The two of them were still catching their breath in the dim, musty room.
Father Gascoigne wiped the mixture of sweat and spattered blood from his brow and said grimly, “We need to find other Hunters. The two of us alone can’t break through the blockade formed by those two beasts.”
He motioned for Charles to follow and headed toward a narrow staircase at the back of the room that led farther down.
“There’s an alternate route here that will take us back to the heart of Central Yharnam. I remember an ancient Summoning Circle there. Perhaps we can summon Hunter Projections to fight alongside us.”
“Hunter Projections?” Curious, Charles followed close behind.
The room downstairs was even darker and damper, lit only by the faint glow of a single oil lamp.
A voice, unnaturally calm, suddenly drifted out from the shadows in the corner.
“Oh? Is that Father Gascoigne? And a new friend, too… It seems tonight’s Hunt has been rather taxing. I have some fine ‘Pungent Blood Cocktails’ here. Care for a taste to put some strength back into you?”
A man in a wheelchair slowly emerged, his face hidden beneath the shadow of his hood.
He appeared to be an old acquaintance of Father Gascoigne’s.
But Charles’s keen senses immediately detected at least two faint breaths concealed deeper within the darkness.
Without betraying any reaction, he shot Father Gascoigne a warning glance.
“It’s all right. They’re old ‘friends,'” Father Gascoigne replied quietly, though Charles noticed his grip tighten around the handle of his axe.
Father Gascoigne stepped forward with apparent composure.
His tall frame subtly moved between Charles and the shadows, cutting off any possible route for a surprise attack.
“Long time no see, Bright. So, now that your legs are useless, you’ve taken up selling liquor?” A trace of mockery colored his voice.
“Heh. A man has to make a living somehow, doesn’t he?” Bright shook his head helplessly and swirled the glass bottle in his hand.
It was filled with dark red liquid that gleamed with an alluring yet dangerous luster beneath the dim yellow light.
“This is a rare treasure. Drink it after a hard battle, and it will quickly restore your stamina and wash away your fatigue… Its effects are remarkable.”
“Indeed… I could use a little ‘recovery.'”
Father Gascoigne pretended to reach for the bottle, even forcing a tired smile onto his face.
The next instant, a vicious light flared in his eyes.
His outstretched hand snapped back, while the massive axe in his other hand swept upward like lightning, carving a lethal flash through the darkness.
“Shhk!”
The blade tore cleanly through flesh and bone.
The hooded head rolled across the floor, its hood falling back to reveal a face already showing obvious signs of Beast Transformation.
The lips had drawn back, exposing long, sharpened teeth.
“Bright, I know your tricks far too well.” Father Gascoigne stared coldly at the corpse on the floor.
Almost at the same moment, Charles’s pistol roared.
“Bang! Bang!”
Their faces were likewise twisted by bestial features.
After that brief eruption of violence and bloodshed, the room sank back into deathly silence.
Only the heavy stench of blood and the crackle of the oil lamp remained.
Father Gascoigne gazed at Bright’s corpse with a complicated expression.
He murmured softly, as though speaking to the dead, yet also warning himself.
“We set out as Hunters guided by faith, only to return as Beasts who have lost themselves… Perhaps this is the fate that so many of us can never escape.”
He bent down and retrieved a battered Bible with bloodstained edges from among Bright’s scattered possessions.
Sitting cross-legged beside the corpse, he quietly recited a brief prayer for the soul of the man who had once been his “friend” and had now become a Beast.
Charles stood silently nearby and waited for the short rite to end.
Only then did the two of them begin carefully searching the makeshift hideout for supplies.
To their horror, the bottles of supposedly premium Pungent Blood Cocktails contained no fine liquor at all.
They were filled with blood, thick as syrup and giving off a strange, sweet fragrance.
“In Yharnam, blood can be more intoxicating than any fine wine.” Father Gascoigne picked up one of the bottles, disgust evident in his voice.
