Although concern still showed on Elizabeth's face, a small, resigned, almost amused smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She knew William was joking.
"You shouldn't be wandering around," Louis said sharply. His gaze was wary, with a hint of suspicion lingering in it. "Especially when the dark mana aura is so thick on the second floor."
William just shrugged. He didn't feel the need to address Louis's suspicions. They could guess about who he was all they wanted, but none of them really knew.
Elizabeth spoke again, more seriously this time. "Will, you said you were attacked by a woman in a wedding dress?"
William nodded lightly. "She escaped. But I managed to wound her before she disappeared. From the pressure of her mana and aura, I think she's a Wrath-level Demon, not an ordinary one."
The two Sentinels looked at each other. After a moment of silence, Louis spoke.
"The Hall of Literature only recorded fifty couples killed by that demon in the last three years," he said slowly. His jaw clenched and his eyes darkened.
"And if the one who attacked you really is a Wrath-Level Demon, then it all begins to make sense," Elizabeth added, looking directly at William. "I think... Sister Margaret is in danger. We must find her as soon as possible."
William nodded slowly. Elizabeth was right—until now, there had been no trace of Sister Margaret. If she were missing because of the demon, the children at the orphanage would soon start whining incessantly. The thought alone made William's head spin.
They walked back through the church, opening every door and checking every room for Margaret or any trace of dark mana. But everything was quiet. Too quiet.
They finally returned to the main hall downstairs, the large room where the congregation usually prayed.
This time, however, the sight that greeted them was different. Far different.
Hooded figures stood under the dim light of candles embedded in the ancient stone walls. Wearing white wedding gowns, they stood silently in each corner of the congregation. Beside them stood a couple in wedding suits, their faces covered by dull, black cloth resembling mourning shrouds.
William walked slowly, his eyes sharp. The aura of demonic mana was undetectable. Yet his body responded to a strange presence—empty, cold, and disturbing.
He approached one of the brides and slightly pulled back the lace veil covering her face. Her skin was pale and blue, and her lips were frozen as if she had screamed but no one had heard her.
"Just as I thought," William murmured softly. His voice was almost awe-inspiring. "This woman...a corpse. The corpse of a murdered bride."
Satisfaction filled his face. Delight. He looked like someone who had just found the missing piece of a puzzle.
Elizabeth and Louis approached, removing the veils from the couple's faces one by one.
"They were all victims," Louis said in a low voice, furrowing his brows. "The bride and groom, who were murdered by the devil, are gathered here."
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, holding back her anger and grief. Meanwhile, Louis clenched his fists tightly. William stood in the center of the hall, surrounded by death, dressed in white lace and black.
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, trying to suppress the anger and sadness building in her chest. Louis, on the other hand, clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Meanwhile, William stood silently in the center of the hall, calm but with his eyes never leaving the scene before him. Hundreds of white lace dresses and dull black suits stood like lifeless statues, tragically packaging death in wedding attire.
William walked slowly, circling the rows of bodies. He counted silently.
One, three, ten, twenty-five, forty-one, fifty-one.
Fifty-one couples. One hundred and two people. All complete.
But William stopped at the last couple in the row. His bride still looked relatively new. Though her skin hadn't been damaged much, a faint scent of decay was beginning to permeate it. There was something about her face that caught William's attention. It stirred something in his memory.
They have similar facial features. The structure of the cheekbones and the line of the jaw were similar, as were the thick, defined eyebrows. However, these features were unlike Sister Margaret's characteristic gentleness.
It wasn't her, but it was so similar.
The conclusion came quickly—sharp and certain.
"Madeline," William murmured softly. "Her sister."
Yes, it was definitely Madeline. Sister Margaret's sister. A hint of sternness radiated from her frozen face—something Margaret, with her softness and small lips, lacked. But the resemblance couldn't be hidden, even in death.
William squinted as he took in the line of stiff bodies standing before him. They were all still. Yet something felt off. He repeated his calculations in his head. Fifty-one couples. One hundred and two people. No more. No less.
Yet a strange feeling crept up his spine.
Something wasn't right.
"This is very strange," William murmured softly, his eyes sweeping sharply over the line of bodies.
"What's strange, Will?" Elizabeth asked as she approached.
"I've counted carefully. There are one hundred and two people. No more." But..." William peered deeper into the crowd. "There's one extra person who isn't one of them."
Elizabeth frowned, joining the gaze of the victims. They all stood in pairs, side by side, their faces frozen and lifeless. There were too many to examine at a glance, especially in the dim lighting and shadows cast by the gently swaying candles along the church walls.
William caught a small movement out of the corner of his eye—not just an illusion. It wasn't the effect of a swaying flame. It was movement—subtle and almost imperceptible. It was as if one figure was too stiff. Too perfect at acting dead.
Louis approached, his face still stiff with doubt. "Are you sure? The numbers are right. Fifty-one couples. One hundred and two."
William shrugged. "I don't feel the need to convince anyone. If he doesn't believe me, that's his own business." As expected, though, Louis eventually joined the crowd.
"See? The Duchess is coming, too," William thought, amused.
He began walking through the rows himself, followed by Elizabeth. Their breathing grew heavier as they passed the figures—the entire hall seemed frozen in time. It was silent yet oppressive.