Outside the slaughterhouse lay a narrow, decrepit street.
The street as a whole resembled the Western Middle Ages, except the buildings here were exceptionally dilapidated. Their surfaces were almost covered in cobwebs, and the rotten, moldy walls gave off a nauseating stench.
Several ragged, emaciated figures trudged along the uneven cobblestone road. Each had a basket hanging from an arm, covered by a white cloth, its contents unknown.
When they saw the figure in sacred robes walking slowly toward them from the end of the street, their dull, dazed eyes suddenly contracted!
Thud—!
Without the slightest hesitation, they dropped to their knees in the street before Loki.
Their foreheads pressed tightly against the uneven road as they laboriously shuffled on their knees, inching their prostrate bodies toward either side of the street to clear the middle of the road, as if terrified that their bodies might obstruct his path.
Loki did not so much as glance at these humans. He passed through several streets, amid the worship of countless people, and arrived before a towering church.
Unlike the dense, aging medieval buildings surrounding it, this church stood at the heart of the city, yet not a single building existed within a one-kilometer radius. The magnificent outer walls of the towering church glittered beneath the sunlight, dazzling like gemstones.
Loki walked straight to the church entrance, climbed the steps, and pushed open the doors.
Beyond the heavy doors was a long corridor paved with obsidian. A few men in similar clerical robes stood at its edge, laughing and chatting loudly. The moment they caught sight of Loki entering through the doors, their expressions changed at once!
"Your Holiness!"
The men bowed respectfully in unison, as though they wished they could bury their heads in the ground.
Loki glanced at them indifferently.