The Pope’s Deception

The interior of the ruins was far more expansive and grand than Bertram had imagined.

A single obsidian staircase hung suspended in mid-air. The vibrant crimson glow of blood-crystal stones cascaded from the vaulted ceiling, while the polished silver walls, smooth as mirrors, reflected his blurred silhouette as he ascended the steps.

This narrow staircase could accommodate only one person at a time, devoid of railings on either side. Below stretched a bottomless abyss.

Dark mist swirled within the chasm, occasionally illuminated by flashes of violet lightning.

[Death Fog]. In the game, any unit that touched it would instantly die, regardless of any [Invincibility], [Death Immunity], or [Revival] statuses. Its priority was absolute.

Bertram had been transmigrated to this world for thirty years, yet this was his first time witnessing the [Death Fog] with his own eyes.

Such a phenomenon should not have existed here. It was a tool used by game designers to restrict player movement, warning them that no map modeling existed beyond that point—a unique form of ‘invisible wall.’

This reinforced his conviction that the [Developer Item] was likely hidden deep within these ruins.

What exactly was a [Developer Item], and what purpose did it serve? Bertram himself was unsure.

Official servers did not feature [Developer Items], or rather, even if they did, players could never access them.

Private servers, however, were different.

Modified private servers could brazenly insert [Developer Items] from the database into the game map as rewards for specific dungeon levels, allowing players to acquire them through normal gameplay.

Along with the private server installation package, the mysterious account had also sent a document. This document contained installation tutorials and important notes, including instructions on how to obtain the [Developer Item].

[Before the dead step into the lands of the living, encounter that which makes the impossible possible at the foot of the snowy peaks. The Mother Goddess will bless the devout, each of whom falls into a sweet, dreaming slumber.]

This text did not resemble a tester’s note; rather, it read like an in-game quest description. Yet, each seemingly cryptic passage held a specific meaning.

“Before the dead step into the lands of the living” referred to the main storyline of the first expansion pack, [Shadowy Gloom]. In Imperial Year 1754, the Necrotopia, the Land of the Dead, led by the Great Lich Blumfield, officially invaded the Empire’s northern territory, the Northlands.

“Snowy peaks” denoted the part of the Donau Mountains bordering the desolate northern permafrost. Due to the extremely low temperatures, this region remained covered in ice and snow year-round.

“Mother Goddess” was an honorific used for Lamia, the Queen of Vampires, in certain cults that worshipped her.

Lamia was one of the Chaos Gods. Her followers believed she was the source of the Blood-Crystal Wind and the creator of all magic, hence the ‘Mother of Magic.’ Without Lamia, magic would not exist in this world.

This was precisely why Bertram had chosen this specific time and location to visit these ruins.

Finally, having reached the end of the staircase, His Holiness the Pope, with his steady gait, now stood before a colossal archway, easily five times the height of a man.

Strange, indecipherable inscriptions adorned the arch’s lintel. On either side, intricate bas-reliefs depicted the continent’s four primary races of order—humans, dragons, dwarves, and elves. They were shown locked in battle, wielding spears and shields, their expressions and movements rendered with lifelike precision.

Bertram found it peculiar. Why would ruins, with a ceiling entirely paved in crimson blood-crystal stones and clearly linked to the Mother Goddess’s faith, feature carvings of the races of order on their reliefs?

The tightly sealed stone doors were painted an immaculate chalk-white. Beside them, a pull-lever bore mottled bloodstains and a crimson handprint.

“A trap?” he murmured softly.

Someone had been here before; Bertram was not surprised.

Touching the lever would undoubtedly trigger a trap. The blood belonged to some unfortunate soul who had visited this place not long ago.

Under Bertram’s command, a [Mage Hand], glowing with an ethereal blue light, firmly grasped the lever. With a crisp “click,” the lever’s smooth surface instantly revealed several long, dark grooves. From these channels, sharp blades bristling with serrated barbs sprang forth. A colossal, bronze double-headed axe then swung like a pendulum across the archway, before retracting into a hidden mechanism in the ceiling by inertia.

Unfortunately, the blades’ damage to the [Mage Hand] could not be transferred to the caster. The axe, moreover, failed to reach Bertram, who had already retreated a safe distance. With a booming rumble, the marble doors slid open, allowing him to pass through the perilous archway completely unharmed.

