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The atmosphere around me was eerily quiet, as if a mouse had died.

The third-floor corridor felt desolate enough to stir a chill. A sharp scent of gunpowder lingered in the dim space, and the acrid notes of blood pierced through the air.

I surveyed my surroundings with half-closed eyes.

The corridor was dull and monochromatic, a dreary shade of gray. As I watched the end of the PT, members of the Order of the Holy Knights stormed into the room.

An agent, with his weapon snugly against his body, strode forward confidently. After the agent on the right subdued the corner threat, the one on the left pivoted to sweep the entire compartment.

The two gun muzzles crossed briefly in the void. Agents that had thoroughly searched the nooks and crannies of the furniture and closets made their way back to the corridor and patted PT on the shoulder.

Stealthy strides followed.

The Order of the Holy Knights calmly secured the compartments on the third floor.

They looked much like hunters driving a rabbit, tightening the noose slowly.

-’29 minutes elapsed. Minimum remaining time: 21 minutes. Maximum: 31 minutes.’

Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

Matt’s low voice crackled over the radio. Time was slipping away quickly, yet the movements of the Order of the Holy Knights remained cautious.

They pushed the door open and entered.

One of the agents waiting on both sides sent a signal before stepping inside, where an agent on the opposite side brushed by and followed closely.

Once the corner was secured, they began searching for a place to catch their breath. The agent with the pistol lifted the blanket and checked under the bed, while another aimed his rifle, and another opened the closet.

“All clear.”

“Moving out.”

While keeping a watchful eye on the firmly shut doors, I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. It was a signal from an agent who had just come out into the corridor.

With careful steps, they silenced their footsteps, and a stifling silence hung in the bleak gray space.

As I cautiously extended my military boot, the agent relieving me stepped forward. The agent in the lead kept guard over the corridor, while the following agent turned the doorknob.

Then, with a loud crash, the door swung open. As I crossed the threshold, keeping an eye on the corner, the other agents of the Order of the Holy Knights secured the rest of the corner.

They swung their weapons around to survey the entire area.

As vivid lasers danced across the green world, an anomalous sight caught my eye.

It was a person.

*

The finger, which had smoothly pulled the trigger, suddenly froze.

With a tangled mass of hair and a bushy beard, and dressed in ample clothing, it was evident at first glance that the individual was a local of the Mauritania Continent.

Since this was a building inhabited by cultists, it was easy to connect this guy with ‘Al Kair.’

Yet something felt off.

“…….”

Even after I burst in through the door, he remained completely still. An excuse like, “It was too dark to notice,” wouldn’t hold water. He was clearly glaring at us.

The uninvited guest standing at the corner showed no signs of emotion. He looked as if he were in a daze.

His wild hair and unkempt beard resembled that of a madman more than an ordinary citizen, and the way he knelt there, quietly staring at me, suggested he had long forgotten fear.

His demeanor was starkly different from the other cultists who had fiercely resisted upon our entry.

However,

The pupils obscured by darkness shone vividly.

A weak yet intense gaze bore into me. As if suppressing heightened emotions, the kneeling man inhaled sharply while keeping his eyes on me.

Turning my head, I locked eyes with the agents who had entered the compartment. Their cold, sunken eyes began to stare back at me.

It was a gaze that seemed to question what I planned to do, and I stepped closer, threateningly aiming my firearm.

“Don’t move.”

“…….”

He knelt on the floor. I pushed some furniture aside to assess his condition.

A prayer rug, a tarnished brass bowl, and a hefty religious scripture. It looked like he had been in the middle of praying.

Clear water, likely used for washing hands and feet, filled the bowl, and the neatly placed scripture lay wide open, and then….

“…A weapon.”

A single sword lay before the cultist.

I quickly stepped back, keeping my aim on him. The agent, now tense at the mention of a weapon, raised his firearm and shadowed me. Still, the cultist remained motionless.

An agent standing on top of the furniture shouted in the local dialect of the Mauritania Continent.

“Stay still!”

“…….”

“Don’t grab the knife!”

The kneeling cultist closed his eyes. Mumbling something in an incomprehensible language, he reached out to grab the knife.

Witnessing this scene, the agent pulled the trigger, and I too shot my bullet.

– ㅡ! ㅡ! ㅡ!

The sound of several gunshots echoed through the room.

The cultist twisted and crumpled to the side, and in that moment, an eerie silence swept through, as if a storm had suddenly passed.

After kicking the knife away, I examined the state of the cultist. I pulled out my greatsword and jabbed, but there was no significant movement.

The face of the dead cultist showed an unparalleled serenity. A face that bore no frown evoked a strange sense of déjà vu.

After staring at his face for an extended period, I brought the radio to my mouth.

“…In the sixth bedroom on the third floor, I have neutralized one male of conscription age who attempted to resist.”

