Chapter 60

House of Mercy (1)

Large and small rooms lined the corridor in succession.
Children were playing here and there in the rooms as well.
Some played chess, some cards, and others fought with pillows.
At a glance, it looked perfectly peaceful and harmonious.

But one, two, three, four.
As Isaac counted the number of children who met his gaze and checked their condition, it wasn’t hard for him to realize that it was far from peaceful or harmonious.
The bright smiles on the children’s faces were, in truth, completely hollow.

The child playing chess kept moving the same piece to the same spot over and over.
It wasn’t even a move that followed the rules of chess.
The same went for the children playing cards and those having a pillow fight.
They were merely imitating with smiling faces.
They weren’t truly playing or engaging in those actions.

There was only one conclusion Isaac could draw from his observations.

‘They’ve been drugged.’

Narcotics.

However, what puzzled him was the nature of their actions.
Why were drugged children imitating actions without any meaning or purpose?
Chess, cards, pillow fights.
At a glance, they seemed natural, but those were more like games for adults than for children.
Even a pillow fight could become entertainment for adults if you replaced the pillows with knives.
Which meant someone had drugged them and then made them repeat those actions through some method.
That part, Isaac couldn’t easily understand.

‘Only boys.’

There were children with delicate, almost feminine appearances, but on closer inspection, they were all boys.
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—they looked physically healthy.
But the more Isaac observed, the more his expression hardened.
He was beginning to grasp the purpose of this orphanage.

“How do they feed this many children?”
“Well, it’s thanks to kind people like you, young master, who willingly give what they have for the sake of the children.”
“Were there always so many kind-hearted people in Bern?”

“Bern is a city built by merchants, for merchants. A true merchant is someone who knows how to assign and pay the proper value even to things that cannot be seen.”

The head nun explained in a gentle voice.
As she said, Bern was not governed by a single ruler like a marquis.
Instead, it was controlled by the five great families—
merchant nobles, in other words.
One of them was Varis.

“Does Mayor Varis count among those ‘true merchants’?”
“Yes. The mayor was a great merchant among great merchants. It’s truly unfortunate… that someone, envious of his reputation and wealth, committed such a vile act…”

The head nun spoke as if she genuinely regretted it.

“Strange. The city doesn’t seem much different.”
“A city doesn’t stand on a single pillar. And true turmoil often rises in places unseen.”

“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure someone like you would understand, young master. It’s the struggle of those beneath. This way, please.”

The place she led him to was a reception room.

“Lavish.”

Isaac muttered.

The room was filled with various decorations.

A statue of a praying saint.
A large pot with lush green plants.
A tapestry embroidered with the figure of a saint.
A massive oil painting that looked like the work of a skilled artist.
A table engraved with ornate vines.
Soft chairs gilded with gold.

Nothing about the space suited an orphanage.

“There are many wealthy patrons who come with good intentions. We must offer them hospitality worthy of their status. Please, sit. Tea will be served shortly.”

The head nun smiled.
Just as she said, a mercenary in a gambeson brought in a teapot and cups on a tray.

“I hope it suits your taste. It’s rather bitter, but good for one’s health.”

The tea she poured was terribly unpleasant.
It was so bitter that chewing raw grass might have been better.

“There are quite a few mercenaries here. Is something important being guarded?”
“What could be more important than the children? The atmosphere in the city is unstable, so we’re taking extra precautions for their safety. And you, young master—did you come alone?”

“I prefer traveling alone. My escort is waiting at a nearby inn.”

To be precise, at that very moment, the hellhound was evading the city guards and rampaging through the southern district.
Through their shared bond, Isaac could sense the chaotic running, along with screams and shouts.
The reason the hellhound was causing a disturbance was to draw Carlson here.

“What if something happens?”
“What could possibly happen in an orphanage?”
“Even so, it’s best to be careful. How is the tea?”

Her expression was peculiar.
Her gaze was fixed on Isaac, and the corners of her lips twitched.
It was the face of someone expecting a certain reaction from him.

“It’s bitter.”

“It’s meant to calm the mind. Don’t you feel any changes?”
“Not really.”

A faint wrinkle formed on the nun’s forehead.
She seemed dissatisfied with his response.

“No matter how I think about it… selling just that one statue could feed dozens of starving children in the southern district for days.”

Isaac pointed at the statue of the saint in the corner.

“That may be true. But charity isn’t something that can be calculated so simply.”
“And having only boys here—is that part of the calculation too?”
“It’s a little different, but… there are circumstances only adults can understand.”

The head nun deftly avoided the uncomfortable question, as if she were used to doing so.
Isaac let it go without pressing further.
It wasn’t time yet.

“Who’s that?”

A massive oil painting hung on the wall.
In it stood a noble holding an ornate ceremonial sword.
He faced a horned giant.

The giant had red skin and a face resembling a goat.
It was an imagined scene of a noble confronting a demon.
Though only a painting, it felt strangely alive.

The burning background, the demon’s scorched face, the sharp and cold blade—
it all seemed as though it might leap out of the canvas at any moment.
Isaac felt a slight dizziness and shook his head.

