Northern Reaches of Norlington: Threshold Wastes
Where cobblestones yield to wilderness' hunger, beyond the final lamppost's jurisdiction. Here civilization's breath grows thin, sustaining only apostates' conclaves and fugitives gnawing on freedom's rind.
Orthodoxy's patrols sweep with clockwork brutality—yet not all shadowed congregations bear heretical fruit. Some shelter minor devotions too strange for cathedral approval, their rituals flowering briefly before Inquisition's scythe.
Still, the borderlands breed peculiar harvests. Travelers whisper of bloodroot blooming where no seeds were sown, of standing stones that migrate beneath hunter's moons. Such tales lure gothic pens and thrill-seekers wielding séance boards as toys—
—forcing the Hunter's Cabal to play reluctant shepherds to these wayward lambs.
The Weary Wayfarer huddled against the imperial road, its "OPEN" shingle creaking like gallows wood in dawn's bite. Such establishments dot frontier arteries—part tavern, part stable, wholly unremarkable.
Magistrates make cursory inspections, yet every barkeep knows which cellar trapdoors mute screaming. The ale's always bitterest where law's reach grows numb.
"Greetings—does this establishment breathe?" The question bore youth's unvarnished timbre, cracking like spring ice.
Childs shouldered into the tavern first, hinges screaming like butchered swine. His arm remained outstretched in chivalrous parenthesis, ushering female companions through the portal's maw before beckoning Professor Terrence with overeager flourish.
(Sunburst enthusiasm—Fran's pupils contracted against its glare. Ah, to be armored in such relentless dawn.)
Five pilgrims stood swathed in wanderer's wool, their guises fraying at critical seams:
The telltale starch of Fran's collar betrayed beneath traveler's cowl;
Heirda's rosary of silver scalpels chimed against Cabal-forged breastplate;
Childs' gargantuan firearm bulged like blasphemous humpback, poorly disguised by threadbare serape.
A woman emerged from ale-stained shadows, lacquered nails combing sleep-tangled hair. "Shelter or sustenance?" The proprietress' voice carried whiskey-patina warmth, gaze sharpening at the predawn invasion. Her chemise slipped sideways, revealing collarbones mapped with old knife scars.
Childs' retort died beneath Professor Terrence's palm—a scholar's rebuke cracking against ribcage armor. The elder's stride cleaved tavern's haze, eyes honed to ritualistic precision.
"Fill. Shake. Pour. Drink deep our marrow-wine." His incantation dripped sacramental venom, each glyph etching itself in condensation fogging tankards. "Dissolve the choir, nourish the Root."
The proprietress' pupils constricted to stiletto points. Tongue flickering like serpent testing air, she reciprocated with throat's lower register:
"Masticate. Ingest. Metabolize. Feast on borrowed satiety." Lacquered nails scraped oak countertop, leaving faint scarlet trails. "Transcend the carnal shell, become Chalice-bearer."
Her posture uncoiled post-litany, gaze lingering on Terrence's throat. "New blood wears old rites uncomfortably, kinsman." The honorific soured like overbrewed tisane. "Norlington's veins recognize not your pulse. Name your sponsor... or let dawn escort you beyond my threshold."
But one of her hands was slowly groping under the wooden counter.
Haida's eyebrows twitched. She was very sensitive to this movement. It was to get a gun...
"Is this enough?"
Terence took off his white silk gloves and then peeled off the skin on the back of his hand. Under the skin, blue veins and yellowish tendons formed a deep red inverted triangle.
That was the sacred emblem of the Red Cup.
Sub-priest! Only sub-priests and above of the Red Cup cult were qualified to have the sacred emblem engraved on their flesh.
"Forgive me! I didn't expect a sub-priest to come to this gathering. It's my fault. Please, punish me. Oh, I almost forgot to introduce myself... I'm Eve, the hostess of this 'Satiety Club'."
The boss's voice carried a hint of indescribable fear. She trembled as she took out a whip covered with sharp spikes from under the counter and presented it to Terence with both hands.
But her expression was one of excitement that she couldn't contain, and a sickly flush spread straight from her cheeks to her neck.
"Humph."
Terence took the whip and struck the boss very neatly. Deep wounds appeared on her pale skin, and even the skin and flesh were abnormally displaced.
"Lead the way."
After delivering a swift lash, Terrence casually discarded the whip onto the ground.
"Ahem, ahem... I am deeply grateful for your... generosity. Truly marvelous. I shall cherish this moment forever..."
Eve's face glistened with beads of sweat from the pain, yet her expression radiated genuine delight. With an ingratiating smile, she extended her hand, inviting the group into the back of the tavern.
Vivian cast a discreet glance at Terrence, now understanding why the White Chalice Order had chosen to send Professor Terrence upon learning only two Eliminators could be dispatched... How is he so formidable?
