CHAPTER 117: CHAPTER 117: CEREMONY VENUE_1

Dismas glanced at the sheriff. He couldn’t understand why the Lord trusted this man so much, but the Lord had always been accurate in judging people. Come to think of it, he himself had been in a similar position.

Without saying much, he simply nodded slightly, acknowledging the diligent sheriff, and then followed him.

"Knock three times on the door later. Don’t look up or speak proactively; just enter as soon as the door opens. Be aware, there might be something wrong with the air. When I make my move, you follow suit.

When the time comes, don’t hold back. Use your gun if necessary. If something feels off, get close to me immediately. Don’t get greedy for damage," Lance whispered.

Heretics differed from bandits; their methods were bizarre. To expand their ranks, they surely had a leader like a Priest, so sorcery was to be expected, though the specifics remained unknown.

With Sanctuary, I’m immune to sorcery, but Dismas isn’t. Guarding against that is paramount.

Sometimes, being too handsome was a hassle. For instance, he couldn’t be the one to knock. He also had to tie a cloth over half his face, like a makeshift mask, to avoid being recognized at a glance.

Following orders, Dismas knocked three times on the main door. It seemed someone was guarding it from behind, as the door opened directly, releasing a strange red glow that faintly shone on them.

Without any communication, they blended right in. Then, he heard a voice coming from inside.

"Join us... step into Ascension... our great god..."

Only then did Lance slightly lift his head, scanning the surroundings with the corner of his eye.

The eerie red light originated from candles that looked as if they were cast from coagulated blood. Their flickering flames were an unnatural, blood-red color and emitted a strange aura.

The hall was shrouded in blood-red light. On a raised platform at its center, a black-robed figure was preaching, babbling about their cause and proclaiming the benefits of becoming favored by the gods.

Behind this Missionary stood a wooden altar with three curved protrusions, to which a slender, blonde-haired girl was bound.

The girl’s hands and head were positioned at these protrusions, her body arranged to form the special symbol of this particular evil cult.

Seeing this familiar torture pattern, Lance couldn’t help but rub the Family Crest Ring on his index finger.

He already had his suspicions, as evil cults were rampant in this area. But upon seeing this symbol, he knew: it was the same one causing trouble in Hamlet.

The pattern was strikingly similar; the Ascension Sect’s symbol simply had three lines on an arc that converged at a point, with a single line extending downward from there.

His family crest had five lines and no such extending segments. No one would believe it wasn’t the old ancestor’s handiwork.

However, now was not the time to dwell on this. Lance’s gaze fixed on the girl. She appeared to be unconscious, her head hanging so low her face couldn’t be seen, but the faint rise and fall of her chest indicated she was still alive.

Relieved that the girl was still alive, Lance shifted his gaze to the surroundings.

About a dozen people were gathered before the altar. Most wore hoods, their bodies concealed beneath robes. However, some didn’t bother to hide their identities, boldly lifting their hoods to reveal their faces.

Some, even more brazenly, wore no robes at all, standing unabashedly among them. The equipment on one such individual was rather...

Lance’s gaze seemed to draw the man’s attention, and he turned around. Lance instinctively lowered his head a bit more, letting the hood shield his eyes.

All Lance could see was the man’s oily lower face and a plump belly straining against a uniform. The buttons looked ready to burst, and the belt had slipped below his stomach, unable to contain it.

Perhaps noticing nothing amiss, the man turned back. Dismas, however, twisted to look, his expression surprised.

Lance noticed his reaction, and they exchanged a glance. How could he have missed that?

This arrogant man was dressed in a sheriff’s uniform, complete with a badge pinned to his chest.

This discovery, however, didn’t affect their plan. Lance gestured with his eyes, and the two slowly moved closer.

The congregation was being brainwashed by the Missionary on the platform, their expressions frenzied. It was as if they believed they were about to achieve Ascension to godhood in the next moment, gaining infinite power and life, unaware they were merely paving stones for the cult’s leaders.

"You two have been trying to get closer this whole time."

The Missionary on the platform seemed to notice the advancing pair. He suddenly stopped speaking and pointed. Instantly, all eyes—filled with fanatical expressions—converged on Lance and Dismas, as if ready to charge fearlessly at a command.

The two froze, appearing startled.

Dismas’s hand, hidden within his robe, was already on his sword hilt. If his Lord hadn’t ordered him to wait for the command, he would have drawn his sword and started a massacre.

Lance, too, felt the pressure mount. He didn’t know if their cover was blown or something else. If those people made any move, he would draw his Longsword from the Exhibition Room.

"Very good! You’ve done very well! Only by getting close enough can you receive the god’s gaze when the ritual begins..."

The man on the platform rambled on, lavishing praise on the two for their initiative, clearly trying to encourage more active participation.

"I allow you two to stand at the front. When the ritual begins, you will receive the god’s gaze."

Finally, the man gestured for the two to come forward. The Heretics, who had looked ready to swarm them, parted to make way, though their faces showed involuntary jealousy and regret at missing such an opportunity.

Only then did Lance breathe a sigh of relief. Dismas, too, was thankful he hadn’t acted prematurely; otherwise, they would have been exposed.

I’m still not as composed as My Lord.

Thanks to this unexpected turn, no one stopped them. They walked onto the platform under numerous gazes. However, precisely because of this, even though Lance had walked deliberately slowly, only three of the five minutes he had anticipated had passed.

Lance ascended the platform at a leisurely pace, slightly lifting his head to survey the black-robed man. Should I act now, or...

The sheriff waited outside. As time dragged on, his mood grew increasingly heavy, and the minutes seemed to crawl.

He didn’t know what had happened after the two entered. What if the heretics had seen through their disguise? Could they be in danger? What if those two were being tortured by heretics right now?

The more he thought, the more uneasy he felt. It suddenly dawned on him: I’m the town’s sheriff! Why am I taking orders from a bizarre stranger and waiting here in anguish?

"Miss, let’s move! Time to show those heretics what we’re made of!"