Chapter 139: The Iron Cathedral

The serpent didn’t miss; it twisted midair, scales shimmering with profaned light as it curved unnaturally towards a fleeing assassin, his heat signature burning in my vision like a beacon, and the poor bastard didn’t even make it past the opposite building before—

CRASH!

It tore through brick and bone alike, dragging him through the wall and slamming him into the center of the room in a shower of debris before dropping him hard against the floor, alive—barely—blood pouring from his ears, mask cracked, one eye already swelling shut.

Good.

Conscious enough to speak at least.

The others, like the snipers across the street, weren’t so lucky.

Silence quickly reclaimed the ruined room, broken only by the faint crackle of splintered wood and the distant bass still thumping from the dance floor below.

DUM!

DUM!

DUM!

Fiona slowly peeked out from under my wing.

“…You said you needed one survivor.”

“I did.”

The assassin twitched, and before he could even think about biting down on some hidden poison capsule—

[Profaned Manipulation]

Purple tendrils shot forward, prying his jaw open and holding it there. “Don’t even think about it.”

His eyes widened. Good. Fear was better than fanaticism. I knelt in front of him, resting my elbow casually on my knee as if we were simply having a conversation rather than sitting in a room decorated with corpses.

“Now,” I said calmly, “let’s try this again.”

He glared at me.

Fanaticism it is.

Fine.

[Profaned Prince]

“Speak.”

His body stiffened, and for a brief moment I felt resistance—like a wire pulled taut somewhere deep inside his skull. Not the explosive binding from before. Something subtler. His teeth trembled.

“Basement… of the old… Iron Cathedral…”

CRACK!

A thin line of black crept across his neck like spreading ink. The skin behind was turning vulnerable and jelly-like. It smelled corrosive, laced with magical interference.

Ah, so that’s how it worked?

I grabbed his collar. “Keep talking.”

“Entrance… confession booth… sigil beneath the third plank—”

SNAP!

His spine arched violently, and then—

POP.

Not nearly as dramatic as before. No spectacular detonation. His skull simply collapsed inward like crushed porcelain, and that was that.

It looked a lot more disgusting, though; the dark blood oozing out of squished orifices was far worse than just having it explode directly on me.

“…Charming,” Fiona muttered.

I rose slowly, surveying the damage. Two headless corpses. One imploded skull. A shattered window. Several additional ventilation holes courtesy of high-caliber rounds. And yet the building still stood.

All in all, I kept the damage to a minimum.

Good.

“Iron Cathedral,” I repeated.

Fiona blinked. “You actually got something out of him.”

“They adjusted the binding. Less obvious trigger now. It likely activates once critical information leaves the host.”

I’m surprised they even did something that risky, but considering how skilled the assassins were, they were justified in changing it.

I’d also rather not have my top assassins randomly die just because they shared the most basic information in the world.

Although…

No, they were justified. I can’t really blame them for not expecting someone like me to arrive.

They were just plain unlucky.

“You’ll be coming with me, right?”

I walked through the broken glass, checking for anything suspicious outside.

“It’s part of the deal, yes.”

“Then get changed already, you look way too conspicuous.”

Fiona grinned at my reply, like a chaotic gremlin that had just found something useful to play with.

“Were you looking?”

Answering with plain rejection will just make her not believe me; it would be better if I played along.

“Hard not to look considering how close you’ve been, but that’s besides the point…”

“Okay, okay~ I’ll change.”

***

The Iron Cathedral.

An old church dedicated to the god Diamyth.

The god of earth and everything that included rocks. The patron god of all labourers and workers, of course, the slums would have a cathedral that worshipped him.

The cathedral itself was imposing; instead of grand architecture, as I had expected, it was just a pile of grey cubes smashed together. Each one served as a place of worship and prayer.

Very minimalist, I actually kind of liked it.

“This place seems oddly quiet.”

“They probably didn’t notice the assassins had died yet, probably didn’t expect someone as strong as you to take them out.”

Fiona continued to walk close to me, and I sure as hell didn’t want anyone to see me.

The slums are a lot of things, and that includes being a rumour enhancer; if one person even sees us, it will definitely be heard by Evelina.

“Did we really have to wear masks?”

“If you’re going to cling around me that much, yes.”

We stepped into the cathedral’s main chamber with little resistance. The vast hall lay silent and empty, its stone floor bare and echoing beneath our feet.

The only sign of recent life was the faint, lingering scent of freshly burned candles, as if they had been extinguished not long ago—perhaps earlier in the day, when the cathedral was still open to the public.

I headed to the confession booth that the assassin had talked about, and just like he said, the third plank in the floor had a strange sigil to it.

“Seems like we’ve found our entrance.”

I tried stepping on it.

[Light Manipulation]

But Fiona stopped me before I could, casting a thin layer of light that blocked the space between my foot and the plank.

“I’d rather not have you step on a trap and bury us in rubble.”

“Right, you’re here…”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I can handle myself in a fight, y’know?”

I sighed. This was going to be hectic with her tailing me everywhere—especially since the shadow society seemed to love their long-range assassination techniques.

[Divine Manipulation]

“Use it well.”

Fiona’s eyes widened as she felt a surge of power well up inside her, amplifying her light magic to a terrifying degree.

“O-Oh my god! A gift? From THE Cael Arden!? I’ll treasure it!”

She was clearly teasing me at this point…

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