Storm Cathedral

"Timothys?"

Who's that again? Irina frowned slightly not recognizing the name.

"They're still in the restaurant," Urdi Branch replied instinctively, his eyes darting toward the now-empty spot where the moldy head had been purified. His throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously before asking, "What was that just now?"

Klein, maintaining his cold persona, didn't answer. Instead, he glanced at Danitz before striding past Donna's family, heading straight for the tightly closed doors of the Green Lemon Restaurant.

Blazing Danitz, relieved to have finally completed a goal without being humiliated, straightened his back and smirked at Urdi and the others. With a condescending scoff, he said, "You don't have to worry about what that was. Just know that it's a monster that would've torn you apart if not for us."

If Gehrman Sparrow hadn't been standing just a few meters away, Danitz might have even declared, Only I, Lord Blazing Danitz, can protect you!

Cleves exchanged glances with Cecile and Teague before stepping forward, steadying their employers with a firm voice, "Leave your questions until we're back on the White Agate."

Frankly speaking, the three bodyguards had all been adventurers for varying lengths of time, but their understanding of monsters was limited to old sailor tales and the ramblings of drunk mercenaries. The reality of what they'd just seen unsettled them. It felt too surreal, too much like a dream—except the lingering smell of burnt rot in the air made it all too real.

Still, having encountered creatures like murlocs before, they forced themselves to rationalize it. Just another kind of monster. Nothing more. The moment they convinced themselves of that, their hands gripped their weapons with renewed confidence.

But the pure light that descended from the sky... that was harder to explain. It felt as though something fundamental in their worldview had cracked. The only way to move forward was to shove the questions deep down and pretend none of it had happened.

Klein stopped before the Green Lemon Restaurant, raised his gloved hand, and knocked three times.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Silence.

If not for the candlelight flickering through the windows and the cracks of the door, Klein might have assumed the building had long been abandoned.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Another rhythmic knock.

Still, no answer. Everyone inside seemed to be abiding by the unspoken rule of never answering a knock in the fog.

Klein lowered his hand, patted the hem of his double-breasted frock coat, then—

He abruptly leaned back, lifted his knee, and kicked the door open.

Bang!

The copper lock burst apart, its nails flying loose, the heavy door slamming against the inner wall with a dull thud.

Inside, Fox, the restaurant owner in his usual tailcoat, stood exactly where he had been before. Around him, the other guests—men and women who had chosen to stay the night—emerged from their rooms, their doors creaking open one by one. They stood in eerie silence, watching, not blinking.

Irina shifted her stance slightly, her spirituality screaming at her that something was off. All of them are... not a single one can be saved. They're all corrupted at various degrees.

"What... do you want?" Fox's voice was flat, too even, though a revolver had appeared in his hand.

Klein swept his gaze over the room, his Spirit Vision active. Compared to Irina, he saw no visible traces of corruption.

Still, he didn't lower his guard. He stared into Fox's dark brown eyes, voice heavy as he asked, "Where's the Timothy family?"

For a long moment, the man didn't move. His expression remained blank, but something flickered in his gaze—an unnatural tension, like a man calculating the weight of an unspoken choice. Then, his head turned slightly, stiff and unnatural.

"Upstairs," he said finally. "Another table. Foreigners."

"Get them to come down," Klein ordered.

A few beats of hesitation, then the revolver in Klein's hand tilted just slightly, a kind reminder.

Fox took a sharp breath and gestured toward a waiter, who hurried up the stairs.

Soon, a man in his thirties descended, hand clasped around his wife's. His gaze flickered between Klein and Urdi before hesitantly asking, "What happened?"

Klein lowered his gun, his voice even. "An unexpected situation in Bansy Harbor. You can return to the ship with us or stay here. Your choice."

Timothy hesitated—until he caught the solemn nod from Urdi.

That settled it. His grip on his wife's hand tightened. "All our things are on the ship. Of course, we'll go with you."

He nodded politely and, with his wife, quickly crossed the threshold to join the Branch family outside.

Klein withdrew his revolver, straightened his coat, and dipped his head slightly toward Fox. "Excuse us."

With that, he turned and strode towards Irina, her figure illuminated by the dim, flickering lantern light.

Behind him, the restaurant door slammed shut, swaying slightly in the cold wind.

Klein stopped before her and inclined his head toward the restaurant.

Irina met his gaze and gave a slight nod.

She didn't need Spirit Vision to know something wasn't right. She could feel it. A silent, heavy weight clung to the place, pressing against her every sense, making her protection flare up.

Klein had no intention of uncovering whatever secrets lay hidden in Bansy Harbor tonight, while Irina's curiosity slowly crept in, overshadowing her rational thoughts.

