Samuel awoke the next morning in his new lodgings to find that, though his eyes could open, his mouth could not. The massive men before him had bound his hands and sealed his lips tightly with a strip of cloth. And in that moment, a single question—his first and perhaps his last—echoed through his mind:

Who was the traitor?

Was it the cardinal—his old friend—whose behavior had lately betrayed a certain unease, and who seemed to sense that Samuel knew more about the mystic order than he should?
Or was it his superior—the very man who had pressed him with countless questions about the elderly informant, insisting Samuel abandon his home and move somewhere even more secluded for his own safety?

He was certain of one thing: after meeting with his superior the previous night, he had come directly to this isolated refuge without being seen by anyone. It had struck him as odd when his superior suggested he relocate to this lonely corner outside London… but Samuel had silenced his doubts, telling himself the man must have had good reason.

He had indeed failed to recall the informant’s real name. But he had told his superior that they had placed the old man in a city hospice only a few weeks earlier—and that thanks to him, they had uncovered the secret dealings in the building’s cellar, as well as the mystic order’s new target.
Yet one look at the men’s cruel, expressionless faces told Samuel everything he needed to know: the intruders in his home were tied to the very order he had been investigating.

The bald man who appeared to be their leader wore nothing above the waist. Despite the chill in the air, he seemed eager to display his bulging arms and sculpted abdomen. But Samuel understood the real reason: the man wished to reveal the markings on his body—symbols he revered as gods.

Realizing Samuel could not speak, the man began in a voice disturbingly polite:

“Mr. Samuel,” he said, “allow me to introduce you to my gods.
This crescent you see—this is Sin, the Moon God.
The circle surrounded by rays, as you may already guess, is my god Samas, the Sun.
And the star with eight points represents Ismar, the Jupiter God.

Do not confuse him with the smaller six-pointed stars—for those belong to the lesser deities, nineteen in number. These three, however… these are the great gods.”

Samuel now understood at last—why, forty-seven years earlier, three people besides the nineteen novice nuns had vanished and later been found dead… and why today there were exactly nineteen missing believers.
The man continued, his voice swelling with twisted pride:

“Of course, a great god demands a great sacrifice. The laws of nature apply to the gods just as they do to us—or rather, those laws were set by our gods themselves. A sacrifice for the great ones cannot be the same as a sacrifice for the lesser deities. In truth, our offerings for Sin and Ismar were already prepared… but as for whom we would present to Sames, the Sun God—that had remained uncertain until yesterday.”

He burst into a booming laugh, then thrust his monstrous gaze so close that Samuel could feel his breath.

“Don’t delude yourself—we would never sacrifice the likes of you! If we offered Sames an ordinary clerk, he would curse us.”
Then, leaning in, he whispered into Samuel’s ear:

“Between us… he is not merely jealous—he is very jealous. If we treat him as though he were inferior to the other great gods, our end would be… unpleasant.”

From these words, Samuel realized this madness could not be explained merely by ancient, brutal beliefs; these men were deeply unwell. Inside the hospice, his informant had described how governors, businessmen, royal advisors, and other influential figures visited under the guise of charity. Perhaps a few truly came to see elderly acquaintances—but most, it was now clear, descended to the cellar to attend the rituals.

As Samuel recalled the historian’s warnings from the library, the truth chilled him:
Those who worship the stars have no belief in an afterlife—no reckoning, no moral responsibility. They feel no duty to correct injustice or stand with the righteous.
To them, the naturally strong, cunning, and powerful ascend to godhood…
and the rest are destined, by the decree of nature, to vanish.

The shaved-headed zealot continued preaching his perverse creed:

“For Sames, we have finally chosen a sacrifice worthy of him. I fear this may sadden you—your friend the cardinal, with his rank and learning, will make a most fitting offering.In truth, it was thanks to you that we set our sights on him. We had long heard whispers that he was… different from the other cardinals. And while watching you, we realized our suspicions were correct.

Ah, before I forget—earlier I said we wouldn’t sacrifice you. But that does not mean you won’t die. And if you ask what the difference is… for you, none at all.

You see, were we to choose you as a sacrifice, we would have to carve our eight-pointed star—Ismar’s mark—onto your chest. That would be… inconvenient.
Because then it would be obvious you died at our hands, and we would draw the eyes of the public upon us. And as you surely know, secrecy is the highest principle of our order.
We must tread carefully—let us admit it, we can no longer manipulate the Church as easily as before. We do not know the reason, but their vanity no longer bends so readily to our flattery.”

