Chapter 269: Carved Colors

The unexpected ambush met unexpected resistance; the cultivator immediately spun his sword and slashed back at Kraft, trying to force him back.

But the latter didn't retreat—he advanced, precisely blocking the attack again and thrusting his sword straight down toward the face.

While the cultivator was occupied with the upper strike, Kraft pressed further, embedding subtle maneuvers within his open, upright sword techniques, stealthily lifting his foot to kick the shin.

The cultivator's lower body suddenly lost balance; he stumbled forward involuntarily, throwing himself into his opponent's grasp.

Kraft chose not to stab him through outright, but instead, relying on his precise sense of distance, shifted his blade from thrust to strike, swinging the pommel hard against the face.

Though he avoided the vulnerable facial features, the effect was still significant—like being struck by a small iron hammer, briefly stripping away spatial awareness and most hearing; the physical impact transmitted through bone was nearly as potent as a spiritual shock, and it took effect faster.

Dizziness and a high-pitched ringing in the ears left him disoriented, then a second strike landed on his wrist, forcing him to release his grip on the sword.

With his weapon gone, the cultivator's threat level plummeted; others who had previously hesitated surged forward, pinning down this deeply hidden madman, binding his hands and removing all other weapons from his person.

The cultivator who had escaped from Greene's blade had vanished from sight, leaving only rapidly fading footsteps.

The priest had no intention of chasing after him in a futile search; he merely watched the spot where the man had disappeared, angry and regretful, waiting for something.

The footsteps abruptly ceased, like a sword plunged into a swamp—mud seized him, dragging him deep, leaving not even the smallest splash.

He turned silently, knelt halfway before the restrained cultivator, pulled out his gilded holy emblem pendant from his chest, and pressed it against the severely swollen forehead where Kraft had struck, eliciting a burst of struggle.

A rapid stream of prayer spilled from Greene's swiftly moving lips: first invoking the Heavenly Father and His holy saints, then pleading for forgiveness of the most devout believer's misguided sins, hoping to use their power to expel the evil from the possessed.

"In the name of the Heavenly Father, evil entity, I command you to leave this body and return to hell!" The priest locked eyes with the twisted, unnatural smile, his tone and gaze charged with precisely calibrated indignation—enough to convey authority, yet not so much as to disrupt the prayer's clarity.

He resembled a standard statue of a judging angel, proclaiming the Heavenly Father's decree of judgment.

The theatrical effect was excellent; one could clearly see the priest's theological degree held far greater weight than the clinic owner's medical degree. Had Kraft not witnessed beings possessed by deep spiritual entities, he might have truly believed something was clinging to this man.

He wondered whether Greene genuinely believed this ritual worked—now that he thought about it, he'd rarely seen this priest perform any ceremony before.

Even with accelerated speech, the exorcism prayer took a long time; the cultivator's tormented mind gradually ceased struggling.

Simultaneously, perhaps due to separation from the source of influence and the potent atmosphere of the exorcism, a faint dazed expression appeared on his face, softening the rigid, grotesque smile.

To be honest, in Kraft's view, this was merely a normal easing of delirium—but he quickly realized the main effect was on the others.

The other cultivators were less affected, likely sensing little; seeing their comrade show signs of relief, their panic subsided, and the stabilizing power of faith began to reassert itself.

They took over Greene's role, chanting in unison, calling for him to return to the fold of his church brothers.

Yvonne observed their behavior curiously, sensing no unusual aura; the whispering voice had fallen silent again.

Kraft felt somewhat reassured—at least this mental influence wasn't permanent. He didn't want to see a team member forcibly eliminated; that would devastate morale far more than someone going mad and killing themselves.

But he could feel something unpleasant had taken root. His mental senses had been shut down for some time, yet the constriction and shortness of breath, the persistent discomfort, still rose and fell with each breath.

The professor left the group and walked over to Greene, who stood a few steps away, staring alone at the dark entrance of the corridor.

The priest's gaze returned to the spot where the cultivator had vanished; his deep, rapid chest movements revealed his emotions had not yet settled.

"This is why the Church has always opposed the promotion of unnatural powers—including most miracles."

It was hard to say whether his anger was directed at the chaotic entity, at his colleague's shaken faith, or at his own limited power.

"The promotion of any power beyond ordinary human reach is fundamentally a softening of mind and morality, no different from submission to tyranny. Believing in the power of the Heavenly Father is not the same as believing in the Heavenly Father."

Explaining theology to medical school people was indeed unwise—bordering on preaching to the deaf—but it seemed Greene didn't care who he spoke to; he was merely articulating his own idea, not seeking agreement.

Kraft nodded. "I agree with that. Ideas sustained solely by expectations of reward are unstable and carry hidden dangers."

"To be honest, I've seen many of these things—each different, yet the reactions of those who witness them are always similar. You're the exception."

"..." Greene said nothing more; his desire to speak had temporarily exhausted itself.

Kraft was very familiar with this state—these people needed time to adjust their worldview. He raised his torch and, bored, began observing his surroundings.

He had never seen such an extravagant use of black liquid crystals—perhaps also called "black salt"—lavishly spread across this wide corridor, serving only the most basic inhibitory function.

They melted collectively when the chaotic entity arrived, and now they had re-solidified, forming crystalline clusters like the shores of a dead sea.

This must be a boundary; beyond this point lay the true core of this labyrinthine tomb complex.

According to conventional tomb logic, this place would be ideal for elaborate narrative relief murals, used for decoration and record-keeping—but so far, none had been found; the answer likely lay only in the true central zone.

Vast quantities of strange patterns covered the precious corridor walls: some resembled dense spiderwebs radiating from a central point, while overlapping patterns, carved more shallowly, consisted mainly of terrain-like curves and regular geometric sections.

They appeared simple at first glance, but closer inspection revealed internal textures meant to distinguish them: the radiating lines were mostly filled with horizontal stripes, while the latter differed—featuring checkered grids, diagonal grids, dot patterns, cross-stars, and more, leaving Kraft's eyes dizzy.

Yet many of the designs also contained a broad band running through them, filled with horizontal stripes—unknown in meaning.

Kraft stared for a long while, his confusion deepening; earlier human figures, though abstract, had still been comprehensible—these were truly beyond his understanding.

"Oh, the colors are quite rich?" Noticing Kraft had been staring at the walls, Greene looked over.

"Colors?" Kraft rubbed his eyes hard, wondering whether either he or Greene had a faulty eye.

"Yes—for example, these horizontal stripes are blue, the square grids are black, the small crosses are gold." Greene pointed to the lines on the wall and explained.

"How do you know what colors they represent?"

"I reviewed it while reading recently—heraldry uses them all the time. You can't expect every place with a coat of arms to have painted colors, can you?"