Ch 11.6

Meanwhile, inside Chloe’s dim room, Sheila sat on the edge of the bed, fingers knotted in the fabric of her kimono as if afraid she might drift apart if she loosened her grip.

Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to speak.

“It’s not just Nisa… it’s all of us,” she whispered. “Every night after we’re sent to their cabin, something feels wrong. The next morning… our memories are gone. Almost wiped clean. I can’t remember what happens inside. Only fragments. Only fear lingers.”

Chloe listened without interrupting, her expression calm, eyes sharp.

Sheila swallowed.
“After that, we all started having the same nightmares. I hear this… churning sound inside my head, like something crawling or grinding. My body trembles, even in sleep. And I hear them laughing. Wallus… and his men. Always laughing.”

Her wings twitched involuntarily at the memory.
“It’s the same for the others. Every single one. But no one dares to speak. Wallus is part of the church envoy. The big sisters don’t want trouble with the Church. So we just… endure.”

Chloe’s brows drew together, a shadow crossing her face.
“I can’t believe such people are affiliated with the church. This is horrible,” Chloe muttered quietly.

Sheila grabbed her sleeve desperately.
“You have to believe me. I know it sounds like a lie, but something isn’t right. They’ve done something to us. I don’t know what. I don’t know how. But it isn’t normal.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know who else to turn to. Please, Miss Chloe… believe me.”

Chloe reached out and gently patted Sheila’s head, her touch steady and warm.
“Oh, I believe you,” she said without hesitation. “Completely.”

Sheila blinked, startled.

“It’s just…” Chloe’s brows furrowed,
“I might need to have a word with this Wallus and give him a proper earful.”

Sheila’s eyes widened.
“You don’t get it!” she snapped, panic flooding back in. “That man is one of the strongest Blessed Children in the envoy. He defeated Big Sister Tevu by himself. You can’t just march up to him like that!”

Chloe puffed her chest slightly, almost comically proud despite the tension.
“Don’t worry. He shouldn’t dare to raise his hand on me if he’s really affiliated with the church.” Her tone carried a naive boldness that bordered on reckless.

“But before anything else… we need to fix you.”

Sheila stared at her. “Fix… me?”

Chloe’s expression shifted, becoming oddly serious.
“I’ve been sensing something unpleasant from you. A kind of… malice. Like residue. I couldn’t pinpoint it before, but after what you told me, I think something’s clinging to you. We should purify it first.”

Sheila blinked, confused and slightly alarmed.

Before she could respond, Chloe hopped off the bed and rushed to her travel bag in the corner of the room. She knelt and began rummaging through it with surprising intensity. Clothes flew out one by one—folded tunics, spare stockings, a worn scarf, even an old ribbon—spilling across the floor as she dug deeper.

Sheila watched, utterly baffled.
“W-What are you doing?”

“Looking for something important,” Chloe replied, half-buried in her bag.

After several seconds of frantic searching, she suddenly froze.
Then her face lit up. “Hah! There you are.”

She pulled out a small glass bottle filled with clear water, holding it up triumphantly as though she had uncovered a sacred relic.

Sheila stared at the bottle.
“…What’s that?”

Chloe’s eyes gleamed with conviction.
“This is holy water,” she answered softly, “This was blessed back home.”

“…Holy water?” Sheila repeated, still unsure whether to be hopeful or alarmed.

“Indeed,” Chloe said with firm conviction. “It’s holy water. If what you’re describing is some kind of malicious curse, this should weaken it—maybe even break it.”

Sheila hesitated. “A curse…?”

Chloe had already dragged a small stool into the centre of the room. Kneeling, she pulled a piece of chalk from her pouch and began drawing carefully atop the wooden stool. A circle formed first. Then a straight vertical line. Then a horizontal one, dividing the circle into four equal sections—the sacred mark of the Church of Virtues.

The white lines stood stark against the dark surface of the stool.

Sheila watched in astonishment.|
“What are you doing? And how do you even know how to do this?”

Chloe puffed her chest slightly, chalk still between her fingers.
“Back in my country, a patch of land near our village was rumored to be haunted. The townsfolk started having nightmares—terrible ones. People thought the land itself was cursed. Families fled. Fields were abandoned. The town was literally a ghost town.”

She tapped the chalk against her palm.
“But when the Church investigated, they discovered it wasn’t a haunting. The nearby forest raiders were inducing nightmares deliberately—using some kind of ritual curse to drive the people away so they could reclaim the land without fighting.”

“Is that so?” muttered Sheila.

Chloe’s blue eyes sharpened.
“The priests performed a cleansing rite. They blessed the ground, purified the afflicted… and the nightmares stopped. The curse was actually a spell cast by the mages from the raiders on the townspeople's minds. To make them fearful and scare them away from the lands.”

Sheila blinked slowly. “You think… that’s what’s happening to us?”

Chloe exhaled softly. “It’s too similar to ignore.”

She set the chalk aside and adjusted the stool so it sat squarely in the centre of the room. An oil lamp and two small candles were placed upon it, their flames steady and low. The symbol atop the stool turned it into something resembling a humble altar.

With the chalk set aside, she centred the stool in the room. An oil lamp and two small, steadily burning candles sat on top of it, the arrangement and the symbol making the simple stool resemble a modest altar.

Chloe placed a bowl in the very centre of the insignia and uncorked the bottle. The clear water poured out in a gentle stream, filling the bowl.

The room grew quieter.

Chloe guided Sheila to the center of the chalked circle, her fingers warm but firm around the harpy girl’s trembling hand.

“Here,” she said softly.

Sheila stepped forward as if entering something sacred. The chalk lines framed her knees as she lowered herself carefully before the stool.

Chloe crouched to adjust her posture, pressing lightly between her shoulder blades.
“Back straight.”

Sheila instinctively obeyed. Her wings quivered behind her, feathers rustling faintly in the lamplight.

“And your hands.”

Sheila brought them together, fingers interlocking uncertainly.

There was a pause.

“…Miss Chloe,” Sheila asked quietly, wings trembling faintly behind her,
“Are you perhaps a shaman?”

Chloe blinked at that. “Huh? A shaman? No. I’m not a shaman.” She straightened slightly, placing a hand over her chest. “I’m just a humble servant of the Lord.”

She met Sheila’s anxious gaze, her voice soft but unshakably firm.
“I’m just someone who refuses to let evil linger if I can help it.”