Beikeze stumbled, barely able to stay on his feet.
He dropped to one knee, his right hand bracing against the icy floor, while his left arm hung limp.
Blood mixed with icy water slid down his right cheek, dripping onto the cold floor where it quickly formed into dark red ice beads.
The silver hairpin embedded deep in his temple was tinged with black, and a fierce pain exploded from the puncture point.
Immediately after, a cold, viscous, malice-filled force surged in through the wound created by the silver hairpin, spreading rapidly along his nerves and blood vessels.
“Ugh…!”
Beikeze let out a suppressed roar, his body convulsing violently beyond his control.
Visibly, thin, twisted, blood-red veins, writhing like living creatures, spread outward from the wound at his right temple across his entire right cheek and down his neck.
These veins emitted an ominous dark red glow, causing the skin they passed over to burn, swell, and ache with a bone-penetrating chill.
Beikeze gasped for breath, his vision instantly shrouded in blood red, as he coughed up blood mixed with black fragments.
Just as his consciousness was about to be completely swallowed by the blood-red madness, Beikeze, using the last of his strength, jerked his head up.
His left eye, not yet fully covered by the blood-red veins, locked onto the tabletop.
On the table lay a Brightstone, still and quiet.
It had been taken from Buzhaqi’s pocket.
Struggling against the roaring madness in his mind and the tearing pain, Beikeze channeled the last of his strength into his left hand, pushing his exhausted body up and staggering toward the table.
The blood-red veins had already spread beneath his left eye, covering most of his face like a hideous spiderweb.
Without any hesitation, and with no time for a ritual or grinding, Beikeze shoved the Brightstone directly into his mouth and bit down hard.
Crack—
A crisp sound echoed as the Brightstone shattered in his mouth.
Instantly, a cool, pure stream of light burst in his mouth and flowed down his throat.
The next moment, Beikeze’s eyes rolled back, his entire body arching backward as if struck by an invisible giant hammer.
The blood-red veins writhing like living things on his right cheek and neck suddenly blazed with blinding scarlet light.
A dark red force continuously poured from the hairpin into Beikeze’s body, colliding violently with the Lightforce surging in from his mouth.
Zzzzz…
The hair-raising sounds of burning and corrosion echoed clearly from within Beikeze’s body.
Trembling as he pushed himself up, Beikeze clenched his teeth on the still-unswallowed Brightstone fragments and grabbed the hairpin shaft.
Then he yanked it out fiercely.
Black blood splattered immediately, mixed with traces of other colors.
Finally…
One last step remained.
Beikeze summoned the Sacred Canon with a wave of his hand, and soft light particles converged toward him.
After coughing twice, the horrifying hole at his temple slowly healed.
However, a distinct black scar appeared on Beikeze’s arm.
“Now, it’s time to go retrieve it.”
Beikeze slowly rose to his feet, his body swaying slightly from the intense pain and the weakness caused by forcibly suppressing the corruption.
He steadied himself against the cold table, took a deep breath, and tried to calm the tremors from the lingering conflict of the two forces within him.
The new black scar on his right arm pulsed faintly, sending waves of cold stabs, but Beikeze forcibly ignored them.
He stepped forward and pushed open the damaged door, covered with frost cracks.
Outside the door in the corridor, nine pale-faced sisters waited in terror, holding cleaning tools.
They hung their heads, their gazes fixed on the floor.
They dared not look directly at Beikeze, nor even glance into the horrific room filled with ice and remnants of flesh.
Beikeze did not pause and offered no explanation.
His cold gaze swept over them, still carrying remnants of madness and a suffocating pressure.
The sisters stiffened, lowering their heads even more.
They pressed their lips together in fear, asking no questions.
Only after Beikeze left did they cautiously file into the office and begin cleaning in silence.
The thick stench of blood and decay, along with the biting cold in the air, made each of their breaths quiver with fear.
Beikeze did not look back.
He walked out along the church’s deep corridor, the hem of his heavy clerical robe brushing against the cold floor.
As he stepped out of the church’s main entrance, a squadron of knights who had been standing solemnly in the square immediately moved.
They wore standard armor, their expressions solemn and eyes steadfast.
The moment Beikeze appeared, they knelt in unison, their armor clinking with crisp metallic sounds.
“Lord Bishop!”
Beikeze’s gaze swept over them, still cold.
Without any greeting, he merely nodded slightly and spoke hoarsely.
“Immediately… to the Mage Tower Stronghold.”
That stronghold, managed by Lutherch, had been named the Mage Tower Stronghold by Beikeze.
And the destination… was naturally the Blacksmith Shop.
Beikeze strode forward, his goal clear, and the knights followed closely.
The heavy sound of footsteps echoed across the somewhat empty square.
Guards or faithful they encountered along the way bowed from a distance and quickly moved aside, daring not to block or pry.
After Beikeze’s recent iron-fisted methods, almost everyone harbored fear for this Cardinal.
Beikeze, however, paid no attention to the fear around him.
As long as he could complete his plan, he didn’t care how others saw him.
Even if these actions would disappoint His Holiness and make him despised by everyone…
Looking at the road that cut through the Black Mist in the distance, and the people transporting supplies back and forth on it, Beikeze was lost in thought for a moment.
This road had been built specifically to connect the garrison and the stronghold, with nodes placed along the way to keep the Black Mist out.
Indeed, it had increased the efficiency of supply transport and reduced casualties…
But was it truly effective against those beings in the Black Mist?
Feeling more and more urgent, Beikeze no longer hesitated and quickened his pace toward the stronghold.
The knights behind him immediately followed, also avoiding the people transporting supplies.
Inside his sleeve, Beikeze gripped the silver hairpin tightly, his fingers tapping incessantly on its shaft.
Although he could barely maintain control over his body for now, the increasingly violent fluctuations within made Beikeze very clear…
His time was also running out.
‘Gelifende… I’m sorry…’
‘If you don’t die… it will be difficult for me too.’
Reciting this silently in his heart, Beikeze’s heart also grew heavy.
Lutherch had not told him many things; even some matters about Nisangdo had been told to him by Valentin.
But precisely because of this, he also had thoughts of dealing with Lutherch…
“Nisangdo… Sage Xizhu.”