With that, Klein turned back, counting their numbers in the dim lantern glow. Donna's family, their bodyguards, the Timothy couple, a handful of servants... Everyone was present.

Klein shifted his revolver and cane between his hands before slipping his right hand into the folds of his double-breasted frock coat, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of the Sun Brooch.

A pulse of dark golden light radiated outward, an invisible wave washing over the group. Warmth spread through their bodies, as if they had stepped into the balmy sun of the south, the damp chill of Bansy Harbor momentarily banished. Anxiety and fear melted away, replaced by an inexplicable steadiness, as though courage had seeped into their bones.

The remnants of darkness—as well as lingering traces left from the cured meat of Damir Harbor—vanished in an instant, along with the barely perceptible wicked aura clinging to them.

Sun Halo. A simple yet effective ward. It bolstered courage, purified evil, and within Klein's control, could be selectively applied. His gaze flickered towards Irina.

She hasn't reacted at all.

Frowning slightly, he tried again, pushing the cleansing warmth toward her. Nothing. A third time, adjusting the focus. Still nothing.

His confusion deepened, but before he could attempt again, Irina tapped his arm.

She didn't need to say anything—her sharp glance at his pocket and the subtle shake of her head was enough of an answer.

It won't work, man. The more you try, the more my spirituality drains. She turned back to the group, exhaling slowly. My pathway's defense is such a pain... why can't I just turn it off when I want to?!

Klein gave a barely perceptible nod, dropping the matter.

"We're heading to the telegraph office first," he said, adjusting his grip on his cane and revolver.

Danitz took position at his side, while Cleves, Cecile, and Teague moved professionally to secure the flanks.

More than fifteen people. Too many, Klein noted grimly. If they were attacked, it would be impossible to keep everyone safe. He trusted Irina's capability in a fight, but offense and defense at the same time? He wasn't certain. Danitz could hold his own, but his sequence was most definitely low.

He sighed inwardly, weighing their odds.

Then, an idea popped up.

Sliding his revolver into its underarm holster, Klein shifted his cane into his right palm and reached into his pocket. The familiar cold weight of an iron cigar case met his fingers, and he removed the thin layer of spirituality guarding it.

With a flick, he pulled out Azik's copper whistle, holding it loosely between his fingers. He tossed it up once, watching it catch the moonlight.

A bait.

Undead monsters—those with only a single braincell left—would be drawn to it like moths to a flame. It would pull their attention away from the others, keeping them locked on him.

A rustle came from within the fog.

Three shriveled heads with rotting faces contorted in grotesque mockery of life, shot toward him like arrows.

Danitz stiffened, pupils contracting. Three?! For a split second, worry flashed across his face, but then excitement followed. He wanted to see what Gehrman Sparrow would do.

Three heads. Three mouths gaping open. Three trailing esophaguses like grotesque, writhing strings.

Klein barely reacted. He flicked his left hand.

The copper whistle spun into the air.

As if pulled by an unseen force, the three heads immediately adjusted course, curving through the air in perfect synchronization toward their new, singular target.

Irina took a step back. Klein did the same.

Then, he squeezed the Sun Brooch.

A surge of golden fire ignited mid-air.

The holy light burst outward, swallowing the heads whole.

A simultaneous shriek—warped and inhuman—filled the air.

A second later, nothing remained but drifting embers.

Klein took two steps forward and, with the same casual ease as before, caught the copper whistle as it fell.

Danitz froze.

He stood there, stunned, for a full two seconds before his mind caught up. That actually worked?!

"Another mystical item?" he muttered under his breath, utterly dumbfounded.

At the same time, Timothy and his wife, who had watched the scene unfold in horror, paled.

"W-what was that?" Timothy's voice wavered but the grip on his wife's hand tightened.

Donna turned sharply and held a finger to her lips, mimicking Klein's usual gesture of silence. "Questions later. After we're back on the White Agate."

Something about her expression—the quiet, absolute certainty in her eyes—made Timothy swallow back any further protest. With a tense nod, he tugged his wife toward the group.

No one else dared to speak.

They moved forward, moonlight casting long shadows along the empty streets.

The lights from the houses on either side had long since been extinguished, yet Irina could still feel something—watching, waiting. A prickling sensation crawled over her skin and she suppressed a shudder. This place feels eerie... but I can't help but wonder—what really happens behind the scenes in LotM? The novel only ever shows Klein's perspective in moments like these, never the rest...

Cowards. They must be afraid of Uncle Sparrow, Donna thought, gripping her brother's hand tightly as they walked within the protective circle of their parents.

Then—

A figure.

It stepped out from the shadows of a side street, the darkness peeling away from its form.

A black cloak.

A bleeding neck.

No head.

Nothing but a gaping, empty void where its face should have been.

It growled.

A guttural, beast-like sound, raw and wet, like a man gasping his last breath.

