They pushed open the side door on the first floor.
Before them, a narrow, winding flight of moss-covered stone steps descended into deeper shadow, slick with moisture.
The air in the alley was even heavier with the stench of decay and blood.
Halfway down the steps, a twisted, ragged mutant resident stood with his back to them, tormenting a corpse that had long since been hacked beyond recognition with a rusty machete.
Shrill, deranged laughter spilled from his mouth.
“Hahahaha… I’m not a monster! See? I’m ‘cleaning up’ the trash! The real monsters are you stupid, filthy outsiders! You’re the ones who brought the curse!”
At the sound of footsteps behind him, he spun around, revealing a hideous face covered in pus-filled blisters, half human and half beast.
When he saw Charles and Father Gascoigne, a bloodthirsty gleam flashed through his clouded eyes.
He raised the enormous axe in his hand and snarled in challenge.
“Well, look what little treats have wandered in. I didn’t think you’d escape the clutches of those ‘big fellows’ on the bridge… but this works out nicely! Hand over everything valuable you have, along with that delicious blood of yours. Perhaps, if I’m in a good mood, I’ll grant you a quick death!”
Father Gascoigne’s face darkened like the sky before a storm.
Without a word, or even a glance at Charles, he strode forward with heavy, resolute steps.
While the mutant was still rambling, Father Gascoigne’s right hand shot out from beneath his cassock.
The menacing Hunter Blunderbuss erupted with a thunderous roar.
“BOOM!!”
A dense spray of pellets tore into the mutant at close range, riddling his body with holes.
He was hurled backward like a rag doll and slammed into the wall, leaving a fan-shaped splatter of blood behind him.
But Father Gascoigne was not finished.
Like an enraged lion, he charged forward with a low growl and swung his massive axe.
Fueled by unrestrained fury, he hacked and chopped at the lifeless body until nothing remained but an indistinct mass of blood and flesh on the ground.
A frenzied, stifled murmur escaped him, as though he were trying to convince himself while warning every evil thing in this land.
“Do not doubt… Do not allow yourself even the slightest doubt! If it moves and shows hostility, then it must be a Beast! It must be purged! Even if it does not move… even if it lies in hiding, give it no chance! Because they… they will always bare their claws and fangs!”
At that moment, Father Gascoigne seemed like a completely different man from the Hunter who had previously retained some measure of composure and dark humor.
The rage born from his shattered faith, combined with his overwhelming fear for his family’s safety, had made him frighteningly violent.
Charles stood quietly to one side.
After completing that bloody “purification,” Father Gascoigne leaned against his axe, his chest rising and falling violently.
Only after a moment did he slowly straighten.
The frenzy in his eyes had faded somewhat, replaced by profound exhaustion and grim resolve.
The two continued onward in silence, passing through several short corridors.
After a while, Charles realized that the surrounding buildings looked strangely familiar.
The broken fences, the distinctive streetlamps, the graffiti on the walls.
Somehow, the tangled paths had led them back to the area near Gilbert’s residence.
Saying that he needed a brief rest and wished to check on a friend who might have useful information, Charles temporarily parted ways with Father Gascoigne, whose emotions had yet to settle completely.
They agreed to meet again shortly near the street leading to the Great Bridge.
…
When Charles returned to Gilbert’s window, the room beyond was completely dark and silent.
Only faint, dreamlike murmurs seeped through the cracks, as though speaking of endless homesickness and exhaustion.
Charles guessed that Gilbert had either fallen asleep or was suffering from weakness after the Blood Ministration.
He could not bring himself to disturb him, so he stood there quietly for a moment before slipping away.
As he passed the Lantern whose gentle glow connected it to the Hunter’s Dream, several Messengers emerged from the ground and silently asked whether he wished to return to the Dream.
“Not for now.”
The crisis in the Cathedral Ward and his agreement with Father Gascoigne were more urgent.
Charles firmly shook his head and fixed his gaze on the dim street ahead.
When he returned to the main street where they had separated, he found Father Gascoigne waiting beside a stone pillar carved with ancient runes that served as a marker for the district.
He appeared to have regained his composure, and his eyes were once again sharp and focused.
What surprised Charles even more was the tall figure standing silently beside him, faintly luminous and slightly translucent.
It was Alfred’s projection.
This image of the Old Hunter had been summoned from the gaps between dreams and history through the expenditure of precious Insight power.
Although far weaker than Alfred himself, it was still powerful enough to become the key to breaking through the blockade on the Great Bridge.
He had neatly combed blond hair and sapphire-blue eyes, though both appeared somewhat indistinct within the projection.
He wore an exquisite grayish-white Church hunter’s outfit adorned with silver sashes.
In his hands, he gripped a pair of gleaming Church Twin Blades, while an ancient-looking and immensely heavy Square Great Hammer rested across his back.
“Incredible… This projection is so solid that it could almost be mistaken for the real man,” Charles said, studying the silent figure with genuine admiration.
“Naturally. Summoning him required a considerable amount of the Insight power I had accumulated.” Weariness touched Father Gascoigne’s voice, but his tone also carried pride and renewed hope.
“Alfred is renowned among the Church Hunters for his piety and strength. His combat skills will be of great use to us.”
Although the projection could not speak, it could understand simple commands given by someone who possessed Insight.
It also possessed extraordinary combat ability and felt no fear of pain, or even death, since it was only a projection.
With their strength restored, they quickly devised a new plan of attack and once again returned resolutely to the long stone bridge leading to the Cathedral Ward, a bridge that resembled the gates of hell itself.
As expected, the two ferocious Scourge Beasts were still prowling near the middle of the bridge.
Their keen noses immediately caught the scent of living prey.
Seeing the group return, the Scourge Beasts bared cruel, bloodthirsty grins.
Hunting excitement filled their crimson eyes.
No words were needed.
Alfred’s projection charged first, shooting forward like an arrow released from a bow.
He crossed his hands before his chest.
With a low mechanical click, the Church Twin Blades locked into opposite ends of the handle of the Square Great Hammer on his back with a metallic clang.
In an instant, they combined into a strangely shaped, long-handled Polearm Warhammer capable of both crushing and piercing attacks.
“BOOM!!”
The massive hammer swung with overwhelming force, striking like a battering ram.
It slammed squarely into the chest of the first Scourge Beast to charge.
The tremendous impact hurled the creature backward, sending it tumbling across the stone before it crashed heavily onto the bridge with an agonized howl.
Alfred did not pause.
He swiftly withdrew the Church Twin Blades and surged forward like lightning.
As the fallen Scourge Beast struggled to brace itself against the ground, the sharp blades descended like fangs and pierced through the joints of both its arms, temporarily pinning it in place.
The other Scourge Beast roared in fury.
Its limbs tensed as it prepared to leap at Alfred and rescue its companion.
But Father Gascoigne was already waiting.