Oh no, they’re coming for me!

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“...Hiss.”

Herbert’s expression was wooden, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly as he looked down at the battered grass carp on the ground.

He had barely taken a few steps after emerging from the nonhuman prison when he noticed the wreckage scattered in the shadows not far away.

“This is the third time, isn’t it?”

Honestly, he had no idea what to say anymore.

“Brother, are we really that fated to meet? I wasn’t even looking for you. How do I keep running into you every time?”

“Are you secretly in love with me?”

“This has to be unrequited love...”

Seriously, couldn’t he be discreet?

He might not care, but Herbert was embarrassed on his behalf.

“Be careful, or the Fish Lovers Association will come after you... No, wait. Isn’t he already one of them? He loves fish so much that he’s completely lost control of himself.”

After silently mocking the situation for quite a while, Herbert looked at the grass carp, which was almost impossible to recognize as a fish, and suddenly raised an eyebrow.

Judging from its miserable condition, he realized that this fellow’s circumstances might differ slightly from what he had initially imagined.

“He seems to be getting worse and worse. Is he about to lose himself to demonic madness?”

After the first incident, the grass carp had still been breathing faintly. The second time had been gruesome, but at least it had died afterward.

But this third time, it had been thoroughly destroyed halfway through. Its head had been twisted off, leaving the body completely hollowed out, like a cup with a hole in it.

The Grass Carp Guy’s methods of venting his frustrations were becoming increasingly savage, and he was growing less and less capable of restraining his desires.

At present, he was only attacking fish. But after that, would he extend his demonic claws toward other creatures?

Fortunately, the monastery did not keep cats or dogs. Otherwise, Herbert would have to worry about the safety of those innocent little animals.

Compared with them, the safety of everyone else in the monastery was not something a newcomer like him needed to concern himself with.

The monks went without saying. They were either martial monks or paladins, all highly dependable and exceptionally capable of protecting their behinds.

“As for the nuns, there’s even less reason to worry about them. They usually move about in groups, and each of them is every bit as formidable as anyone else...”

There were no ordinary sermon-giving nuns in the Mist Monastery. Every last one of them was a battle nun capable of taking part in combat.

Yes, every single one!

Not one of the battle nuns was a helpless, peace-loving weakling. Every one of them could wear heavy armor, cast spells from a holy scripture in one hand, and whirl a flail or smash with a warhammer in the other.

These battle-sister types either served as warrior nuns in the Mist Knights or as punitive nuns in the Inquisition.

Each was more brutal than the last, each bloodier than the one before.

As Herbert was thinking this, he suddenly realized that something was wrong.

“Wait a second...”

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The little animals were safe. The monks were safe. The nuns were safe...

Then surely someone had to be in danger, right?

So, take a guess. Which lucky person had fallen into peril?

“Me!”

The corner of Herbert’s mouth twitched. His legs tightened, his knees began to tremble, and he nearly turned and fled.

“I’m the one who needs worrying about most!”

That was the correct and perfectly reasonable conclusion.

Herbert was the weakest person of them all!

He had little strength, a noble identity, and, most importantly, an exceptionally handsome appearance... In short, he was the perfect victim.

Oh no.

This time, it really was coming for him!

Just as the saying went, one did not know how much it hurt until the knife pierced one’s own flesh. People never minded watching trouble so long as it happened to someone else.

But now that someone was about to stab him viciously from behind, Herbert could no longer sit still.

Damn it, there was a pervert here!

His expression turned solemn, and he decisively made up his mind—

He would report him.

He had to report him!

“Brother Grass Carp, I didn’t report you before because I respected your preferences and pretended nothing had happened.”

“But now that you’ve gone this far, don’t blame me for taking drastic action.”

Once he had made up his mind, Herbert moved swiftly. Without bothering about anything else, he charged toward the Inquisition.

“Your Excellency the High Inquisitor, save me!”

However, when Herbert hurried to the Inquisition, intending to report the “blasphemous conduct” to Bishop Thorn, he unexpectedly discovered that he had arrived too late.

The Inquisition, usually so deserted that it seemed to seep coldness into the bones, was now packed with people. More than a hundred monks and nuns had gathered in the great hall.

“Hm?”

Herbert had been wondering why he had not encountered any monks on the way. Now he understood: they had all come here. He was about to speak to them when he realized that something was wrong.

Many of them looked grim. Even the usually taciturn monks could not help whispering among themselves.

What had happened?

Herbert did not need to ask anyone. The moment he reached the center of the hall, he saw the answer—

A stone coffin had been placed there.

Someone had died!

The dead man’s face was covered with a white cloth. Bright red blood seeped from his mouth. Judging from his exposed hands and feet, he appeared to have been a young monk of around thirty.

Herbert narrowed his eyes. At that instant, a fierce chill crawled up his spine like a bone-devouring parasite, making his heart jolt violently.

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!!!

For no apparent reason, an intensely powerful instinct arose within him. He felt that this matter was almost certainly connected to the Grass Carp Guy.

Had he done it!?

So this fellow was not merely driven by lust—he was a murderer as well?

Perhaps because the scene of the murder felt strangely familiar, Herbert quickly calmed down and began analyzing the situation.

“Was the dead man silenced because he happened to witness that blasphemous scene?”

Gulp.

Herbert silently swallowed, feeling both relieved and shaken.

If he had left a little earlier today, would he now be lying dead beside the victim?

No.

If he had happened to run into that fellow directly each time instead of arriving one step too late, would he have been silenced long ago?

As Herbert pondered this, someone spoke, breaking the silence.

“Brothers and sisters, we have lost one of our own.”

Bishop Thorn was not present. The person presiding over the gathering was a punitive nun who appeared to be middle-aged.

Her face was filled with grief, and her sorrowful voice echoed throughout the Inquisition.

“He was a devout monk, a warrior willing to devote his entire life to justice and righteousness.”

“Every one of us is filled with fury over his tragic death.”

At this point, the punitive nun’s voice rose, and she cried out with righteous wrath:

“But, brothers and sisters, fury alone is not enough. We must also find the murderer who took his life!”

“We must... avenge him!”

That sonorous cry was like a signal. More than a hundred people shouted as one.

“Revenge!”

As the crowd roared, the temperature in the hall of the Inquisition plummeted beneath the weight of their killing intent, making everyone want to shiver.

“...Hm?”

Just then, Herbert suddenly sensed something. He glanced left and right and discovered that the people beside him had quietly moved away at some point.

A strange vacuum had formed around him. Pair after pair of icy eyes, their true intentions impossible to discern, stared silently in his direction.

Herbert blinked. Then he suddenly realized that something was very wrong.

Oh no.

They were coming for him!?