Walker Of The Worlds

2786  Infiltrating And End Of An Inqusitor

Unlike the armored guards at the gates, the inquisitors were clad in flowing dark robes reinforced with potent enchantments, their very fabric whispering with restrained power. Each carried weapons steeped in the blood of countless enemies, their hilts worn smooth from relentless use.

Their faces were obscured by masks of etched metal, their hollow eyes seeming to peer into one's very soul. They did not move like men but like wraiths, gliding through the fortress with an air of silent menace with even their metal armors making no noise.

Lin Mu observed them intently as the clerk pressed deeper into the heart of the fortress, eventually halting before an immense barracks. It was one of the three largest structures within the stronghold, overshadowed only by the cathedral-like palace that loomed at the center of the Inquisition Fortress like a monolith of divine judgment. Towering walls enclosed the structure, their surfaces inscribed with wards of detection and suppression.

'That's where the letter is headed… and where the real trouble begins,' Lin Mu mused grimly.

"Letter for Inquisitor Bernard," the clerk announced, presenting the sealed missive to a stationed guard.

Lin Mu immediately noted the rigid discipline enforced within the fortress. Access was tightly controlled, movement restricted only to those with proper clearance. Even the clerks, who carried correspondence, were not permitted to step beyond designated areas without explicit permission.

Sensing the invisible threads of power that laced the barracks, Lin Mu grimaced. The entire structure was heavily warded; if he so much as exhaled a wisp of Qi, the fortress's detection arrays would pinpoint his exact location.

'I need an access token,' he realized, narrowing his eyes.

As if on cue, an inquisitor emerged from within, his robes shifting subtly in the dim torchlight. Unlike the others, this one carried himself with an air of methodical efficiency, his movements measured yet unwavering. Hanging from his belt was a rosary-shaped trinket, pulsating faintly with energy—an access token.

'That will do.'

With seamless precision, Lin Mu melted into the inquisitor's shadow and, in one fluid motion using Meld, snatched the token without so much as a whisper of movement. His mastery over spatial manipulation allowed him to act undetected, the fortress's arrays blind to the fluctuations he conjured.

With the token in hand, he passed through the barrier undeterred, slipping into the barracks like a phantom. His eyes immediately locked onto the inquisitor who had received the letter. The man was ascending a flight of stairs, his boots echoing against the stone floor as he approached a door at the far end of the corridor.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

"A letter has arrived for you, Sir Bernard." The inquisitor spoke respectfully.

"Enter." A voice answered from within.

CREAK.

The door swung open, revealing an office both austere and imposing. Shelves lined one side of the chamber, stocked with tomes bound in aged leather. A desk of dark oak stood at the center, and behind it sat a man whose very presence exuded controlled lethality.

Inquisitor Bernard.

His grizzled brown hair framed a face etched with the passage of countless battles, his short beard interrupted by an old scar that split his chin. But it was his eyes—two steel-gray voids that bore no warmth, only a cold, unwavering resolve—that exuded his true nature. This was a man who had sentenced thousands to their deaths without hesitation, his word carrying the weight of absolute authority.

The clerk barely concealed his unease as he placed the letter before Bernard, his heartbeat betraying his fear. The two suits of armor standing like sentries beside the desk only added to the suffocating atmosphere, their polished surfaces gleaming ominously. Behind Bernard, a collection of weapons hung upon the wall: a long sword inscribed with divine scripture, a battle-axe whose edge gleamed with malevolent purpose, and a greatsword whose blade was still stained with the dried remnants of past executions.

The inquisitor suddenly stood, his piercing eyes sweeping across the room like a hawk searching for unseen prey.

"Hmm…" he murmured, but found nothing. Lin Mu had already snuffed out his presence entirely.

SIGH.

Bernard exhaled, his expression unreadable as he sat back down. "Looks like tough times are ahead," he muttered.

As if already knowing the contents of the message, he pressed his ring to the letter's seal.

SHUA.

The sigil glowed momentarily before fading away, allowing Bernard to unfold the parchment. His eyes flickered over the words, absorbing the report with rapt attention. As he read, a slow, predatory grin stretched across his face.

"So many heretics," he mused, a chilling hunger lacing his voice. "It seems my blade shall taste blood again… if I'm fortunate."

He spent a moment in thought before rising to his feet. His fingers reached for his greatsword, his grip firm with anticipation.

But just as his fingers brushed against the hilt, a presence materialized behind him. Two cold, merciless eyes—void of any warmth or hesitation—locked onto his own.

Bernard's blood ran cold.

"No." The single word came like a death knell.

Lin Mu's hand clamped over Bernard's mouth, silencing him before he could even react.

"MMMGNN!" The inquisitor struggled, but it was futile.

It was not a man holding him—it was a force of nature, an executioner delivering divine reckoning. Bernard's muscles tensed, veins bulging as he fought to break free, but it was like resisting an iron vice.

Then came the end.

CRACK.

Lin Mu wrenched Bernard's head with inhuman strength, twisting it in a grotesque one-eighty-degree turn. The sickening snap of bone reverberated through the chamber.

SHUA.

Before the light had even fully faded from Bernard's unblinking eyes, his corpse vanished into Lin Mu's ring—erased from existence as if he had never been.

The very man who had ended the lives of thousands, now had his own terminated without any glory. A fitting end, Lin Mu thought to himself.