Chapter 22: The “Descended” Saint

Chapter 22: The “Descended” Saint

As the cloth doll stood upright, its eyes, which possessed not the slightest spark of life and were completely unable to turn, gazed toward the area untouched by the crimson moonlight. The man with the small red swelling on his face and the other cultists had originally been standing there quietly. Now, one after another, they lowered their heads and raised their hands, as though assuming a posture of prayer, piously listening to the “divine oracle.”

Only two or three seconds later, the cloth doll finally stood completely straight. Just as it was about to open its tongue-less mouth and release a voice that did not belong to this “body,” all its movements suddenly turned jerky, like a machine badly rusted.

Klein, hidden among the cultists, had seen the cloth doll strangely extend Spirit Body Threads just now, and had not hesitated in the slightest before beginning manipulation!

Inside the brightly lit room, the light abruptly dimmed. The cloth doll with curved eyes and mouth seemed to have had the support of its bones pulled away. It collapsed heavily onto the table and no longer moved at all.

More than a thousand meters away, as a streetlamp flickered, Klein lost control of that cluster of Spirit Body Threads. The power descending through the cloth doll had taken only one or two seconds to jump outside the range of his ability!

Whoosh!

A cold wind that chilled to the bone blew through the room. The carpet beneath the tables and chairs suddenly twitched, flipping the man with the red swelling on his face and most of the cultists to the ground. Only Klein, who had disguised himself, leaped up in advance and avoided this accident.

Of course, Winner Enzo happened to be standing at the edge of the carpet and was not affected much.

Whoosh!

Amid the cold wind, the carpet rolled up and tightly wrapped around several cultists. Then it sealed their mouths and noses firmly and strangled their throats.

At the same time, the round-bellied fountain pens on the desk removed their caps by themselves and shot outward, stabbing into the neck of the man with the small red swelling on his face, densely packed without the slightest gap.

The wooden chairs exploded with a bang, sending fine spikes sweeping outward, sparing none of the other cultists.

Against the wall, the gas pipes of the lamps split open on their own, releasing hissing gas from within.

The curtain cloth laid across the sofa then stood up, twisting into a rope and coiling around the conductor’s throat. Several floorboards snapped upward, stabbing from below into the bodies of several cultists.

In that instant, every object in the room filled with aggression, attempting to strangle every life here.

Klein wanted to dodge, but the shirt, trousers, belt, coat, and top hat on his body had all gained lives of their own, forcefully sealing him in place.

His mouth suddenly opened, and he made a sound:

“Snap!”

He imitated the sound of snapping his fingers.

Crimson flames rose from his pocket, instantly covering his body and undoing the restraint.

At this moment, the curtain cloth on another sofa stood up, as though draped over the body of an invisible person.

That strange image immediately reflected in Klein’s eyes. His body trembled, stiffening in place as he suffered possession by the “evil spirit”!

The flames that had previously risen had still not been extinguished. They were about to burn away clothing, flesh, and blood, but instead, they burned the entire person into a pitch-black paper figurine.

The back of this paper figurine was covered in feather-like patterns, giving it an unreal, half-illusory feeling.

This was the mutated paper figurine that had been contaminated by the aura of the artificial Death!

From the very beginning, Klein had understood that, if he wanted to wait until the cloth doll changed, there were only two possibilities. First, the one impersonating a god was nearby, could detect the deaths of his believers, and had thus prepared in advance, deliberately descending to set a trap for whoever had come looking for trouble. Second, the one using the cloth doll truly was some hidden existence. He had no idea the sacrifice had already been destroyed, and would still descend according to expectation to give a further “divine oracle.”

No matter which case it was, the matter was rather dangerous. How could Klein possibly perform without preparation?

Based on the fact that the other party could descend through, or possess, the cloth doll, he had placed the paper figurine mutated by the aura of the artificial Death into his iron cigarette case in advance. He also maintained the standard displayed by his marionettes at the level of ordinary people, luring the target to directly possess him!

At this moment, the object possessed by the “god” worshiped by the cultists had changed from Klein to the Death paper figurine!

The crimson flames curled inward. The pitch-black paper figurine ignited, and a pale color abruptly spread outward, stained with a faint, sinister green.

A slightly pained muffled groan sounded, and on the window reflecting crimson moonlight, a transparent afterimage flashed and vanished.

Almost at the same time, the objects inside the room that had “come alive” fell one after another and returned to a dead, silent state. On Winner Enzo’s body, streams of fire rose and wrapped around him.

At this very moment, throughout this port city at the northern end of the Southern Continent, residents were enjoying the relaxation of night and the warmth of family inside house after house. None of them noticed that their glass windows and the surfaces of their wall lamps would occasionally dim, then quickly return to normal.

Along with this dimming came the fireplace flames growing and shrinking, and scraps in kitchens reigniting and extinguishing again.

