The Girl Who Stitched Monsters

Cleansing.

The word sounded holy enough.

If Isolde had not already known this place was the slaughterhouse where they had killed the unicorns, she might almost have believed their nonsense.

She timed her reaction carefully and lifted her head, letting a touch of joy appear on her face. “…I can really go?”

A monk walking over beside her lowered his eyes and looked at her with a gentle, certain smile.

“Of course. The Holy Court does not leave lost children to suffer alone in the dark.”

That smile raised goosebumps along the back of Isolde’s neck.

She obediently lowered her eyes, hiding the coldness beneath them, and said softly, “May the holy light bear witness.”

The heavy wooden door of the cleansing room shut behind her, cutting off the sounds outside.

A monk in an ornate high-ranking robe stood guard by the door, his hands folded over his chest. His tone was so even it had no rise or fall at all.

“Please do not be nervous. The cleansing of Gray Dove Monastery will only strip away the unnecessary corruption clinging to you.”

Isolde used the motion of lowering her head to quickly scan the room.

It was cleaner than she had expected. So clean it felt deliberate.

The white stone floor had been polished until it reflected light. Fine seams in the walls were inlaid with silver thread, weaving together into an intricate sun-shaped holy emblem.

High above, stained glass formed the image of a saint holding up a white dove.

Sunlight slipped through the gaps in the glass and filled the room with soft brightness, making the place seem gentle, radiant, and almost sacred.

At the front stood a unicorn statue. Its wings were spread, its front hooves raised, as if it were ready to charge into the sky at any moment.

The monk walked to the statue and took down a silver cup.

Inside was a pale golden liquid. It lay perfectly still, giving off a sweet, cloying fragrance that made the head swim.

“Kneel,” the monk said, turning back to look down at her. “The holy light will see your pain, and it will forgive your weakness.”

Only the two of them were in the spacious room.

Isolde obediently walked to the statue and looked up at the sacred unicorn. Another burning sensation flared in her palm.

For a moment, she seemed to hear the unicorn’s dying wail beside her ear. Its torn cry mixed with the monk’s hymn, absurd as some grotesque opera.

The monk did not rush her. He held the silver cup steadily, his voice soft and coaxing.

“Everyone who comes here is afraid. Afraid to admit their sins. Afraid to let go of obsession. Some are even afraid to lose the self that suffering has given them.”

As he spoke, he drew closer to Isolde.

“But you are fortunate. All who believe in the holy light will be given the chance to be reborn. As long as you give up resistance and surrender yourself fully to the holy light, you will receive eternal peace.”

Isolde seemed completely bewitched by his words. Her knees weakened, and she slowly knelt on the floor.

A satisfied look flashed through the monk’s eyes. He stepped forward and tilted the silver cup.

A single drop of pale golden water fell precisely onto the center of her brow.

With a boom, countless chaotic whispers exploded inside Isolde’s mind.

“Let go… obey… forget…”

“Pain comes from resistance. Obedience is rebirth.”

The light before her eyes began to sway. The unicorn’s face seemed to lower, speaking in the same layered voice as the monk.

“Tell me. Who are you?”

Isolde’s eyes went slightly unfocused.

The monk looked down at her. His fingers rested soothingly on the edge of the silver cup, and at last, the corner of his mouth curved with victory.

“Tell the holy light. Who are you?”

Isolde lowered her head. Her lips moved.

“I am…”

The monk leaned closer without realizing it, trying to hear her clearly.

“I am your worst mistake.”

The next instant, Isolde activated [Soulbinding Thread].

Soul Threads shot from her hand.

The monk’s pupils shrank. Before he could step back, the threads wrapped around his throat, wrists, and chest all at once.

The silver cup fell to the floor. Pale golden cleansing water splashed across the white stone and immediately released a thin curl of black smoke.

The monk’s face went deathly pale. He opened his mouth to shout, but the silver thread tightened around his throat, leaving only broken gasps.

His eyes were wide with panic.

That looked much better than the merciful expression he had worn earlier.

Isolde leaned close to his ear, like a ghost rising from hell.

“So this is your so-called cleansing? Washing people’s minds empty and turning them into obedient puppets?”

The monk’s eyes filled with despair. The fear of death made his whole body tremble.

“The Holy… the Holy Court will not…”

Before he could finish his threat, Isolde twisted her wrist.

