The Final Protectors

Chapter 7: Following the Movement of the Corpse

The main hall that was used for sacrificial ceremonies back then had been majestically turned into a tourist spot. If you walk in and make a right turn, past a long corridor would reveal smaller halls unopened to the public. The majority were hung with signs such as “Staff’s Rest Room” and “No Visitors Allowed”.

The Temple’s 634th Archbishop, Mr. Charles Good was already 76 years old this year. However, he was still passionate about taking group photos with the others—this was also why he would always intentionally pick a time populated with tourists every time he returned, and also why he was fond of weaving his way through the tourists’ shocked gasps and the tour guides’ loud yells.

It took only ten minutes to walk through the main hall, but Mr. Good would usually take two hours. In the meantime, he was like Disney’s mascot, with a giddy smiling face and his beer belly as he was dragged for group photos with tourists and was asked for autographs. He’d grant whatever was asked and never reject them.

On this day, it was rare for him to walk briskly into the route specific for the staff without showing off.

It had been a thousand and two hundred years since the formation of the Barrier. And there had never been a single Devil-ranked Decay who bypassed the Barrier’s net. This was an unlucky matter that had never befallen his previous successor, his previous successor’s previous successor, and such generations.

The already thin hair on Mr. Good was about to thin even further.

“The Archbishop is here!” Someone yelled and everyone automatically made way.

Expression stern, Archbishop Good bent down to gaze at Kelson lying on the patient bed doing a blood transfusion. “How is he?”

“There should be no danger for him now.” Amy said, “But he’s still very weak. After the transfusion of this bag of blood is finished, I still have to do a check-up. But based on his physical health, he should be able to recover his consciousness within three days.”

Mr. Good nodded and following that, those old fingers made a complicated gesture. Then, while chanting, he lightly tapped on Kelson’s forehead. This poor man’s ashen face seemed to instantly relax greatly—this was the Archbishop’s Blessing. They said that when Mr. Good was young, he had been an exceptional healer too.

Mr. Good lightly caressed Kelson’s forehead and sighed. Then, he asked, “Did you retrieve the emblem?”

“It’s with me.” Jel fished out a handkerchief from his pocket, opening it to reveal the blood-stained emblem wrapped inside.

“Jel.” Mr. Good terminated[1] Kelson’s emblem, and sighed, looking at him. “I’m truly apologetic, child, I’m afraid your vacation has gone down the drain.”

Jel shrugged—After all, ever since his graduation from the Temple, vacation had always been zero[2].

Mr. Good wiped the blood clean off the emblem. Perhaps out of its slight responsiveness, the emblem emitted a gentle glow in his palm. “Let us see what you experienced before—show yourself.”

Every hunter would have an emblem like this. When they were in danger, the emblem could transmit the dire situation their owner was in to their comrades. It had the function of calling the police and location transmission, and it can even record the image of the last Decay that the owner met. Just like a black box in a plane, it was carried by the hunters who could easily crash planes.

Under Mr. Good’s command, a layer of white fog swiftly gathered above the emblem. It was very thick, just like smog formed from pollution of the Industrial Revolution a few hundred years ago. A wild beast’s greedy breathing emitted from the thick fog, as if countless pairs of greedy eyes were hiding within the fog, the beasts’ tongues out as they watched their prey. Even if it was just an image, this type of deeply hidden danger made every hunter tense in reflex.

That was an instinct towards danger created from the accumulation of countless job experiences.

Then, a few grey shadows flashed through the white fog. A man’s scream abruptly cut through the white fog. Amy’s hands quivered. “It’s Kelson…”

The color of blood covered over the white fog and all the shadows vanished.

“Ruhr Pellet.” Mr. Good sighed with an unpleasant face. “Abyss Dholes—the legendary heart-eating Devil-ranked monsters  loved humans’ jealousy-filled hearts. Negative emotions will make it grow immensely powerful.”

