Chapter Seventy-Five: Heretic

After several days of intensive courses, Mulan made sure the new trainees caught up on the foundational knowledge they needed. Though only a handful of lessons could instill a basic understanding, even this was a significant help, at least opening their minds so they wouldn’t be completely lost.

But Mulan had several urgent matters to attend to.

At the main entrance of the Black Castle—the true heart of the fortress—a vast section of the structure loomed, not only appearing sinister and intimidating, but actually home to malignant spirits. This was also, nominally, Walton’s residence, though he was often absent.

This Gothic castle was composed of several interconnected zones. The outermost area, resembling a barbican, was the main gate of the Black Castle, passing between two buildings. Its inner corridors branched in every direction, leading to countless rooms with unclear purposes, and even two underground prison levels—the upper being a dry cell, the lower a water cell. The castle still lacked gas lighting; only oil lamps or candles illuminated the halls.

At this moment, with Walton at home, Mulan and two staff members from the Service Department arrived to deliver a proposal.

Mulan, dressed formally and leaning on a cane, walked naturally in front. The two Service Department staff wore alchemical talismans pinned to their chests, following nervously behind. Their shoes struck crisp notes against the finely paved stone floor of the castle’s gloomy corridor.

Every door along the hall was tightly shut. Though the silence was almost absolute, sometimes it was as if they could hear faint laughter and whispers, mere echoes of their imagination. Candle flames flickered incessantly, casting trembling shadows of the pair.

“Professor Jonster...”

One staff member couldn’t help but call to Mulan. He didn’t pause, but glanced over.

“What is it?”

“Professor, did you hear... anything?”

Mulan turned back with a somber expression.

“Don’t pay too much attention to those noises. They don’t exist. But if you focus on them, they might. Think about dinner, your hobbies, distract yourself. Don’t overthink.”

“Yes, yes!” “Thank you, Professor!”

Mulan nodded and led them onward. The Service Department rarely visited here, maybe once every six months, as the Black Castle was historically loosely managed. If anything urgent arose, the palace was contacted directly.

Finally, the trio arrived at their destination, a door with an old oak plaque reading “Department of Magic.”

The two staff halted at the doorway, while Mulan stepped forward and knocked.

Knock, knock, knock...

The sound was louder than expected, echoing down the corridor, as if a hundred doors were being knocked upon by countless people.

After a long pause, Walton’s voice came from the entrance.

“Who is it?”

The door opened automatically; Walton wasn’t standing behind it. Mulan and the staff peered inside, seeing Walton before a large mirror, adjusting his bow tie.

“Sir!”

The three greeted Walton in unison.

“Oh, Mulan, come in.”

Mulan surveyed the room: dark, heavy wooden tables piled high with scrolls and books, some holding apparatuses resembling laboratory equipment. Despite the clutter, everything was tidy, free of dust. An inner door remained closed—likely Walton’s quarters.

Behind Walton stood a row of tall cabinets, two open, filled with various garments.

“Mulan, do you think the black bow tie looks better, or the floral one?”

Walton posed the question as Mulan entered, casting a sidelong glance at the staff lingering at the door. He whispered to Mulan,

“A certain intellectual lady is waiting for me.”

“Black, at least it’s never wrong.”

“Yes, I thought so too. So, what brings you here?”

Mulan pointed to the two staff members.

“We’ve drafted a new training system for the trainees, planning a tiered structure and specialized courses, aiming to improve efficiency with more scientific, rational, and safe methods.”

“Oh? The previous approach wasn’t enough?”

Walton beckoned to the staff; their proposal floated to his hand of its own accord.

He gave it a cursory “quantum flip,” then handed it to Mulan.

“Send it to the palace. If Her Majesty has no objections, I’m on board. Still, best deliver copies to the other professors as well. I’ll explain it to them, but some aren’t so easy to convince.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he spoke, Walton combed his hair and beard with a small brush.

“And your world-forming—better stabilize it soon. Manifesting a totem is impressive, but without a world to supply its power, using the Knight of Radiance’s strength could sap your life.”

“I’ll attend to it after current tasks are settled.”

Walton smiled.