The Soul Threads instantly cut into flesh and tore his soul apart inside his body.

The monk’s pupils spread completely.

The lifeless corpse collapsed limply to the floor. Once his eyes closed, he actually gained a few ironic traces of peace.

The cleansing room returned to dead silence.

Isolde moved quickly and dragged the body behind the huge unicorn statue to hide it.

She crouched down and searched the corpse with practiced ease, finding a bronze access token in his robes. She slipped it into her own collar without hesitation.

Then she picked up the silver cup still stained with the remaining liquid. A faint gray light screen appeared before her.

[Degraded Brainwashing Draught]

[Description, Made from Withering Grass and low-tier purification dust. It can weaken a target’s independent will. Long-term consumption may cause dependency, obedience, memory confusion, and related conditions.]

Isolde read it expressionlessly and gave a cold laugh.

Religious brainwashing always came down to the same dirty tricks.

Unfortunately for them, this level of drugging was not enough to impress a transmigrator whose mind was packed with modern anti-fraud awareness.

She put the thought away and quickly walked to the door. After pressing close to the wooden panel and confirming there was no movement outside, she took out the map Orren had given her.

Her fingertip moved quickly across the map as she reviewed the route one last time in her mind.

The Disciplinary Hall was in the western underground corridor.

The Reliquary was at the deepest point, surrounded by three layers of passageways. The Mooncrown Lock was marked inside the Quiet Bone Prayer Room behind the Reliquary.

The Silver Robe Inquisitor was in the main chapel.

He was probably preparing to preside over evening prayer, or waiting to drag an “important prey” like Hervin onto the judgment platform.

Once the route was clear in her mind, Isolde had just put the map back into her pack when heavy footsteps suddenly approached from outside.

Her eyes sharpened. In an instant, she withdrew every trace of killing intent and returned to the frightened, fragile look she had worn earlier.

She pulled the cleansing room door open a crack, lowered her head, and timidly revealed half her face.

An elderly cleric stood outside.

He looked past Isolde’s shoulder into the empty cleansing room. When he did not see the subordinate who was supposed to be there, irritation immediately appeared on his face.

“Why are you alone? Where is Brother Hill?”

Isolde lowered her head. “The lord told me to wait here. He said he was going to fetch a fresh cleansing robe.”

“That lazy fool,” the elderly cleric muttered. “The Lamp Room has already urged him three times, and he still has the nerve to dawdle.”

His gaze swept around the area before landing on an extinguished Holy Lamp by the door.

The cleric pointed at it, his tone allowing no argument.

“Good. You. Take that lamp and go to the Lamp Room to renew the wick.”

Isolde raised her head in feigned shock. “Me?”

“Is there anyone else here?” the old man snapped impatiently. “Give the lamp to the lamp-keeping monks. Once they renew the wick, take it straight to the outer corridor of the Disciplinary Hall and report back. Move quickly.”

Isolde had no choice but to lift the Holy Lamp with both hands in a reverent manner.

“Yes.”

Seeing her timid behavior, the old man’s expression eased slightly. Out of habit, he added one more warning.

“Do not touch the wick on the way, and do not run your mouth asking questions. The Holy Lamps are the monastery’s suns. If even one goes out, you will suffer for it.”

“I understand. May the holy light bear witness.”

Isolde carried the lamp out of the cleansing room.

She needed a higher-level access token. Perhaps the Lamp Room had what she wanted.

Relying on the map she had just memorized, she followed the dim southern corridor downward.

As the temperature continued to drop, the thick, sharp fragrance of sanctuary blossoms in the air thinned rapidly. In its place came an increasingly heavy smell of blood.

Faintly mixed into it was the stench of flesh scorched by a red-hot iron.

On both sides of the Lamp Room’s iron door stood two pale stone statues with dove heads.

The statues lowered their heads in an eerie manner, their wings tightly folded around their bodies. In their hollow eye sockets were two white crystals glowing with ghostly green light.

When Isolde approached, she took out the bronze access token and inserted it into the slot beside the door.

Cold light refracted from the dove-headed statues’ eyes.

With a heavy scrape of metal, the sealed stone doors slid open to both sides.

A hot wave of blood and high heat rushed into her face.

Isolde stepped inside.

The scene before her nearly broke the numb expression she had forced onto her face.