The Knight Order descended upon the city a full half-day ahead of schedule.
Over a thousand knights, collaborating with the Epidemic Prevention Bureau, sealed off all major thoroughfares and minor access points throughout the city within a single midday.
Until the threat was entirely neutralized, no one would be permitted to leave the city.
Each person within its walls carried the potential for contamination.
Baron Cambaton served as a stark example, having concealed his affliction for two full years.
Had their detection and planning been swifter, the city would not have plunged into such profound peril.
Unlike the more amenable Epidemic Prevention Bureau, the elite knight squads were not to be trifled with; some tasks were simply ill-suited for those with familiar ties.
The mere presence of the knights commanded an unspoken authority (TL Note: A Chinese idiom, ‘bù nù zì wēi,’ describing someone who commands respect and authority through their mere presence, without needing to display anger), and after a few reckless gang members who dared to breach the checkpoints were swiftly cut down, the local nobility settled into complete submission.
****
“Crimson Lotus, this isn’t like you.
To be so overly sentimental (TL Note: A colloquial Chinese term, ‘pópo māmā,’ referring to someone who is overly sentimental or fussy) is one thing, but to plead for the heart of an evil entity—even if I were to overlook it, those above certainly would not.”
Stepping past the cordon, a man whose hair and armor shimmered silver observed the fleshy orb from a short distance.
His exposed skin, particularly on his neck and the backs of his hands, bore countless scars, the most striking being a festering, burn-like mark that spanned his entire left eye and half his face.
“Commander Lamar, if I recall correctly, the Third Knight Order received no small amount of support from Director Anthea.
Including yourself; without her, another would stand here today.”
Dr. Callan stood within the perimeter as well.
Attempting to persuade a Knight Commander-level figure through ordinary means, no matter how eloquent, would be utterly useless.
Even invoking a higher authority would likely fail, as the Knight Order itself was dispatched by the Crown, making them beyond even the Pope’s direct command.
Her only recourse was to appeal to sentiment, leveraging the late Director’s past kindness.
“It has always been my regret that I could not attend Director Anthea’s funeral.”
The silver-haired man’s sharp gaze flickered, and with a slight nod and a sigh, he turned away.
“This heart is connected to the late Director of Solis Abbey.
I trust this is a misunderstanding of your words.”
Cedric-Lamar, having risen from common origins, was considered one of the more reasonable commanders among the Knight Order.
Any of the others, upon hearing their benefactor slandered as being involved with an evil entity, would not hesitate to show their displeasure even to the Pope himself.
“Of course, it has nothing to do with Director Anthea.
But I can assure you that if you act now, the last ember of Solis Abbey will be extinguished by your hand.”
“I have received no such intelligence,” Lamar stated, a hint of doubt in his tone.
“Now you do,” Dr. Callan replied, crossing her arms.
“The last nun of the Abbey, Konehl-Ghervil, is trapped within this entity’s dream.
If the physical heart is mortally struck, it will drag everyone within the dream down with it.”
“Three hours at most.”
After a few seconds of contemplation, the man raised three fingers, turned once more, and approached the fleshy orb.
He carried no weapons, yet his scarred fists seemed weapons enough.
Standing as still and resolute as a bedrock, he had no intention of moving even a single step.
“No, three hours is too short!”
Dr. Callan hadn’t anticipated such an unyielding stance from him.
“It is not that I am ungrateful.”
He gazed up at the fleshy orb, which had swelled to dozens of times his height.
Its surface bore several meter-long fissures, connected only by sinews of flesh, revealing a perpetually throbbing, jet-black heart within, its rhythm like distant thunder.
His expression was unreadable, grim beyond words.
“Three hours is already an optimistic estimate.
I fear it won’t even take that long for whatever is inside to break its seal and emerge from its chrysalis.”
****
Having acquired a portion of the dream’s authority, Konehl-Ghervil perceived a profound shift within her body.
Thirst, hunger, weakness, and the wounds on her wrists—all were instantly healed, her vitality surging.
She found it difficult to articulate the sensation.
It was miraculous.
Only moments ago, she had needed to cling to a crucifix to stand firm against the wind; now, she moved with effortless grace.
Experimenting with her appearance, she found it astonishingly simple: her hair lengthened, cascading to her waist, and her height increased by over ten centimeters.
Incidentally, she changed her attire, donning her familiar tea dress and white silk stockings.
