Although they had slain the exceptionally vicious and grotesque antlered monster, the massive gate leading to the Cathedral Ward remained firmly shut, like a cold tombstone.
They could find neither a mechanism to open it nor even the slightest gap.
Searching the monster’s gradually cooling corpse, they found several precious items that gave off a faint glow.
One stood out in particular: an exquisitely crafted, sword-shaped pendant that gleamed silver.
Though stained with filthy blood, its remarkable workmanship remained evident.
“How can this be?!”
The moment Father Gascoigne saw it, his entire body shuddered as though struck by an invisible bolt of lightning.
With a trembling hand, he all but snatched up the pendant.
His thumb wiped the blood from its back, revealing a tiny inscription.
It was an identification token carried by Hunters of the Healing Church, usually engraved with its owner’s name and serial number.
This pendant had belonged to a comrade who had once fought at his side, a man he had loved like a brother.
The Church’s cold-blooded lies and the cruel reality that he had killed his closest friend with his own hands, even though the man had already become an inhuman monster, pierced Father Gascoigne’s already crumbling heart like two poisoned blades.
Ignoring Charles’s attempts to comfort him, he staggered backward with an empty stare, as though desperate to escape this land steeped in blood and betrayal.
“I’m leaving… You… take care of yourself.”
His voice was hoarse and broken, as though every word came soaked in blood.
Complicated emotions welled up within Charles.
Without the guidance and protection of this seemingly rough man, who carried such a heavy burden within him, Charles might have died long ago in some dark corner of this cursed town.
“Father!” Charles called after his dejected figure, a faint catch in his voice.
“Thank you… for everything you’ve done for me!”
The setting sun was red as blood, stretching Father Gascoigne’s solitary shadow far across the cold bridge and making him look all the more desolate.
Charles’s throat tightened.
In the end, the countless things he wanted to say became nothing more than a powerless wave of farewell.
He watched the figure burdened by endless pain and disappointment recede into the distance, then clenched his fists until his fingernails dug deep into his palms.
The helplessness he had felt when facing those terrifying Beasts who had once been members of the clergy now transformed into an almost burning desire for greater power.
Silently, he turned toward the Lantern that had appeared a short distance behind the antlered monster’s corpse.
He touched its post, summoned the Pale Messengers, and activated the teleportation.
After the familiar sensation of the world twisting around him, he returned once more to the eternally tranquil and isolated Hunter’s Dream.
“It’s time… to ask him for help,” Charles murmured, looking toward the small, lamplit cottage.
He believed that Gehrman, the wheelchair-bound old man who guided the Hunters, must possess extraordinary secrets that could make someone truly stronger.
…
After parting from Charles, Father Gascoigne stumbled along the Great Bridge like a walking corpse, dazed and bereft of purpose.
“Gascoigne! I never thought I’d run into you here.”
Henryk lowered his weapon and greeted him warmly.
He looked worn from his travels, but his eyes were still relatively clear.
Standing at the top of the stairs, Father Gascoigne forced a smile that looked more painful than tears.
“What happened?” Henryk immediately sensed that something was wrong and hurried toward him in concern.
“You look terrible. As though you’ve seen… something that should never have existed.”
“Gulp… gulp…”
Father Gascoigne did not answer.
Instead, he accepted the Pungent Blood Cocktail Henryk offered to revive him and drained it in one swallow.
The liquid, sharp yet tinged with a sweet metallic taste, slid down his throat and seemed to suppress his turbulent emotions for the moment.
He told his trusted old friend everything: the Healing Church’s cold-blooded crimes, the truth about Old Yharnam, and the brutal discovery that he had just killed a former comrade with his own hands.
“Ah…”
Henryk’s expression quickly darkened as he listened.
He patted Father Gascoigne on the shoulder.
“Sometimes, there are dark truths that Hunters at our level have neither the power to control nor the means to change.”
As one of the few witnesses fortunate enough to survive the great fire of Old Yharnam, Henryk had also known anger, resistance, and despair.
Yet against the Church’s mountain-like power and deeply rooted doctrine, his feeble defiance had been utterly futile.
In the end, all that remained was profound helplessness and guilt buried deep within his heart.
“But what did those civilians do wrong?!” Father Gascoigne pounded his chest in grief and fury, his voice hoarse.
“What did the innocent people still in the city, those who trust the Church and pray for its protection, do wrong?! Now they’ve sealed the gates and left everyone outside. Are they planning to repeat the tragedy of the past and burn all of Yharnam to ashes again?!”
“The Scourge of the Beast… is completely out of control, Gascoigne.”
Henryk shook his head and sighed.
The passing years and the horrors he had witnessed had worn away his former edge, but the guilt of failing to prevent that tragedy still burned within him.
“Sometimes… those in power believe they must make certain painful choices. They sacrifice a small, carefully defined ‘cost’ in exchange for the possibility of dawn for the vast majority.”
“Sacrifice the few for the many? That’s too cruel… That isn’t justice!” Father Gascoigne growled, his eyes bloodshot.
“Perhaps not… but events rarely bend to our wishes.”
Henryk’s voice was filled with exhaustion.
The two fell into a heavy silence.
All they could do was drink the cheap blood wine in their hands, temporarily numbing the conscience and helplessness that tormented them.
After several rounds of drinking, Henryk slowly rose and adjusted his equipment. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“I should return to the Tomb of Oedon. The Church ordered me to stand guard there and prevent anyone undergoing Beast Transformation, or any other ‘unwelcome guests,’ from entering that forbidden place.”
“I’m going with you.”
Resolve suddenly returned to Father Gascoigne’s eyes.
He stood, though his footing remained slightly unsteady.
“In the past, I was powerless to change anything. But now… I have to do something. At the very least, I need to make sure certain people are safe, or… find an answer.”
Henryk looked into his old friend’s eyes and saw a long-lost light there, a mixture of pain and determination.
It reminded him of the man he himself had once been.
At last, he nodded gravely.
“All right… We’ll go together.”
…
The eternal stillness of the Hunter’s Dream surrounded Charles.
The moment he stepped onto the grass before the cottage, he saw Gehrman waiting by the door, as though he had foreseen his return.
“Ah, I know why you’ve come back, lost lamb.”
Gehrman wore his familiar smile, touched by an air of inscrutable mystery.
“You crave power. You want to tear through the mist, don’t you?”
“So you really do know.” Charles dispensed with all pleasantries and came straight to the point.
“Is there a specific way for me to become stronger?”
“Heh heh. Every new Hunter eventually stands before me and asks the same question.”
Gehrman chuckled softly as his wheelchair gave a faint creak.
“But first, you need Enlightenment. You must awaken your inner perception before you can bear the power of the Legacy of Blood and break through the limits of life. Seek wilder knowledge. Hunt more Beasts, and stronger ones… Somewhere between life and death, the answer will reveal itself.”
“Is hunting alone really enough?” Charles frowned, only half convinced.
“I’ve already killed so many monsters. Why haven’t I felt any significant improvement?”
“Yes. It is that simple. A Hunter’s destiny lies in the Hunt. Only by killing more and dancing ever closer to death can you truly grow. Perhaps what you lack is… the critical point where accumulated change becomes transformation.”
Gehrman’s tone remained calm, as though he were stating the most natural truth in the world.
Charles said nothing.
He felt deeply frustrated by guidance that sounded reasonable yet was, in truth, hollow and vague.
Realizing that he was unlikely to get anything more specific from the old man, Charles said no more.
He turned away in anger and used the Lantern once again, leaving behind the dream that had begun to feel suffocating.