Chapter 175

"Wait, can you read those names again?" Some of those clichéd names had triggered something in Ma Ding, catching his attention—"Just the ones you just read, starting from the one called… called Lona."

Krafft, still reeling from the unexpected reunion, had his eyes fixed on the smile behind the fungal blotch, not on the names.

He'd assumed it was someone Ma Ding knew, but then reconsidered—this female name was far too common, with many similar-sounding variants, the kind you could shout on the street and get seven or eight replies; there were already two recognizable "Lonas" on this single sheet.

Ma Ding stepped closer to the pulpit, trying to read the content he'd just heard, but the paper's condition was abysmal—he had no time to grasp the fleeting source of his inspiration.

"The most recent Lona! Start from there!" he urged. Not everyone had a perfect memory; if he waited much longer, he might never recall it again.

Krafft found the "Lona" in sequence and, as requested, recited it more slowly and clearly. By the time he reached the fifth name, Ma Ding reached a firm conclusion.

"I've heard these names before. Let me think—I'm sure I've encountered them somewhere." He paced back and forth, pressing his forehead, straining to remember.

"These are common names. If I recall correctly, we even have one in our own squad—no difference except for an added surname."

"But these few—I've seen these names listed together."

Krafft glanced down at the page. "There's actually one name in between that's illegible. Could you be mistaken?"

"Six. Matched." A sharp metallic clang rang out—Ma Ding had struck his thigh in excitement, hitting his greave. "I remember now—it was in that ledger."

"Ledger?"

"I may not have mentioned it, but how Diego found these people. He turned up a ledger in one of their gang hideouts—recording transactions. These parasites in the cities forced Duke's subjects into debt through various means; when they could no longer pay, they were taken—inevitably."

"That became one of their illegal 'supplies.' The largest buyer took six people at once."

"You mean the buyer is here?" Krafft placed his hand over those names—they sat toward the middle, well before the end, at least a handspan away from the bottom. "Even if you added up all the mold-covered bodies outside, you wouldn't reach that number."

"I don't know what he was thinking—maybe he truly believed it was urgent, but more likely he wanted to claim all the credit to make up for his mistake. He went alone with his men. The rest is common knowledge."

The names were common, yes—but the quantity and placement aligned too precisely for coincidence.

The hand flipping pages paused for a long moment. "Why didn't you say this sooner?!"

"The process doesn't matter. We only need the result," Ma Ding replied.

"No, this matters immensely." Krafft scraped the edge of the paper, trying to find a corner to peel it up and check the back—hopefully not just an extension of the list.

Earlier he'd thought this might be a list of village residents, but now it seemed unlikely—residents' lists weren't written with such solemnity on paper that clearly held special significance, especially when the paper originated from the enigmatic anatomist Edward.

The time gap between the two scripts was too great; the original text had been nearly erased by decay, leaving only heavily religious, scripture-style annotations and vast lists.

【What exactly had he read?】

Turning those "purchased" individuals into believers made no sense—it was neither economical nor likely to produce true devotees.

What had the owner of this holy text discovered in this fragment of Edward's manuscript? Why bring in so many people, make them vanish, and leave only memorial names preserved on this significant manuscript?

"Let's keep searching inside," Krafft said, abandoning the attempt to peel the page—given its state of decay, even if something lay on the back, it was beyond recognition.

The attendants had cleared the surrounding houses and now cautiously entered the church hall, surprised to find it unexpectedly clean. They set down the oil, began gathering materials, and smashed the pews, piling the fragments beneath the load-bearing structures.

With questions in mind, Krafft and Kup continued their search, while Ma Ding followed them through the prayer chamber, confession booths, a small storeroom, and a half-basement that seemed strangely mysterious.

The most suspicious finds were only wooden barrels; after prying open the lids and disturbing the surface fungal film, all that lay beneath was spoiled homebrew beer.

The space here was small, yet they still hadn't found any trace of the people who might have been brought here—in any form. As unsearched areas dwindled, Ma Ding's focus shifted increasingly from seeking possible clues to this very mystery.

Ma Ding believed Krafft was doing the same—he'd only opened large containers and cabinets, ignoring small objects. Yet everything inside was unnervingly normal.

The village couldn't possibly hide many people, and there were no signs of freshly turned earth for burial. This reminded him of the question raised last night: the people lost in the chaos, still missing after sunrise. He'd also never seen anything dragging away corpses.

Unsearched space vanished quickly. They were nearing the answer—but the smaller the space holding it, the more incomprehensible it became, and the more Ma Ding felt a dread no blade or armor could dispel.

Before the final sunlit room, Krafft raised his hand to halt the two, standing alone at the door for a moment, drawing his sword and loading his crossbow.

"Kup, handle the door."

The latter raised his hammer and smashed it hard against the bolt, then stepped back. A swift kick burst the door open; Krafft advanced with sword drawn in defense, crossbow aimed into the room.

A clean study. Sunlight poured through a rare large window behind the desk, illuminating the spines of books lined on shelves and table.

Not mere display—on the visible edges, the pages were uniformly thick and colored, all original bound volumes. The varied styles and materials of the spines silently testified to their wide-ranging origins—and their value, surpassing even the indigo paintings above them.

The hand holding the crossbow trembled slightly. The combined book collection of his grandfather and Master Anderson might not equal two shelves of this room.

And on that desk, they saw the first—and last—person they'd encountered in the church. Or rather, the remains.

A humanoid shell lay half-collapsed on the desk, its skin entirely consumed by intricate, filamentous and plate-like fungi. At the crown of its neck, these growths rose upward like coral branches.

The desk was empty. The corpse's left arm bent to support its weight; its right hand stretched out, frozen three finger-widths from its intended target.

It was a beautiful box. Silver base, gold filigree edges, inlaid with red and blue gems—so lavishly overstocked it ruined the elegance, radiating an aura of "see how rich I am."

Typically, such a box held items of status—ancient relics, symbols of heritage. Or, more likely, a church's reliquary.

The three entered the room in turn. The knight lowered his visor, approached the box, and nudged it slightly with his sword's scabbard.

Nothing happened.

He carefully lifted it, turned the opening toward the window, waited through several deep breaths, then turned it toward himself.

"Huh?" A muffled voice emerged from beneath the visor. Ma Ding lifted the visor again to confirm. "Empty?"

"How is that possible?" Krafft lowered his crossbow and stepped closer. Kup also leaned in curiously as Ma Ding peeled away the velvet lining inside—the luxurious box held nothing.

Amid the glitter of gold and jewels, Ma Ding's peripheral vision caught a faint red gleam on the desk—unchanged, unmoving, even as the box's red gem had been removed. It remained beneath the corpse's shoulder.

A closer look revealed something odd about the corpse: though lying on the desk, its body was not fused or adhered to the wood by fungal threads—it was elevated on several mushroom caps.

The faint red glow beneath it was intensifying—clearly emanating from a light source pressed against the corpse's chest.

Slowly, the shoulder lifted, revealing it. The light spilled like flowing blood, rapidly spreading across the desk.

"Get back!"

Krafft shoved the two aside, sword raised in defense. He'd rehearsed this scenario upon entering—no matter how the corpse moved, it couldn't escape his blade's reach.

The thing lifted its head, revealing its face—a face still bearing facial contours, its chest expanding and contracting as if sealed, while swirling clouds of color and indistinguishable, chant-like or curse-like murmurs poured from its mouth.

Barrier