Chapter 378: The Lost Wax Method

"Something?" The priest realized what Kup was looking at and took down the holy symbol hanging from his chest.

It was a wooden holy symbol, coated with a varnish made from a mixture of turpentine and mineral paint; when brought close, one could still smell a fresh, cool, and pungent scent, clearly indicating it had been worn only recently.

"You mean this? Impossible, I only started using it a few days ago."

"What about the old one?" Kup pressed.

"The old one cracked. I sent it to the blacksmith; he said it couldn't be repaired well and might need to be melted down and recast, but he fell ill before finishing it." The priest still didn't quite agree with the suspicion that the holy symbol was the problem, but his tone had become less firm.

"Indeed, all three of us touched it. I used it to exorcise Brother Dominic, and I also used it while praying to bandage the basket-weaver's son's leg injury, but this makes no sense."

"This symbol was passed down by my master; it had no problems for over twenty years. Why would it cause trouble now?"

A holy symbol used by two generations, if kept much longer, would almost become a family heirloom and symbol of the church; not only should it not be tainted with the Heavenly Father's blessing, but it certainly shouldn't become a medium for disease, right?

"Over twenty years ago?" Benny interjected, cutting in; this time point was far too sensitive, matching exactly the heavy rainstorm that buried the neighboring village in his memory. "Did the old priest mention where this thing came from?"

"It was also given when the monastery's caravan passed through. They traded a full set of silverware for our grain; this was one of the items, and the record still exists."

"Oh, Heavenly Father..."

"Trouble."

The knight and the professor's assistant exclaimed in unison, then, in a brief glance, realized their thoughts matched.

The lingering poison from over twenty years ago had lurked here in such an open manner, waiting only for the moment to erupt.

"Take us there immediately!" Kup pushed aside the untouched medicinal tea before him, rose from his seat, and while observing the priest's movements, scanned the surrounding environment with his peripheral vision.

Seeing this, Yvon quietly slipped his hand under the table, waiting for an opportunity to act.

Fortunately, in response to their actions, the priest showed more confusion than an overreaction after being exposed, or any abnormal behavior clearly not under his own will.

"But..." He wanted to say something more, but was immediately cut off.

"Our current abbot has connections with the Inquisition; we suspect the previous order of tampering with doctrines and colluding with heretics." As a doctrinal illiterate in the same lineage as the professor, Kup didn't know exactly how the Inquisition worked, but after being influenced by Lei Mengde, he knew which hat was the biggest.

The priest looked fearfully at the only person present dressed as a monk. Canse stared blankly for a moment; no one had briefed him beforehand, and he couldn't understand how the situation had taken such a sharp turn.

After a brief thought, he hesitantly nodded. The fact that the abbot had connections with the Inquisition was indeed an open secret.

Since coming to this wretched diocese, everything had been off; if something was actually uncovered, it would be entirely reasonable.

His nod became the final straw that broke the priest. This unfortunate man, caught in the crossfire, chose to immediately cooperate with the investigation, going to the blacksmith's shop to retrieve that holy symbol, hoping to distance himself from the matter as much as possible.

As one of the village's most important technicians, the blacksmith's residence and workshop were located beside the main path of the settlement, no more than a hundred paces from the church.

The place was easy to find. A semi-open storefront, with two strings of semi-rusty horseshoes hanging under the eaves, clinking in the wind; on top, a large chimney rose higher than that of ordinary houses.

The furnace, now cold, was coated in ash; beside the anvil lay hammer tools and a bucket of quenching water. A semi-finished product sickle still sat in its original position, its forged surface iron-blue, with the wooden handle not yet installed.

Fine iron filings were scattered on the ground, distributed around the anvil, covered in chaotic footprints. It seemed the deceased had not fully departed, ready to return at any moment to continue unfinished work.

Kup let out a slight sigh of relief, then immediately grew tense again.

The blacksmith's family probably hadn't come to clean up yet; the scene remained as it was, the situation had not spread or worsened, and was still within manageable limits. But it also meant they might directly encounter something.

Pushing open the partition door into the inner room, he found the ceiling lower and the activity space narrower, occupied mostly by mold racks, with the air filled with the smell of burning metal and heated oil and wax.

The wall with the window was blackened by smoke; below it stood a row of clay crucibles, with the small ones taken out and placed on the stove.

"The place is small; don't come in yet, let me check."

Kup glanced at the hammer on the anvil. Yvon understood immediately, stepping two paces sideways toward that spot, adjusting his position to stand behind everyone, blocking the shop entrance.

Seeing this, he confidently ducked into the inner room, bending to avoid various clutter, and as his eyes slightly adjusted to the dim light, slowly moved toward the window, always prepared to escape.

The smoke-stained, fire-scorched room only looked messy; in reality, the original owner had kept the workspace very tidy.

Various mold parts were arranged on the racks; the ground was free of clutter that could trip someone, except for a wooden box near the furnace bearing high-temperature carbonization marks, which was quite eye-catching.

He first stretched his neck to peek inside the crucible from above; on the side wall near the spout, some residual metal remained, rough in texture, silver and black mixed, not as smooth as naturally solidified metal.

Beside it, a wooden box about the size of two palms was filled with baked-hard clay, with a small hole left on top.

It must be a mold used for casting. The monastery's blacksmith had made similar things; one simply carved a wax model, pressed it firmly into clay, then heated it to let the wax flow out and the clay harden.

A very convenient method, especially when a customer suddenly had a whim and urgently needed a special, finely crafted tool; one could first create a wax model for preview, confirm it was correct, then pour.

This one appeared to be fully prepared, waiting only for the metal to be melted and poured to set; breaking open the clay would yield the rough casting.

The scene before him suggested that just as the pouring was nearly finished, the operator discovered the metal was far from enough to fill the mold, so he stopped pouring, leaving the remaining metal to cool inside the crucible.

The consequences of a failed pour were often irreversible; failure due to misjudging the amount of material was especially low-level and serious; if this had happened at the monastery, one would immediately have to fill out another expense report for materials and have wages deducted.

However, the blacksmith had not attempted any post-failure remedy, leaving the failed mold here, without even processing the crucible.

Kup opened the wooden box, removed the clay mold, carried it out of the room, and dropped it on the ground.

"Yvon, help open..."

The hammer struck down; the mold cracked instantly, small fragments shooting out like arrows, exploding against the wall, causing everyone to instinctively duck their heads.

"I originally wanted to say not to break it too finely."

"I already held back my strength."

After rummaging through the shattered mold for a while, Kup successfully retrieved what he wanted.

Every accountant who felt pain over material costs might ask the same question: Could the metal inside the mold be reheated, melted, and poured out, then the mold reused directly?

The answer was clear: Impossible. Unless the piece is broken to retrieve it, some metal will always remain trapped.

So the thing must be inside.

Though rough, the shape was easy to discern: half a circle, connected to a single, slender wing.

"You've worn it for so long, yet never noticed that nearly half of it inside isn't silver?"