels like investigating a case. Being a detective is such a hassle. I can't understand those masochists," he mumbled while flipping through the thick volumes.
Nol paused.
The prophecies of the Chosen Ones were strictly confidential, but daily records would reveal some clues. The young Teest was definitely sent in by someone. Even he knew about the "recent decade". As a Demon from the Eternal Church, Crimson surely knew more.
[You, first search for the 'Eclipse Shield' records. Someone needs to watch him.] Nol told Teest. [We can't let him mess things up.]
Crimson particularly picked up the work record of a deceased priest, quickly searching the recent decade's entries. The priests had taken pride in their misdeeds, recording their cruel acts in great detail.
As Crimson browsed, his expression grew more bitter.
From shock to anger to numbness, Nol's emotions cycled. Teest had already roamed the room and returned, resting his head on Nol's thigh, deep in sleep.
Finally, Crimson paused at a certain page and raised his eyebrows.
[...Today, I discovered the target indicated by God. He was so close to us.]
[His parents are troublesome, very protective, and quite wealthy. They need to be dealt with promptly. Given the right circumstances, we can instill hatred in the child…]
Below the diary entry was a hastily sketched map. Any other person might be clueless about the drawing, but Crimson just smiled and summoned a system map interface.
"Compare the specified image with the street distribution of Grape Collar," he instructed while flipping the pages.
[…Today, I brought the child back.]
[His hair was disguised by his parents to look deep brown, like his siblings. Once the disguise spell was removed, I saw flawless white hair. This child is a White Demon, fitting for his status.]
[This might explain why he was indifferent to the destruction of his family. He was born for us…]
Nol pursed his lips.
"…My parents were always lovey-dovey, disgustingly sweet to each other, without considering the feelings of their children," Teest once confided in him. Nol noticed a bit of sincerity at that time—a sincerity that was extremely rare for the Mad Monk.
Was Teest truly indifferent? Nol wasn't sure.
[…Today, I visited the child.]
[He's more docile than other test subjects, smiling at me in his own blood. He doesn't fear darkness or death. He surely is an angel for Lord Anstis…]
And then this child became the Mad Monk, hunting the loyal followers of "Lord Anstis" day in and day out for over a decade. Nol's feelings were mixed.
Crimson closed the book, and at the same time, a system notification popped up and hung silently in front of him.
"Oh, I remember that cursed shithole." Crimson poked a red dot on the notification. "Shouldn't there be a quest? Hello? Are you there?"
The system remained silent.
Outside, daylight began to break. Crimson tore out the page and leaped out of the window. Nol held on to his robe that was rippled by the wind and remained silent as well.
...
"Well, now I understand why the inspection became stricter back then."
Teest murmured dejectedly, tapping on Crimson's head and dodging his fingers, trying to scratch his head.
"Turns out this guy snuck into the archives and was dumb enough to damage the books."
At this time, the sun had completely risen.
Crimson casually bought some breakfast and ate while walking towards the location mentioned in the records. Nol and Teest still sat on his head; one with a complex expression, the other drowsy.
"Crimson might just leave. He has a good intuition for danger." Teest stretched and nudged the daydreaming Nol. "Are you really coming out with him like this?"
"The Eternal Church will only visit Piel in the evening. The spell I gave him will let him sleep for most of the day," Nol replied. "I prefer breathing fresh air than plotting in a dungeon."
"Oh. Okay." Teest casually grabbed some dew, wiping his face. However, the warm wind made his drowsiness persist.
Crimson probably planned to visit his home, which was quite a distance from here.
Leaning against Nol, Teest closed his eyes again. Nol tensed up, his heart beating rapidly. The whole act was unnecessary for his planned drama, he thought. Too much time had passed that Crimson wouldn't find any information, and neither would Nol.
The Temple of Life and the Eternal Church buried everything long ago.
Perhaps it was the familiarity of the nearby streets that made Teest briefly dream of the past.
He dreamt of walking home along a long road, passing various blurry-faced people. He saw faceless parents and noisy siblings.
The closer he got, the more details he could see—grapevines in the yard, a swing, and the small peak of a majestic house. He remembered having a swing in his yard, thankful that the Eternal Church's constant brainwashing hadn't made him forget entirely.
