In a dim bedroom on the castle's second floor, antiquity blended with luxury, quiet solemnity hanging in the unlit darkness.
The murals adorning the bedroom walls depicted scenes of the Horning Empire, while deep wood-grained walls and ceiling exuded a rich sense of history.
To one side, curtains hung half-drawn beside a massive glass window. Outside, the castle courtyard and distant mountain woods remained shrouded in the dark of night, save for faint moonlight filtering through the panes to cast pale gleams into the room's corners.
In the center stood a spacious four-poster bed. Its carved solid wood frame, along with pristine white sheets and duvet over a soft mattress, looked both opulent and inviting. At the head of the bed, two oversized feather pillows rested peacefully, seemingly beckoning a guest into sweet slumber.
The room not only evoked the castle's storied past, but also offered guests a comfortable, private sanctuary to unwind and enjoy a peaceful night.
Except... the atmosphere was nothing of the sort.
Beside the four-poster bed, iron chains securely bound a high-backed black oak chair. Slumped upon it was a petite, unconscious girl, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, skin paper-pale, and slender fingers dangling limply at her sides.
Several more heavy chains bound her body tight to the chair, while leg irons coiled around her ankles like cold, rigid vipers, leaving her no hope of escape.
This junior priestess—one of the three girls from the Creti Empire and the other traitor alongside the Saintess of Destruction—had, in her unconscious state, reverted to the delicate, pitiful demeanor she maintained while undercover. It was hard to imagine that she was actually a sinister cultist of the Resurrection Church.
It was as though the acting had been etched into the very marrow of her bones.
She had been placed under numerous physical and magical restraints. Though she could now activate a single use of her Blood Clan authority, her offensive capabilities were inherently feeble, rendering her threat virtually negligible.
How long the silence lingered was anyone's guess.
In the gloomy bedroom, the creak of a wooden door pierced the stillness, ushering in the late-autumn chill from the cliffside night.
The door swung slowly open, revealing a tall male figure in the doorway. His upright silhouette cast a long shadow under the dim moonlight.
Carrying an iron bucket filled with water, he walked measuredly into the room, each deliberate step heavy and accompanied by the faint clink of metal armor.
He strode over to the unconscious girl and, without a shred of hesitation, tipped the bucket, dousing her in icy water.
"Ah!"
Water splashed in all directions. The Resurrection Church priestess violently shuddered, coughing as her blue eyes fluttered open, wide with terror.
She instinctively struggled with all her might, but the tight iron chains bound her fast, leaving her unable to budge.
"You bast—!"
The Resurrection Church priestess started to scream, only for her words to catch in her throat the moment she got a clear look at the Paladin.
The Paladin stood there, watching her reaction with cold, ruthless eyes, devoid of mercy or hesitation. He looked like an entirely different person, sending an instant, piercing chill through the priestess's heart.
This morning... and this afternoon... the Paladin hadn't been anything like this...
Bound to the chair in the dim room, she felt as though she had become the focal point of all terror.
The opulent furniture and decorations now felt oppressive, wrapping her in overwhelming isolation.
A few seconds later, the door was pushed open once more, the heavy wood groaning on its hinges.
The Executioner walked in, thick cotton-linen gloves on his hands, while the Priest followed, clutching an old cloth mop.
Their eyes were just as terrifyingly cold.
Their practiced, methodical ease and calm expressions made it look as though they were merely preparing to clean up some refuse.
The bizarre sight unfurling before her made the room's atmosphere plummet into suffocating dread.
"What are you doing?"
The priestess's legs trembled weakly. Something was horribly wrong with these three!
The Paladin paid no heed to her cries, simply setting the iron bucket down beside her chair.
The Executioner didn't even look at her.
He unrolled a parchment-wrapped bundle of medical blades on the table—instruments that had been stored in the castle all along.
"You may bleed quite a bit shortly. But that bucket should hold it all."
