The Inquisition is located between the Church District and the Military District, and was converted from an abandoned chapel.
The Distant Mountain Monastery originally did not have this institution, but as the spies of the Cult of the Damned became increasingly rampant, the Council of Five had to establish a monitoring organization to counter them, and the Inquisition came into being.
In addition to investigating spies and traitors, the Inquisition also Judgment serious cases, similar to the highest court in Monastery.
There were still quite a few officers on duty here late at night. The arrival of Unas and Whitemane caused a commotion, and they were immediately brought before the prosecutor on duty that night.
The silver-haired prosecutor, who was usually as proud as a little swan, was now covered in blood, with her hair disheveled and her clothes in disarray. The sight of the male prisoners she was escorting, who were also covered in blood, made people think of "that" side of things.
Sure enough, the silver-haired prosecutor loudly announced the prisoner's crimes, "Lady Celia, this villain attempted to harm me; his crimes are heinous. I will personally imprison him in the lowest level of the dungeon!"
The highest-ranking officer on duty here was a middle-aged woman dressed as Priest. She looked at the disheveled Whitemane with some concern. "My little Sally, are you alright? What made you go out so late at night?"
As expected of the head of the oversight agency, he not only showed concern for Whitemane but also didn't let any doubts go unaddressed.
"I... I'm fine, I'm just in a bad mood, so I came out for a walk to clear my head..." Whitemane's acting was quite good; his pitiful appearance was very sympathetic, but the sudden change from aggressive to this was a bit abrupt.
As for why they were in a bad mood, the people in the Inquisition were all well-informed and knew about the scandal that was currently plaguing their colleague.
High Inquisitor Celia lovingly reached out to tidy Whitemane's disheveled silver hair, saying, "Leave this criminal to me. You should get some rest."
"No, Aunt Celia, I don't need to rest," Whitemane said through gritted teeth, his expression genuine. "I'm going to personally send this villain to the lowest level of the Flooded Dungeon and let him taste the bitterness of water torture!"
"Damn it, is that old hag taking revenge for something?" Unas still didn't dare to look up, afraid of being recognized.
The woman promised to find a reason to get him out first thing tomorrow morning, but she might also take the opportunity to mess with him and make him stay in jail a little longer.
"But this person hasn't been Judgment or convicted yet..." Celia started to say, but Whitemane suddenly grabbed her arm and shook it a few times, his eyes full of pleading.
"But it would be good to take him away for questioning first," the High Inquisitor said, affectionately patting her head. Then, changing the subject, "Since you, Whitemane, caught this criminal, it's entirely up to you to handle him."
It's true that all crows are black; the fairness and impartiality of prosecutors are worthless in the face of personal relationships. Countless people have been silently and ruthlessly killed in prison by them.
Fortunately, I wasn't one of them. Unas was secretly grateful to Tyrosus, who had protected him when he first arrived at the Monastery. Without the protection of the One-Eyed Baron, he might have been rotting in some dark corner.
Whitemane quickly obtained a signed warrant from Celia. Two strong guards flanked Unas, and the three escorted him through several dark corridors, down two flights of stairs, to a basement.
Several guards stood watch in front of a downward-sloping recess, which seemed to be the entrance to the dungeon. Whitemane stepped forward and handed the warrant to the leading guard.
The man glanced at the warrant, then scrutinized the group, saying, "Go in. Except for this prisoner, the other three must be out within half an hour."
He handed the warrant through a small window in the wall next to him, then gestured for them to proceed. "Go to the Lift."
Unas and his companions descended the slope and arrived at a small space resembling an elevator shaft. With a "bang," an iron gate was lowered, locking them inside.
After waiting a short while, there was a jolt underfoot, and with a creaking sound, the Lift began to move downwards at a steady speed.
One floor, two floors... Unas counted idly until he reached the Fifth Floor before stopping. A few torches shone in from outside the fence, where people were already waiting.
Limping off the Lift, Unas recognized the leading Jailer, a Gnomes- like fat man who swayed his ball-like body and bowed obsequiously, saying, "It's so late and Lord Whitemane is personally escorting this prisoner; he must be very important."
"Where's Todd? He's not here? That's quite unusual," Whitemane ignored his comment and went straight to the point, "I've heard that the Executioner on the Fifth Floor never misses his first meeting with his prisoner, no matter what."
"Lord Todd is not feeling well, so I will be the one to greet him tonight." The fat man raised his greasy face.
"What a coincidence? But I'm afraid I'll have to trouble Todd," Whitemane glared at the dead Meatball and sneered. "I've changed my mind. I won't go to the Flooded Dungeon. This prisoner should be locked in the Anti-Magic Room. He seemed to have used some kind of spell when he attacked me; he might be a spellcaster."
"That's not how it says on Lady Celia's warrant..."
Whitemane interrupted him directly, "Lady Celia has been entrusted to me with full authority. Do you want me to make another trip to apply for another order?"
"No, I wouldn't dare," the Meatball lowered its head under Whitemane's piercing gaze. "Only Lord Todd has the key to the Anti-Magic Room. I'll go inform him right away."
"No need, let's go find him together. I also have something I'd like to ask him in person!"
Whitemane's doubts deepened. Todd was avoiding her; could it really be him behind this?
The Fifth Floor wasn't large, and the group quickly arrived at Todd's house. Before Meatball could even knock on the door, a gloomy voice came from inside. "Let Whitemane in. Everyone else, get out of here."
With a creak, the wooden door opened a crack, and a handsome boy stepped out, saying, "You all heard the master's order. Whitemane, please come in. Everyone else, please disperse."
Whitemane tugged at the chains in his hands. "I won't let my prisoner out of my sight. He's going in too."
Just as the boy was about to speak up to stop him, a cold voice came from behind the wooden door. "You may."
Meatball and his Jailers obediently retreated. Whitemane nodded to the two guards who escorted her down. Although the two were puzzled, the silver-haired prosecutor had full authority to handle the matter, and they were happy to finish their work as soon as possible, so they also obediently left.
The boy stood guard at the door, while Whitemane led Unas into the hut. A dim oil lamp on the wall provided a faint light, and a bald, middle-aged man was lying on a low bed.
His face was pale, beads of sweat clung to his bald head, reflecting the light of the oil lamp, and his deeply sunken eyes made his head look like Skeleton.
It turned out he wasn't faking illness; he genuinely looked unwell. Seeing the two enter, the executioner raised his head and forced an ugly smile, "I didn't expect to see Lord Whitemane again so soon."