Chapter 69: The Convent of the Holy Mother

Li Nanke watched as the blood-red words of the system message appeared before him, feeling little surprise in his heart. He had long prepared himself for the increased difficulty that would come with digging deeper into the hidden nodes of the dream.

“What are you standing there for? Hurry up and run!”

The two girls on the cots in the tent, feeling as if they’d been granted amnesty, quickly gathered their clothes and fled.

Li Nanke walked to the corner of the tent and picked up a faintly glowing sheet of paper from a pile of garments. It was a talisman densely inscribed with blood-red prayers.

[Sanctuary Mark Talisman]
[Type: Item/Consumable]
[Quality: Excellent]
[Rating: 83/100]
[Details: A talisman used by senior officers in the Penitent Army, bearing the mark of sanctuary. After use, it quickly transfers physical pain and injuries to the “Lady of Eternal Pain,” gradually healing wounds and alleviating agony. This talisman is only effective within the current Forbidden Dream.]
[Note: The Law of Conservation of Pain—pain cannot arise from nothing, nor can it vanish without cause; it merely passes from one person to another.]

The talisman’s effect was undoubtedly powerful, but there was a problem: Anya’s brother, Reynold, was now his comrade-in-arms. Transferring wounds to his sister seemed inhumane.

After a brief consideration, Li Nanke handed the talisman to Reynold, signaling for him to decide its fate.

Reynold examined the talisman closely, his expression complicated. After a long silence, he returned it, saying, “Keep it with you. If we fall on the way to the Penitent Synod, Anya’s suffering will never end.”

With that, Reynold lifted the tent flap and strode out, his retreating figure heavy with burden.

Li Nanke’s ears caught the distant thunder of galloping hooves. Stepping outside the tent, he saw dust rising in the distance; several squads of the Penitent Army, previously dispatched elsewhere, were now returning and nearly upon the camp.

“Reynold, do you know of the Madonna Convent?”

Reynold showed no intention of retreat or avoidance; it seemed he sought to vent his emotions through slaughter.

“A devout woman blessed with divine beauty—so much so that many sculptors used her face as the model for prayer icons. Fearing persecution by the Synod, she willingly disfigured herself with hot oil.”

“The agony from the burns drew down the Grace of Pain. The oil burns on her face not only failed to heal with time but grew ever more excruciating, day and night. Ironically, she became a paragon of Synod faith, canonized as the ‘Scorched Madonna,’ and a convent was built in her honor.”

“That was many years ago. The Scorched Madonna lived out her days and passed away long since, and the convent was sealed and abandoned…”

Li Nanke frowned; the Grace of Pain was a truly twisted blessing, and he seemed to be the last, perhaps the only, one to still possess this form of divine favor. He wondered if it was thanks to the Great Beyond.

“We’ll pass by the Madonna Convent on the way to the Penitent Synod. Are you thinking of stopping there?”

Li Nanke’s mind stirred. “It’s on the way, and we need to resupply regardless. A brief stop won’t cost us much time.”

According to Reynold, the Scorched Madonna had died years ago, yet the third node’s original objective was to “Go to the Madonna Convent and slay the Scorched Madonna,” implying she was still alive. Now that the third node had shifted, perhaps seeking her out at the convent was a hidden event—one that might yield an extra reward.

As they spoke, the squads of the Penitent Army reached the camp.

Reynold drew his wolf-headed greatsword, flames erupting along its blade, and with a shout, charged the soldiers.

With such a powerful ally at his side, Li Nanke would not miss the chance to harvest energy from these living sources. He followed, ready to fight to his heart’s content…

…

One day later, at the Gent Tavern.

The tavern owner wore a cheerful smile as he instructed the stablehand to tend carefully to the four sturdy warhorses, feeding them only the finest oats.

Two knights had come to the tavern today—a rare occurrence in this impoverished town. If he pleased them well, he’d make a week’s profit in a single night.

He paid no heed to the vacant-eyed, numb townsfolk who could lose themselves for half a day in a single cup of pear wine.

He personally brought out two mugs of malt beer, several loaves of white bread, a pot of stewed meat and vegetables, and a small plate of roast chicken.

Reynold, who had eaten nothing but rations along the journey, now carved slices of sizzling, juicy chicken, stuffed them into the soft bread, and ate heartily, washing it down with fragrant broth.

The stew was made from carrots, onions, cabbage, potatoes, and rabbit, simmered until the broth was rich and aromatic. The moment the lid was lifted, a wave of savory steam filled the air.

Such “simple” fare was already the finest luxury food to be found here.

“How far is the Madonna Convent from here?” Li Nanke tossed a few coins onto the table and took a sip of his beer. The pale yellow brew was cloudy, flecked with suspended grains, and tasted sour and bitter—not exactly pleasant.

The tavern owner, delighted, pocketed the coins and replied, “Sir knight, the Madonna Convent is just southwest of town, not far at all. It’s been abandoned for more than a decade, ever since the Scorched Madonna died.”

“Are you gentlemen planning to visit the convent?”

“If you are, there may be some trouble. Sister Colette has been guarding the place, not allowing anyone near. Ah, I forgot to mention—Sister Colette was once an orphan adopted by the Scorched Madonna. She’s grown old now, but after the Madonna’s death and the convent’s abandonment, she refused to leave and has stayed ever since.”

He leaned in confidentially. “The convent has an eerie reputation. More than once, townsfolk passing nearby have heard terrifying screams from within.”

“Some bold souls once snuck in while Sister Colette was away, but found nothing… People say it’s haunted by vengeful spirits.”

On his way through the countryside, Li Nanke had passed many corpses scattered in the villages and towns—some victims of plague, some burned at the stake, and many more dead from self-flagellation or mutilation driven by twisted faith.

Only the roadside icons remained spotless, as if someone cleaned them often.

At the entrance to the town, he had seen a statue of the Scorched Madonna—but it was of her after her disfigurement, her face ravaged as if by acid. There was no trace left of her once-divine beauty.

“Edward, aren’t you eating?”

Li Nanke shook his head. The food lacked spices and seasoning, the cooking primitive. It was nothing like true cuisine—better to sate his hunger with energy.

When Reynold had eaten his fill, the two left their horses to rest and feed at the tavern and set off on foot toward the Madonna Convent on the edge of town.

Following the directions given by the tavern owner, Li Nanke soon caught sight of the convent.

A tall wall surrounded the grounds, revealing only the spires of the buildings within. Outside the main gate stood a small wooden hut.

An elderly nun sat before the hut, gazing blankly at the convent.