Bear School Astartes

The Church’s First Hunter, the glorious Ludwig, personally carries the spoils of this grand hunt, stepping up to the front steps of the Great Cathedral under the guidance of Archbishop Lawrence.

The layering of identities and the significance of this action imbues the scene under the vast round moon with a rich religious atmosphere.

The church doors swing open with a thunderous sound.

Inside, numerous clergy are gathered, alongside scholars dressed in Byron Vis academic robes, who have followed Miklás, diverging from Master William’s academic ethos.

All of them wear solemn expressions, their eyes, however, burning with fervor and longing as they gaze at the large bag held by Ludwig.

Ludwig strides forward, the pulpit at the Great Cathedral has long been dismantled.

Now, unobstructed, it reveals the sculpture that should have been behind the pulpit.

— A headless female Angel, holding a bottle poised as if pouring liquid down, seemingly intending to use the bottle’s contents to save humanity.

But now, beneath the mouth of the sculpture’s bottle, there is not a person.

Instead, it is a cold, expansive stone table.

"Set it here, Ludwig, gently... What’s wrong with you? I’m talking to you."

Lawrence once again reminds tirelessly, yet this Church’s First Hunter appears strange.

It’s as if he wants to focus his attention, but due to physiological issues, he simply cannot do so.

This is truly not a normal situation for Ludwig.

But under Lawrence’s repeated reminders, he finally completes the handover smoothly.

The waterproof large bag is placed on the stone table by him, after which he covers his forehead and steps back.

"What’s wrong with you?" Lawrence turns to ask again, while behind the archbishop, many clergy and scholars have already gathered around the table.

In everyone’s eyes, the desire for knowledge burns like fire, yet because this thing is too important, they do not bypass Lawrence to touch it directly.

Ludwig shakes his head vehemently, but afterwards finds himself still unable to concentrate, he sighs.

"I... I don’t know, just made a blood therapy on my way back, but... but ever since I slew the beast, I haven’t felt quite right."

The glorious Church Hunter looks at his hand in confusion, which was usually endowed with absolute precision and steadiness, but now...

"Give me a few more blood vials, Lawrence. I need to go back and rest."

Still believing blood therapy can cure everything, Ludwig merely thinks this filthy beast has some special means capable of affecting him even in death.

For this, he looks at Gremman standing silently beside him, only to be impressed by the First Hunter’s old and steady demeanor.

During that hunt, he obviously forsook the glorious final blow, even making way, which allowed him to land the decisive strike to end the fight.

Ludwig harbors no resentment towards Gremman’s act of backing off then, as a hunt must have an ending, and someone must land the final blow.

Since someone must do it, being the one is entirely reasonable for him.

He is willing to take these risks, as long as he can help more people.

Lawrence, now wholly attracted by the object on the stone table, casually draws five or six blood vials from beneath his ample robes, handing them to Ludwig, leaving him be.

Thus Ludwig, the glorious Church Hunter, in this scenario rich with religious connotation, instead moves against the crowd towards the exterior of the Great Cathedral.

His steps appear staggering.

Gremman, seemingly indifferent to worldly matters, special in strength and status, and temporarily invited, nevertheless stands in a low-profile at a corner of the Great Cathedral.

Leaning on a stone pillar, he lowers the brim of his round hat.

Clearly in the Great Cathedral, yet appearing wholly unconcerned with the events at the church’s center.

A multitude of clergy and scholars, holding incense and candles, gather around the stone table.

Illuminating most of the Great Cathedral this night, yet in the edge where Gremman stands, those dark areas grow more dense.

The eyes filled with thirst for knowledge open a path.

The Healing Church’s Archbishop Lawrence, along with the scholar leader Miklás, both step to the closest point to the stone table.

The two are acknowledged as the most learned and suited scholars for this research.

Standing on either side of the stone table, Miklás now notices, Lawrence’s archbishop robe seems more tightly wrapped than usual.

Unclear face, even hands hidden within wide sleeves.

However it matters not.