After pressing the button to relay the situation, Ibrahim’s response came shortly after.

-‘Third floor, sixth compartment. One cultist neutralized. Confirmed.’

So far, five cultists had been neutralized in Building A. It was believed that eight cultists resided here.

I inquired to Ibrahim about how many cultists had been neutralized in Building B. After a brief communication with the entry team for Building B, he provided a response.

-‘There were three cultists neutralized in Building B. Now that the third floor of Building A is secured and the search of the third floor of Building B is nearing completion, we conclude that there are no remaining cultists in the operational area.’

“Confirmed.”

As I released the button, Ibrahim’s voice resonated over all the radios.

-‘Gregory-6 to all Gregory teams. The ground floors of Buildings A and B have all been secured. From now on, proceed to secure the basement and commence SSE.’

*

All hazards within the building had been suppressed. The ground floors from the first to the third had been secured, and now only the basement remained.

As agents assigned to the basement prepared to descend, the rest of the agents roamed the building to begin SSE.

“Documents, photos, pension records. Don’t leave out a single item; collect them all.”

“We’re out of time. Move it!”

Ibrahim’s and the sergeant major’s commands bounced around chaotically. I stopped midway down the stairs and glanced at the agents of the Order of the Holy Knights.

An agent with the weapon slung over his shoulder began to empty the contents of a drawer. As clothes spilled onto the floor, books from the shelf were thrown on top of them.

The Order of the Holy Knights mercilessly ransacked every corner, gathering anything that could hold information. Someone overturned a drawer, another ripped the mattress and blankets with a greatsword, and yet another used a tool to force open devices.

“I don’t understand what this writing means. Can anyone translate it?”

“We don’t have time to translate. Just toss the paper that looks like documents into here for now.”

An agent who was raiding the closet tossed a net to his colleague. The agent who caught it in midair scooped up the scattered papers from the table and stuffed them into the net.

“Where should I put the pension records?!”

“Just throw them in anywhere! We can sort them out later, so grab as much as you can, whether it’s a hardtack pouch or anything else!”

“Got it!”

While one side was securing potentially valuable information, another side worked to identify the cultists.

As lights illuminated the slain cultist, the recording began. First from the front, then from the side. An agent, holding a light in his mouth, grabbed the cultist’s jaw and moved it around for angles while another with magic imaging equipment adjusted the lens to focus.

It was a familiar scene. One I had often seen during operations with American friends.

I descended the stairs with the rifle in hand and lit a cigarette.

As Ibrahim passed back and forth in the corridor, he spoke to me just as wisps of gray smoke began to escape my lips.

“SSE is about half completed. The search team has also descended to the basement. The basement isn’t large, so we can start wrapping things up soon.”

The news had come that we had entered the final stage.

Once the data and holy blood were secured, the Order of the Holy Knights would exit the scene. Of course, I didn’t need to stay in the Necropolis either, so I planned to leave the city with the operations team following the Order of the Holy Knights.

“I think it’s best to use the sewer for the exit route as planned, but we may need to take a different route depending on the situation at Ash Tree Alley.”

I exhaled smoke and wiped the corners of my eyes with my fingers.

“I’ll go check outside first. Is there anything I need to help with?”

“No, our team members are enough.”

One of the cult’s soldiers raised his night vision goggles lightly and made a slight bow. I handed over the detection magical tool I obtained from the Sanya Warlord and walked out of the building, crossing the yard.

The operations team stationed at the outskirts remained in the north.

Information officers camouflaged in shadows were watching Ash Tree Alley when Matt approached silently with a smile and extended his hand for a handshake.

“It was a dirty, clean operation.”

I shook his hand lightly. As Matt said, it was indeed a dirty, clean operation.

“We’ve eliminated all the cultists inside the building. The Holy Knights will be out as soon as they finish the SSE, so let’s prepare for the exit.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“Well, maybe within ten minutes?”

“Alright. Let’s hurry home and rest.”

Upon hearing Matt’s casual comment, I loosened my chin strap while chuckling.

Home, huh? Man, I really wish we could go home.

It had already been over ten years since I started working at the Information Agency, but I just couldn’t adapt to this annoying fieldwork.

Maybe I should consider switching to an office job.

Lost in such impractical thoughts, I received a transmission from Kair, who was waiting on the rooftop.

-“Is it time to move to the rendezvous point now?”

“Just wait a little longer, Kair. Until the cult members finish their work and come out.”

-‘Understood.’

Matt took his finger off the radio and turned to walk away. I approached the information officers and asked how much time was remaining.

After checking his watch, one of the information officers informed me of the remaining time.

“We should have about fifteen minutes left.”

I asked him to calculate the time more accurately, just in case.