“If not for him, these angelic children would still be wandering through dangerous slums.”

As she spoke, something faint and bluish began to rise slowly from the head nun’s fingertips.
Like smoke, it unfurled like threads, drifting through the air toward Isaac.

‘So this is how it works.’

Invisible to the naked eye, a thin, diluted strand of mana wriggled toward the space between Isaac’s eyebrows.
A classic mental magic.

Only then did everything start to make sense to Isaac.
They drugged the children, loosened their mental resistance, and then used mental magic.
A mere 2nd-class nun couldn’t possibly control that many children at once.
So instead, she must have planted suggestions in each one through magic—
a kind of repeatable command dictating when and how they should act.

Isaac hesitated for a moment.

Should he allow himself to be affected by that faint strand of mana approaching his forehead?

You could avoid it if you wanted, and you could neutralize it if you chose.
Compared to the long history magic would go on to build, the mental spell the head nun was attempting was far too crude.

But Isaac didn’t want to spoil things so early.
He had only ever read about mental magic in books—he had never experienced it firsthand.

In the end, the thin, blue, wriggling thread of mana touched the space between Isaac’s brows.

Ping!

For an instant, it sounded as though a taut bowstring had snapped right beside his ear.
Or rather, Isaac perceived it that way.

His five senses went dark, as if they had fallen into an inkwell.
He could neither see, hear, nor feel anything.

‘So this is what it feels like.’

Intrigued, Isaac observed his own state.
Some parts matched what he had expected, while others did not.

The mystery of magic was always fascinating.

His past life, and even this second life, had been built upon responsibility and fatigue—
but magic alone was always something new.

“Raise your right hand.”

The nun’s voice echoed.
Isaac raised his right hand.

“Now your left hand.”

Isaac raised his left hand.

Satisfied, the head nun nodded.

The mercenaries waiting nearby approached Isaac and checked his condition.
Since the nun’s mental magic wasn’t particularly strong, they moved carefully, making sure not to give off any presence.
Now they intended to administer large amounts of drugs to Isaac regularly and reinforce the suggestion.

There were two main suggestions.

First: to perceive this orphanage as a generous and happy home and live according to its prescribed routine.
Second: to obey the head nun absolutely.

At the nun’s level, such deep suggestions couldn’t be achieved by magic alone.
It required tedious work and the assistance of drugs.

To ensure the mental spell wouldn’t break, the mercenaries carefully bound Isaac’s limbs.

“Find out which family that brat belongs to and why he came here.”

After Isaac was restrained, the nun gave the order.

“Hey… he’s smiling. Is that from the drug?”
“No way. That’s not the same stuff we use before the process.”
“Hey, Hindi—what are you doing?”

The mercenaries grew flustered.

The head nun suddenly raised her right arm, then her left.
Then she bared her teeth in a grin.
Her eyes were unfocused, just like the children here.

‘Try dancing.’

Isaac gave the command.

The nun abruptly stood up and began swaying her body.
With her eyes wide open, her mouth smiling, and both arms raised as she swayed,
she looked grotesque—like a puppet being manipulated by a clumsy puppeteer.

By the time the mercenaries realized something was wrong, it was too late.

“Ghk—!”

Isaac, whom they believed to be under mental control, instantly snatched a dagger from a mercenary’s waist and stabbed him in the neck.
The ropes binding him had long since been cut.

“You little—!”

The mercenary who witnessed his comrade’s death right in front of him couldn’t avoid Isaac’s blade either.

“Argh—!”

He tried to block the dagger aimed at his throat with his arm, but it only prolonged his pain.
The blade pierced through his arm—then through his wrist.
He tried to flee, but another dagger lodged into his back.

“S-save—”

The dagger slipped between his ribs and pierced his lung.
Just as Isaac had seen in anatomical diagrams.

The man flailed his arms and crawled along the ground for a few moments, but it didn’t last long.
Isaac stabbed the back of his neck, ending his life.

He had no hobby of prolonging another’s suffering.

“So it works.”

With the two corpses beside him, Isaac sat down on the sofa.
The head nun was still dancing unnaturally—
like a puppet moving in the hands of an amateur puppeteer.

“Now then, shall we have an honest conversation, Head Nun? Sit.”

At Isaac’s command, the nun slumped into a chair.
The gentle smile, the soft expression, the kindly voice—none of it remained.

“What’s your name?”
“Hindi.”

She answered in a stiff voice.

“Your original occupation?”

“…Mercenary. A mage mercenary.”

The nun’s expression twisted.
One of her hands tried to cover her mouth.
It was a desperate attempt to escape Isaac’s control.

But Isaac had only just accelerated one of the mana circuits within his vessel.
When he accelerated another, the nun quieted again.
She placed both hands on her knees and stared blankly.

“Two days ago… no, three now, I suppose. You brought the Randolph brothers here, didn’t you?”
“That’s correct.”

The nun nodded.

“Because they were beautiful.”

The corners of her lips curled upward.
That wasn’t something Isaac had ordered.
Nor had she broken free from his control.
It was an unconscious reaction—almost instinctive.

“Because they were beautiful… I wanted to turn them into works of art.”

Her smile deepened.