During this process, the glass mirror in one particular house dimmed the most times, and the firelight changed just as frequently. Inside the room, several believers were praying to the Primordial Moon, wholly unaware.

After an unknown length of time, the crimson moonlight brightened slightly, as if the entire city had been draped in a soft veil.

This brightness soon returned to normal. A stream of crimson flame then rose from the top of a silver candle on a dining table.

Winner Enzo walked out from within it. His body and face changed rapidly, becoming Gehrman Sparrow.

Just now, the moment the red moon brightened, he had lost the target.

“He doesn’t only have high-sequence Beyonder abilities from the Wraith pathway. He can also borrow the power of the red moon… One of these two aspects must have been achieved through a Sealed Artifact or mystical item…” Klein muttered soundlessly, making a preliminary judgment.

After the demigod who had possessed the cloth doll was contaminated by the Death paper figurine, he had originally thought there would be a chance to take the other party down. Who knew that the enemy’s strength and methods would be stronger and more abundant than he had expected.

The only thing he could currently confirm was that this person was not an angel. Their strength and level were far from that.

As thoughts surged, Klein left the dining room and entered the sitting room. Several believers there were praying to the Primordial Moon.

Unlike the cultists on the steam train, they knew very clearly who they worshiped. They seemed to belong to a more formal group.

One step, two steps, three steps. Klein walked into the room neither quickly nor slowly. Those believers sensed something and turned their heads one after another.

Under the powerful illusions of a Bizarro Sorcerer, they took Gehrman Sparrow to be a descended divine envoy and saw a red moon shining quietly above his head.

Thud, thud, thud. One after another, the believers prostrated themselves on the ground and bowed devoutly.

Klein wasted no words. In a low voice, he asked,

“Who was the Saint who met with you before?”

Although one of the believers felt puzzled, he still answered respectfully,

“Reporting to the divine envoy, it was the Shaman King, Klarman.”

Shaman King Klarman… This name is very familiar… Ah, right. He was the author of my Book of Secrets… Didn’t he die long ago? The era in which he was active was more than a thousand years ago. Unless they belong to a special pathway, Saints have no way of living that long… He joined the Rose School of Thought, yet still believes in the Primordial Moon, relying on some method to extend his life? Or is it that his Sequence itself can turn him into a long-lived species? As his thoughts shifted, Klein recalled the origin of the name Klarman.

…

On a sailboat docked at the harbor, inside a cabin illuminated by faint moonlight.

A figure with fluffy black hair mixed with white stepped out from a mirror. He wore a black robe patterned with crimson designs. Shallow and deep wrinkles marked his forehead, the corners of his eyes, his cheeks, and the sides of his mouth. His eyes were filled with blood-red light.

At this moment, the pores on the backs of his hands and on the rest of his exposed skin had opened, and white downy fur stained with pale-yellow grease had grown from them.

The old man’s expression was somewhat twisted, as though he was enduring some kind of pain.

He quickly sat at the bedside, lowered his head, clasped his hands, and softly recited something.

Amid that difficult, awkward language, his forehead slowly split open. Embedded within it seemed to be a red full moon!

Moonlight spread out and enveloped the old man. The white downy fur on his body retracted one after another, disappearing from sight.

But at the same time, the old man’s abdomen swelled little by little, as though filled with liquid.

Finally, the clothing and skin there tore open completely. A lump of flesh covered in white feathers flew out from within, landed on the deck, wriggled and struggled for a long while, then rotted away and vanished.

Whew… The old man raised his head and slowly exhaled. His blood-red eyes were filled with puzzlement.

He muttered quietly to himself:

“A favored one of Death?

“But there is no Death now…”

…

At daybreak, the Mandated Punishers squad of the Church of Storms that had already taken over the mysterious death case involving the steam train staff received new intelligence:

The missing conductor and driver, as well as several people suspected to be passengers, had been found!

Before long, several members of the Mandated Punishers followed the clues to a place in the city and discovered the targets.

They were quietly hanging outside a building, arranged in a row.

“This is provocation!” the captain of the Mandated Punishers growled through gritted teeth.

But after they lowered the bodies and entered the building to investigate, they saw one person after another devoutly praying to the Primordial Moon inside the sitting room, conducting a rather evil ritual.

“…Arrest them all!” After being stunned for a second, the captain of the Mandated Punishers issued the order.

Only then did the believers of the Primordial Moon seem to recover their rationality. They resisted one after another, but they were swiftly suppressed, some dead and some wounded.

The captain of the Mandated Punishers swept his gaze around the room and said to his companions, unable to understand,

“There was an entire row of corpses hanging at the door. They didn’t notice?”

A teammate of the Reader pathway thought for a moment and said,

“Those corpses were very likely guiding us here to investigate this place.”

The captain of the Mandated Punishers calmed his impatience and nodded thoughtfully.

“Which demigod of which Church happened to pass by?”