The Royal Intelligence Department officer opened his bag and took out a magical tool. The information officer crossed the path mixed with sand and gravel and placed the magical tool against the veil. It was an investigative agency’s magical tool used to measure residual magic and divine energy at a crime scene.

As I waited for the results while puffing on my cigarette, I suddenly heard Matt’s voice.

“There’s no one wandering in the street. I think it’d be fine to exit through the sewer. But why did the cultists steal the saint’s blood?”

“Do I look like I know?”

“Hmm….”

Matt crossed his arms and rubbed his scruffy chin.

“But something feels off….”

I flicked the cigarette butt to the ground and exhaled smoke. Then I told Matt to let me know when he was ready.

Just then, as I was about to turn back toward the yard—

“Wait, what?”

The information officer calculating the divine energy left in the veil looked down at the magical tool with a startled expression.

Matt glanced at the officer as if to ask if there was a problem, and I too stopped and turned my head.

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, uh, nothing. It seems there was a temporary error. I’ll check again.”

“…Error?”

As I spoke, the information officer, who was about to press the button on the magical tool, turned his head.

What the hell is going on? Why the sudden tension?

The darkened Ash Tree Alley.

Amidst the dim crystal light gazing down at the city.

An operations team member, who was looking down at the magical tool, suddenly spoke up with a visibly shocked expression.

“Um… The residual divine energy has suddenly dropped significantly.”

—

“…Huh?”

A member of the Holy Knights descending the stairs suddenly muttered.

Hearing the voice of his colleague from behind, the leading members turned their heads.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s blood everywhere here.”

That was such an unexpected response.

With a spearhead on guard underneath, a member halted in place and frowned.

“What the hell are you talking about? What about the blood?”

The member spoke as if to snap him out of it, but the response that came back was strange.

“……”

The member assigned to the rear fixed his gaze on the ground, not moving. Even when another member asked what the problem was, he didn’t respond.

Sensing something was off, the other colleagues looked at him with tense expressions.

Finally, the one looking down cautiously opened his mouth.

“Uh, hey. Blood from the corpse usually flows toward the ground, right?”

“Yeah. That’s why livor mortis appears. Blood pools below due to gravity.”

“Were there cultists we shot on the first floor?”

The member asked, and the colleague replied.

“We caught one near the entrance earlier. Why do you ask?”

“Was the place where that cultist died close to the basement?”

“No? The entrance is quite a distance from here….”

“But why?”

The member, still staring at the floor, continued speaking.

“Did the blood flow all the way down to the basement?”

“……”

“……”

At the colleague’s question, the gazes of the members shifted downward.

The stairs leading to the basement were soaked in blood.

Fresh blood dyed desert-colored boots a deep red, turning the hue into a murky black.

The blood trickling down from the drop of the stairs was slowly, slowly making its way down into the underground.

“What the hell is this…?”

As the members lifted their boots, a squelching sound began to echo.

The startled members hurriedly moved to avoid the fresh blood. Those pressed against the walls and railings stopped in their tracks, sensing that something was wrong.

“Let’s retreat.”

One of the members decided to fall back.

“We’ll go back up to the surface and regroup with the others. Report the ominous sign and bring holy water and relics. Let’s return to the first floor, hurry!”

As the retreat order was given, the members of the Holy Knights started to rush up the stairs. As one member hurriedly followed his colleagues, he suddenly felt something was off and turned around.

At the bottom of the stairs. The entrance to the basement.

The spearhead, who had been the first to step down below, remained there.

The member climbing the stairs called out to his colleague urgently.

“What are you doing? Didn’t you just hear the order to retreat?”

“……”

“Oh, what’s up with him again….”

Muttering a small curse, the member descended to the basement and grabbed the spearhead.

“Let’s go. Don’t stay here.”

“……”

“Hey, I said let’s go?”

No response came back.

The spearhead, standing there like a stuck nail, looked somewhere else as if in a trance.

Already stressed out of my mind, now my colleague was causing trouble too. The member trying to pull the spearhead along nervously scanned the basement while holding his rifle.

“What the hell are you looking at….”

Then his voice abruptly cut off.

The member froze as he observed the direction the spearhead was staring towards.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he felt a chilling sensation coursing through the air.

“……”

Under pressure from an unresisting force, his rifle was lowered.

The member who lowered his weapon was now completely frozen. He couldn’t turn his body or open his mouth.

At that moment, the spearhead, still sharing the gaze with his colleague, began to mumble.

“…Oh, God.”

In the underground city of exiles, the Necropolis.

In the homes lining Ash Tree Alley, where the cultists had taken root.

From within that basement, the members of the Order of the Holy Knights witnessed.

Blood seeping down to the depths as if attracted by a magnet.

A massive chest laid to rest beneath the earth.

It was a very old,

Coffin.

 

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