Mystery: Gray Walker

Chapter 159 Brother Cecil

The outline of San Mirón gradually emerged in the deepest darkness before dawn.

Unlike the port city of Oberhafen, which was filled with the smell of salt and coal smoke, the air in St. Milon was filled with a more solemn and ancient scent, a unique aroma created by the stone buildings, the incense in the churches, and countless prayers and the sedimentation of time.

The city is built on the mountainside, with layers of buildings extending up the slope, the highest point being the spire of the Church of the Goddess of Night. Even before the darkest dawn, the spire seems to absorb starlight, emitting a solemn glow.

Green rode his horse through the gradually awakening streets.

The closer you get to the city center, the more magnificent the buildings appear, and the wider and cleaner the streets become.

The patrolling church guards, dressed in dark uniforms and wearing badges with stars and a crimson moon on their chests, warily scanned passersby. Their presence enveloped the area in a quiet and orderly atmosphere.

Rachel wrapped her coat tighter around Green, leaving only her eyes showing as she surveyed the completely unfamiliar city with a mixture of curiosity and awe. She had never left the vicinity of Oberhafen, let alone come to St. Milon, the heart of the parish.

"Shall we go straight to church?" she asked softly.

"No, let's go find Brother Cecil first," Green replied. "He's in the hermitage next to the old cemetery."

He rode along a secluded path, following the address Eliza had given him.

The path winds its way uphill, gradually moving away from the main urban area, with tall fir and cedar trees on both sides casting deep shadows.

The air grew colder, carrying the scent of earth and decaying leaves.

About twenty minutes later, they arrived at an area surrounded by low stone walls.

Inside the walls lies one of the oldest cemeteries in San Mirón, the Old Cemetery of Saint Elias.

The tombstones stand in rows, most of them weathered and covered with thick moss and lichen.

Some tombstones were crooked or even collapsed, clearly indicating that they had been neglected for a long time. Deep in the cemetery, a low stone hut could be vaguely seen, its chimney emitting no smoke.

"This should be it." Green reined in his horse, dismounted, and then helped Leah down.

Rachel's legs buckled as soon as her feet touched the ground, and she almost fell, but Green caught her in time.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

"Hmm—okay." Rachel bit her lip and tried to stand up straight.

Green tied the horse to a dead tree outside the cemetery, then, with Lydia's help, pushed open the creaking, rusty iron gate and entered the cemetery.

The stone path underfoot was broken and uneven, with weeds growing in the cracks.

The morning mist drifted slowly among the tombstones, making the entire cemetery appear even more somber and silent. Only the occasional sound from afar could be heard.

A few crows cawed, breaking the deathly silence.

They walked toward the stone house.

The stone house looked hardly better than a tombstone, with mottled walls, small windows covered with yellowed parchment. The door was made of heavy oak, undecorated, with only a simple iron knocker.

Green took a deep breath and stepped forward to knock on the door.

The knocking sounded particularly clear, even somewhat jarring, in the silent cemetery.

no respond.

Green waited a few seconds, then knocked again, this time with a little more force.

There has still been no response.

Just as Green was about to knock on the door for the third time, an aged voice came from inside: "Who is it?"

The sound was very soft, yet it clearly penetrated the heavy wooden door.

"Glen Morris, a member of the Oberhafen Night's Watch," Glenn replied respectfully. "I have come to visit Brother Cecil, as instructed by Lady Eliza, to inquire about some questions concerning spiritual tracking and ancient rituals."

There was a moment of silence inside the door.

Then, the sound of chains sliding and the door being pulled open came from behind the door. The heavy wooden door opened a crack, just enough to reveal the width of an eye.

A cloudy, bloodshot eye with yellowish whites appeared behind the crack in the door, looking Green up and down and Lydia standing next to him.

His gaze was sharper than that of an old man; it seemed to pierce through flesh and look straight into the soul.

"Who is she?" the aged voice asked, pointing directly at Rachel.

"Rachel Miller, a victim of an extraordinary event."

Green explained briefly, "We were attacked in Oberhafen by what appears to be the Pleasure Witch or something similar, and she was affected. I brought her here so you could check if there are any remaining effects or marks on her."

