Chapter Twelve: The Property Manager Uncle

The two people from the novice gift pack seemed to possess an immunity to the loss of control caused by extreme emotions. Just now, what Colin feared most was that his two servants would lose control under the extreme emotional outburst triggered by the "Wailers," unable to distinguish friend from foe, perhaps even turning on him. Yet, unexpectedly, he found that even when he himself could barely refrain from attacking, these two servants, though visibly affected, still rigidly adhered to their duty to protect him, showing no signs of losing control. He wasn’t sure if this trait was common to all recruited characters or unique to those from the novice package. Of course, there was another possible explanation. Colin had always assumed his personal attributes were higher than those of his subordinates, but in reality, they were quite similar—if he could endure it, so could they. It was, in truth, a peculiar sense of superiority at work.

Shaking his head, Colin let go of the question he couldn’t answer for now. He took some water from his backpack to restore his strength, then pulled out the sheepskin scroll. “About three-fifths of the mission is completed. If nothing unexpected happens, the rest should be all on the second floor.” Colin rubbed his throbbing temples, scratched his itchy ear, and shivered. He could hear gut-wrenching screams erupting from the second floor—after the monsters on the first floor revived, those above had joined in the chorus. Separated by walls and distance, the noise did little harm but was deeply irritating.

“Really, why do they all have to scream so loudly?” Colin took a deep breath and rose from his chair. He grabbed his iron axe and lantern—your building manager is coming to find you now… “Let’s go. Once we deal with the abominations on the second floor, it’s over.”

The staircase to the second floor was near the main entrance of the church, a spiral flight winding upward. Colin had seen it earlier when dispatching the monsters and wouldn’t have to spend much time looking for it. The stairs were covered in a red carpet, thick with dust; each step left a clear footprint behind. He looked up to make sure there were no monsters hanging overhead, watching him. Then, as he ascended, his gaze lingered on the stairwell walls, adorned with deeply religious relief carvings and unique patterns woven from thorny vines.

Many details on the reliefs had been worn away, but the general scenes were clear: people crawling forward on hands and knees, burdened with thorns; others walking barefoot over sharp spikes; some with stones hanging from their necks, bent low as they moved… Even with the details missing, Colin could tell these were some form of unconventional prayer. “Suffering…”

Colin’s thoughts turned to that suspected high being, the “Mother of Suffering and Thorns.” The omnipresent thorns in the reliefs, the people’s actions—all echoed the concept of suffering. Yet, he wondered how the world’s current state related to this higher entity. The history of this place intrigued him as well.

But they had already reached the second floor, and Colin gathered his wandering thoughts. Unlike the single great hall of the first level, the second floor was lined with corridors flanked by numerous rooms. Most of their doors had been smashed in, and from within came the chilling wails of the “Wailers.”

“With so many rooms, the sound’s impact is limited. If all these monsters had been on the first floor, things would have been much worse.” Colin felt a measure of relief. It seemed that when the monsters first mutated, they had run wild throughout the building. Otherwise, they would not be scattered as they were now. Then, lacking food or for some other reason, they had all fallen into hibernation—a sleep only broken today by his intrusion.

Bang! Colin kicked open a rotted door. The lantern’s light revealed a small, thin “Wailer” shrieking at him. But he was already largely immune to such “petty tantrums” and wouldn’t be affected much for a while. Without hesitation, Colin brought his axe down, restoring silence to the world.

After killing the “Wailer,” he didn’t leave immediately, but surveyed the room. About twenty square meters in size, it seemed to have served as an office. There was a desk inside, thick with dust but otherwise well preserved—dark brown, solid, and heavy. Colin tapped his fingers on its surface; it felt much sturdier and better made than the one back home. The only damage was a gnawed corner, but it didn’t affect its use. “This desk was meant for my home,” Colin remarked, noticing a chair of the same material in the corner, “and so was this chair.”

He had dismantled all his old furniture at home; with the old gone, it was time for something new. Colin opened his Inventory and stored them away—the desk and chair took up two slots, their icons labeled “Lightly Damaged Thorn Desk” and “Thornwood Chair.”

He glanced at his starting sixteen slots—most were already filled. Each slot seemed to ignore weight limits and only be restricted by quantity and size; similar items could be stacked together. For example, bread, tier-three water, venison, and so on could be stacked in one slot, but tables and chairs could not. Otherwise, Colin would have loved to haul all the benches from downstairs home. Those could double as beds and were far more comfortable than the rickety old one in his wooden hut, which creaked and groaned at every movement.

Even if he couldn’t use all the chairs, selling them to other survivors would fetch a good price. “...My mind seems to be drifting more and more, always wandering off to random things. After finishing this round, I’d better rest…” Colin shook his head, gathering his thoughts to avoid excessive distraction.

He was aware of his mental state, having noticed signs of “Minor Mental Damage” on his servants’ status screens. The prompt warned that their sanity was slipping and that immediate rest was needed, or else they would become easily distracted, their ability to guard against ambushes sharply diminished.

Meanwhile, the hunt continued methodically. The only disappointment was that, after checking over a dozen rooms, almost all were empty, with nothing of value. Even when there were items left, they were badly damaged—none could compare with what was now in his inventory. “A pity that expanding the inventory costs over a hundred Mist Points. Otherwise, I’d empty this place out…”

Colin sighed. Even broken things could be burned for firewood—and the denser the wood, the longer it burned. There was so much good material, but the inventory was so small; it was a real regret. “Next room—let’s continue.”

Colin led the way out of the door, about to move on, when he suddenly froze. The corridor ended here—no more rooms ahead. At the end was only a single window, beyond which loomed the ominous gray mist, glowing with a faint, hazy white. There was nowhere else to go.