Samuel burned with the urge to rip away the gag and curse the man. Instead, he writhed in silent agony—tormented not only by the danger looming over him, but by the thought that he had dragged his friend the cardinal into this nightmare. And he reproached himself for ever having doubted him. Even on the brink of death, he felt more of a policeman than a victim—still dreaming of protecting those around him.

The zealot wiped sweat from his brow and went on:

“Of course, this new doctrine—that no one may stand between the servant and Allah—unsettled us greatly. It was clear it would be the end of us. So we had to ensure that priests of our choosing infiltrated their ranks. We relied on the oldest method—one that has served us in every age. We made certain influential clerics believe they were exceptional, indispensable.
Once that seed of vanity took root… we could slip our hands easily into their affairs as well.”

The man, utterly indifferent to the fury blazing in Samuel’s eyes, delivered his final words:

“Curiosity is the strongest force in a human’s heart. So before you die, let me grant you a kindness. You must have wondered why we kill nuns—why these secluded monotheist maidens are our chosen offerings. Allow me to remind you briefly: in the year 359, after reading Saint Paul’s letter, the Church of Alexandria stirred the mob into savagery, and they fed the pagan priestess Hypatia to the dogs while she still breathed. We take our vengeance on her behalf.”

He smiled, savoring Samuel’s helplessness.

“But there is one matter I shall not ease your curiosity about. Wickens will be sacrificed to Sin; the cardinal to Sames. But for our greatest god, Ismar—whom shall we offer? A tiny hint: Wickens has a teacher—unknown to the world, a mind standing at the summit of all science. This man has crafted a discovery so astonishing that even centuries from now, people will speak his name in awe. Wickens was sent to the solitude of the Alps to ensure this invention would remain hidden. They say the place itself is tied to his creation; why he insisted on the mountain’s peak, I cannot say. But my masters never act without reason. Keeping such secrets sometimes tests my patience,”

  he chuckled:

“But now you may be wondering why we want to sacrifice this ‘Alpine sun’ of science. Yes, part of the reason is his worth—our god deserves a magnificent offering.
But the true reason is this: we cannot tell whether he is ours. The man is full of contradictions. To keep him, we tried convincing him he was the Messiah. We twisted certain truths, invented others. We told him his premature birth, his fatherless origin, and his arrival on the night between December 24th and 25th of the year 1642 resembled the Messiah’s own signs.

And for a time, we held a genius in our grip—a man who could change the fate of nations.But just when we believed no one could stop us, he suddenly announced to the public that he did not believe in the Trinity. What good is a Messiah who is not divine? A Messiah who is not a god is of no use to us—people will not revere him.

Besides, the world already has many prophets. He must be different to be useful. He has learned too many of our secrets… and above all, a mind like his—if it slips from our control— could bring consequences we cannot bear. So we resolved to sacrifice him.

I have told you the story of his life, from birth to brilliance. And if you still do not know who he is…then you deserve to die with that curiosity gnawing at your soul.”

The Bald One then drove his sharp-edged blade into Samuel again and again. In the sacrifices offered to their gods, the victim’s chest was carved with a star while still alive. They felt no pity for the unbearable agony inflicted upon their victims; in fact, they performed it with a twisted sense of triumph, believing they were winning the favor of their gods. Even worse, these scenes were carried out before the eyes of powerful spectators—men of wealth, influence, and authority. Considering the state of mind of those who could watch such cruelty without flinching, men who would go on to govern cities or even entire nations, it becomes easier to understand the roots of the chaos that haunted eighteenth-century Europe.

As Samuel, the fallen dispenser of justice, drifted toward that threshold between this life and the next, the words spoken by his friend the cardinal the day before rose faintly in his fading consciousness:

“Among all heavenly faiths there is a shared principle: to command what is good and forbid what is evil. Tell me—if people upheld this without regard to religion, language, or lineage, would the tragedies of history have ever taken place? The enlightened thinkers of eighteenth-century Europe eventually perceived that sanctifying individuals, or waging war against religion itself, would only bring great social ruin. Wearing a cravat and calling the spectacle of brutality ‘freedom’ does not make it so.”

Samuel, unfortunately, was neither the first nor the last victim of a society shaped by the mindset of “let the serpent live a thousand years, so long as it does not bite me.” They bribed a street thug to take the blame. His statement had already been prepared:

“I asked him for money and wine. When he refused, I got angry and stabbed him.”