The eyes behind the door lingered on Rachel for a longer time.

Leah felt a strange pang of fear, as if she had been seen through completely. She instinctively gripped Green's arm tightly.

A few seconds later, the aged voice rang out again, its tone flat and emotionless: "Come in. Walk quietly, lest you disturb the sleeper."

The door was opened a little wider, enough for two people to squeeze in sideways.

Green helped Rachel carefully step over the threshold.

The stone house appeared smaller and darker inside than it did from the outside.

A faint ray of sunlight shone through the only window, illuminating the simple furnishings inside.

A rough wooden bed, a small table piled with books and scrolls, and a stone fireplace filled with only cold ashes.

Hanging on the wall were bundles of dried herbs and several oddly shaped amulets; the air was thick with dust and old paper.

It has a herbal scent and an indescribable, aged, oily aroma.

Brother Cecil sat behind the table in a high-backed wooden chair.

He looked older than his voice suggested.

His sparse white hair clung to his scalp, his face was covered with deep wrinkles and age spots, and his body was thin and hunched, wrapped in a faded, patched dark brown monk's robe. But his eyes, though cloudy, were unusually bright, and at this moment they were calmly watching the two people who entered.

His gaze lingered on Green's face first, as if confirming something, before turning to Rachel.

"Sit down." He pointed to the only low stool beside the bed.

Green asked Rachel to sit down, and then stood beside her.

Brother Cecil did not speak immediately.

He slowly stood up, walked slowly to the fireplace, rummaged through a pile of junk and found a small brass incense burner. He then pinched a small pinch of dark gray powder from a clay pot and put it into the burner, then lit it with a match.

A cool, slightly minty, and myrrh-scented smoke rose and quickly filled the small space.

The scent cleared Rachel's drowsy mind considerably and made Green feel as if his spirit had been cleansed, becoming more alert.

"The Tranquility Incense helps soothe disturbed spirits and can also bring hidden things to light," Brother Cecil explained, before sitting back down in his chair.

He looked at Rachel: "Child, look at the smoke from the incense burner."

Rachel did as she was told and looked at the rising pale gray smoke.

Brother Cecil extended his withered finger and traced a complex symbol in the air while muttering a few strangely syllableed incantations.

The smoke from the incense burner suddenly changed.

The once straight column of smoke began to twist and rotate, its color deepening slightly, with some appearing as very pale pink.

The point of light flashed and disappeared in an instant.

Brother Cecil frowned slightly.

The remaining "dust of desire" is very faint and is dissipating naturally.

He said slowly, "You're lucky you haven't been deeply 'anchored' or marked. That power only briefly ignited your own desires, like a match lighting dry grass—it burned out. But—"

He paused, then continued, "The process of ignition leaves behind ashes—fragments of memory, imprints of the senses. For some time to come, you may occasionally have related nightmares, or experience stronger-than-usual impulses in certain situations. But with the passage of time and normal spiritual recovery, these ashes will gradually be cleared away. Get plenty of sunshine, maintain a regular sleep schedule, and avoid contact with stimulating drugs or places."

Rachel seemed to understand, but knowing that no terrible "thing" remained in her body, she breathed a slight sigh of relief and quickly nodded, "I—I understand. Thank you, monk."

Brother Cecil nodded and turned to Grimm: "You said you were attacked by what appears to be the 'Pleasure Witch'? In Oberhafen?"

"Yes."

Greene succinctly recounted his experiences at the Old Cat Tavern the previous night, from purchasing ingredients to being "haunted" by the dancer, to noticing something amiss, helping her escape, the strange situations they encountered along the way, and finally, feeling the effects fade in the cemetery.

all over.

He omitted the parts about praying to the Fool and the appearance of the "postman," only saying that he felt the influence suddenly weaken and took the opportunity to leave with Rachel.

Brother Cecil listened quietly, a thoughtful glint in his cloudy eyes.

"Precise ignition of desire, sphere control, and sustained influence—this is indeed the typical tactic of a 'pleasure witch,' and a seasoned one at that."

He said slowly, "But she didn't show herself directly, didn't pursue further, and didn't even leave any deep markings—"

This doesn't seem like the style of those madwomen from the "Witch Cult." They prefer to toy with their prey, watching them succumb to desire.

