Davis narrowed his eyes. He thought of the phantom of Professor Dusan in his own room.
That guy's every movement felt intensely real: the rise and fall of his chest while breathing, his overbearing demeanor, the contemptuous look in his eyes... even the sound of his leather boots when walking.
But he had been strongly denying that Dusan was still alive, and that guy had turned to dust after his head was crushed under a foot.
If Father Gorn in this room believed the male servant was real, then could that servant... touch him?
"We'll only know the result by entering the room. Davis, you open the door this time."
Without any psychological burden, Fran handed the door-opening task to Davis.
She wasn't really concerned about any potentially explosive scenes inside, but... it was time to give this idle guy beside her something to do.
"Alright." Davis didn't refuse.
In unknown explorations, the most important thing is "shared risk." Dr. Fran had helped him several times before; he absolutely couldn't lack the sincerity to even open a door for her.
He walked up to the guest room door and cautiously turned the handle. The firm feeling of the lock mechanism engaging came through.
"This door... is locked."
Davis's expression showed no surprise; instead, it seemed perfectly natural.
When doing things one doesn't want others to see, most people will almost instinctively lock the door, draw the curtains, ensuring they are in a safe environment where their privacy won't be exposed.
Before Fran could respond, he had already taken a simple lock-picking tool made of twisted steel wire from his pocket. After some careful fiddling, a light click of the mechanism springing open sounded.
"Solved."
Davis retracted the lock-picking tool in his hand and let out a soft sigh of relief.
If this door were locked by some indescribable mysterious force, this little gadget in hand wouldn't be able to open it. Good thing it was just an ordinary door, nothing special about it.
Hmm... Very skilled. No, perhaps overly skilled.
Although far from matching her, it was enough to be called an "old hand."
Looking at Davis's pleased face, Fran couldn't help but feel somewhat curious about this folklorist's professional nature.
Seeming to notice Fran's gaze, Davis scratched his head somewhat sheepishly.
"Although I don't like to admit it, this skill is indeed very practical for a folklorist. Once, I was locked in a room by villagers from a fishing village who worshipped a cult; I escaped thanks to it..."
"And sometimes, occultists' documents are locked in chests in ruins. To open them, you have to find a way."
From his description, this guy seemed to encounter dangerous situations quite often.
From this, Davis indeed had talent as a folklorist. He wasn't stupid, and... his life was certainly tough enough.
That point was proven just by the fact he was still alive.
The lock was now open. After a brief mental preparation, he reached out and pushed the door open.
Father Gorn's room... was a prayer room.
A golden holy emblem placed at the highest point upfront, wooden benches on both sides, even a confession booth for confiding in clergy was set up. The front podium had steps, likely for a choir.
Fran wasn't very interested in such overly conventional religious settings. She didn't spend much time observing the environment. After confirming there was no immediate danger, she walked straight in.
"Huff... child, the demon no longer clings to your body."
Father Gorn's voice sounded in the prayer room, but his specific location couldn't be seen yet.
However, after these words, a few wisps of white smoke drifted out from the confession booth in the prayer room, bringing with it a choking tobacco scent.
"They should be in that confession booth."
Davis wasn't sure if he should open the confession booth and looked at Fran with a questioning expression.
Meanwhile, the doctor had, unnoticed, already arrived at the central position in the prayer room meant for placing the holy scriptures. She picked up this scripture placed on a single-footed stand and began flipping through it nonchalantly.
The vellum pages recorded not myths or fables, nor scriptural commandments, but one part of a short poem.
[Pearls and rubies adorn the church's splendid doors, intertwining and shining brilliantly.]
[Young voices echo, flawless and beautiful, melodious like heavenly music.]
[Sounds of praise, children sing aloud in unison:]
['Praise the wisdom and might of the gods in the high heavens.' The lingering echoes ceaselessly hover and coil.]
[Unaware, the greedy devil is His closest servant beneath the robes.]
Davis was also very interested in this type of literary poem. He quickly came to the single-footed bookstand and finished reading the short poem.
"Dr. Fran, is this the third part of that poem?"
Davis asked Fran with some puzzlement.
Although there was no factual basis, this folklorist always felt the young girl before him knew more than he did.
This also allowed him to ask questions without psychological burden, as in terms of seniority... Dr. Fran was absolutely qualified to be his teacher.
"No, this is the fourth part. The third part is with Krul."
Fran's voice carried unwavering certainty.
She had read the original poem The Haunted Palace, so she was quite familiar with the division and rhythm of this poem. And while these short poems bore some similarity to the former, they had been modified in other aspects.
Suddenly, Father Gorn's cry of pain came from the confession booth, followed by a hysterical scream.
"Ah! You, what are you doing? Stop! It hurts so much!"
"Your face... You, what exactly are you? You are a devil..."
Hearing his voice, Fran couldn't help but let out a soft sigh, her amber eyes flickering slightly.
"Although I don't know if this guy is worth saving, let's try anyway. After all... someone will judge him eventually."
As she spoke, she lightly raised her index finger towards Davis beside her, pointing at the wooden confession booth.
"Davis, go open the door."
"Okay."
Because he had mentally prepared beforehand, Davis didn't hesitate now. He quickly went to the confession booth and pulled the door outward.
Davis didn't realize that when he agreed to Fran's instruction just now, he had hardly given it any extra thought; his body had naturally begun to act...
When this doctor didn't feel like doing the work herself, she could almost imperceptibly get those around her to act as "laborers."
Of course, the other party would be perfectly willing throughout the entire process.
Inside the cramped, oppressive confession booth, Father Gorn lay limp on the ground. Clinging to his body... was a mass of pitch-black rotten flesh that barely retained a humanoid form.
