Fan Zhuo’s undisguised gaze caught Lucien’s attention.
A trace of unabashed disgust and disdain flashed across Lucien’s eyes, as if he were looking at some filthy trash.
He felt an instinctive revulsion toward such a naked stare.
“The Warden is waiting for you.” One of the automaton maids spoke, her voice still the unfluctuating tone of electronic synthesis.
Yet when the gazes of the two automaton maids swept over Fan Zhuo, it seemed they paused for the slightest fraction of a second, data flickering in their eyes…
The grand doors continued to glide open without a sound.
The scene beyond the door surprised Fan Zhuo.
It was nothing like the solemn conference room he’d imagined—more like… a temple?
A temple built atop the very summit of the prison, overlooking the entire island, belonging solely to a single individual.
The entire “temple” space was far bigger than he could have imagined.
The vaulted ceiling soared, as if piercing the sky itself, pure white alloy walls stretching upward until they converged at a single point—a gigantic skylight made up of countless intricate geometric patterns.
Soft daylight streamed in from above, bathing this white world in a sacred golden glow.
There were no unnecessary furnishings in the whole space; apart from several archways leading who knew where, there was only a single, strikingly straight path of Obsidian Road stretching from the entrance all the way to the deepest part of the temple.
And at the end of this road stood a White Jade Platform, upon which rested a massive, almost exaggerated White Jade Desk.
Behind the desk, someone sat upright.
The distance was too great to make out any details—only a blurred silhouette could be seen.
But even that silhouette showed Fan Zhuo a sight he would never forget for the rest of his life.
Old John had once said, the A Block Warden was a “walking sun.”
Fan Zhuo had never truly understood that metaphor—he’d thought Old John was exaggerating, or perhaps expressing his own dissatisfaction with the Warden through such words.
But now…
Fan Zhuo was utterly shocked.
In his view, the woman atop the platform was not radiating any light at all…
Though in Old John’s eyes, all he ever saw was a vast, dazzling, holy light, so intense he couldn’t make out any details beneath it—he could barely recognize a tall, oppressively imposing figure.
To him, this was a “walking sun.” Any prying gaze would be burned and purified by that absolute holy light.
Curvature.
Fan Zhuo’s soul was different—it was a bug in this world.
The holy light was ineffective against him.
Thus, he could see very clearly…
He saw the most real appearance hidden beneath that blazing holy radiance.
It was a… voluptuous woman, impossible to accurately describe with words.
She was very tall—even sitting behind that enormous desk, her height far surpassed ordinary people, like that of a model.
Her long hair was as brilliant as molten gold, casually draped over her shoulders, the ends curling slightly with a touch of languor.
Her features were exquisite, like those crafted by a deity—yet they bore a cold aloofness and majesty that warned others away.
Her eye sockets were deep-set, her nose high and straight, her lips full but tightly pressed into a hard, cold line.
At this moment, the Warden wore a pure white, perfectly tailored uniform.
The uniform’s design was unusual—the upper half had a military-style stand-up collar, but one should not look below the collar.
For if one did, it was plain to see that the uniform’s buttons were about to burst.
As for her lower half, she wore a form-fitting pencil skirt that hugged her hips, along with those same pure white high heels and… at least a size 40 or more of “jade feet.”
Even more impressive than the feet of the Angel of Mercy…
That was certainly quite the sight.
What truly held Fan Zhuo’s gaze, though, was that uniform.
It was so tight, so form-fitting that… it outlined her fully matured figure with almost nothing left to the imagination.
Fan Zhuo didn’t even need to deliberately look—he could clearly see, beneath the taut fabric, the shapes straining to break free.
That arc—taller even than the Mother Tree’s, yet unlike the Mother Tree’s gentle softness, it exuded an overbearing sense of power.
And that waist, cinched tightly by the uniform, was impossibly slender, forming a breathtaking contrast with the round, perky curves the pencil skirt accentuated below.
She was certainly grand, possessing a flavor akin to the Eight-foot Lady, but not to the point of being over the top.
By Fan Zhuo’s estimation, with his not-so-short stature, if he stood upright, he could barely reach her chest…
Fan Zhuo’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down uncontrollably once more.
This…this is the Warden of A Block?
That figure… that overwhelming presence… it was simply… the super promax version of White Rabbit!
Though in a maid outfit this figure might not be as enticing as White Rabbit’s, that unique allure was enough to make one lose all restraint…
As Fan Zhuo’s thoughts ran wild, the three of them silently walked up beneath the platform.
“John Smith, Warden of C Block.
“Lucien de Valois, Inquisitor of the Holy Theocracy.”
Fan Zhuo……uh….Assistant to the C Block Warden.
Truth be told, after three years since crossing into this world and always following the Great Sage, Fan Zhuo still didn’t know his own surname or which family he came from.
He could only assume he was an orphan picked up by someone. Since no one around him ever noticed anything amiss, he’d never thought much of it.
“Hecate, Warden.”
Old John and Lucien both bowed almost simultaneously, their voices filled with reverence.
Fan Zhuo was a beat slower but hurriedly followed their lead and lowered his head as well.
He dared not look any further.
Old John had warned him, the A Block Warden was rumored to be able to read minds…
If he kept staring, he was afraid the thoughts in his heart… no, no, he had to start thinking about something else right now…
Fan Zhuo didn’t have much time to think—every bit of thought felt like laying out the suspicious contents of his heart for inspection.
So, his subconscious made a choice… he focused on the thing that interested him most…
Stockings… Yes, stockings.
The black garter stockings of those two maid sisters at the door—the lines were superb, tight, smooth, not a single unnecessary wrinkle—clearly high-end goods.
White Rabbit’s garter stockings had too much lace trim, making them look cute.
He preferred the ones at the door—pure black, ascetic, lethally attractive…
Was every maid in A Block equipped like this?
And Mika? She seemed to have a Gothic Lolita vibe…
Fan Zhuo’s mind began to run amok, launching an academic inquiry into “stockings,” desperately trying to fill his thoughts with anything but the current situation.
Atop the platform, silence reigned.
The Warden did not speak at once. She simply sat there, yet an invisible pressure, as vast as a mountain, pressed down from above, making it hard to breathe.
Fan Zhuo could feel the sacred power within him churning faster and faster under that pressure.
The cherry blossom tree just taking root at the center of his lake of holy power swayed violently, scattering a rain of radiant petals everywhere, barely managing to withstand the external oppression.
This was not something Fan Zhuo consciously tried to resist—his body reacted purely on instinct.
In any case, he could always explain it away as “impure holy power” in his body.