Chapter 364

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Protagonist:

Lin En

Lena

"Indeed a troublesome move." Lin En chuckled lightly, yet his tone held not a trace of panic.

"However, that is all it amounts to."

Butcher raised his head, doubt in his eyes.

Lin En turned around, walked to the office desk, picked up a personnel transfer order, and tossed it onto the tabletop.

"Paul Sera, still remember him?"

Butcher glanced at the name on the document and immediately reacted:

"That Border Defense Army lieutenant colonel? Fallen noble origin, suppressed for over a decade because he offended the Saint Galus Family?"

"Him." Lin En nodded.

"A week ago I already signed the transfer order, promoting him to major general, placing him in full charge of Bottom City epidemic prevention and conscription affairs."

Butcher's pupils contracted slightly.

From lieutenant colonel to major general within a week, jumping three ranks — in the Imperial military this is practically a fantasy.

But as long as there is the justification of "conscription efficiency first," plus the Governor's full backing, however shocking, it is not entirely inexplicable.

"Starting now, release the news." Lin En's voice was calm, yet carried an indisputable decisiveness.

"Say that Paul Sera, eager to claim credit and meet conscription quotas, secretly colluded with the Purge Plague Sect, concealed the sect's heretical nature, and utilized the heretical sect to rapidly screen the healthy population."

"Additionally, I will have the Purge Plague Sect's peripheral personnel intentionally or unintentionally leak the address 'Lord Paul.'"

"All liaison with the Governor's Mansion will go entirely through Paul's military channels."

Butcher instantly understood.

This is finding a perfect scapegoat.

Paul Sera himself is an ambitious fallen noble who stops at nothing to turn his fortunes around, perfectly fitting the persona of "colluding with heretics for merit."

When the time comes, even if Dominic investigates, all evidence will point to Paul; Lin En only needs to bear the responsibility of "poor judgment in appointments, lax supervision."

Dismiss Paul, then symbolically punish him a little, and the whole matter can be glossed over.

Neither abandoning the Purge Plague Sect nor affecting conscription, while cleaning his own hands completely.

The scheme Luna Fee painstakingly laid out is directly stripped of most of its force.

"Subordinate understands; I will go arrange it at once." Butcher bowed and accepted the order.

Butcher had just left when Lin En spoke to the Tearing Worm in his sleeve:

"Lena, have the Priest rein in the Core Gene Thieves' activity range; recently they must not show themselves lightly."

"All screening work, as much as possible let the peripheral human believers do it; Apostles reduce their activity."

"Doing so may lower efficiency considerably." Lena reminded.

"No matter; slowing down at this time is instead the highest-efficiency approach."

The Tearing Worm nodded and began meditating, issuing commands to its swarm.

The office fell quiet once more.

Lin En walked to the window, gaze directed toward Saint Galus Castle.

There lies one of the oldest building complexes in the entire Upper City District, hidden in the heavy night, like a hibernating giant beast.

"Luna......." he softly recited the name, a trace of cold light flashing in his eyes.

"Since you voluntarily jumped out, this time I will not let you off easily."

……

Bottom City West District, outside the abandoned textile factory.

Tall chimneys emit faint gray-white smoke; the air is permeated with a strange smell mixing scorched odor and disinfectant.

The factory's outer walls have been painted a pale white; at the doorway hangs a crude wooden plaque bearing the five large characters "Plague Cleansing Monastery."

Beneath the large characters is a line of small heading: No. 331.

This is the first location marked in the letter.

Dominic leans in the alleyway's shadows, right hand concealed under his cloak, the sapphire ring on his middle finger emitting a barely perceptible chill.

The Silent Sister beside him can sense that within the factory there are faintly several psyker fluctuations sweeping back and forth, as if on alert for surrounding movement.

Yet each time those fluctuations sweep across their position, they slide straight past like water flowing around a reef, without the slightest pause.

This ring truly lives up to its reputation.

He lifts his eyes, surveying this so-called purification monastery.

At the doorway stand two gray-robed Purge Plague believers, wearing masks that reveal only a pair of eyes, tall and straight, posture rigid.