Amy was nonplussed. “So many…”

“No, there’s only one.” Jel had an even clearer sight. “The Abyss Dholes’ movements are very fast, good at hiding themselves for a one-hit kill. Archbishop, what assignment did Kelson have, why would he be attacked by an Abyss Dhole?”

“Come with me.” Mr. Good turned around to give Kelson a look. He bent down to check the injury at his chest and nodded at Amy. “You treated him very well and saved his life.”

Amy was surprised. Mr. Good very quickly left with a group of hunters and instructors. It was only then that he adjusted the rate of the IV drip and fresh blood flowing into Kelson’s vessels. “This can’t be credited to me.”

Muttering to himself, he shrugged his shoulders as he remembered that mysterious man temporarily living in Jel’s place.

A hunter proficient in The Collection was really too rare.

There was already someone in Mr. Good’s office. He was a middle-aged man, with extremely deep smile lines. Perhaps because he was always furrowing his brows, there was also a very thin crease on his brows. His skin practically seemed to be pasted right on his cheekbones and his fingers seemed like withered branches.

Someone gasped in shock. “Mr. Sculler!”

Mr. Sculler was the current Cleric Knight. Sadly, it had been a long time since someone saw him. People said that he was contracted with a heavy illness and had been hospitalized the whole time… He certainly did look as though only a bag of bones had remained.

The Archbishop embraced this old partner who seemed like he would not last much longer, unsurprised by his sudden appearance.

“Roy.” Mr. Good said, “Help him along.”

Roy silently walked up, extending a hand to support Mr. Sculler’s light, flimsy body. He noticed that this stern, unsmiling cleric was wearing the entire set of ceremonial robes used for official ceremonies and he even carried the greatsword with the cleric emblem. This was an ancient object. Even without taking the weight of its body into consideration, just the steel inside could nearly weigh this pitiful man down on the floor.

But no one could help him hold that sword. Just like the Archbishop’s staff, it symbolized the authority of the Cleric.

Sculler nodded at Roy and slowly moved into Mr. Good’s office. Under Roy’s support, he slowly sat down.

“The Barrier weakened.” This was the first sentence the Cleric Knight uttered after sitting down, and it effectively halted everyone present in the room.

Mr. Good leaned against the chair, fingers interlaced and propped up on the table. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Is it impossible to mend it?”

Sculler shook his head. “I studied it for my entire life and I still couldn’t understand what power Archbishop Aldo used to support the Barrier. I’m very sorry.”

Mr. Good heaved a sigh. “It isn’t your fault, my old friend. You’ve already done your best.”

A hint of emotion cut across Sculler’s blank-looking eyes . He felt like there was a hole in his body. Like water in a basin, his life energy was endlessly leaking into another world through that dark gap.

“Why did the Barrier weaken?” A raven-haired stern woman asked. Her name was Michelle Luklita and was originally a hunter. Last year, she had a child, and thus returned to the Temple to be a combat instructor. 

“The Barrier isn’t all-capable,” Sculler said. He seemed very exhausted. “Like humans, it will grow old, and its teeth will loosen too, disease rampant through its body as it walks towards death.”

“I didn’t expect it to happen during my term.” Mr. Good gave a wry laugh.

“Yes. It’s a pity that I’m unable to walk with you to the end.” The greatsword in Sculler’s hands lowered on the ground and emitted a shriek. “In an earthquake ten years ago, we discovered traces of the Barrier weakening. Then, we always suppressed this information, hoping that we’ll find a way to mend the Barrier. But there was none. The appearance of a Devil-ranked Decay is a sign that the Barrier that has protected us for over a thousand years is disappearing right now. At a speed far greater than the ozone depletion.”

The room was so quiet that you can even hear the sound of a pin dropping. After God knew how long, Michelle opened her mouth to ask, “Then what… should we do?”

Mr. Good signaled Sculler with his eyes, and the thin and pallid man took out a new emblem from his pocket. “Firstly, we will call back all the hunters. From today on, everyone will use new emblems. They have been improved and have a certain amount of defensive power. Secondly, all movements will be unified by the Temple. Every assignment will be arranged to be done in groups of hunters. Everyone, the time for solo battles has ended. I hope everyone can familiarize yourselves with your own partner in the shortest time possible. Other than the ‘Golden Emblem Hunters’, everyone is prohibited from moving alone.”

