Chapter 61

House of Mercy (2)

Mana is a mysterious force that responds to the will of a sentient being with sensitivity.
It does not mix with the mana of another sentient being—it collides with it.
And the stronger the mana, the greater the collision.

Mental magic requires the use of faint, diluted mana that does not cause such collisions.
The will embedded within it must also be subtle, not overt.
Only then can it interfere with another’s mind without triggering rejection.

Isaac’s mana was far too large and sharp—unsuited for mental magic.
However, if someone tried to interfere with his mind, he could turn it against them.
Though mana takes on countless forms depending on its vessel, its laws remain uniform, like the principles of nature.

For example, mana flows from areas of high density to low density.
This is where the limitation of mental magic lies.
It cannot be used against someone with stronger mana.
The moment a mental connection is formed, the caster may instead be subjugated.

Isaac slowed the flow of his mana circuits, lowering its density and luring the head nun into a false sense of ease.
The moment she forcibly connected to his mind, he accelerated the circuits again.
His mana density became overwhelming.
As a result, the one who had connected to control him was instead controlled.

“Hindi? What are you doing at this hour?”

At the end of the corridor stood a shabby room.
The mercenary guarding it looked at them suspiciously.

After all, the head nun of the orphanage had brought along a refined-looking boy.
It was a bit late for “work.”

‘Give him a plausible excuse.’

Isaac commanded through their linked minds.

“There’s something urgent to take care of.”
“I didn’t hear anything about that from the captain.”

The mercenary looked Isaac up and down several times.
Isaac let his body hang limply, maintaining a blank expression as if he were under mental control.

But the mercenary didn’t let go of his suspicion so easily.

“Isn’t this kid some noble brat? You’ve already confirmed it?”
“There’s a client.”

“Hmph… something feels off.”

Should he deal with him?
Isaac became aware of the dagger hidden inside his tunic.
Killing was now always an option to consider.

Piiiiiik—!

Right then, a whistle rang out.

“Intruder!”

The bodies hidden in the reception room must have been discovered.
Isaac prepared to draw his dagger, anticipating an attack.

But then—

Awooooo—

A clear beastly howl echoed through the orphanage.
Carlson and the hellhound had arrived.

“W-what the hell?”

Startled, the mercenary ran toward the direction of the whistle.

“Ah, damn it. I was winning. Don’t mess this up.”

Several other mercenaries burst out of the shabby room and rushed down the corridor.
Isaac didn’t even register in their minds anymore.

Unlike the reception room, the inside of the shabby room was bleak.
There were no decorations at all—only a straw bed and a rotting wooden table.
In the middle of it, two mercenaries were still sitting on the floor, playing cards.
Even though they clearly heard the commotion outside, they remained relaxed.

“That sounded like a wolf, didn’t it?”
“Probably brought in some mutt from somewhere.”
“Hey, let’s scrap this round and start fresh.”

Deeply absorbed in their game, they didn’t seem to care what happened around them.

‘This is the place.’

Isaac caught the faint lingering scent of the Randolph brothers in the sealed room.
Garlic, milk, wildflowers, and lavender.
There was no doubt.

The head nun gave orders to the two remaining mercenaries.

“You two—open the basement door.”
“Ugh, what a pain.”

Grumbling, they followed her instructions without much suspicion.
They pushed the bed aside and removed the rug covering the floor.
Beneath it, a wooden door leading underground was revealed.
It was reinforced with iron plates to prevent warping or gaps.

“Damn it… couldn’t this be done with magic or something?”

One mercenary muttered as he pulled on the handle.

Creeeak—

After struggling together, the two men finally opened the thick wooden door.

What rose up with the eerie creak of the hinges was a foul stench mixed with the smell of materials used in alchemy.

“Close it. Tell them to knock when they come back up.”

Eager to return to their card game, the mercenaries quickly shut the door as soon as Isaac and the nun stepped onto the basement stairs.

Darkness and stench swallowed everything in an instant.

Following Isaac’s command, the nun began groping her way down the stairs.
For Isaac, whose senses were sharpened, the darkness posed little problem.

After descending for quite some time, a metal door came into view.

Creeeak—!

The nun opened it, and a stench far worse than before poured out.
Isaac felt his heart grow cold.

“Wolfgang and Herman… they’re alive, at least, right?”
“For now.”

After passing through the iron door and walking about twenty steps,
the nun struck flint against stone toward the wall.
A small spark flew, and soon a flame spread along the oil fixtures embedded in the wall.
As if used to it, she took a torch from the wall and lit it.

“…!”

With the light, what had only been silhouettes in the darkness became clearly visible.
Like stacked animal cages, three-tiered iron cells lined both sides.
Inside each cramped cage, a naked boy was imprisoned.
Even at a glance, there were at least fifty of them.

“…Disgusting.”

The boys couldn’t even look Isaac in the eye.
They trembled, or buried their heads between their knees and curled up.
At the slightest sound of movement, they clamped their hands over their mouths, desperately trying not to make even a breath of noise.

Isaac’s expression twisted.

“Why are the children locked up in a place like this?”
“To create works of art.”
“And what exactly are these ‘works’?”
“You’ll see if you go further inside.”

“They’re terrified out of their minds.”
“They’ve been drugged. To them, you and I probably look like demons crawling out of hell.”

