Chapter 327: Abandonment

Raymond's discovery sparked discussion; over a dozen knightly order members gathered around this detail, eagerly applying the fresh knowledge they had just brought from the academy.

Subjective interpretations of artistic schools, symbolic meanings, and regional cultural differences—though they barely understood any of it, to outsiders these explanations sounded plausible enough to make judgment impossible.

In the end, they reached no consensus, but proposed a relatively plausible hypothesis: this might be an expression of local religious orders incorporating regional elements.

After all, the Prilier domain is a basin surrounded by mountains; similar terrain is common here, and integrating elements familiar to locals would more easily resonate with and be accepted by the faithful.

This was not without precedent: frescoes in the northern kingdom favored pure, clean snowscapes, while depictions of sacred scenes around Westmin were typically rich in vegetation. Yet such alterations to key content were generally rare, especially in the crucial "Ascension" scene.

But it was merely rare—they did not linger long, continuing upward; perhaps the answer lay within the monastery itself.

The "Ascension" was indeed the final painted relief along the path; after traversing the last stretch of uphill path thick with fallen leaves, they saw the monastery whose image had long remained fixed in their blueprints.

It was built on a relatively level area still some distance from the summit, larger than they had imagined.

The gray-black complex spread along the terrain, with the central church clinging to the mountainside, adopting a Gothic style similar to the Cathedral of the Virgin but with simpler ornamentation—windows were deep, narrow, and positioned higher, while outer arched decorative carvings expanded the visual width to avoid appearing disproportionate to the overall scale.

Asymmetrical auxiliary buildings extended from either side of the main church, varying in height and surface tone, likely added in successive expansions after commissioning, yet maintaining a unified overall style.

Whether due to technical constraints or other considerations, the thickness of the outer walls—evident from the deep windows—far exceeded that of typical similar buildings.

Stone walls two men tall completely enclosed the courtyard in front of the monastery, creating an inaccessible inner space, with only a small platform before the main gate for visitors to pause.

The solid wood door, iron-banded, had peeling paint, rusted blisters rising in clusters; the wood had rotted beyond identification, yet was far from being easily breached.

Clearly, the owner had no intention of returning. Several horizontal planks had been nailed across the door, their long, row-like fasteners proving no thought had been given to ever removing them.

Kraft suddenly understood why, as the new owner, he had never received a key.

But this problem was easily solved. Though no locksmith was present, the party included a blacksmith and carpenter, both hired at high cost.

They cleanly sawed through the boarding, yet still could not push the door open. The experienced craftsman noticed several non-transparent gaps along the seam; after inserting a file and rubbing, he scraped off some powder.

"It's lead," he licked his finger, spat in disgust, and blew the powder off his fingertip. "Someone poured molten lead into the door seam."

Perhaps for the first time in their lives, they had seen a door locked this way; several seasoned veterans could not devise a way to get the party inside before sunset.

Kraft abandoned struggling with the damned door and chose to scale the wall.

Soon, two long ladders were hastily assembled. The leading monk paused in slight surprise, then simply vaulted over, landing firmly upright—the wall obscured him below the waist.

This was not merely a fence, but a defensive structure akin to a city wall, only slightly more restrained, lacking protruding arrow slits.

Kraft climbed up and found multiple wider steps on the inner side, designed for rapid movement and transport of large equipment—a semi-militarized fortress, at least two generations more advanced than the Prilier family's castle.

While old monasteries did require some defensive features, the builders here clearly suffered from paranoid delusions.

The good news was, it would now become the knightly order's property.

Everyone was highly satisfied with the asset's quality; this satisfaction even allowed them to temporarily ignore the chaotic courtyard.

Untrimmed saplings had grown wildly for years after humans left, spilling beyond garden boundaries; years of fallen leaves carpeted the ground so densely it resembled a forest trail.

Grapevines hung like disheveled ghostly hair, nearly crushing their trellises, strangling surrounding trees also left unpruned, dripping down their slanted branches in unhealthy, sun-starved pale yellow.

Even more fragile flowering plants had long been eliminated in this unrestricted competition; the entire courtyard now held only a chaotic, unhealthy patchwork of yellow-green, thick with the scent of decaying humus.

"Feels like it's about to be haunted?" muttered a garrulous unlucky soul, immediately met with angry glares from those around him.

"No problem—we've got plenty of professionals for this," Kraft stepped down from the wall and into the leaves, plant corpses rising past his ankles. "Scripture literacy exceeds most regions of the kingdom; if each of us recites one line, we can send the devil straight back to hell."

The main church's door was not nailed shut, but could not be pushed open; the high windows eliminated any possibility of climbing in.

After studying it briefly, the carpenter concluded there was likely only one wooden bolt, and replacing the door offered better cost-efficiency than repair; Kraft promptly assigned the task to the eager Yvonne.

After an unconventional but effective procedure, both the door problem and the new knightly order members' attitudes toward the girl were resolved.

The professor's youngest student stepped into the church, iron hammer in hand, looking as if he hadn't had enough.

Conditions inside were slightly better than outside; aside from unavoidable dust and dampness, the mountain-built design further reduced light sources, leaving the main hall dim even at noon.

Few stained-glass panes remained in the window frames; cold-toned natural light filtered through, casting several beams through the dusty, spacious interior that made noses itch.

Sneezes erupted in succession—the nightmare of every hay fever sufferer.

Kraft pulled his collar over mouth and nose and walked inward, until standing at the hall's center, sensing for any scent beyond moisture and dust.

The answer was no. None detected—or not yet obvious.

He cast a subtle questioning glance toward Kup; the man nodded firmly, then couldn't help sneezing again.

Though this place resembled the perfect setting for a classic Gothic horror tale, in reality it was far safer than Dunling—at least no one had to worry about a giant timed bomb lurking beneath every cushion.

His foot stepped on something, similar in texture to the courtyard's ground; Kraft pulled gloves from his pocket, bent down, and picked it up.

The contents inside the half-bound cover had already been loose; the poor preservation environment had destroyed the binding threads, and a light tug scattered them across the floor like wet sand or year-old decayed leaves.

"Stop," Kraft raised his hand to halt those approaching, directing their gaze toward the shadows ahead.

Leaf-like objects covered the stone-paved floor, carelessly strewn and abandoned.

They were countless pages of books, layered, piled, and utterly rotten.