Chapter 24: Blasphemous Acts

I really want to run away~ but I can’t escape~

Sigh! Why is this disgusting thing still chasing me…

Honestly, Herbert was now at a loss for words.

He had deliberately come to this secluded corner to draw water, just to avoid running into that scene again in the kitchen.

Friend, could you please show a little discretion?

I’m a kind-hearted person; I can’t bear to see poor grass carp being subjected to such abuse.

Besides… seeing the aftermath is bad enough; I can just be speechless for a while.

But if I’d walked in on it directly, wouldn’t everyone be terribly awkward?

Sigh, bottom guy! Sigh, Tai Dao hero…

Herbert cast one final glance at the dead, unblinking eyes of the grass carp, then silently walked to the other side, tossed the bucket into the well, and began drawing water.

Don’t look at me—I’m not the one to blame, I saw nothing, I saw nothing…

Although he had stumbled upon this incident twice already, Herbert still had no intention of reporting it to anyone.

First, there’s understanding and respecting others’ preferences—every unusual hobby deserves tolerance.

After all, this world holds every kind of love imaginable.

Even giant puffball mushrooms have fans, even attack helicopters have devotees, even plastic bags have people…

It’s just a damn grass carp!

At least it’s a living thing.

It’s better than most.

Compared to others, his condition is far milder.

Second… Herbert himself wasn’t clean either.

Don’t talk about the pot being black when the kettle’s black—we’re all the same.

Not to mention his identity as a Xieshenqiyuezhe , just what he planned to do next was already deeply strange.

From others’ perspectives, Herbert’s actions were probably no nobler than the grass carp guy’s.

Washing a woman’s hair, then locking himself in his room to savor it…

Is that something a good person should do?

Just imagining the scene was already deeply wrong.

To avoid drawing trouble upon himself, Herbert decided it was better to mind his own business and pretend he’d noticed nothing.

Not my problem.

After drawing water, he left at once, making no attempt to search the grass carp for clues, completely ignoring its existence.

He had zero curiosity about the grass carp guy’s identity.

Zero!

The Tribunal.

“Your Grace, the Inquisitor.”

In the cold, vast hall, Herbert bowed slightly to the hulking man seated with head bowed, his expression calm.

The bald giant wore a bizarre spiked crown that obscured his eyes, leaving only his impassive lower face visible.

Thick, dark-red thorns coiled around his body, piercing through his clothing and sinking deep into his skin, constantly draining nutrients and magic power—his appearance was deeply unsettling.

Though he looked nothing like a good man, he was one of the high-ranking officials of the Mist Monastery.

Within the Mist Monastery, besides the elusive Grand Abbot, there were three publicly known high officials.

They were the [Inquisitor General], who oversaw all Tribunal affairs; the [Keeper], who guarded the monastery’s archives and relics; and the [Knight Commander], who led all Holy Knights and Wu Seng ascetics.

The man before him now was the Inquisitor General, known as the Thorned Bishop, who managed all Tribunal matters.

The Tribunal’s function was much like that of a religious inquisition—responsible for imprisoning, interrogating, and punishing heretics and the fallen.

In a sense, the Inquisitor General was Herbert’s direct superior—the prison warden’s boss.

And also the very person Herbert, a double agent destined to become an inverted Trinity, most dreaded approaching.

Should any of his secrets—blasphemy, broken vows, corruption—be exposed, this man would personally judge him.

Yet here Herbert was, voluntarily appearing before him.

The Thorned Bishop slowly opened his eyes, his irises filled with crimson veins, staring coldly at the white-haired boy bowing respectfully before him.

After a moment, he spoke slowly: “…You, Herbert Albert.”

“I remember you. You should be in the prison, reforming heretics. Why are you here?”

“What brings you to me?”

The Thorned Bishop’s voice was deep and resonant, yet surprisingly unlike his fearsome appearance—it felt warm, almost soothing.

If Herbert had to describe it, it was the kind of rich baritone that would send voice addicts into raptures.

And he wasn’t quiet—he was unexpectedly talkative.

Whether he’d been holding it in too long, Herbert had barely spoken a word before the man was already rambling to himself.

Herbert raised his head and spoke softly to the Thorned Bishop: “Your Grace, I have something to report to the Grand Abbot.”

“Report to the Grand Abbot?”

The Thorned Bishop paused, his expression shifting slightly as he furrowed his brow. “What could possibly require reporting directly to the Grand Abbot? Can’t you tell me?”

Though he didn’t voice it outright, Herbert could read the unspoken meaning in his eyes—do you look down on me?

“Yes. This matter is of great importance. Only the Grand Abbot can handle it.”

Seeing the Bishop about to grow displeased, Herbert didn’t delay: “Yesterday, during my patrol, I discovered anomalies in the third zone of the alien prison.”

“The Realm of No Light has become an impassable space. I cannot locate the prisoner sealed within, nor can I enter the fourth zone.”

Herbert then detailed his observations and attempts, including his theories, leaving nothing out.

When he finished, he looked at the Thorned Bishop with sincere eyes and asked earnestly: “Your Grace, can you handle this issue?”

“….”

The Thorned Bishop fell silent, his gaze drifting slightly to the side.

At the same time, Herbert tightened his expression, showing no trace of emotion.

Do I look down on you?

Please.

Just tell me—can you handle it or not?

“Cough… I understand the matter.”

After a long pause, the Thorned Bishop nodded without changing expression, calmly saying: “This isn’t urgent. I’ll inform the Grand Abbot later.”

Not urgent?

Herbert caught the subtext but wisely said nothing, replying gratefully: “Understood. Thank you for your trouble, Your Grace.”

The Thorned Bishop waved a hand, calm and composed: “Hmm, it’s nothing. It’s my duty.”

“Then I’ll take my leave.”

As Herbert finished his report and prepared to depart, the Thorned Bishop suddenly spoke in a low tone: “Wait.”

“Your Grace?”

The Thorned Bishop’s crimson eyes locked onto him, and he asked slowly:

“You…”

“Have you encountered any blasphemous incidents lately?”

!!?

(End of Chapter)