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Meanwhile, in the library basement.
Quinton was bound to a wooden post with vines, and to prevent him from resisting, Darcy had planted a mushroom on his head. It would continuously drain the prisoner’s strength, making it a simple, efficient method of subduing a target. While it wasn’t particularly sophisticated, it was practical.
Wayne sat in a corner of the basement, taking a white handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nose and mouth. He had thought the gesture girly, but Veryl insisted on it for ‘elegance’. Under his persistence, Wayne had gradually developed the habit.
Darcy fed Quinton hallucinogenic mushrooms. Since the latter was no longer human, he increased the dosage. In his dazed state, Quinton confessed everything.
He was a biologist from Cambrook University’s Department of Natural Science, not a mage who had been trained systematically. Thus, he had crude combat sense and only used the millipedes to swarm his targets.
Everything he had learned came from a mysterious figure, and so did the alchemy book and the evil god statue. According to him, the mysterious figure wore a suit and looked just like any social elite with no discernible features. He couldn’t remember the person clearly.
The trail went cold.
“He’s just a puppet, used by someone else.” Darcy went through the information at hand, frowning. “Faith in an evil god has nothing to do with the Church of Nature. The Church of Heavenly Father should be the one worrying about it.”
True, but I fought all night. I traveled long distances and rushed around saving people. I can’t just let them take the...
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