“You’re always putting others before yourself. No wonder the trainees adore you. The Knight of Radiance path is theoretically brilliant, but not yet fully developed. The castle’s warehouse may lack suitable materials, the royal reserves might be insufficient, and you have to prepare everything yourself. Be careful.”

“All right, no more for now. I’ll sign the proposal—I’m about to leave.”

Walton took a pen from his pocket and signed.

After Walton finished, Mulan spoke up.

“Sir, I’m not sure you noticed—part of the plan considers the use of this castle.”

“Huh?”

Walton, just capping his pen, gaped at Mulan and the proposal.

“The protective magic here is strong. Some advanced courses suit this location. Of course, only certain areas of a few floors would be used; most parts, including this one, wouldn’t be involved.”

Walton forced a smile.

“I said I’d support you—no problem...”

“Then, sir, since you have a date, we’ll take our leave!”

Mulan bid farewell, leading the restless staff out. As they exited, Mulan couldn’t help but smirk. Quantum reading, eh? Let’s see you play smart now.

“If all goes well, the Black Castle could be a school for cultivating the exceptional. At least in these times, it would lead the supernatural forces—even if it couldn’t rival the mighty Sanctuary.”

...

In the Bassman United Kingdom, on a mountain path, a weary man wrapped in burlap sat at the back of a donkey cart. His name was Taylor.

A convoy of a dozen carts, drawn by donkeys or horses, moved along the trail. Leading, accompanying, or riding, there were over two hundred people, mostly the elderly, women, and children.

A mudslide caused by a mountain flood had wiped out an entire village. With winter approaching and the mountain chill deepening, the survivors, after scavenging what they could, set off for a suitable town to endure the harsh season ahead.

Taylor wasn’t from the village; he’d joined partway. His injured foot was badly infected, nearly necrotic. The kind villagers offered him a ride.

“Ugh, hiss...”

Pain tormented Taylor; he could feel his right leg dying. Since yesterday, the agony had lessened—really, his leg’s sensation was fading.

Helpless, Taylor adjusted his burlap wrap and pressed his hand to his right leg.

No prayers, no incantations—a faint light spilled from beneath the cloth. The mountain road was rough, and it was daytime; few noticed.

“Phew...”

The wound eased. Taylor, drenched in sweat, breathed a sigh of relief. But using sacred power left him with a sense of futility.

Taylor had once been a cleric of the Sanctuary, a promising young priest. Now everything had changed. No longer a rising star, he was a heretic—an apostate. The Sanctuary treated heretics far more harshly than pagans.

The pain subsided, but exhaustion crept in. Taylor hadn’t rested in ages. Overwhelmed, he finally drifted into sleep.

In the holy hall, bathed in white light, a gentle-faced figure bestowed blessings. Taylor walked forward with the crowd, through corridors of light, ascending a radiance-wreathed peak...

Sacred springs pooled into a basin at the heart of the ritual. A vast magic array radiated outward, carrying hymns up the mountain, holy songs and music filling the air...

Those receiving baptism each carried an ancient relic, placing it at the five points of the altar: a luminous laurel crown, a transparent crystal dagger, an angel’s feather...

It was the highest ritual of baptism. Five priests, led by the central figure, entered the sacred pool together. Even the ripples were made of light. The central priest emanated a powerful holy glow, linking heaven and earth with a pillar of light.

Then, horror struck the sacred ground. The peace on the central priest’s face vanished, replaced by a growing ferocity.

“Who are you? Who are you? You can’t be the true god—not possible—”

Taylor and the others felt a heart-stopping oppression. The central figure erupted in a hysterical scream.

“Demon god... fiend... ah—”

The priest’s body convulsed, muscles writhing as if filled with countless worms. Flesh buds burst through his skin. Amid horrifying screams, his body underwent a violent transformation. In that dreadful surge, Taylor seemed to glimpse something even more terrifying in the monster’s eyes...

“Ah—”

Taylor jolted awake from the nightmare. Several villagers around him looked over.

“Sir, are you all right?” “Are you okay?”

“Do you need some water?”

Taylor’s face was ghastly pale, breathing hard, lips trembling, unable to speak.

At the same moment, in the distant capital of the Dielga Empire.

Mulan abruptly awoke from a nightmare, breathing heavily. He wiped the fine sweat from his brow, his voice hoarse.

“There are still survivors!”