“Thirdly, starting now, all of the teaching content in the Temple will be modified and the examination system will be reestablished. The ones who failed are not allowed to start an internship. Fourthly, we will form sections specializing in equipment and student enrollment. We need even more equipment support and even more new blood.”

“Fifthly…” Sculler’s voice halted for a moment. He stood up from the chair in immense difficulty, and rejected Roy’s help. The man’s back still remained extremely straight. He said, “Roy Margarett.”

Roy looked at him dubiously, “Sir?”

“Kneel.” The Cleric Knight ordered in a low but powerful voice.

In that instant, everyone seemed to have understood. This devilish instructor widened his eyes and looked at Sculler in near disbelief. “Sir, this isn’t…”

“Kneel.” Sculler raised his voice. His two cheeks were tensed and tightened and one could see the withered muscles through the dried, wrinkled skin.

Roy glanced at Mr. Good and the Archbishop nodded at him soundlessly. So he slowly bent his knees, kneeling down on one knee.

“I, Arin Brad Fala Sculler, the Temple’s 596th Cleric Knight had taken office for twelve years. In this position… I’m about to reach the end of my life.” The Archbishop’s office was utterly silent. Everyone held their breath. Sculler stilled, two hands raising the Cleric’s greatsword and bestowing it to Roy. “Then—Mr. Roy Margarett, are you willing to take the Greatswords’ Oath upon yourself and shoulder the position of protecting the Temple?”

Roy raised his head, gaze meeting Sculler’s eyes by chance. The man’s eyes were exceedingly deep, like two bottomless wells.

“I…” His throat was hoarse and his Adam’s Apple bobbed before he said quietly, “Yes, I am.”

He knelt on the ground, two hands accepting the heavy greatsword, the veins on the back of his hands surfacing from the weight.

Sculler patted his shoulder and told the Archbishop. “Let’s have the official handover next week.”

“Roy.” There was a sudden smile on his face that made that stern face turn gentle. “My child, you are more talented than I am, more hardworking than I am. And the most important thing is… you’re younger than me. Believe that you can grasp this sword well.”

Roy looked at him dazed, unsure as to what to say.

Sculler sighed, sitting down once again, an exhaustion of someone nearing his deathbed visible on his face. “I speculate that the time needed for the complete collapse of the Barrier would not take more than thirty years.”

Once these words were uttered, whispers and mutters erupted all around. Mr. Good closed his eyes, and instantly seemed to have aged many years.

Right at this time, a voice suddenly came from the door. A man said quietly, “No. The ‘nucleus’ has already begun to break. I believe it would not take more than ten years.”

His voice is very deep, as though it was whispered right at your ear. Yet, every single person present heard his words clearly. The people turned their heads in unison to see a young man donned in snow-white robes standing there. His slightly curly golden hair rested on his shoulders, and the parts of him in poor lighting were nearly resplendent. A tender, beautiful, fresh rose was tucked at his collar, as though morning dewdrops could drip from it.

The man’s light grey eyes swept across everyone’s faces, subconsciously pausing a little on Jel’s face before finally resting on Mr. Good’s.

In an instant, the cacophonous Archbishop office turned so silent that you can even hear a pin drop. Only God knew how long had passed before someone gasped quietly, “Oh, my… Oh, my Lord! Archbishop Aldo! The statue… the statue came to life!

Translator Note:

[1]: 结果: could have a few meanings. 1) outcome; 2) to end; 3) bear fruit. The most logical one seems to be 2, though we’re uncertain why there’s a need to “end” the emblem when he’s simply injured.

[2]: 湿哒哒 (lit, wet, damp). The use of this term references how Mr. Good described his vacation as 泡汤 (lit. soaked in soup), which has been translated as “down the drain”.