Not only had he flawlessly recited the Red Chalice Order's invocation, but he had also masterfully disguised himself as a heretic deacon.
To be honest, had Vivian not known in advance that Terrence could alter his flesh through an ancient artifact, she would have sworn he was a genuine follower of the Red Chalice.
Fran stood quietly beside Haida, slightly lowering the brim of her traveling cloak. Her expression was one of ease, maintaining a low profile and a calm demeanor.
Fran's role in the contract was merely to locate the Red Chalice's lair, and that task was now complete. Barring any unforeseen dangers, she was more than content to remain idle, leaving the strenuous work to the two from the White Chalice.
Pushing aside the curtain at the back of the tavern, the proprietress, Eve, led the group to the storage room where ingredients were kept. She lifted a wooden cover to reveal a dark, narrow, and elongated secret passage with stairs.
"Honored Deacon, please come in. Mr. Sains will surely be delighted to see you. I never expected another bloodline of the Deacon level to be called by our Lord... This is wonderful."
With that, Eve lit a lantern placed nearby and was the first to step into the shadowy passage.
Vivienne felt slightly uneasy.
She disliked entering such enclosed environments where escape was difficult. As an agent of the Secret Court, her habit was to ensure she could always extricate herself from her current surroundings. But her instincts told her... entering here would be dangerous.
Suddenly, she felt someone gently pat her shoulder. Turning slightly, she saw Frank behind her.
Frank maintained a warm and serene smile, stroked Vivienne's hair, and then followed Eve into the passage.
She didn't speak, as a sudden utterance might arouse unnecessary suspicion.
Beneath the walls, within the crevices, and in the shadows, there could be wriggling "ears" growing... In such a scenario, silence is the best option.
Is she comforting me?
For a moment, Vivienne felt a bit dazed, her nostrils faintly catching the gentle scent of medicine and plants that lingered around Frank.
Somehow, Vivienne's emotions calmed down a bit.
She glanced at Haida, finally understanding what she meant by "Doctor Frank is unimaginably reliable in most situations."
...
Eve, holding the lantern, walked slowly at the front of the group. She swayed her voluptuous figure freely, displaying a seductive and graceful silhouette.
It was hard to imagine that such a vast space could be hidden behind the curtains of this small tavern.
After walking for a while, the group arrived at a door at the end of the passage, beside which was a large, bright red, and exaggerated graffiti.
Under the warm yellow light of the lantern, the words "The Gluttony Club" could be seen.
"Honored Deacon, before entering the club, I have one more question for you," Eve suddenly turned around, her soft body pressing almost zero distance against Terrence.
"Speak."
Professor Terrence subtly furrowed his brow, suppressing a deep-seated revulsion with an even colder demeanor.
"Since you have come here, you must have received the summons and decree of the Lord. Therefore, you must also be aware of the recent prayer bestowed by our Lord... Please allow me to confirm. After that, the doors of the club will be open to you."
Terrence's gray-black brows tightened, and for a moment, he fell into silence.
He was not a follower of the Red Chalice, and the previous invocation prayer had come from the confidential intelligence of the White Chalice Order. How could he possibly know the new prayer?
The long and dimly lit secret passage stairs inadvertently began to warm up... accompanied by an indescribable dampness and stickiness. Everything around seemed to suddenly come to life, writhing and undulating.
"It seems you need some time to recall, Deacon?" Eve tilted her head, staring straight at Terrence.
Faintly visible were some flesh-colored tendrils squirming beneath her dress and skin.
"Tch... Of course, I have heeded the Lord's decree."
Terence let out a cold snort and then gave Child behind him a subtle signal to prepare for action.
After all, their contact group consisted of only five people. It was unrealistic to confront a heretic nest of unknown numbers. Now that they had located the actual site of the "Gluttony Club," their best course of action was to force their way out through the secret passage.
The rest could be left to the purge unit of the Secret Hunters' Order. These fully armed fanatics were likely ready to swarm in at any moment, erasing all life within this heretic nest from the world.
"Whoosh!"
Silent and invisible, a nearly imperceptible steel needle pierced Professor Terence's neck.
Terence's eyes instantly lost focus. He didn't collapse but stood rigidly upright, though his mind seemed to have already scattered.
Hedda noticed Terence's strange condition. She glanced back and saw Fran fiddling with a brass pocket watch he had just retrieved from his white coat.
"Deacon?"
Seeing that Professor Terence did not respond, Eve slightly narrowed her eyes and called out to him again. Under the shadow of her traveling robe's hood, she caught sight of a pair of vacant, lifeless eyes.
Fran was still toying with the delicate brass pocket watch, his slender, stitched fingertips gently pressing on a button.
