Chapter 182

The team stayed in the village for two days to handle aftermath duties—completely burning everything—before finally prying off one fragment from the blasphemous mural as proof of their mission's success.

As for the husks, they were all smashed to pieces and burned along with the homes they once inhabited. No one entertained the thought of keeping any memento; what they needed was not to display bravery or showcase this experience, but to utterly forget it, turning it into the final ash of a past that could never again appear before them.

Especially that circular patch of destruction that had appeared out of nowhere, scattered with substances resembling those found only when preparing fillings in a kitchen—remnants of something familiar, torn and sliced apart by chaos.

Their departure went smoothly. Only four days passed before they returned to the estate, reclaimed their riding horses, and left the forest far behind.

Yet even as the foot of the hill came into view with Westmin Castle's twin towers, most of their spirits never left the village—they still trod upon the colorful, ornate carpet of fungal velvet, unable to step onto any ground that felt safe.

Many woke suddenly in the night, flailing their hands against invisible enemies, or stared for long moments at anything that retained color in the darkness while on watch.

Miraculously, they completed the mission on schedule, the entire journey lasting less than two weeks—though they had spent the time originally allocated for investigation on other matters.

From the moment they reached the hill's base, Martin kept glancing at the castle, finally exhaling a long breath before riding closer to Kraft.

"It's fine."

"Why say that?"

"The guard posts on the walls haven't changed, the castle hasn't changed—not significantly, at least." He pointed to a few small black dots slowly moving behind the battlements; relative to the wall's length, the number was indeed sparse.

"Let's hope so. Let's hurry—deal with the lingering hazards while they're still hazards." Kraft weighed the pendant in his hand; under the intense sunlight, the central red-black inlay was rough and dull.

At the core, unnoticed by all, only by cupping his hands could one glimpse a faint red glow—like the last stubborn ember of the village's ashes, unwilling to die, constantly scorching restless consciousness.

"Hasn't that thing dimmed yet?"

"Not yet. That's what I'm worried about." Kraft clenched it in his fist, leaving a small gap to observe—the glow had faded considerably compared to in the forest, but since leaving, it had not changed further.

"Is something… still following us?" The thought sent a chill through Martin; the sensation of fungal filaments brushing his back seemed to return, wrapping around him again.

Kraft shook his head and shoved the pendant into his pocket. "Unlikely. Don't treat those heretics' explanations as truth—they derived their understanding and conclusions from limited observations and prior contributions."

"After being twisted by faith, it's become unrecognizable. Blindly adopting their interpretations might sometimes lead to entirely opposite conclusions."

"So you mean we don't need to worry—it might just be normal for it to be like this?"

"You could say that." Kraft, who had intended to explain his true meaning, chose not to argue—he offered a comforting statement instead, which was precisely what Martin needed now.

He couldn't admit that for days he'd repeatedly scanned with his spiritual senses and found nothing causing the pendant to glow. After all, it was biological material; malfunctioning after separation from the giant mushrooms was only natural.

This knight's mental state was far from optimistic; subjecting him further to an invisible, intangible concept would inevitably lead to breakdown.

Worried, Martin called for the gate to open; the weary team was unexpectedly told the main gate was no longer open during daytime. As they prepared to protest, a familiar guard delivered an order to summon the team leader and Kraft—urging them to rest and prepare quickly.

He refused to explain why the Duke's personal envoy hadn't come, instead conveying an apology and bad news.

Though he'd mentally prepared himself upon being led down yet another unfamiliar path, hearing the opening words sent a sharp pain through Kraft's left sternum, radiating standardly to his left shoulder.

"Professor Kraft, due to an unavoidable yet truly unforeseeable issue, your student…" The guard carefully observed Kraft's expression, noting his deteriorating mood, "was not fully protected within the castle."

"Her physical condition is not serious, but she still needs bed rest for some time. The Duke asks me to convey his apologies—this accident cost the castle a vital member; everyone is immersed in grief."

"Where is she now… never mind. Take me there. I'll see for myself." Kraft took a deep breath to suppress his emotions, forcing calmness as he urged the guard to skip the meaningless formalities.

Here, no professional description could match seeing it firsthand. He even had the illusion that he was a frantic family member, climbing floor after floor via stairways while elevators were occupied by emergency stretchers, following a nurse who came to deliver a critical prognosis.

This experience was new to him. Upon hearing "no serious physical harm," Kraft instantly imagined many scenarios: unconsciousness, loss of consciousness, at the very least severe psychological trauma.

But when the door opened, he saw Yin Feng half-reclining on the bed, propped on pillows, covering her mouth as she coughed lightly, while a maid turned the pages of a thick, heavy book for her.

Seeing Kraft arrive, she reached for a stack of copied papers, attempting to roll over—but the pain in her neck halted this reckless motion. This demonstrated relatively good mobility; her restricted movement stemmed from pain, not functional impairment.

"I've seen this."

Pulling out the final page, the girl showed Kraft her overachieving progress—her spirits seemed fine too; her study attitude was almost shameful.

According to the attendant's explanation, she had fallen backward during the incident that could not be discussed outside, injuring her back. After enduring the pain and moving for a while, she was discovered and rescued the next day. All that could be said was: "It was an internal outbreak of violence."

Without needing further explanation, Kraft shot a sharp glance at the person who had "deliberately left part of it behind," but chose not to blame him—no one could have foreseen such an event, and strictly speaking, he himself bore some responsibility for oversight.

"Rest more when you're unwell. As for these studies, you have plenty of time—no need to rush." His first impression was reassuring; he felt slightly relieved. Suffering recoverable external injuries in such an event was, tragically, the best possible outcome.

Yet this student was too obedient—still insisting on studying under these circumstances made him wonder if his teaching had been too strict, instilling an inflexible, mistaken impression.

Yin Feng nodded quietly as usual, acknowledging, then lowered her head and coughed twice.

"Alright, lie flat now. I need to check for nerve damage." Supporting her back, Kraft slowly withdrew the pillow, laying her body flat. Seeing her puzzled, he explained voluntarily: "That's what controls bodily movement—you'll learn about it later."

Apparently triggered by positional change causing saliva reflux, Yin Feng's breathing paused briefly before another cough erupted. The severity was mild, but by experience, it was a pathological wet cough, with phlegm rattle originating slightly below the throat.

The vigilance from escaping the spore mist flared up—Kraft reached into his pocket for a tongue depressor to examine her throat. "Looks like a bit of respiratory infection? Could it be pneumonia?"

Just returned from a trip, his pocket held no usual tools—he instinctively pulled out the only object: the heretic pendant.

Red light seeped from between his fingers.