Beyond the doors lay a narrow corridor, meticulously carved and polished from pure blood-crystal stone. Beneath his feet, above his head, and along the sides, vibrant crimson crystal grains, like pomegranate seeds, shimmered everywhere. Even the air was thick with a foul, bloody mist, as an excessively dense magical energy converged within this small space.

The unfortunate soul’s blood trail led onward, indicating that despite sustaining injuries, he had successfully passed through the great doors.

Following the bloodstains, Bertram eventually discovered a small, silver-plated altar at the end of the corridor. Abruptly embedded within the blood-crystal wall behind the altar was a keyhole.

A mysterious four-pointed star symbol had been painted with deep crimson oil paint. Four half-burnt candles stood at each point of the star, clearly part of an evil, blasphemous ritual.

An ivory stand on the altar should have held something important, but it was now conspicuously empty.

The whereabouts of the missing item were immediately apparent.

A hand, tightly clutching a golden key, abruptly jutted out before Bertram. Its palm was drenched in fresh blood, revealing the source of the trail.

The hand’s owner was tightly bound by fleshy, sausage-like tentacles extending from the wall, with only his head and key-holding hand remaining exposed.

It was a gaunt, gray-haired youth. He carried some grave-robbing equipment, yet it didn’t seem particularly professional, suggesting an amateur filling in temporarily.

“It’s you! You actually came!”

The moment he spotted Bertram approaching, he reacted as if seeing a savior. A flicker of hope ignited in his dull eyes, like embers rekindling, and he desperately shook his head, shouting loudly to announce his presence.

However, the tentacles binding him immediately tightened their grip, causing the youth to howl and quiet down.

“For a half-blood who has endured two weeks of hunger without swallowing a single drop of blood, you’ve performed rather well.” The benevolent kindness Bertram had shown before Gwynevere was utterly gone. Now, his expression was frigid, his voice low and deep, and his gaze upon the youth was like that reserved for a dead man. “However, you should not have reached directly for the key. This place serves and worships an unknown Outer God, and that key is an offering to Him. Your reckless actions have angered Him.”

“That’s not important.” The youth paid no attention to Bertram’s words. He rattled the golden key in his hand. “I found what you wanted! Now get me out of this monster’s grasp!”

“Yet, these ruins utilize a vast amount of blood-crystal stone as building material. Their faith should be in the Mother of Magic. To worship an Outer God here is nothing short of blasphemy.” Bertram spoke as if he hadn’t heard the youth at all. He stepped lightly to the altar, gently stroking the candle bases and ritual patterns, muttering things the youth couldn’t comprehend.

“Who the hell cares what gods these bastards worship?!” the youth shrieked, craning his neck. He was desperate. “What you want is definitely behind that door, and the key is in my hand! So, save me, quickly!”

“My point is, this is a trap. One prepared for any fool who might try to take the key.” Bertram, his back still to the youth, suddenly chuckled softly, his laughter cold and sinister.

Such laughter was entirely unbefitting Bertram’s status.

The Blazing Sun Church, which worshipped Vatitaya, was the Empire’s official religion. The Pope served as the supreme ruler of three religious territories, his status second only to the Emperor, or even on par with him.

He ought to embody an image of solemn authority: seated high upon a holy throne, guarded by countless devotees of the Goddess, his gaze ever profound and his countenance perpetually grave.

He should certainly not be emitting a sneer of cunning triumph, as he was now.

“No! This… this isn’t what we agreed upon!” The youth suddenly realized something, his eyes shifting from agitation to sheer terror. “I helped you find this place! You said you’d let me go!”

“But you are a half-blood; neither humans nor vampires tolerate your kind. No one cares where a half-blood with an exposed identity vanishes.” Bertram shook his head, still smiling. “Biting people and draining their blood openly in Salentz—your audacity is truly remarkable. Without me, you would have long been nailed to a cross and burned alive by the Inquisition. Now, I am merely granting merciful release to a poor soul caught in an evil trap.”

The youth watched in horror as the golden scepter in the Pope’s hand gradually transformed. As the illusionary disguise dissipated, the crimson blood-crystal stone embedded in its head became dazzlingly translucent. Scorching, fiery runes emerged from the blood-crystal’s surface, only to swiftly dissolve into the air. A destruction-type fire magic was being chanted and prepared.

Blood-crystal magic items were an absolute taboo within the Blazing Sun Church. Yet, Bertram held one in his hand every single day.

This was no legitimate Pope at all!

He himself was the one who truly deserved to be dragged to the cross by the Inquisition!