Destruction. Either you weren't her target to begin with, and you just happened to be caught in the crossfire; or—she had something to consider, or she was on another mission and didn't want any unnecessary complications.

He looked at Green: "You said you're a Night's Watchman of Oberhafen? Has anything unusual been happening there lately?"

A thought flashed through Green's mind: the attack on the base, the theft of the list, Sura's "anchor point," Emily's disappearance, and a series of other events. But he wasn't sure what he could say and what he couldn't.

"Things have been really unsettled lately."

He carefully chose his words, "There have been some extraordinary events occurring frequently, and the church is investigating. I don't know the specific details."

Brother Cecil glanced at him, seemingly seeing through his reservations, but did not press the matter.

"Oberhafen————"

He repeated in a low voice, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table, "That port city seems to be attracting a lot of flies lately. The Crimson Order, the Aurora Society, the Witch Cult—and those ancient families and secret societies lurking in the shadows. A storm is brewing."

He sighed and looked at Green again: "You came to see me not just to examine her, did you? Eliza sent you here for something else."

Green took the silver hairpin and the note from his pocket and placed them on the table.

"I want to find my cousin, Emily Hayes."

He said in a deep voice, "She's missing, and she's taken the Assassin's Potion, and—it involves a murder."

But I suspect her actions weren't entirely intentional. I found this.

Brother Cecil picked up the note, squinted at the handwriting, then picked up the hairpin, feeling it in his palm for a moment.

"Intense guilt, fear, confusion — and a slight sense of being drawn into submission."

He whispered, "The emotions lingering on this hairpin are complex, but the feeling of being called—it's definitely there. Though faint, it's almost overshadowed by stronger negative emotions."

He put down the hair clip and looked at Green: "You want me to help you find her?"

"I want to know if there's any way to track this feeling of being called, or to determine her approximate location or condition through her remaining belongings."

Green said earnestly, "I know it's difficult, and it might be dangerous. But I have to try."

Brother Cecil remained silent for a long time.

The smoke from the incense burner gradually dissipated, and the room was once again enveloped in darkness.

"Tracking an assassin who may have gone out of control and been influenced by external forces."

He slowly shook his head. "Difficult. Extremely difficult. Assassins excel at concealment, and the power influencing her is clearly also adept at stealth. Conventional spiritual tracking is virtually impossible."

Green's heart sank.

But Brother Cecil changed the subject: "However—it's not entirely without a solution. There's a very ancient and very dangerous ritual called Bloodline Tracing. Using the blood of a direct blood relative or an object imbued with strong emotions as a medium, under specific astrological and spiritual conditions, one can vaguely perceive the approximate state and location of another blood relative. But the prerequisite is that the blood bond between you is strong enough, and that she hasn't—completely transformed into something else."

He stared at Green: "You're her cousin, not the closest blood relative. The success rate will be lower. Moreover, this ritual comes at a price: a portion of your life force, or memories, or luck. More importantly, it might alert some entities that shouldn't be alerted, especially if the power affecting her is of a high rank."

"I'm willing to try," Green said without hesitation. "What do you need me to do?"

Brother Cecil gave him a deep look.

"Young man, your determination is commendable, but recklessness will get you killed."

He stood up, walked to the wall, took out a roll of yellowed parchment from a locked old wooden box, and spread it out on the table.

The parchment was covered with intricate star charts, runes, and ritual diagrams; the writing was an ancient occult symbol, and Green could only barely recognize a few of them.

"This is the ritual diagram for tracing blood ties. You will need the following materials: three black cat whiskers cut on the night of a full moon, seven drops of your own blood collected before dawn, a handful of soil from an ancient family cemetery containing the remains of at least three direct relatives, and a shard of a pure silver mirror."

He pointed to the various parts of the diagram and explained, “The ritual must be performed at midnight, preferably in a weak point in the spirit world, such as an ancient crossroads, an abandoned church, or—an old cemetery like this. You need to mix your blood with the soil from the cemetery to draw this magic circle, place the medium, preferably her hair or a personal item, at the center of the circle, then hold the shards of the silver mirror, chant the incantation, and burn the black cat’s whiskers at the same time.”

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