The cardinal learned from his aide that Samuel had been killed. He remained silent for a long while and wept. Yet even then the storm inside him would not subside. Shaking his head slowly, he began to speak:

“In a society where people fail to appreciate the value of being human and instead yearn to become gods, a human life becomes worth nothing. Whether the ones who died today were nuns, or those who died yesterday were atheists or deists—what difference does it make? They were human beings. As Europe kills its own humanity, the endless wars of hatred and vengeance will shake this ancient civilization for centuries to come. Whoever killed Samuel today will one day kill Europe’s soul and heart, turning it into a living corpse. The day is near when great wars will erupt and plunge the world into chaos.”

The chain of events that led Samuel to be murdered by this mystic order had begun months earlier, when Benjamin, a resident of the old-age home, stabbed someone and was taken in for questioning. Like the other elders awaiting death, Benjamin sought out a priest and confessed his sins.

Ever since he had come to the church, Benjamin had been torn about revealing something. The priest’s words—“Make amends for your wrongs”—echoed through the fading circuits of his mind, shaking him, but how could he make amends? Murders, assaults, thefts, corruption—what was done was done. He could not raise the dead, nor could he face the girl he had violated. Reminding her of the past would tear old wounds open. And if her husband learned certain truths, the damage would multiply.

When the elderly Benjamin finally voiced his fears, the priest told him:

“The least you can do,” said the priest, “is to help prevent new deaths, new assaults, and other crimes.”

Benjamin replied, “Then the sin is no longer mine,” and began to speak.

“Most of the deaths in the old-age home are not caused by illness or old age. The wealthy benefactors and high-ranking visitors who come to the home—under the pretext of charity—conduct rituals in the cellar. I do not know exactly what happens during those rites. All I know is that for every ceremony, they take one elder downstairs… and that elder never returns. A short while later, we hear that he has died. The wiser, more clear-headed residents know these truths.”

“And what about the families of the deceased?” the priest asked. “Do they not question what happened to their parents?”

Benjamin burst into laughter.

“You don’t know people at all. Tell me, how many children truly think about their parents in hospice? Even if they do, they come once a month—once a year, at best. And of course the doctor always declares the same thing: ‘Old age.’ Who would doubt the death of an elderly man?” He grinned and added:

“Even if the death were suspicious, who would care? Dying a few years early or a few years late—what difference does it make to anyone?”

“There’s no such thing! No one may take a life granted by God; life is sacred and precious! Before killing their chosen victim, they put the poor soul on a ten-day diet. And what a diet it is—there’s nothing they don’t include! Red meat, eggs, honey, milk… all the things normally forbidden. Their aim is to push the old man closer to death through fluctuating blood pressure or sugar levels.”

After saying this, he asked, “Well then, Father, you tell me—what should I do?”

The priest hesitated for a moment. What could he possibly say? Considering all the old man had confessed just moments ago, he suspected that Benjamin’s mind might be slipping, that he oscillated between clarity and delirium. Perhaps he was seeing hallucinations… or perhaps every word he spoke was the grim truth. Priests could not betray the confessions entrusted to them by reporting crimes to the police, yet they also could not ignore a crime laid bare before them.

A clergyman who urged his community to command good and forbid evil could not remain indifferent to such darkness. And beyond that, there were already those waiting eagerly for a chance to undermine belief in God through the Church; he must not give them such an opportunity.

At last, with a gentle sigh, he said, “Pray to God. He will inspire you with a way to bring this matter to the attention of the police.”

Benjamin said nothing to the priest’s face, but as he walked out, he murmured in his heart…

“He isn’t the one informing the police—I’m the one who’ll get into trouble. No wonder they say, ‘Do as the clergyman says, not as he does.’” he muttered.

At that moment, an idea flashed through his mind. The elderly residents were forbidden from leaving the hospice. Yet, to see the city, they would feign fainting spells to be taken to the hospital. Remembering this, he whispered,

“Then I can alter that trick a little… and be taken not to a hospital, but to the cardinal.”

Having realized that his own turn had come—thanks to the peculiar diet they had placed him on—Benjamin knew he must put his plan into action, and for that, he needed the right target. He first considered choosing an old man he disliked. But then he stopped himself. His plan—though wrapped in ugliness—was born from a desire to prevent greater evil. He would not stain it with petty malice. He needed someone whose family’s wealth and influence would keep the hospice from covering up the incident. And he knew exactly the man: the resident whose son was the chief of police.

