Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel-Chapter 699: Island Cleansers

Not far from the main town, in a dimly lit room at the edge of the island, a figure moved stealthily through the darkness.

The flickering candlelight barely illuminated the rough, damp walls, but the man’s movements were precise—as if he had done this many times before.

He reached the center of the room, knelt, and with a pained grunt, squeezed a few drops of blood from his wounded hand.

The moment the scarlet droplets touched the ground, the earth shimmered, and the blood transformed into a thin, transparent surface—like a mirror woven from dark magic.

Within that bloodied reflection, another face slowly appeared.

The one summoning this eerie communication was none other than Caspian—the same merman that Emma had mercilessly brutalized earlier that evening.

Despite the pain, his face was serious.

The figure in the mirror was obscured by shadows, but when he spoke, his thick accent carried an undeniable authority.

"Speak."

Caspian took a deep breath, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain from his mutilated manhood, and then reported what he had seen.

"Two strangers arrived on the island today." His voice was low, but the urgency was clear. "And they’re anything but normal."

The man in the mirror remained silent, waiting.

"Even worse," Caspian continued, his webbed fingers curling into a fist, "the male was asking about the Elf."

The air in the room grew heavier.

A slow exhale came from the mirror before the voice spoke again, more dangerous this time.

"And you’re sure of this?"

Caspian nodded. "I made sure of it."

He then explained how, while pretending to flirt with Emma, he had placed a scale beneath the counter, acting as a receiver through his water-elemental control.

It had been a calculated move.

This wasn’t just some random pirate looking for a good time—Caspian had been a spy on this island for years, perfectly integrated into its society.

His true allegiance lay with a powerful organization that had been searching for the Elf for a very, very long time.

And now, after decades of waiting, a lead had finally surfaced.

The man in the mirror remained silent for a moment, then asked,

"Are they affiliated with any known organizations?"

Caspian shook his head.

"No. Their strength is undeniable, but they don’t seem to be part of any of the great factions."

A pause. Then, the man in the mirror grinned—though it was a cruel, knowing kind of grin.

"Good."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting like a predator about to strike.

"Then we shall use this opportunity."

Caspian’s brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

The voice from the mirror turned cold.

"We will bring chaos to the island… and force the Elf out of hiding."

Caspian nodded grimly, understanding the implication.

This would not end quietly.

And with that final command, the blood mirror shattered, disappearing into the darkness.

.....

The Temple of the Holy Church

Not far from the island of pagans, on a neighboring land, a lone soldier rushed toward a massive temple that stood like a monument of divine authority against the backdrop of the evening sky.

The temple was an architectural marvel—a colossal structure of white stone with golden inlays that shimmered under the flickering torchlight. Towering pillars, each engraved with divine scripture, lined the entrance, and at the very top of the holy sanctum, a radiant sun emblem glowed, signifying the blessing of the Fate Goddess.

Within the temple, the air was thick with incense, carrying a scent both sacred and suffocating. Along the hallowed halls, mosaic murals depicted the glorious conquests of the Holy Church, while at the center of the grand hall, stood a statue of their patron god—a stern-faced deity, adorned in robes of celestial gold, one hand raised as if delivering judgment.

This was the Temple of Temperance, a stronghold of one of the most powerful virtue families under the Fate Goddess’ domain.

Inside the sacred chamber, three figures stood near the altar. Unlike the usual priests, these were not ordinary clergymen—they were high-ranking members of the Temperance family, individuals whose divine authority could decide the fate of nations.

The two men wore flowing white robes embroidered with golden threads, their breastplates adorned with the crest of Temperance—a shining scale, balanced in perfect equilibrium.

The one on the left had sharp cheekbones, a thin nose, and piercing blue eyes that gleamed with superiority, as if looking down on all beneath him. His blonde hair, neatly tied back, was a stark contrast to his cold, detached expression.

The one on the right had a bulkier build, his square jaw and scarred lips giving him an almost warrior-like presence, but his eyes, filled with zealous conviction, carried the same air of prideful dominance.

Yet, despite their high standing, even they lowered their gazes when looking at the woman standing between them.

She was breathtakingly regal—her long platinum hair cascaded like silken threads of moonlight, while her silver robes, inlaid with crimson runes, marked her as someone far beyond mortal rank.

Unlike the men, her expression was not cold—it was detached, as if she existed on a plane far above human concerns. Her violet eyes, nearly glowing, radiated an aura of unshakable authority.

This was Lady Selene von Temperance, a direct descendant of the Holy Bloodline, and a saintess in her own right.

As the soldier rushed in, the moment he stepped onto the holy floor, an unbridled spiritual pressure crashed down upon him like a divine decree.

His knees buckled instantly, and before he could even think, his body collapsed to the ground, his forehead pressed against the cold stone.

His hands trembled violently, but despite the crippling fear, he still managed to extend his arms, presenting a sealed scroll.

The blonde man on the left stepped forward, his expression unmoved, as he took the scroll from the soldier’s shaking grasp.

To him, this was natural.

Mere soldiers—no, all creatures beneath the Holy Church—should grovel in their presence.

Breaking the seal, he unfurled the scroll, his eyes swiftly scanning its contents.

Without a word, he then turned and, with both hands, presented it respectfully to Lady Selene.

As she took it, her gaze barely flickered, but the moment her eyes traced the words, a faint hum of interest crossed her lips.

The report spoke of a woman—one who wore a veil to conceal her beauty, and a young man accompanying her.

They had arrived on an island of pagans.

And more importantly—they were searching for elves.

There was no confirmation that this was Chiron and his servant, but for months now, the Seer of the Holy Church had given strict orders—any abnormal information, no matter how small, was to be treated with utmost importance.

As Elves were known to be worse than demons, one searching for them must not be ordinary.

Selene’s fingers tightened around the scroll as she turned her glowing violet eyes to the man on her right—the one with the scarred lips and zealous stare.

Her voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of divine judgment.

"Bring them."

A pause.

Then, a slight tilt of her lips, not quite a smile, but something even colder.

Something empty of any mercy.

"Alive… or begging for mercy." freewebnøvel.coɱ