The moss froze on the stone bricks on the ground, giving off a withered color in the dark corridor, where sunlight never shone all day long.
Other than the middle part of the corridor, where people walked frequently, and the scratches formed when transporting goods, both sides of the corridor had been covered in moss, making the floor look as if it was covered with a layer of tattered carpet.
Whenever the heavy iron gate at the end of the corridor was pushed open, the tattered, yellowish-green carpet was torn to pieces.
The dim light shone from behind the door, illuminating the face of the middle-aged priest. He seemed to have aged prematurely, his mottled white hair neatly combed up behind his head. The contours of his face were sharp, his expression cold and hard. He wore a black robe and looked just like a spirit of iron.
He had white cataracts in his eyes, and his gaze was chilling.
But as a sound came from behind the door, his frowned slightly.