They look nothing like ordinary lay believers; rather they resemble strictly trained warriors.

An unending stream of Bottom City civilians with sallow faces and numb expressions queue to enter the factory gate; some support the elderly and weak, some carry children.

Their eyes hold fear, and also a thread of faint hope.

Every so often, a gray-robed Apostle shaking a bell emerges from the side door, followed by a long line of civilians.

Their expressions desperate, steps hurried, they follow the bell-shaking Apostle toward the distant incineration plant.

Dominic watches this scene, thoughtful.

Just from this somewhat strange tableau, one knows this is absolutely no ordinary folk cult.

He gestured to the two Sisters behind him, and the three of them, using the alleyway as cover, silently made their way toward the factory's side rear.

He wanted to see with his own eyes just what kind of secret this monastery was hiding.

And just who that big shot from the Upper City hiding behind the scenes really was.

The ventilation pipe in the side wall had long since been weathered into fragility; with a slight exertion of force, Dominic snapped off the entire loose grille.

The three quietly crawled into the narrow pipe, the Silent Sisters' cloaks wrapping their figures, even their breathing suppressed to near inaudibility.

Their feet made an extremely faint sound upon landing; they had dropped into a corridor at the rear side of the monastery.

The first thing to assault the air was a thick, clear and cold incense, but if one held their breath and carefully distinguished, they could smell the rot hidden at the bottom of the fragrance.

It was the smell of rotting flesh mixed with mold spots, faint like a thin mist, yet impossible to dispel.

The walls on both sides of the corridor were painted a pale white color, and every few steps a relief of the Imperial Double-Headed Eagle was carved.

Dominic swept a glance over them; at first he only found them ordinary, but when he passed the third one, his footsteps paused.

The edges of those reliefs' eagle wings had lines that were slightly distorted in an inconspicuous corner; the feathers that should have been sharp were bent into strange arcs.

It was as if something was writhing beneath the stone skin, yet also like a botched stroke left by an unsteady sculptor's hand.

Without looking closely, one would only think the craftsmanship crude, but staring for long, the two eagles' heads also seemed somewhat tilted, exuding an indescribable absurdity and wrongness.

It was as if... someone had copied the State Religion Emblem, but halfway through the details were quietly tampered with by another will.

Following the corridor forward led to a spacious main hall.

Dozens of Bottom City civilians were crowded onto long wooden benches, each with a sallow complexion and dull eyes.

On the high platform stood a gray-robed Apostle, his voice steady without a trace of fluctuation, narrating the ancient glory of the Emperor's Expedition across the galaxy.

Dominic leaned in the shadow of a pillar, listening quietly.

The content was all passages from the State Religion classics, from the Unification War to the Great Crusade, familiar to the ear. But as he listened, he frowned.

That Apostle's narration would always inadvertently veer toward a strange direction.

Speaking of the Emperor purifying heretics, it would ultimately land on "only purifying fire can wash clean all contamination."

Speaking of believers returning to the God Emperor's embrace after death, it would be phrased as "through the suffering of incineration, the soul obtains rebirth."

Every sentence seemed to speak of the Emperor's faith, but strung together, the flavor changed.

As if what brought redemption was not soul faith, but flame itself.

The civilians listened with numb faces, some even nodding.

They had seen too much death in the plague; compared to an ethereal afterlife, "ending suffering with fire" instead sounded like a tangible promise.

The main hall was merely a waiting area. Before long, a side door opened, another Apostle walked out, and raised a hand signaling the team to move forward.

Dominic used the crowd as cover to slowly shift, seeing clearly the complete process inside.

The entire room was divided into two corridors by heavy alloy plates; an iron door on the left was tightly shut.

A faint burnt smell drifted from the door crack; it was clearly an incineration room.

The corridor on the right led deeper inside; it should be the path to the safe isolation zone.

Every civilian who stepped forward would have their forehead pressed by the Apostle's outstretched hand.

The motion was quick; fingertip contact lasted only one or two seconds, then the Apostle would speak, voice not loud:

"Clean, go right."

Or "Infected, go left."