Continuing to explore and adapt to this newfound power, she knelt and piled a mound of dirt, watching as it sprouted flesh, bone, white fur, and a large tail.
It was a one-to-one replica of Govet-Ghervil, though sadly, it lacked speech and consciousness.
Terrified and scrambling helplessly in the strong wind, it followed its biological instincts, ultimately cowering beneath her skirt and clinging to her leg.
Unperturbed, she resumed her exploration.
‘With this power, as long as it isn’t a fatal wound, even losing an arm should heal quickly, right…?’
‘Then, it’s time to leave…’
She attempted to mentally command herself to ‘wake up,’ but failed.
‘To leave, I probably need to deepen my mastery over this power.’
Fewer than a hundred remained of the town’s more than two thousand inhabitants.
The sun, now resembling a heart, descended to rest upon the horizon.
The remaining people shuffled slowly toward the heart.
Still, some wore ferocious expressions, attempting to resist.
Without exception, tentacles shot out like bullets, instantly dragging those individuals in and devouring them.
Seizing an opportunity, Konehl-Ghervil used her authority to reinforce a leaf, severing one of the tentacles, thereby granting the rescued person a fleeting chance to escape.
They lived a few seconds longer.
More tentacles swiftly greeted them.
Her act of rescue drew the attention of the tentacles, which lashed out swiftly.
With a light crouch, she leaped to the side, the fuzzy ball clinging to her foot, evading the attack.
The tentacles, having lost their target and finding nothing, retracted.
A simple test, proving these entities possessed little consciousness, affirmed she still had time.
A sudden, heavy tug on her skirt caused her to instinctively lift the fabric with both hands, lowering her gaze in surprise.
The plump furball scrambled up her skirt, circled around, stepped on her backside, and then leaped onto her shoulder from behind.
“How did you do that?” Govet-Ghervil asked, scrutinizing the body.
“…They left the dream’s authority to me.”
Konehl-Ghervil offered a helpless expression.
After all, it was her elder sister; Konehl-Ghervil didn’t dwell on its impertinence.
“The ritual is almost complete.
Let’s leave the dream together; we can discuss the details once we’re out.”
Without further ado, Govet-Ghervil climbed onto Konehl-Ghervil’s head, utterly oblivious to her own impudence, to gaze at the heart.
“What should I do?” Konehl-Ghervil nodded.
“Since you possess the dream’s authority, there’s no need to expend my strength.
Envision something you cherish in reality, be it a person or an object.”
“Hm…”
Closing her eyes, she pondered for a moment, her mind conjuring the image of several gold coins neatly arranged in a compartment within a travel case.
The image sharpened, as vivid as if it were before her very eyes.
As Konehl-Ghervil’s body began to shimmer translucently, Govet-Ghervil breathed a sigh of relief, preparing to abandon this temporarily fashioned form.
*Thwack—*
An ice spear, radiating a chilling gleam, pierced through the girl’s chest from behind.
In a surge of terror, following the hand that gripped the ice spear, Govet-Ghervil’s eyes turned crimson, and she let out a low growl.
“I never thought it would be you!”
Rage compelled its body to emit a white glow, transforming it into a human-like shape.
The next moment, the long spear was wrenched free, sweeping through like a tempest and tearing apart the clay-fashioned body.
*Thud.*
Konehl-Ghervil’s tottering body collapsed into the earth, her newly changed long dress stained crimson with blood that flowed to the nearest rose.
It had all transpired too swiftly for her to react.
The moment of exiting the dream was, without a doubt, when one was most vulnerable.
With her heart pierced, even the authority over the dream was useless; she could barely cling to life.
Her vision blurred, and she vaguely discerned someone kneeling before her, clad in heavy ice armor, their right hand missing, hair disheveled, their face a mask of terror and disbelief.
‘Right…’
‘It was Esli.
She was the one who gave me water and food last night.
No wonder the doctor couldn’t have suddenly had a change of heart.’
‘The pain is unbearable.
Am I… dying…?’
Her limbs and body grew numb, losing all sensation, and the scene before her was consumed by darkness.
Time flowed, and the cooing of several doves dispersed the encroaching darkness.
The pain in her body vanished; she felt as though she floated in the air.
Looking down, she saw a colossal, circular garden, stretching endlessly, its further reaches obscured by ethereal clouds.
Konehl-Ghervil was utterly stunned.
In the garden, there was only one type of flower, or rather, two.
It was as if red and white ink had spilled across the garden.
Vibrant roses, planted in an alternating pattern of red and white.