Then, it charged.

The street trembled under its weight as it sprinted toward Klein, its heavy boots striking stone with each thunderous step.

Danitz cursed.

He raised his hand, an orange-yellow flame compressed in his palm, and he threw it.

Boom!

The fireball exploded, forcing the headless man to stagger back. His cloak ignited, flames licking up the tattered fabric as his already decayed skin blackened and cracked. But to a monster that had long since lost its life, such injuries were meaningless.

A sharp crack rang out.

The scarlet flames on the black cloak suddenly surged, blooming like a flower of fire.

Klein burst from the blaze, his coat whipping behind him as he used the momentum of his leap to bring both hands down on his cane.

Splat!

The cane pierced straight through the creature's exposed neck, the tip emerging grotesquely from between its legs.

Bam!

Eew. Irina politely looked away, already knowing he'd be more than able to handle the fight alone.

With a forceful twist of his back, Klein slammed the headless monster onto the ground, pinning it in place.

Irina barely blinked as she watched Danitz's stunned expression. He'll be the one to clean that cane I'm afraid.

Rather than wasting time testing ineffective attacks, Klein had already used Spirit Vision to determine that neither Holy Light Summoning, Cleave of Purification, nor Fire of Light would destroy the creature quickly enough. That left him with only one viable method.

Five seconds.

The headless man thrashed violently, but his struggles were more like a snake caught on a hook—writhing desperately but ultimately unable to break free.

Four seconds.

Klein's grip didn't waver. His free hand hovered over the Sun Brooch, channeling his spirituality into it.

Three seconds.

The monster's clawed hands clawed at the cane, nails scraping against the polished wood.

Two seconds.

Irina sighed, looking back at the gruesome scene, now with an unimpressed look. It's just a cane going through the head and remerging where the sun doesn't shine... worse thing happened and will happen in this world.

One.

Klein exhaled and uttered a single word in ancient Hermes.

"Sun."

Droplets of golden radiance materialized midair, shimmering as they descended like a sparse, holy rain.

Sizzle.

The monster convulsed.

Blackish-green gas hissed from its rotting body as the light seeped into its flesh. Its thrashing slowed, then ceased. The twisted form slumped, dissolving into a pool of dark, putrid blood.

Klein let go of the cane and took two steps back, glancing at the remains with a critical eye. No Beyonder characteristics. He narrowed his gaze slightly. A created servant, then. Not the real enemy.

Satisfied with the conclusion, he pulled his cane free with a sharp tug and turned back to the group. His eyes flickered toward Irina.

She hadn't reacted apparently.

That meant she wasn't concerned about this fight. Either the danger level is lower than I expected, or... she already knows exactly what to do to keep it from escalating.

"So cool!"

Denton's delayed cheer broke the silence while Donna's eyes sparkled with admiration.

Danitz, on the other hand, let out a quiet exhale, his gaze lingering on Gehrman. He's still relying on mystical items, but... his movement through the flames just now—that wasn't normal. A chill ran down his spine as he recalled the unnatural ease of it. Yeah, I made the right call not to run off on my own.

Seven or eight minutes later, after cutting down two more waves of monsters, they finally reached the telegraph office at Bansy Port.

Cleves stepped forward and rapped his knuckles against the door.

A pause. Then, a gentle female voice called from within. "Who is it? "

Irina arched a brow at the unexpected response. Oho? You're actually answering?

"We're looking for the captain of the White Agate, Mr. Elland," Cleves replied.

The woman inside was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "He and his first mate went next door to the cathedral. "

Klein flicked a gold coin into the air, watching its descent with mild interest. The result confirmed that she wasn't lying.

As they turned to leave, the woman hesitated.

"Can... can you guys... help me... take note of someone?" Her voice wavered with an unnatural pause. "He's my... colleague. He went out before the wind started tonight... and never came back. His name... is Paavo Court."

Irina resisted the urge to click her tongue, instead raising a skeptical brow beneath the cover of her scarf. Suuuuure, buddy. Totally believable. It's not like I'm holding myself back from bolting at full speed or anything. This was, without a doubt, the most corrupted place they'd encountered so far—she could feel it spreading, growing. And she did not like it. Not one bit.

Cleves, to his credit, remained outwardly neutral, though his hesitation was evident. He glanced toward Klein, awaiting his decision.

It was a reasonable concern—there were more than fifteen people in their group, and getting everyone back to the White Agate safely was already going to be a challenge. Taking a detour for someone who was probably dead? Risky at best. Suicidal at worst.

But Klein remained silent for two seconds before speaking in a measured voice. "What does he look like?"

The telegraph office door remained tightly shut. Thick fog pressed against the building, distorting its shape, making it seem smaller, more suffocating.

Then, the woman's voice emerged from within—slow, halting, as though she had to think carefully about each word.