The Executioner picked up a lancet, watching the thin glint of light gleaming off its tip as he explained matter-of-factly.
The priestess's pupils quivered violently as her gaze snapped down to the bucket by her feet.
Her face turned as pale as a sheet, beads of sweat popping across her forehead. A single glance into that seemingly bottomless bucket was enough to make her mind recoil in horror.
Compared to the daytime, the three of them were completely unrecognizable. Far from the gentle, steadfast followers typical of the Church of the Goddess of Fate, they acted like creatures of evil masquerading as false clergy!
"A-Are you truly clergy from the Church of the Goddess of Fate?"
The Resurrection Church priestess's lips and teeth chattered uncontrollably.
"Praise be to the Goddess!"
Chilling smiles spread across all three of their faces. Turning to look at her, they spoke in unison.
"Y-You... Aaaahhhh—!!!"
...
In Room 201, on the opposite side of the second floor.
Before long, bloodcurdling screams drifted in from next door.
With brisk, light footsteps, the Poet of Great Love trotted over cheerfully, arms spread wide.
"All set!"
Wearing a triumphant grin, the Poet of Great Love tapped Lanqi's shoulder with swift, light pats, like someone claiming credit for a job well done.
"Reforming unruly students will be your responsibility from now on, Director Lanfu of the Student Affairs Office," Lanqi praised with a smile.
He felt the foundational staff of his school becoming ever more complete.
Once everything was in place, he would surely make Purgatory Corridor Academy great again.
And when that time came, he would resume his post as Headmaster in the mortal realm.
"Fufufu!"
The Poet of Great Love planted her hands on her hips and nodded.
"Poet of Great Love, where on earth did you learn all this?!"
Hyperion stared at the Poet of Great Love in utter disbelief.
At times, the Poet of Great Love seemed nice enough; at other times, she seemed genuinely evil.
Just hearing the gut-wrenching, despair-filled shrieks of the Resurrection Church priestess next door made Hyperion want to bury her head and cover her ears, pretending she couldn't hear a thing.
It felt as if her karmic merit was being docked by the second!
Once this Shadow World was over, she would probably never dare set foot in a temple to pray to the Goddess again.
"Shouldn't something this simple be second nature from birth? Hyperion, you truly are a disgrace to the demon race!"
The Poet of Great Love looked at Hyperion, squinting her left eye with utter disdain as she severely reprimanded her.
"..."
Hyperion was struck speechless.
Though the Poet of Great Love appeared to be scolding her, it was the first time a demon had ever called her a disgrace to the demon race, which somehow left her feeling secretly pleased.
Then she hurriedly began repenting to the Goddess in her heart—her mood was supposed to be heavy right now, wasn't it?!
Furthermore, Hyperion found it bizarre that the Poet of Great Love possessed such high intelligence and autonomous agency, virtually indistinguishable from a living being.
Had she not seen Lanqi summon the Poet of Great Love via a magic card with her own eyes, no one would have ever guessed that she was merely a summon—not even the Blood Clan envoy who had inspected the Demon Academy in the previous Shadow World could tell.
"Alright, Secretary Hyperion, it's time we had a proper chat with this noble lady from the Creti Empire."
Lanqi's voice snapped Hyperion back to attention, prompting her to straighten up in her chair.
Seated across from them was the noble mage girl from the Creti Empire.
Of the three-girl team from the Creti Empire, the female knight—the Saintess of Destruction—was dead, the other Resurrectionist priestess was being tortured next door, and the last of them, the sole non-cultist, was this noble mage sitting right before Lanqi and Hyperion.
She slumped listlessly against the back of her chair, her head tilted slightly as brown locks tumbled past her cheeks, all light seemingly gone from her eyes.
She showed no inclination to speak of her own accord, nor any desire to resist.
After all, in five hours, it would all be over.
Everyone would die at the hands of the Blood Clan.
Just like her Creti Empire, beyond salvation.
Chapter 145