A distorted figure stood at the door, its shape shattered like a shadow on waves.
"Welcome home," his mother said, though he had long forgotten her voice.
She was holding a little baby in her arms, and he guessed his mother was smiling.
This was his past property, all of it. From the pointed house to his family and the wobbly swing in the yard.
Teest calmly observed the dream's phantoms, neither warm nor nostalgic, just instinctively reaching for the gold wheel in his pocket. He realized that the coin was no longer with him.
It was now buried deep within Nol's flesh—this was his property now, all of it.
Teest opened his eyes, seeing the ruins of the pointed house.
The house was burnt to a blackened skeleton, its remains covered by waist-high wild grass. The swing in the yard was gone, burned, and decayed in the mud. The tree that once held the swing had been cut down into wooden stakes supporting five rotting skulls in the middle of the courtyard. Four belonged to adults, one to a child, and all decayed to mere bones.
They were still in their original positions. Teest waved at them.
Beside him, Nol's hair stood on end, goosebumps covering his body.
The scene was horrifying, but what was more terrifying was that the surroundings were bustling—neat courtyards to the left and right, lively shops. Passersby hurriedly walked past the desolate ground, blind to the tragedy in the courtyard.
This yard was like a single gap in a set of perfect teeth, with everyone pretending not to see it.
Crimson hummed. "So this is the place."
There was obviously a hidden story. Years later, Players trying to investigate everything about this courtyard found no clues—the neighbors knew nothing of this family, even with five skulls displayed so prominently. No one knew who they were.
But now was years before that time. Perhaps someone still remembered.
Crimson looked around and knocked on a neighbor's door.
Unfortunately, he still received responses like "I don't know," "Not sure," and "They've always been there."
So he went further, trying to ask older shops. The reactions from the merchants were more intriguing—those who knew kept silent, just smiling apologetically and saying the place was unlucky. Only an old man nearing sixty pointed down the street. "You have to ask the old weaver. She doesn't believe in God."
In this row of neat teeth, the "old weaver" had only one tooth left. The old woman, wrinkled and shriveled, looked like a creature. She sat in front of a very narrow grocery store, leisurely spinning yarn. Beside her, a basket was filled with a dozen finished balls of yarn.
The old woman's hearing seemed as bad as her vision. Crimson asked her five or six times before she understood and confirmed he wasn't a giant red goose.
"That family…"
She spoke slowly, leisurely spinning her thread. "That family, they're all cultists, impure believers, harboring blasphemous things in their home… so the Temple of Life killed them all, burned everything. That's what everyone says…"
"Do you remember their surname? Or any of the members' names?" Crimson asked cheerfully.
Indeed, his God still loved him. This old woman was so frail. She seemed as if she could die with just a gentle push. No wonder she wasn't around a decade later. Once he returned, he'd pass this information on to the Eternal Church. Fabrications would be exposed, but he was trading in truth. It would certainly withstand all scrutiny.
"The Flama family… They used to run a jewelry shop. A lovely couple, quite likable… but it was all an act, everyone says so…" The old lady strained to remember. "Names… I don't remember the names. I can't think of them."
Good, that was enough. The survivors of the Flama family, the beautiful White Demon. Speaking of which, having an exact age would be even better. "Do you remember their children? Their ages will do." Crimson's tone was noticeably gentler.
The old woman stopped spinning, looking at him with eyes almost completely hidden beneath her eyelids, only revealing the dark pupils.
After a moment, she finally answered.
"I remember. I remember they had four children—four lovely children. I've seen them…"
"I need the ages, ma'am," Crimson reiterated. Of course, he knew about the four children. He had just seen the last one not too long ago.
"You ask too many questions." The old woman coughed twice. "Buy a ball of yarn, young man."
Such a troublesome old lady. Crimson casually tossed a gold wheel into her basket. "Is that enough? Continue."
The old woman stared at the gold wheel, glistening attractively in the morning sun.
She fumbled at the bottom of the basket and pulled out a small ball of yarn.
"Four children," she said. "One of them joined the Eternal Church at the age of seven, was discovered… and then people realized the whole family had issues. That's what everyone says…"
"Alright, here's your yarn, young man."
The yarn of golden thread in her hand shimmered.