Miklás shakes his head, he cares for nothing now, only for the object on the stone table.

This great, offspring of higher beings!

The two people cooperated, peeling off the waterproof layers of the large bag one by one.

Finally, the contents inside the large bag were fully revealed, as everyone in the Great Cathedral almost unanimously held their breath.

It was indeed the corpse of a human-like creature.

But only its outline was vaguely human-like.

It was incredibly gaunt, with the contours of its bones clearly visible on its body. Not only was it thin but also tall, standing at around three meters.

Its joints bore features of marine life, such as fins.

On its gray-white skin, there was a special mucus, like a newborn baby just delivered from its mother’s body, bald.

On its back, on both shoulder blades were two pieces of skin that looked like cloaks or wings.

The intel from the Healing Church clearly stated that this was an orphan left by a superior, but on its face, it looked like the oldest of old men.

The face full of wrinkles bore an expression of... desolation.

Just like a hurt child, calling out noisily to no avail, unable to receive any response or protection from its mother.

This expression appeared strange and exceptionally painful on the ancient face.

"Great God Cos, also known as Cosmo."

Faced with such an ugly, even bizarre corpse, Miklás leaned down obsessively, almost wanting to have his eyes touch it, murmuring aloud.

"This is the child it dreamed of!"

"This is also what we..." Lawrence’s obsession was no less than Miklás’s as he continued, "dreamed of!"

Lawrence’s fingertip peeked out of his sleeve, tenderly and delicately caressing Cos Orphan’s corpse, as if touching a delicate and fragile piece of art.

However, those fingers seemed excessively long and thin.

Lawrence gasped for breath, turning his head to the side and saying, "Surgical tools! Quickly!"

The sound of his breathing didn’t seem to be due to excitement but rather a physical issue.

But the Healing Church’s archbishop, who developed the universal remedy of "Blood Therapy," actually has physical ailments?

In Yan’an, even telling this as a joke wouldn’t get a listener.

But at this moment, no one cared about anything other than this corpse.

The surgical tools, already prepared, were handed to Lawrence and Miklás.

Miklás sorted tools in hand, like tweezers, scalpel, vascular clamp, while deeply breathing to suppress his excitement and thrill, ensuring the research goes flawlessly.

Yet suddenly, Miklás was shocked to see Lawrence across the stone table, already holding tools like a bone saw and hammer!

"Hold on, Lawrence. What are you trying to do?"

Miklás asked frowning.

"We should start by studying its surface tissues; those tools are for breaking the body when opening it up, disturbing the order would..."

Dissection isn’t about tearing a creature apart.

This divine corpse is the world’s most precious experimental material, perhaps even the most important in Yan’an for centuries to come.

Every organ, every blood vessel, every inch of skin deserves a dedicated discipline with abundant talent and resources.

Even the dissection requires procedural adherence, from superficial to deep, record a layer, dissect a layer.

Rashly tearing it all apart, who would distinguish what was original then?

Lawrence is Byron Vis’s finest scholar, one of Master William’s favored students, why would he perform such a novice, even foolish act?

But now, the tightly wrapped archbishop interrupted Miklás before he finished speaking.

He held a bone saw, its teeth sharper and sturdier than a usual hunter’s weapon, resting on Cos Orphan’s thoracic vertebrae.

"Knowledge of the superior! The secrets of the Ancient God lie right here! We don’t have time... aren’t you curious?"

Under Lawrence’s robe’s hood came his fragmented, obsessive muttering, echoing endlessly in the Great Cathedral.

Once Lawrence, even to the point of deviating from his mentor Master William’s academic ideas, created the Healing Church on his own.

In his final meeting with his mentor, he maintained his dignity and composure, rational and steady.

He didn’t view differing academic views causing a split between scholars as betrayal, thus he held his last dialogue with ease, and the aura wasn’t unfavorable then.

But now, once coolly facing his mentor’s criticisms, now he seems... just like an addict hooked on anesthetic powder?

Or perhaps everyone within this Great Cathedral now... is no different than him.