Another steel needle shot forth, piercing straight into Eve's chest. Yet, her expression remained unchanged, as if she were completely unaware of it.
Just as Eve's patience was nearly exhausted, Terence, who had been silent for a long time, finally spoke.
"The veil collapses, blood rains down. The Feast of the Crimson Moon calls forth the drinkers! You are me, and I am you—we are all drinkers!"
His tone was solemn and grave, carrying an undeniable authority.
Paired with those empty, abyss-like eyes, Professor Terence now resembled an apostle delivering divine will.
In an instant, Eve dropped to her knees, pressing her entire body tightly to the ground, not daring to overstep in the slightest.
The eerie movements and creeping sounds within the surrounding secret passage also ceased.
"Deacon, I am deeply sorry! Someone as lowly as I has once again been granted the privilege of hearing the divine oracle through your grace... For a moment, I doubted you. Please punish me severely!"
"You think you deserve it? Get away!"
Terence's voice came through heavy and cold, as he stiffly kicked Eve to the ground.
"Thank you again for your gift, thank you..." Eve, who had just been kicked, seemed to treasure the act as if it were a precious blessing, her eyes brimming with genuine happiness.
As the prayer was heard, the doors of the Gluttony Club swung open.
Dazzling lights, entangled and writhing bodies, dancers stretching their limbs freely, guests indulging in the consumption of flesh and blood... Everything that came into view evoked a strong sense of disconnection, as if the world inside and outside the doors were entirely different realms.
"Deacon, please wait here with your companions for a moment. Mr. Sains will arrive shortly..."
Eve led the group to a spacious and comfortable seating area, then brought out a tray of delicate goblets filled with wine as red as blood.
Professor Terence's vacant eyes regained focus, and he looked around with a slight frown, his expression tinged with confusion.
His lips then moved, almost soundlessly, as he murmured a segment of the White Chalice's prayer.
Suddenly, everyone felt as though they were in another space. Though they still sat in the club's seating area, the surrounding noise and chaos seemed to be completely cut off.
"This is the third category of secret arts of the White Chalice Order—[Virtual Assembly]. It boasts a high level of secrecy and utilizes the gaps within the dream realm to temporarily construct a space for communication," Professor Terence briefly explained the technique he had used.
"What exactly did you do to me? My consciousness was clearly still awake, yet I lost control of my body. And how did you, the Secret Hunters, come to know the new prayer of the Crimson Chalice?"
Faced with Terence's questioning, Haida subtly glanced at Fran. The latter gently picked up a goblet from the center table, squinting his eyes as he lightly sniffed the deep red, translucent liquid within.
"Don't waste it; the wine here is of decent quality. Don't worry, these Crimson Chalice followers have some taste when it comes to indulgence. They didn't actually mix blood into the wine. If they want to drink blood, they drink it pure."
Her crimson lips touched the clear glass, and after taking a gentle sip, Fran retrieved the brass pocket watch she carried in her white coat.
"S-0033, the Swinging Heart Clock. A very safe relic. Its effect is to enhance the user's conscious disturbance actions, um... in other words, hypnosis? Additionally, it can fire a mental beam twice a day, briefly controlling those it hits."
Professor Terence's expression toward Fran grew slightly more serious. The faint distrust he had felt toward the young doctor had now completely dissipated. Given the abilities she had demonstrated, she was more than worthy of being treated as an equal.
"So, it was you who manipulated me into reciting the Crimson Chalice prayer? But how did you know it?"
"I fired two mental beams. The second one hit Eve. Through a conscious-level interaction, I stole the information about the prayer from her mind."
Fran calmly and naturally finished the wine in her glass, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
"Then, did you steal any information from my mind, Miss Doctor of the Secret Hunters?"
Terence's gaze toward her was sharp and cold. Child, standing nearby, sensed that his teacher was in a poor mood. Though he wanted to intervene, he didn't know where to begin.
"There was no opportunity for that. Your will is quite strong. I could only manipulate your actions and speech briefly, as any deeper intrusion would have been fiercely rejected by your subconscious. Moreover, the volume of information in your mind is immense—even if I wanted to look, I wouldn't know where to start."
"...Hmm, let's leave it at that. Thank you for your assistance earlier, Dr. Fran."
After a moment of silence, Professor Terence gave a slight nod, acknowledging Fran's actions.
Child subtly cast an admiring glance toward Fran. He hadn't expected the young doctor to calm his teacher's temper with just a single sentence... For a member of the White Chalice Order, the highest praise was the acknowledgment of one's knowledge.
And it couldn't be done deliberately—the professor detested overt flattery.
Yet Fran had managed to pull it off so effortlessly... How impressive. Could she perhaps be a psychologist?