The head nun spoke in a flat tone.
Isaac recalled the marquis’s painting hanging in the reception room.
The strangely vivid demon’s skin in the oil painting, the chilling sharpness of the blade depicted—
it must have been the effect of the drug.

Thanks to the Rune Stone of the Wolf King, Isaac’s body had gained resistance to toxins.
No matter how much alcohol he drank, he wouldn’t get drunk.
The tea the nun had given him also contained drugs, but he had quickly shaken off their effects.
Most of the children, however, could not.
They were intoxicated, trapped under mental magic and suggestion, unable to escape.

“Where are Wolfgang and Herman?”
“Here.”

“Give me the torch.”

Isaac took the torch from the nun and checked inside the iron cage.

Two boys with distinctive reddish-brown hair and green eyes.
Just as Mrs. Randolph had described.

“Wolfgang, Herman. I was sent by Mrs. Randolph.”

Isaac spoke, but the boys only curled up further.
Whether from the drugs or fear, they shrank away from the torchlight, pressing themselves into the narrow corner of the cage.

“Is there a way to neutralize the drug?”
“There is. Further inside.”

“The key to the cages?”
“Here.”

The nun obediently handed over the key with vacant eyes.
Isaac hesitated for a moment.
He wanted to open the cages and free the children immediately.
But the terrified boys wouldn’t follow him—
they likely wouldn’t even step out of the cages.

He couldn’t afford to wait indefinitely for Carlson to buy time.
Through his shared senses with the hellhound, Isaac could already see the orphanage garden drenched in blood.
Carlson was holding his ground against the mercenaries without a scratch for now,
but if reinforcements from the marquis arrived, there was no telling what would happen.

Weissman was still an uncertain factor as well.
Even if Isaac revealed that he had killed Mayor Varis, it was unlikely they would immediately turn against the marquis.

There wasn’t much time.

Right now, securing the antidote and uncovering the purpose of this orphanage came first.

“Take me to where the antidote is.”

The underground passages twisted like a maze, branching in all directions.
Some areas were stacked with wooden crates, others stored drinking water.
There were rooms filled with dried meat and fruit, and others where more boys were imprisoned.
Some of them looked to be in critical condition.

“He likes pale skin. He likes curly hair. He likes blond hair. He likes pale skin… If he likes you, you’ll be saved… pale skin… pale skin…”

One boy scratched at his own skin incessantly as he muttered.

“What is he talking about?”
“The standard of beauty our client desires.”

The nun gave a vague answer and continued walking with a blank expression.

Isaac felt the damp, unpleasant air of the underground space cling to his skin.
His sense of smell had already dulled, and he could no longer perceive the stench clearly, but his stomach churned.
Still, that was nothing.

When the nun opened another thick wooden door,
the smell that seeped through was on an entirely different level.

It was a scent Isaac knew well.
The smell of death.

The stench of corpses.

“Where is this?”
“A workshop. A studio.”

At her answer, Isaac was speechless.
“Workshop” or “studio” sounded far too refined.

This place was better described as a slaughterhouse.

On a rusted worktable reminiscent of a crucifix lay a corpse with its limbs bound.
The naked body appeared to belong to a young boy—
but it had no head.
Judging by the dark purplish lividity on the back and calves, death had not occurred long ago.

Isaac had already seen enough horrific sights.
In the catacombs where a heretical ritual had taken place, naked followers had torn apart and eaten dismembered corpses.
Compared to that, this place was orderly.

And that made it even more revolting.

The spacious stone chamber seemed designed for this purpose from the beginning.
In one corner, headless bodies were piled up.
In another, there was a chimney and incinerator—leading who knew where.

The steel incinerator was blackened and covered in oxidized rust from heavy use.
This hadn’t been going on for a day or two.

It was systematic.

“…What’s that?”

Isaac pointed to a metal door set into the corner of the slaughterhouse wall.
It stood out—it was unusually ornate.

The iron door was embossed with roses.
Each petal, leaf, and thorn had been crafted with intricate detail, as if through a meticulous casting process.

“That’s where the works are stored. The antidote is in there.”
“Open it.”

At Isaac’s command, the nun complied obediently.
She pulled on the golden cross necklace around her neck.
The bottom came apart like a lid, revealing a finely crafted key hidden within.

Click.

The key fit perfectly into the lock.
The iron door opened.

When Isaac saw what lay inside, he was at a loss for words.
It was something he had vaguely anticipated—
and yet desperately hoped would not be true.

Within intricate metal frameworks were glass spheres.
Some were mounted on sculptures of golden men bearing them on their backs.
Others rested atop music boxes engraved with lions.
Some were placed upon the backs of fantastical beasts like dragons or unicorns.

And inside each glass sphere—

was the severed head of a boy.

Preserved in a special solution, their faces looked almost alive.
Petals and blossoms floated beside them,
and strands of hair drifted gently in the liquid, adding an eerie beauty.

Some appeared to be sleeping.
Some seemed lost in thought.
Some looked as if they were smiling.
Others seemed steeped in sorrow.

But no matter how they appeared—

they were corpses.
The remains of children who had been murdered against their will.

“They are beautiful works.”

The head nun had not broken free from Isaac’s mental control.
Nor had he asked for her opinion.

And yet she spoke.

Her empty eyes and wrinkled lips formed a smile.