381: The Nightingale Club's Conspiracy

South of the city, the viewing hall on the fourth floor of the "Nightingale Club."

Platinum candlesticks burned with deep blue flames, and the scent of absinthe and blood amber incense filled the hall.

The windows were half-open, and the cheers from outside drifted in with the wind, yet a cold silence remained entrenched in the hall.

Laroche reclined on a velvet sofa, his hand slowly turning a ring set with a ruby.

This smuggling oligarch of the Oakvia Territory had a dark blood-colored stud in his left ear, the mark of a "High-grade Blood Slave," signifying he had long since been blood-transformed by the kin of the mother of flesh and blood.

"How lively!" He scanned the packed crowds outside. "The Church of Light's year-after-year routine, and the ants still buy it."

A maid bowed and handed over a silver goblet.

Sebastian Thorne, sitting opposite him, took it. This descendant of a fallen noble family who made a living by reselling banned ancient texts had a shallow scar at the corner of his eye, a memento from a past conflict with church knights.

He stared at the figures kneeling in the square and sneered, "Just a tactic to win over the ants."

"Look at these people, wearing starched linen shirts and thinking they look respectable; scrambling for a single cup of holy water. Reinhardt insists on calling them 'pious believers.' Doesn't he find it degrading?"

"Degrading? Yet the faith of these ants is precisely the foundation of the Church." Isabella turned away from the window, her right hand gently tracing the uneven windowsill.

"However, even foundations can be hollowed out, thanks to the treasures in our hands."

A sharp glint flashed in Laroche's eyes, and he raised his hand to signal the maid to withdraw. As the deaf-mute maid bowed and left, her footsteps carried an imperceptible tremble.

"Are you talking about the moonlight grass cultivated with 'Broodmother Flesh'?" He leaned forward, the ruby ring glinting with an eerie, sinister light under the candlelight.

"This was personally authorized to me by the Saint. Every stalk has been soaked in the blood marrow of Blood Elves. A common Radiance Word Lamp would only show it as an ordinary herb."

Sebastian sat up straight abruptly, the scar at the corner of his eye tightening with excitement. "Even the standard Radiance Word Lamps of the Church can't detect it?"

"Can it be sent directly into the herb garden of the Grand Cathedral of Holy Radiance?"

"What's the rush?"

Laroche chuckled and drained his glass in one gulp.

As the liquid slid down his throat, spiderweb-like blood vessels flickered across the whites of his eyes. "The Veloria Parish isn't that simple—Reinhardt is a Rank 5 'Holy Radiance Knight.' Only he can sense the abnormality of the flesh and blood power."

"But in the entire Grand Cathedral of Holy Radiance, he is the only Rank 5 powerhouse. The other priests are at most Rank 3."

Isabella walked between the two, swirling the silver cup in her hand, the liquid rippling into fine patterns.

"That's the key. The Summer Festival has passed. In two months, it will be Goddess Day. According to Church rules, after Goddess Day, all Archbishops must go to 'Holy Advent City' to report to Innocent XIII. No one can be absent without exceptional circumstances."

She paused and looked at Laroche. "Once Reinhardt leaves, the Grand Cathedral of Holy Radiance will be a wolf's den with no fangs."

Sebastian slapped the armrest of the sofa, the paranoid light in his eyes growing stronger. "I see! While he's away in Holy Advent City, we use the moonlight grass to corrupt the high-ranking priests in charge of holy water distribution."

"With their Rank 3 strength, they won't be able to detect the flesh and blood power within the moonlight grass at all. As long as they mix the extracted flesh and blood essence into the holy water..."

"Everyone in the city will drink it." Laroche took over the conversation, delighted. "During every morning and evening prayer, the believers will drain the holy water they hold. The flesh and blood power will slowly take root in their bodies, silently transforming them into Blood Slaves.

"By the time Reinhardt returns from Holy Advent City, Veloria will have long since become His Eminence's vassal city."

"However, the transformation won't be 100% successful." Isabella suddenly sneered, her gaze sweeping over the old woman kowtowing outside. "I've seen the previous experimental data; there's only a thirty percent chance of transforming into obedient Blood Slaves."

"The remaining seventy percent will become Blood Puppets." She paused intentionally, her tone carrying a cruel amusement.

"These Blood Puppets have Rank 2 strength. They lose all reason and know only slaughter and devouring, pouncing on anyone they see..."

Sebastian frowned. "Blood Puppets? Won't that alert the enemy?"

"No." Laroche shook his head, his fingertips tapping the rim of his glass, his eyes dark as pitch. "After Goddess Day, there's bound to be some 'post-festival chaos' in the city. A small number of Blood Puppets can be disguised as conflicts among vagrants or monster attacks."

"By the time Reinhardt notices something is wrong, thirty percent of the Blood Slaves will have already infiltrated the Church, the markets, and the guard... He won't even be able to tell who the enemy is."

Isabella added in a cold, hard tone, "And these Blood Puppets aren't useless. If things really get rowdy, they can distract the Church's knight order, buying us time to expand the scope of the transformation."

"Our God needs both loyal kin and fanatical sacrifices."

Sebastian stared at Reinhardt's red figure in the square. The sound of prayer drifted in with the wind, but he only found it grating.

"'Protect the pious lambs'?" He laughed loudly, his laughter full of disdain. "Reinhardt probably wouldn't imagine that the holy water personally distributed by the priests will become the poison that feeds the lambs to His Eminence."

"Watch your words." Laroche raised his hand to interrupt again, his tone heavier this time. "Though Innocent XIII is old, he is the Pope after all. His perception is much sharper than Reinhardt's."

"Don't go around saying words like 'transformation' before the plan succeeds. If the Adjudication Department catches even a hint of a clue, all our preparations will be in vain."

Sebastian was taken aback, then reacted. He curled his lip and said no more.

He simply raised his glass and drained it, the fanaticism in his eyes almost overflowing.

Isabella walked to the window and raised her hand to touch her neck.

"When the plan succeeds, I will personally transform those priests who once mocked my father for 'donating icons to buy a title' into Blood Puppets one by one," she said softly.

Laroche stood up and looked out at the square alongside the two. The deep blue candlelight reflected in their eyes, burning with a heavy, sinister coldness. "What's the rush? We have plenty of time."

He spoke slowly, "The first batch of moonlight grass can be smuggled into the city in three days. We'll corrupt two junior priests first to test the waters."

"When Reinhardt goes to Holy Advent City to report, that will be the time for us to truly make our move."

"By then, the holy water of the Grand Cathedral of Holy Radiance will become a cradle for Blood Slaves. And every inch of Veloria's land will be stained with the blessing of the mother of flesh and blood."

The deaf-mute maid came in again to refill the wine, her head bowed even lower.

She couldn't understand what the nobles were saying, but she could feel the growing chill in the room, as well as the overflowing fanaticism in the eyes of the three adults—a fanaticism that would drag the entire city into the abyss.