Chapter Thirteen: The Tormented Statue

“Lord, it seems the sounds have stopped.”

A soft reminder from Servant One brought Colin back from his daze. The second floor—or rather, the entire church—had fallen silent, as quiet as a morgue.

“Is that so? It’s finally over.”

Colin rubbed his temples, feeling as though his mind had turned to mush. His distraction had been severe. But at least the task was finally complete, and he could return to his cabin for a proper sleep.

What he didn’t expect was that, at this very moment, something unexpected happened.

Just as he was about to report the mission, Colin stared at the question mark on the parchment’s task list, his expression freezing.

“What’s going on? Weren’t they all killed?”

A flood of questions surged in Colin’s mind. He opened the task list; the progress bar showed above ninety-nine percent.

This seemed to indicate there was still one last “Wailer” remaining.

One more...

Yet Colin distinctly heard no sound from any “Wailer.” This was decidedly abnormal. Nearly all the “Wailers” had been awakened moments ago, but one had slipped through.

Clearly, this survivor was special.

There was no other explanation.

Colin couldn’t convince himself with the excuse that perhaps the last “Wailer” was simply deaf or asleep, missing the calls of its kin.

An inexplicable intuition told Colin... Something was seriously wrong.

“Lord?” Servant Two noticed Colin’s increasingly grave expression, sensing the gravity of the situation, and softly offered, “If what you wish to do is too dangerous, please entrust it to me and One. We are ready to sacrifice ourselves for your will.”

“It hasn’t come to that yet,” Colin replied with a smile. The oppressive feeling in his heart eased, driven away by the unwavering words and gazes of his subordinates.

That feeling—of someone trusting you unconditionally, loyal enough to risk everything for you—was genuinely warming, even if deep down he knew such loyalty had been preordained, enforced by some compulsion.

Truthfully, without these two, walking alone through the mist would be overwhelming.

In such places, a person’s mental collapse needed only a moment.

“It’s probably just overlooked. Search carefully; we should find it.”

Colin raised his lantern to check: [You estimate the blood within the lantern will burn for another thirty-three minutes.]

“Nearly an hour gone?”

He remembered having over an hour and twenty minutes when he arrived, and nearly an hour had passed.

Yet with the blood collected in his pack, totaling more than a hundred milliliters, time was not a concern for now.

He searched from the far end of the second-floor corridor, scrutinizing every room, every corner—behind doors, on ceilings, in nooks, even outside the windows. Nothing turned up.

[You realize the second floor has been thoroughly searched. You have not found the last “Wailer.” Perhaps it is somewhere on the first floor.]

“Somewhere on the first floor… The only place I haven’t checked is behind the pulpit in the main hall.”

Colin recalled his exploration of the first floor. The “Wailers” had run about wildly, but their numbers dwindled closer to the hall’s rear.

As if something more dangerous lay there.

Soon, Colin and his two servants entered the main hall and hurried to its deepest part.

At the end of the red carpet stood a lectern, now bare.

Upon arrival, Colin found no trace of any “Wailer”—not even a skeleton.

Everything appeared ordinary.

Yet this normalcy was, at this moment, the greatest anomaly.

There was no obstacle moving from other areas to here; given the “Wailer’s” habits, it was impossible they wouldn’t have set foot in this place.

Colin’s suspicions grew: something had once existed here.

That something was likely the last monster in the mission.

“Lord, look here…”

Colin turned to follow Servant One’s pointing finger, which indicated a lifelike statue—though only the base was visible.

He raised the lantern, and as the light climbed, the statue’s form struck him with a visual shock.

Colin’s eyes narrowed involuntarily.

It was a statue of a wild-haired, emaciated man, naked, cruelly and exaggeratedly bound to a thorny tree.

His hands and feet were twisted and deformed, transformed into entwined thorny vines, fused with the spiked trunk behind him.

Yet, despite the agonizing posture, the man’s face was serene, his gaze lowered, as if kindly watching Colin and his companions in the hall.

At the moment his eyes met the statue’s, Colin’s breath caught, overwhelmed by a sudden pressure.

Then, from afar, a grand, male voice echoed in his ears.

“My sins are great…”

The voice was ethereal, drifting, and with its emergence, Colin felt as if the man before him could come alive at any moment.

[A statue depicting extreme suffering. You think it relates to 'Affliction,' but you find it hard to understand his actions. You only know he is not the 'Mother of Affliction and Thorns' you are familiar with.]

Colin’s lantern hand trembled slightly. He averted his eyes, taking two deep breaths to regain composure.

Only then did he realize his back was drenched in cold sweat, all in a fleeting moment.

Yet, for reasons unknown, once calm returned, gazing at the statue again brought only a lingering sense of unease, not the earlier horror.

Everything seemed illusory…

[It appears strange, but you believe it truly is just a statue.]

Seeing this prompt, Colin felt somewhat reassured.

So far, the prompts had not lied; they either gave useless information or were accurate.

Looking around, his servants seemed unaffected—likely they hadn’t heard anything.

“Well, it seems the last monster isn’t here…”

There weren’t many places to hide behind the statue. He searched the area thoroughly, finding nothing.

“Could it require some kind of puzzle-solving?”

Colin frowned. He hated such brain-teasing games, especially when his mind felt like mush.

“One, Two—any thoughts?”

Pooling their ideas.

His subordinates hesitated, surprised to be consulted, but they knew little of matters like this and offered no good suggestions.

In their stereotyped minds, evil always happened in basements.

Dragons hid their treasures in basements, villains plotted in basements, criminals were imprisoned in basements, cults held rituals in basements, the wealthy stored stolen riches in basements...

So they thought…

“…The basement?”

Colin raised his brows. If this was truly a game, then the idea wasn’t impossible.

After all, it was a classic element.

But if there was indeed a hidden basement…

Where would the entrance be?

[You have just noticed, by following the statue’s gaze, that the stone tiles beneath the pulpit seem odd. You boldly guess this is the basement entrance.]

Prompted, Colin immediately ordered One, “Move the table and knock on the tiles—see what’s below.”

Bang, bang…

A hollow sound.

“Lord, there really is a basement!” One exclaimed, joy lighting his face.

The lord’s gaze is truly sharp!

Indeed… Colin grinned, feeling a sense of closure.

The people in this game—or world—were still too naive; their knowledge was lacking, offering little challenge…

Colin shook his head, directing his two companions to pull back the red carpet, open the stone slab, and uncover the path to the basement.

But just then, a chill crept down Colin’s spine.

“Big brother… Are you looking for me?”