Fixing his eyes on the target, he approached him and shouted, “You thief! How dare you steal my money!”

Then he drove a blade into the man’s abdomen. It was no random strike. He aimed carefully, choosing a dull, short knife, and piercing only the empty cavity—avoiding any vital organs. His intent was to wound, not to kill. As he predicted, the hospice administration immediately called the police and reported him.

At the station, Benjamin told the officer questioning him everything—how he had stabbed the man deliberately, how many residents had been murdered in the hospice, and how it had all been concealed. And finally, he said:

“If you don’t believe me, examine the bodies. You’ll find the knife marks, I promise you.”

Although the interrogators did not believe these strange claims, a notice nonetheless reached the intelligence bureau, instructing them to review the matter. After reading Benjamin’s statements, Samuel realized that if the old man was telling the truth, it must certainly be concealed from the hospice administration. So Samuel quietly altered the courageous elder’s testimony to:
“I stabbed him because we had a personal quarrel.”

Benjamin’s account did not strike Samuel as convincing, and he had no intention of pursuing the case too far. Yet a month later, just as he was preparing to close the file, his eyes fell upon Benjamin’s note in the report: “My turn to die has come.”
Indeed, Benjamin was dead. Samuel had the grave opened. To his astonishment, he found a six-pointed star carved into the man’s chest. When he inspected the unspoiled corpses of the other residents, he discovered the same mark on each of them. Only then did he grasp the true horror of the situation.

The hospice director, the doctor, and several staff members were all part of the mystic order. Although Benjamin had been placed on the “death diet” prepared for sacrificial victims, the stabbing incident and the subsequent interrogation made them fear that his death might attract unwanted attention. They were on the verge of abandoning him as a sacrifice—until they realized the authorities had dismissed the matter as a trivial stabbing and closed the case.
Thus reassured, the order chose to proceed.

Benjamin, like the others, spent his final moments in agony as the star was carved into his living flesh. And, just like the others, no one ever heard his screams—his mouth had been sealed long before the knife touched his chest.

Taking into account Benjamin’s warning—“There are men of great power and wealth involved in this; you’ll have a hard time dealing with them!”—Samuel resolved to catch the mystic order in the act. Most of the earlier corpses had decayed so badly that the star mark could no longer be distinguished, but on the few that remained intact, the heavy clotting around the knife wounds made it clear the symbol had been carved before death.

Realizing that they had drawn attention, the mystical order had begun to act more cautiously and would make no mistakes. With his experience in intelligence work, Samuel devised a plan known to no one but himself and his informant. He intended to inform his superior only after the operation matured and the informant provided solid evidence.
To begin, he placed the elderly informant in the hospice.

For the first few weeks, the old man refrained from any investigation so as not to arouse suspicion. He behaved like any frail resident—someone with a sore back, aching knees, and little interest in the world.

Soon, however, he observed that certain residents were given the “special treatment” Benjamin had described— a separate diet that did not preserve their health but steadily undermined it. When he saw that the hospice doctor did nothing to intervene, he understood that the doctor, too, was part of the scheme.

In time, the informant managed to win the trust of the other elders. At first they whispered around him, wary and distant, but gradually they began to confide everything in him.
Worn bodies longing for affection recounted their memories at length, and in the midst of their stories they often voiced quiet reproaches against their children. Most of them were still capable of managing their own needs; perhaps the only thing they truly longed for was to see their children return home from work, smile warmly, and ask, “Father, how are you today? Are your pains any better?”

The old informant, who sympathized with their grievances, subtly steered the conversation toward whether the administration truly provided the peace it promised. At that moment, the elderly residents began to whisper. He realized that what they spoke of was no different from Benjamin’s testimony. In his next meeting, Samuel whispered to him:

“You say the rituals are held in the cellar, but you need to identify a few names connected to them and learn the date of the next ritual so we can catch them in the act.”

From his companions, the old informant learned that there were large wine barrels stored in the cellar, and that these aged wines were taken from there and distributed during national and religious holidays.

When evening fell, the iron door leading to the upper floors was locked. That meant it was impossible for him to leave his room upstairs and reach the ground floor or the cellar. Therefore, when night came, he decided not to return to the upper level at all and instead hide inside one of the barrels in the cellar.