“Callister...”
I started to ask if he was okay, but then I actually looked at him.
“...Why the hell are you naked?”
“My clothes fell off while I was crawling.”
I blinked. Behind him, his clothes were laying on the floor strangely. The tunic and pants were still holding their shape perfectly, like their wearer had just… deflated and oozed away.
Talk about OP game mechanics. How were you supposed to counter something this broken?
No wait. I’m playing for Team Order now.
Obviously the Church of Order would have god-tier defensive abilities. The real insanity was that someone had dared attack the Cathedral before the starry sky even opened.
Once a sanctuary is activated, and the Cathedral bell rings, its sound sanctifies everything within earshot. But there’s a catch—the protection only lasts as long as the bell keeps tolling. At most, a few dozen seconds.
My hand flew to my mouth a moment too late. Warm vomit oozed between my fingers, trailing down my wrist in viscous rivulets.
I carefully set the poker down, letting the metal softly clink against the ground. Then I raised my hands, palms forward, making sure they were clearly visible.
None of this made any sense. My thoughts were all over the place, a jumbled mess I couldn’t sort through. I sat down on the bed, pressing my fingers against my head like I could somehow force my brain to work right.
Yeah… Based on his tone, he’s clearly planning to follow my instructions with painful literalness. Doing anything except the exact thing I explicitly forbid.
“…Servants?”
My thoughts froze for a moment. Callister had said it so casually, like it was nothing.
“Well then, shall we get going?” he said, already moving on.
“Hold on... are you saying you’re my servant?” The question sounded ridiculous even as I said it.
This arm Callister gave me... he once said we were connected. That he could feel what it felt. He wasn’t wrong. I tested it by tracing shapes on my palm, and he recognized them instantly.
What fresh hell is this?
No seriously, what in the name of sanity is happening?
A voice. From the crack. Had... had it just spoken?
The sheer absurdity of it short-circuited any normal reaction. Fear? Disgust? They simply weren’t there, overridden by a profound sense of the unreal.
Good thing Tartar Sauce wasn’t here right now. If he was, he’d be watching the entire psychological meltdown happening behind my stiff expression.
“I understand.” Athanas’s arms fell away from me, the warmth of his embrace vanishing. The light in his eyes dimmed… yeah, no doubt about it, he looked disappointed.
“He chooses to forget?”
But external mental interference should be impossible.
Even with the Saint’s relentless probing, he couldn’t find a single crack in Fabio’s mental defenses.
It must be coming from within... or maybe another Watched One is causing this.