The Seventh Night of the Liar's Kiss and the Judge

On the dome mural of the Hymn Cathedral, the eyes of the twelve saints followed Isabella's steps as she moved. The gilded folds of their robes seemed to flow with liquid vigilance under the crystal chandeliers. A faint tremor came from the marble floor beneath her feet. It was the magic remaining from the sacrificial ceremony ten years ago awakening, like a coiled viper flicking its tongue. And it wasn't until she came to a halt in front of the Marquis of Lorenzo that the tremor suddenly turned into gentle undulations, as if it were catering to the illusory realm of regret she had woven. "Your Excellency, have you ever seen such dewdrops?" She held up the glazed bottle. The candle flames suddenly swayed violently, casting twisted butterfly shadows on the marquis's face. "Don't they resemble the tears that your beloved daughter didn't shed before her death?" When the pink diamond ring sliced through the air, the holy swords of the saints on the stained glass suddenly oozed blood and tears, staining one corner of the seven-pointed star array. That was the direction where Adrian's younger sister, Lia, had been sacrificed. The Marquis of Lorenzo's pupils suddenly contracted, and the holy emblem on his chest rippled, like the surface of a lake when a stone was thrown into it. Isabella clearly saw that in the reflection of the holy emblem, she was shedding the disguise of a novice nun, revealing the faintly visible star embroidery on her cuff. This was a deliberate flaw she left behind, in order to lure the Grand Inquisitor Knight who always lurked in the shadows to show himself. "Can a novice nun also prepare sedative potions?" An ice-blue figure approached, enveloped in a bone-chilling cold. The frost on Adrian's armor instantly made the nearby candle flames half their original height. "Or is this a new emotional trap developed by the Witch Council?" His voice was like the collapse of a glacier, and the dust falling from the dome froze into tiny ice crystals by his side. Only the pendant of the holy emblem at the end of his sword tassel still radiated a warm glow, yet it was a false warmth, baked by the holy light. Isabella looked up and noticed that the spot of light of the holy emblem deep in his pupils was contracting, as if it had been burned by something scorching. This discovery made the pink diamond on her fingertip slightly heat up. It was the resonance of the soul gem. The moment he saw the embroidery on her cuff, his heart rate increased three times, at the same frequency as when his sister was dragged into the sacrificial array ten years ago. "The third star pattern." Adrian's fingertips glided over her cuff, and the embroidery thread suddenly oozed a faint silver light. It was the fluorescence of the Tower Spirit Herb of the Witches, echoing the star pattern engraved on the inner side of his sword sheath. When the Inquisitor Sword pressed against her throat, a searing pain from the metal spread across the skin on the side of her neck. But she noticed that his hand holding the sword was shaking—not out of anger, but with a tremor that was almost like longing. "You were supposed to steal a father's love, but you chose regret instead." His voice dropped. The sound of the organ in the distance suddenly went out of tune, and a sharp note pierced through the hymn, leaving a lingering echo in the dome. "Because a father's love is too dazzling and would expose what you've hidden in your cuff—" When he tore off her red velvet glove, five soul gems burst out with a blinding light under the holy light, dividing his face into two halves, one in shadow and the other in light. Isabella saw that on the half of his face in the shadow, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, like a hunter who had finally touched his prey. And on the half of his face in the light, emotions she couldn't understand surged in his pupils, like the eternal night in the extreme north, the final struggle before the arrival of the polar day. When the sounds of the paladins' armor came from all directions, the shadow Isabella retreated into suddenly became viscous, as if countless invisible hands were trying to hold her back. When Adrian bent down to pick up the glove, the cathedral bells rang precisely. The sound waves shook off the gold powder from the dome, which fluttered down onto his silver-white hair tips, like scattered fragments of starlight. When she returned to the Witch Tower, a torrential rain was tearing at the black flag on the top of the tower. The black butterfly embroidery on the flag surface was almost washed transparent by the rain. Where the stone scales of her stone statue younger brother, Alek, had fallen off, the oozing transparent liquid condensed into tiny icicles in the moonlight, like the concerns he hadn't expressed. Isabella poured the golden foil light from the glazed bottle into his chest and found that her fingertips were trembling. The marks of the red velvet glove were still branded on her wrist, like a shackle with warmth left by Adrian. "Sister, your scent... is like the lies in the hymn." Alek's voice made the iris flowers on the windowsill wither suddenly. The petals curled up into a fist-sized ball, and only the stamen still stubbornly glowed with the light of the golden foil. Isabella smiled and ran her fingertips across his cold cheek, only to find a faint blue tinge around his unpetrified right eye, which was a sign of magical power exhaustion, just like the cracks on her soul gem at the moment. When the message spell of the Witch Council appeared on her cuff, a bolt of lightning split the night sky, illuminating the spire of the Hymn Cathedral brightly. The seven-pointed star formed by twelve beams of light suddenly twisted, like the Wheel of Fate that had been violently pulled off course. Isabella looked out the window and saw that Adrian's Inquisitor Sword was shining on the top floor of the cathedral, and the tip of the sword was pointing precisely in the direction of the Witch Tower where she was. "It seems," she curved her lips into a smile and drew the pattern of a black butterfly on the damp stone wall. The water droplets oozing from the cracks in the wall suddenly boiled and condensed into tiny ice crystals on the wings of the black butterfly. "Our little knight will soon taste even sweeter lies." The sound of the rain suddenly grew louder, drowning out the tremor in her voice, but making the hymn coming from the distant cathedral even clearer. It was the hymn that Adrian deliberately sang out of tune during the evening prayer, a hymn with cracks.