A strong stench of blood flooded Bishop Fernanco's nostrils, making him instinctively frown as soon as he stepped into the room. A grave expression appeared on his face.
As a regional bishop who had personally been to the battlefield and still followed the creed of the God of War—traveling every year to several dangerous regions to assist the local Knight Orders in exterminating Monsters—he was all too familiar with that smell.
The other two priests in the room noticed the regional bishop's arrival and immediately stepped silently aside. Fernanco's gaze passed over them as he slowly swept his eyes across the rather spacious priests' lounge.
The scene in the room was clear at a glance—the beds, tables, chairs, and other furnishings were all arranged as usual. Against the north wall stood a shrine symbolizing the God of War. Before it lay a large pool of blood that had not yet fully congealed, and at the center of that pool was a lump of flesh so thoroughly mixed together that its original form was impossible to discern.
Within that horrifying mass of blood and flesh were countless fibrous strands connected together, as if they were in the process of forming some kind of fascia. Fine hairs spread from gaps in the flesh, thick and hard like thorns. Many scraps of clothing, already completely corroded, were scattered across the dreadful scene of death, while specks of blood had splattered across a three-meter area beyond the blood pool.
Even a bishop of the God of War accustomed to bloody and bizarre scenes could not help feeling genuine horror before this sight.
"Lord Fernanco," a priest approached from the side. "Greetings. May your heart be as steel."
"As steel, my brother," Fernanco said, nodding at the priest. His gaze returned to the scene of