"He's... a very handsome... man. He has two eyes, two ears, a nose, and a mouth. "

For a moment, there was only silence.

Irina's eye twitched. Oh, wow. So specific. Let me guess—he also has a pair of arms? A torso? Maybe even legs? Or perhaps was that taken—

A shiver ran down her spine, cold and sudden, as if something had just brushed against the nape of her covered neck.

Her breath hitched.

—SHIT.

This place was getting worse by the second.

Danitz had the overwhelming urge to kick down the door and check the situation inside, but before he could move, he saw Gehrman Sparrow put a hand on his hat and turn slightly.

His sharp gaze flicked toward Irina—just for a second, just enough to confirm what he had already begun to suspect.

She was as stiff as a board.

For the first time, she had reacted negatively to something.

That sealed it.

The telegraph office was dangerous.

Klein gave no further acknowledgment of the woman's words. He simply tilted his head and, in that steady, emotionless voice, stated, "Storm cathedral. "

That was their next destination. He wasn't about to poke at something best left alone.

The wind had weakened. The fog was thinning, retreating from the streets like a tide. Up ahead, faint candlelight flickered through the cathedral's narrow windows, a warm beacon in the darkness.

Without a word, Klein activated Sun Halo again. The faint, golden glow steadied the group's nerves. Donna and the others clung to that light like drowning men grasping at driftwood, their pace quickening as they pressed forward through the empty streets.

The Storm Cathedral loomed before them. Its doors were shut tight.

Klein's gaze lingered on the sacred emblem carved into the wood before stepping forward and lifting his hand to knock.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A voice immediately sounded from the other side, tense and wary. "Who is it?"

"Gehrman Sparrow."

Klein already knew the man behind the door just from his voice. Captain Elland.

Yet Elland didn't open the door. His voice remained skeptical. "Why are you here?"

Klein raised his cane slightly with a calm expression. "You helped me pay White Shark's compensation."

A beat of silence. Then, an amused laugh.

That was something only the real Gehrman Sparrow would know. At the very least, even a monster capable of disguise wouldn't know that specific detail.

Still, Elland hesitated, his grip firm on his weapon—until Cleves, Urdi Branch, Donna, and the others spoke up one by one. That left only one person who had been with them yet remained conspicuously silent.

It was almost as if Irina had stepped out of the group entirely, her voice absent while the others made themselves heard. Fitting, Klein thought. That's just the nature of her current persona. Elland shouldn't suspect us of being monsters this way.

Only then did Elland relax, nodding to his first mate, Harris, to unlock the door.

A heavy clunk rang out.

The door creaked open, revealing Captain Elland in his boat-shaped hat, sword in one hand, musket in the other.

Klein's sharp gaze swept over him. "Something happened here too?"

Elland stepped aside, allowing Donna and the others to file in. Then, without lowering his weapon, he gestured toward the prayer hall.

"The priest I knew, Jayce, died in there. He was decapitated." His tone was grim. "Bishop Millet is missing. Same with the other priests. Even the servants are gone."

Klein's fingers brushed over Azik's copper whistle, feeling the cold metal bite into his skin.

A dead priest. A missing bishop. An entire cathedral devoid of life.

This wasn't just an attack.

Even if the priest and bishop weren't the true enforcers of the Church of Storms in Bansy Harbor, Klein knew there had to be a Mandated Punisher team stationed here. A group of six to eight Beyonders supported by a number of Sealed Artifacts.

Even a High-Sequence Beyonder shouldn't be able to wipe them out this quickly without causing a stir.

If they were still alive—if they could still wield their Sealed Artifacts—then perhaps the situation wasn't completely beyond salvation.

But that begged the question—where were they?

As Klein followed Elland into the prayer hall, the sound of their footsteps echoed through the cathedral. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood. At the altar, the priest's headless body presented a grotesque sight.

Klein turned slightly, instincts guiding him to ask a silent question, just as he had so many times before—when stepping down the ship, or at the restaurant, and lastly at the telegraph office, where he realized the place was far more dangerous than it seemed.

Maybe I could ask the others to step back if she doesn't want them to notice her abilities. Now that the priest was dead, his body should count as a corpse, and her analytical skills might uncover something beyond his reach.

She had been by his side for most of this journey. Her insight—her spirit vision—could sense something he couldn't. A hint, a sign... even the exact time of death.

He turned fully to face her.

And froze.

His gaze flickered from Timothy's couple to Donna's group, then to Elland and his first mate. Lastly, to Danitz, who stood slightly apart from the others, arms crossed.

And then the realization struck him like a hammer to the chest.

She wasn't there.

A cold weight settled in his stomach.

His tone was quiet. Grave. But it cut through the silence like a blade.

"Where is Elena?"