Chapter 174: The Great Transformation of a Living Person

Such bizarre, monstrous forms had basically shed all human shape; one could only identify them as angels by their positioning, fresh and smooth skin paint, and the large, bright white halos behind them.

The numerous arms and legs, painted on the same plane, had to overlap and interlace, making them impossible to count at a glance. The strokes were clearly outlined and distinct in layers, even achieving a sense of volume through perspective techniques; they were so vivid and lifelike they rivaled works in major cathedrals, proving the author had invested heavily in layout and detail.

Of course, the greater expense was likely the seemingly unremarkable sky background.

The clear, pure indigo blue was very beautiful, most likely derived from some relatively expensive mineral pigment; with a mind insensitive to both money and art, he still knew such things were terrifyingly expensive, equivalent to brushing gold dust onto the walls.

In this seemingly unremarkable church, even though most of the area behind the altar was occupied by "figures," the remaining empty space was not small; to squander pigment like this, Kraft probably knew where the money they sucked away had gone.

Yet, on such a massive painting, the structure of those limbs was not in proper form; they twisted like a child's drawing, soft and curved, lacking any representation of joints, with varying lengths. Palms and wrists, ankles and feet had no clear distinction; slender fingers and toes spread out separately, some even growing from the upper-middle sections of the limbs.

There were examples where adding extra limbs demonstrated the extraordinary power of the Holy Spirit, but this appearance truly exceeded the realm of innovation and stepped into abstraction.

It was clear the author had not drawn randomly; the strokes were very neat and uniform, but the finished product seemed as if the artist had never seen a human, using good technique to strive to depict something, yet ultimately, because there was no complete and clear image in their mind, it ended up looking exactly as seen now.

"Professor, you are indeed here."

The sound of armored footsteps approached; Martin shook off the spore fragments from his blade, sheathed his sword, and behind him lay a trail of parasitic shells split open.

"To be honest, sometimes I wonder if you truly have anything to fear? Perhaps this is an advantage brought by knowledge?"

"Correct; when people know nothing about the world, it is easy to feel fear." Kraft picked up a broken stone brick and threw it into the hall; it tumbled all the way to the foot of the pulpit, shaking loose accumulated dust.

There seemed to be a typical scholar's arrogance in his words; Martin was slightly surprised, as this was rarely seen in Kraft, even though he certainly had the qualification for it.

"But knowing more also breeds fear; indeed, the more one knows, the more one fears, and this requires even deeper understanding to fill." Taking a step forward, he crossed the church door, and Kup hurried to follow him.

"However, the essence of both fears is the same; both stem from the unknown. And the unknown does not decrease because one knows more; rather, it increases as the boundaries of cognition expand. Perhaps they are originally one, transforming into each other."

"Sorry, I don't quite understand?" Martin stood there blankly, only realizing what had happened after they had walked some distance, then gritted his teeth and caught up.

Perhaps because there was not much nourishment available for growth, despite the bizarre scenery outside, the church interior was quite clean, with only cloud-patterned spores growing on the backs of the pews on both sides.

Martin remained alert to the surroundings above and around him, catching up to Kraft in front of the pulpit, allowing him to look up at the mural he hadn't paid much attention to at the entrance; the "angels" in their most twisted state made one unable to help but frown.

Apart from these angels and the wingless rings, the interior fully conformed to the expected layout of a church, with investment even exceeding the norm.

Logically, in an environment isolated from the outside world, there was no need to endure such humiliation to disguise themselves; they could build and decorate according to their own wishes and possessed the corresponding financial foundation, yet here they still copied the form exactly.

"Are they serious?"

The brainwashing had reached the point where they believed it themselves, treating themselves as the "orthodox church."

A holy scripture sat upright on the pulpit; a dried leaf bookmark was clipped between the thick leather pages. Kraft, wearing gloves, pinched and adjusted several times before finding the right page, but upon lifting just a corner, he discovered they were stuck together.

Applying some force, he slowly separated them; these were dried fungal patches that had eaten through the pages and the standard handwritten scripture font. The upper part of the page had already turned into nourishment for mold, but the remaining strokes, in Kraft's view, were enough to be called upright and powerful in form.

The script was clear, and one could still read that this section to be preached was about the selection of saints.

Unfortunately, Kraft could not tell if there were any problems; he only knew it was another story of a chosen one, pre-designated, who received the ability to perform miracles.

Trying to read a bit further, only half an ending remained, telling of how he possessed unclouded eyes, used this ability to correctly guess six items hidden by an unbelieving lord in a box right there on the spot, causing the lord to lose face, immediately regret it, and detain him.

This saint could only repent to the Lord, admitting he had used the god-given power to satisfy his private desire for manifesting miracles, thus ending up in such a situation. His sincere repentance won the forgiveness of the Heavenly Father, who reached out and pulled him back to the kingdom in the heavens.

The next day, the guards opened the heavily guarded cell, but the saint was no longer inside.

The moral was that abilities must not be used for show-off display, or disaster would inevitably follow.

"Very preachy, very consistent with my impression of holy scriptures; it is likely the real thing." Kraft commented while separating the next page, "But this... really gives me some rather unpleasant associations."

"Are there many examples of miracle-working escapes from locked rooms in the holy scriptures?"

Naturally, the question received no answer; among the three of them, not half a person understood theology.

The next page was lifted; Kraft could probably guess this was the part where everyone marveled, perhaps even adding the lord's regret and punishment.

But he did not see the end of the story; a piece of paper severely eaten by fungus, inserted between the pages, was stuck to the back of the page. On it was not the upright scripture script, but fine quill-pen notes.

"What is this?" He dared not peel it off, carefully using the leaf bookmark to push aside the unhardened fungal patches, examining the slightly blurred handwriting.

One side of this paper was jagged, likely torn from elsewhere; the paper quality was withered and yellow, much older than the scripture's leather paper, and most of the handwriting did not seem to be from the same person, flowing and freehand.

The latter half continued with the missionary-style, non-cursive, upright copying script.

Even though many parts were obscured and the meaning unreadable, several high-frequency words survived thanks to their frequent appearance; among the meaningful words, "angel" and "kingdom" were mentioned at least three times, along with the most heavily written "guidance."

Below were arranged large blocks of short words, listed vertically in strings. Kraft read a few and realized they were the most common personal names.

They were the kind of names rural farmers or small-town citizens chose for easy remembrance, written solemnly on this paper like some kind of monument, then swallowed one by one by mold spots, sinking into the fungal fuzz.

Behind the multitude of names, a faded symbol was almost completely covered; fortunately, Kraft's sensitivity to a certain type of contour allowed him to notice it on the poor paper, not mistaking it for soaking or mold staining. It was a symmetrical mark, the prototype taken from the human body, a smiling section of...

【Cervical Vertebra】