Hughes narrowed his eyes, his gaze becoming dangerous.
"I heard that the church's orphanage ten years ago once had a boy bearing an unlucky curse; wherever he went, disaster followed there." He opened his mouth, his voice deep and murky; indeed, it was the gruff voice from last night: "You are the Executioner in those rumors?"
"Hughes." Wood called out once, his voice somewhat stern.
He always felt that a person who wore their heart on their sleeve, with a temperament overly straightforward like Hughes, would create a bad impression on the opponent during communication, so before entering he had specially instructed him not to talk, but unexpectedly, the moment he opened his mouth he spoke words that stabbed straight into the heart, stirring up the pain of others.
Alex lowered his head, staring at his old, tattered shoes.
"Correct, it is me. The cursed one."
Hughes did not pay attention to Wood; he surpassed this aristocratic young master who valued etiquette, taking a step forward, an invisible pressure radiating out: "Last night, where were you? Or in other words, what did you see? A person who attracts disaster like you certainly could not sleep well last night."
Rumors about the Executioner, he had heard the priests discuss.
He would attract countless evil entities on full moon nights, like a lamp in the dark. Previously, when nurtured in the church, those things feared the divine power and the barrier of The Goddess, so they dared not approach.
Later, having the Arbiter senior protecting him, using purification power to defend, it was not strange that he survived. But that old senior last year, due to unknown reasons, lost control and turned into a monster, and was destroyed by the Arbiter team itself. Then how did this teenager who attracts evil spirits survive through this past year?
By the instinct of a warrior, Hughes felt he had a connection of ten thousand threads with the extraordinary event that occurred last night.
Alex took a deep breath, raising his head to face that oppressive gaze.
"If I truly saw something clearly, then by now I would be a soulless corpse, not able to stand here talking to you."
Hughes froze, his killing intent retracting a little.
He was telling the truth; this logic was very reasonable. The fact that he was still alive proved that he did not see things he should not look at, or that thing did not bother to pay attention to this ant.
"Hughes." Wood pulled his companion's sleeve, dragging him back behind: "You talking to a boy like that is impolite. We need cooperation, not to interrogate a criminal."
Hughes gave a light harrumph then stepped aside; Wood took his place, his face returning to a gentle look.
"Apologies." He sincerely apologized to Alex: "My colleague is a bit impatient. Can we continue yet?"
Alex nodded slightly, then began to recount the story that happened last night to Wood. However, he skillfully concealed the part about bringing Elias's skeleton home. He only said that when the white mist wrapped around his body, and the bone-piercing cold invaded, he felt he was about to die; in a dying state, terrified to the extreme, he had prayed indiscriminately to all the gods he knew by name, unexpectedly actually receiving a response from a certain deity.
"A God?" Wood's expression became serious; his hand gripped the pen tightly as he tentatively asked: "Can you describe it? Even just a little feeling?"
Actually, Wood also did not hold hope in Alex's subsequent narration. In the process of hearing him tell about the chilling experience last night, Wood had affirmed that this was absolutely not something that their lowly rank could touch upon. He feared that only the highest-ranking Arbiter in charge, the Grand Bishops in Dune City, had the ability to touch this level.
He wrote swiftly in the notebook while silently exclaiming in his heart.
The skinny teenager before his eyes was truly too lucky, or his fate was too great, to actually be able to survive under the gaze, even if just a passing one, of an existence at that magnificent level.
Alex was silent, both hands holding his head; a look of pain as if being pricked by needles appeared on his face. When trying to recall memories exceeding the endurance of a mortal soul, his head throbbed continuously, his blood vessels seeming as if they wanted to burst.
Wood was trained to distinguish this expression; this was the reaction when a human tried to look directly at divinity: "No need to force it too much. If it hurts too much, then stop."
"Slaughter." Alex uttered a word, his voice trembling. Finishing the word, he panted incessantly, his face pale, cold sweat flowing drop by drop along his chin, falling onto the frayed scarf: "Blood... screams... and absolute silence..."
"Sorry, I can only think of this." He showed extreme pain, his fingers clawing tightly into his hair: "I can only think of this... my head is about to explode..."
Wood hurriedly held out his clean silk handkerchief.
"It's alright, Alex. Breathe in deeply." He spoke softly, his voice reassuring: "You have done very well; this information is very valuable."
Wood folded the notebook, putting it into his coat pocket; he continued: "The few coins you mentioned while telling the story, indeed they appeared scattered in the suburban woods. Currently, the woods have been blockaded for investigation. According to church regulations, items related to pollution events, we cannot return to you for safety reasons. But Alex, you can go to the church's foreign affairs office to apply for a special allowance for property damage."
Wood's words immediately attracted Alex's attention; the feigned pain also seemed to disappear by half.
The lost gold coins were truly too important to him; they were the living expenses for a whole month.
Now, he was about to retrieve what was lost, perhaps even more.
The people of the Luminous Church, though arrogant and hateful, had administrative compensation procedures like this that Alex still liked very much.
Because being able to apply for a special allowance meant money, which was the only thing he trusted at this moment.
"Really?" Alex's eyes lit up, somewhat unable to believe it: "Will they believe the words of a Corpse Collector like me? I do not have papers proving property."
Wood laughed softly, a smile carrying the confidence of someone with power: "If you go there directly, I fear it will have no effect; they will chase you back. But I can guarantee it."
He took two pre-printed sheets of paper from the leather document bag he carried, placing them on the table: "Alex, we need to fill out an application form. I can do it on your behalf if you are not used to it..."
"I know how to write." Alex said hurriedly, afraid the other party would change his mind: "Although not beautiful, I know how to write."
Wood smiled politely, not at all angry at Alex's somewhat rude refusal. He pushed the paper and the expensive fountain pen toward Alex.