“Pungent Blood Cocktails refined through the Church’s special methods are said to provide supreme pleasure and restore strength. They are exceedingly valuable. And this powerful scent of undiluted blood can also draw bloodthirsty monsters. That is why some Hunters who will stop at nothing use it as bait or as something to barter with.”
Charles sighed inwardly.
This truly was a land thoroughly permeated by Blood Ministration.
They had found ways to exploit blood to a degree that was nothing short of horrifying.
A carelessly discarded note on a dust-covered bookshelf in the corner caught their attention.
Charles brushed away the dust, and what was written there shocked them even more.
“At the beginning of the Hunt, the Healing Church ruthlessly abandoned the people of Old Yharnam in the name of ‘controlling the epidemic,’ then destroyed the only bridge leading to the Cathedral Ward. That night, flames consumed everything. Old Yharnam burned to the ground beneath the cold moonlight, along with countless people who could not escape.”
As he read, Father Gascoigne’s expression changed abruptly.
All color drained from his face.
He staggered back and struck a wooden crate behind him with a dull thud.
The sacred institution he had always believed in and fought for, the Healing Church he had regarded as a symbol of hope and salvation, collapsed before his eyes.
Beneath its radiant image lay something cruel and evil.
The horrifying truth struck him like a hammer, nearly shattering his will.
“So… this is what you call ‘justice’? Unavoidable sacrifices… the will of the gods… the demands of the age… the deaths of a few for the good of the many… Is that truly what you told us foreign Hunters back then?” he demanded of the empty air, his voice trembling with rage and betrayal.
“Old Yharnam was a breeding ground for evil spirits. Yes, that much is true! But you created that breeding ground with your own hands! You created those monsters, then burned them and the innocent alike to the ground!”
They had carefully woven an entire world of lies around purification and salvation.
Only now did he realize, with excruciating clarity, that as an outsider, he had never truly been trusted by the Church’s inner circle.
He had always been nothing more than a useful pawn kept at the fringes.
From Father Gascoigne’s anguished muttering and the information in the note, Charles pieced together an even more terrifying truth.
The Yharnam of today had been rebuilt over the ruins of the old city.
When the Church discovered that it could no longer contain the horrific mutations caused by Blood Ministration, it ultimately chose the most extreme and thorough solution.
It set fire to every known area of danger and erased them completely.
Old Yharnam was destroyed along with countless residents who had not yet fully transformed, or who had been entirely innocent.
The city and its people were wiped from both history and the maps.
“Damn them… Damn them!” Father Gascoigne snarled.
“Are they planning to repeat it all again?! Are they going to sacrifice this Yharnam for their so-called ‘greater good’?!”
He gritted his teeth, his fingernails digging deep into his palms.
A thin trace of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
His emotions were slipping out of control, and the collapse of his faith had driven him to the brink of madness.
“We’ll carve a path through them! We have to get Viola, my children, and every innocent person who still has their sanity into the Cathedral Ward! It should be the last safe refuge left!”
His growl was low and fierce, his eyes burning with despair and grim resolve.
“Father, calm down!” Charles stepped forward and gripped his trembling shoulder firmly.
“We aren’t strong enough to break through those two Scourge Beasts head-on. We don’t even know what other dangers may be waiting beyond them. Charging in now would be suicide. We wouldn’t save anyone.”
“Yes… You’re right… I let my emotions get the better of me…” Father Gascoigne breathed heavily, struggling to calm the turmoil in his blood.
The madness in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by a deep, agonizing sense of responsibility.
“We need help. We need more strength…”
Charles’s heart churned more violently than the abyss beneath the bridge.
This city was far darker and more complicated than he had ever imagined.
Every step concealed deadly danger and some filthy secret.
The so-called Holy Church had once resorted to such merciless measures, condemning countless civilians to become sacrifices.
And now, that familiar undercurrent, the willingness to “purify” everything at any cost, seemed to be stirring once again…
The more Charles learned, the colder his blood ran.
Just as Gilbert had said, this city was a deeply cursed place of despair from which there was no escape.
And the road ahead would inevitably be paved with even more blood.