The corridor was brightly lit.
But the light was clearly no match for driving away or killing evil creatures like in fairy tales.
Loki stood outside the door, coldly staring in the direction of the neighbor’s house.
The door was wide open, and an even stronger light burst out from inside, casting a bizarre shadow on the wall.
City Guard Soldiers lay fallen along both sides of the corridor. Their weapons remained untouched in their places, but their skulls were crushed and deformed by some hard object. A foul-smelling liquid pooled along the base of the walls, trickling down to Loki’s feet.
…What rotten luck.
Having seen countless bloody scenes, Loki didn’t even blink. The first thought that popped into his mind was, “Can anyone still live in this house tomorrow?” Only afterward did he think, “My gut feeling really was right.”
“Wow~ oh.”
Celluloid poked half her head out, clutching the doorframe with both hands. She let out an ill-timed exclamation and rolled her eyes around wildly.
“Looks like we won’t be sleeping peacefully tonight, Loki.”
She huffed as she slipped on her boots, then came out into the corridor and jogged past Loki to crouch by one of the City Guard Soldiers, examining the wounds carefully.
“So tragic, it’s like they put too much force into cracking a walnut—everything inside’s smashed to bits. These two must’ve been killed by a spiked hammer, faces turned to the wall. Seems like they were ambushed from behind—fast and brutal, one hit and done.”
“I knew something was off about that Inquisitor.”
“Heh heh, your intuition is spot on. Don’t know if you smell it, but this corridor reeks of the filth that desecrators get from their dirty master.”
Hearing Celluloid’s words, Loki shifted his attention back to the neighbor’s door.
The shadow on the wall grew larger—someone inside was coming out.
It was the same Inquisitor from before.
His white robe was now stained a glaring scarlet, and in his right hand he wielded a rusted spiked hammer.
That was no blessed holy weapon. Just looking at it gave one chills, yet it stirred the blood inside, provoking an unreasoning rage that urged one to rush forward and strangle the opponent barehanded.
But Loki was completely unaffected by this strange emotion. He simply remained silent, observing the Inquisitor’s movements.
The Inquisitor dragged the headless knight’s body with his left hand and threw it onto the corridor floor, then went back inside and pulled out a pair of bloodied figures, a man and a woman whose faces were blurred beyond recognition.
They were already dead.
“Oh.”
Celluloid suddenly spoke.
Her lively, sweet voice echoed through the empty corridor.
The Inquisitor, focused on his task, abruptly turned his head.
Only then did he notice two living people nearby, watching his every move without fear.
Celluloid didn’t care about his gaze at all. Instead, she turned her head, pointed at the Inquisitor, and cheerfully said to Loki,
“Loki, that’s a follower of the Bloodslaughter Lord!”
“…A follower? Dressed up like an Inquisitor?”
Loki tapped his chin thoughtfully and looked closely.
“That’s really rare. I remember the Sacred Church’s gear is specially treated—if desecrators wore it, it would just burn their skin to a crisp, right?”
The biggest question was, where on earth did this Inquisitor’s outfit come from? Forget whether they liked it or not, just acquiring it would mean capturing one of the theoretically most dangerous places in Caesarnia.
…No way, right?
Loki naturally thought of that seemingly impossible answer.
If that was the case, the remnants of the Hand of Truth might be far stronger than he had imagined.
This was not Loki underestimating them.
After all, those big players who control the Sea of Souls aren’t philanthropists—they’re true “only results matter” types. Anyone who doesn’t deliver is abandoned.
In theory, the disastrous, complete failure of the Hand of Truth should have been enough to make the Lords look away.
*****
There were two possibilities.
Either they paid a price satisfactory to the Lords, or… something left behind by the darling they once all loved still haunted them.
But he should have destroyed that thing completely by now…
Looks like tomorrow, no matter what, he had to check that place out.
“Ah… ah ah…!”
The Inquisitor let out an abnormal howl.
He looked at Loki with eyes filled with a mix of terror, joy, and anger, as if he’d just woken from a nightmare or found a precious treasure, confused to have met the murderer of his father.
Such twisted, strange emotions only appeared in desecrators. They had already sold their souls cheaply to the Lord in exchange for power, which naturally reflected a part of the Lord within them.
Forget death, drown in rage, use slaughter as a tool, and drink the blood of themselves and their enemies.
The Bloodslaughter Lord’s followers took pride in this, lived by it, and were willing to die for it.
Only this way could they satisfy their Lord.
“Traitor! Traitor Loki! Eternal enemy of my master! Soulless abomination!”
Naturally, once the bloodthirst and rage overwhelmed the Bloodslaughter follower, all reason was completely burned away. The soft matter inside his skull had only one function left—to figure out how to kill Loki.
As for the original plan… what did it matter?
Was there anything more important than killing Loki?
Through his servant’s eyes, the Inquisitor’s master surely saw that chilling darkness even he would fear. A low growl whispered in the servant’s ear, generously lending power and urging him to raise his hammer and smash that shameful thief, robber, and enemy.
And so, the Inquisitor’s body moved.
His eyes locked solely on Loki.
“Kill… kill!”
The ominous spiked hammer tore through the air, emitting a sharp shriek.
The Inquisitor raised the weapon high as twisted, ugly horns sprouted from his head with a sizzling sound, destroying the outer disguise and revealing a grotesque face stained so deeply red the original features were unrecognizable.
Beyond that, as the distance between him and Loki closed, the desecrator’s body swelled continuously until it almost blocked the corridor, then finally stopped.
The oppressive terror was like standing on train tracks watching a bullet train hurtle at over four hundred kilometers per hour—enough to scare one’s soul out before being crushed.
But…
That was all.
Several white chains shot out like arrows, piercing the desecrator’s body and instantly tearing the seemingly indestructible red giant to pieces.
The corridor immediately showered with a rain of blood and flesh.
Only two people were spared.
“Honestly, they actually acted like I don’t exist…”
For the first time, Celluloid showed a hint of melancholy, twirling the chains that appeared from the void with her fingers.
She sighed deeply, pouted, and glared at Loki with displeasure, as if he were a father brushing off his daughter with a “I’ll buy it next time.”
“Loki, how much do desecrators like you? Once they see you, their eyes only have you in them, completely ignoring everything else.”