Vaguely visible within its "head" were melted facial features—the delicate face of the Hanover Manor male servant. But now, they were already broken and fragmented, even wriggling along with the flesh.
"Ahhh! Help me! Get this thing off me, it's... it's stuck to me!"
Father Gorn had lost his previous amiable and composed demeanor, now screaming almost insanely.
His clamor made Davis frown tightly.
Damn, with such a commotion, won't "Corruption" be attracted over...
"Relax, at least for the next five minutes, that thing won't find us here. I've got a reliable 'friend' keeping it busy."
Easily, Fran discerned what he was worried about and calmly reassured him.
Friend?
Davis pondered the specific meaning of that word.
He had also heard the sound of metal scraping earlier—so... Dr. Fran's helper was an armored knight? But how could such a monster be fought with human strength... How had that guy managed to tangle with it for so long?
Most importantly, Fran didn't seem worried about this assistant's safety at all.
The attitude she displayed was subtle; it wasn't as if she considered him disposable, but more like she held an almost arrogant confidence in his strength.
"What are you still standing around for? Help me... No, I can feel it, it's biting me... This devil is covered in 'mouths'!"
Seeing the two seemingly having no intention of stepping forward to lend a hand, Gorn grew increasingly agitated.
He had tried to peel the rotten flesh off himself, but having just engaged in a satisfyingly intense exercise, his legs were still weak.
Moreover, this thing's fangs were deeply embedded in his skin; every tug was accompanied by heart-wrenching agony... Soon, his attempts at self-rescue ended in failure. And his frantic shouting gradually turned into pleas.
"Please, help me get it off... I can give you a lot of money. If you're willing to join the church... power isn't out of the question either! You don't understand the church's influence. At least within Gulinse City, there's nothing we cannot obtain..."
Father Gorn's voice sounded intermittently, each pause accompanied by a sharp cry of pain.
"Hmm... Don't worry, Father Gorn. Since I've decided to help you, I won't abandon you midway. As a doctor, I will fulfill my due responsibility towards my patient."
"Of course, the prerequisite is that a clear doctor-patient relationship has been established."
Fran's voice sounded unhurried.
As she spoke, she reached into her medicine case. After a brief search, she pulled out a gleaming mechanical circular saw.
"The following process might be somewhat painful, but given your condition, anesthesia seems to be too late now. So please try to endure... If you accidentally lose control of your bodily functions, it would be very inconvenient for me."
"You... what are you going to do?"
Hearing the mechanical hum of the circular saw starting up, an intense sense of fear enveloped Gorn, to the point where he even momentarily forgot the pain on his body.
"What am I going to do? Oh... I am fulfilling your request, performing the separation surgery with the fastest possible speed."
Fran approached slowly, holding the saw. The steel teeth on the blade appeared particularly dazzling under the surrounding light.
"Um, perhaps there's another way..."
Gorn's words were cut off before he could finish.
"Davis, hold him down." Fran ordered in a low voice.
"Alright." Davis stepped forward and tightly immobilized his body.
This young folklorist had been engaged in exploration work for years; his physical condition was considerably better than an average person's. Gorn was a pampered, middle-aged fatty with visible flabbiness. With this disparity, the latter's resistance ended before it even began.
Although his hands moved quickly, seeing that steel circular saw, Davis couldn't help but feel surprised once more.
Would a normal doctor really carry a pistol and a circular saw among their personal items? Or do I have some misunderstanding about the medical profession?
Though he thought this, no emotion showed on his face. After all, he had encountered one surprising thing after another along the way; honestly, one more didn't matter...
"Seems we're still missing a bit of preparation... What is it?"
Fran lightly furrowed her brow, then a flash of realization appeared in her amber eyes, as if she had found the answer.
"We need a towel."
A towel... to wipe away the blood? Davis thought with some curiosity.
The next moment, he saw Fran take out a towel and firmly stuff it into Gorn's mouth.
After completing this action, Fran pressed the saw blade, which was emitting a loud, harsh noise, into the junction between Gorn and the mass of rotten flesh. The dull sound of steel tearing through flesh immediately sounded...
Mincemeat fragments and contaminated, slimy rotten blood splattered in all directions, staining her white silk gauze dress with a crimson color.
Although the "medical instrument" used was somewhat rough, Fran's movements were precise and steady, yet incredibly agile. Within a few blinks, she had stripped away most of the rotting flesh embedded in Gorn's body.
As the circular saw cut away the final mass of rotten flesh, the priest's body was no longer visibly contaminated. However, the interior of this flesh mass was filled with human lips and teeth; after brief contact, it had already chewed and ulcerated most of his skin.
Finally... is it over?
Feeling the sensations of biting and wriggling no longer coming from his skin, Gorn couldn't help but sigh in relief. Although he was now in pain and weak all over, it was still better than being eaten alive by that thing.
"Good, first course of treatment completed."
"Huff... As expected, the orthopedics department staff are all part-time decorators. Not only is the work heavy physical labor, but the environment is equally noisy."
Fran shook off the plasma stuck on the circular saw, turned it off, and removed the blade.
What did 'first course of treatment' mean? Due to the intense pain, Gorn's brain was currently in a state of shutdown, capable of only very simple thought.
"That means your treatment isn't over yet. I only performed a simple separation. Next comes removing the contaminated flesh and completing the sutures."
As if guessing the priest's thoughts, Fran explained with a smile.
"Mmph!"
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T/N: Hey readers~! New Translator here! Before I say anything, I'd first like to thank the original author for creating this wonderful story. Without them, I wouldn't have the chance to share this adventure with you. I hope my translation does justice to their work, and that together, we can enjoy this story.
With that said, I'm happy to let you know I'll be uploading daily chapters. And for those who wish to support my work and gain early access, I've set up a Patreon where advanced chapters will be available.
[email protected]/PeakTL