“We're already here anyway; might as well attend the grand sacrifice.”
Lynch gave Miss Valente a self-deprecating smile. In truth, he knew very well that the two of them no longer had any choice.
Although both Maya's description and her lived experience in the dream proved that the temple was the most critical location for Mordiggian's sacrifice—leaving no room for doubt—he still felt uneasy. He couldn't shake the feeling that these Sons of the Formless were deliberately driving them into the temple.
Thus, he didn't give up resisting entirely. Along the way, he tested his theory several times, attempting to break away in other directions, even turning their backs to the pillar of light, and even looping around to the opposite side of the temple to try moving away from it.
This was extremely dangerous behavior for the pair, but Miss Valente said nothing. Instead, she willingly partook in his madness, weaving through the large swarms of the Sons of the Formless alongside him.
Yet in the end, the result was the same: they were forced onto the square outside the temple, covered in dust and utterly disheveled.
Sons of the Formless lurked throughout the city, but their numbers thinned the closer one got to the pillar of light. It was impossible to tell whether they feared the temple's power or if this was intentional on their part.
May the neighbor bless us—let it not be the latter, or things will be even more troublesome.
“Now that you mention it, I also feel as if we're being herded here by the Sons of the Formless.”
The obtuse native couldn't quite grasp the transmigrator's sense of humor. Miss Valente wrung her folding fan tightly, looking back in the direction they had come. Countless Sons of the Formless were still squirming and churning in the dark, exerting an overwhelming sense of pressure.
“I suddenly have a theory regarding the sacrifices over the past few thousand years.”
“Hmm?”
“Perhaps we're repeating the exact experience of those sacrifices,” Lynch whispered. “Think about it. Given the nature of the Sons of the Formless, no matter which room a sacrifice hides in after entering, the creatures can slither right inside and flush them out. Once the sacrifices stumble out in the dark, they'll naturally be drawn to the city's only light source and move toward the temple. And if someone really isn't drawn to the green light, the Sons of the Formless will encircle and drive them from multiple angles just like they're doing to us now, forcing them into the temple where Mordiggian eventually emerges to consume them.”
“So it isn't an illusion? They really might be deliberately herding us into the temple?” Miss Valente nodded thoughtfully. “That is indeed possible. But wouldn't that actually align with our goal? Weren't we planning to meet that damned evil god anyway?”
“Right. So we have to brave the temple regardless. It's just that this temple is really...”
Hard to describe in a few words.
From a distance, it was a spire-topped stone temple. A green pillar of light shot straight upward from the temple's center, vanishing into the pitch-black darkness overhead.
The pillar flared with eerie green light, resembling a massive, pulsing green flame. It allowed the two to barely discern their surroundings. The illumination was dim, freezing, and bizarre, emanating a heart-palpitating dread. A single glance from afar was enough to plunge one into endless despair and terror.
The gloomy pillar of light possessed no heat; instead, it was bone-chillingly cold. The ground and the temple nearby were covered in a thick layer of ice, which flickered with the same uncanny green glow under the light's reflection.
The only thing Lynch could consider fortunate was that there were no terrifying ice sculptures on the square—or at least, not many. The statues ubiquitous to the city were inevitably present on the square as well, coated in thick ice, but they were unlike the ones in the dream that could actually attack.
The temple's doors stood wide open just as they had in the dream. Dark green mist swirled around the doorway, occasionally spilling outside before swiftly retracting like a living organism.
“This isn't a good sign, Mr. Levive.” As Lynch was sizing up the temple, Miss Valente's faint voice came from behind him. “In occultism, physical green objects usually symbolize plants and safety, serving as good omens. However, green light and mist are quite the opposite, representing disease and severe toxicity. This isn't something anyone decreed, but rather a fundamental law of rules, independent of personal will.”
“So it's actually poisonous here?” Lynch frowned. “But I went inside in Maya's dream, and nothing happened.”
“Her dream was merely a memory, after all; it still differs greatly from the real Zur-Baha-Sahr. Don't worry, Mr. Levive. This is merely informational interference inflicted upon the mortal world by a high-level mysterious will, not a direct attack from the evil god. It isn't particularly powerful, certainly not enough to harm a Soul Severer who specializes in pharmacology. Here, put in these nasal plugs. They will temporarily protect us. We can reassess if any issues arise once we go deeper.”
How does this girl seem like an entirely different person the moment occultism and pharmacology are mentioned? It seemed this noble lady didn't rely solely on her status—she actually possessed real skill. He had underestimated her before. Lynch took the nasal plugs with newfound admiration, put them in, and stretched out an arm to shield Miss Valente behind him.
What a pity Officer Natalie isn't here, or I could've sheltered behind her again. She's just too reliable.
Amused by his own internal banter, Lynch motioned for her to follow. Ignoring the Sons of the Formless pursuing them from afar, he carefully slipped through the grand doors.
Inside, it grew even quieter, without even the sound of moving air. The stench of rotting corpses was something the nasal plugs couldn't fully block, wafting over in waves that made Lynch's eyes sting.
The green light seemed ubiquitous, faintly illuminating everything within the corridor. Even Lynch and Miss Valente's faces were tinged with green, creating an extremely eerie visual effect. Both subconsciously swallowed, huddling tightly together as one followed the other.
Mm, I'm definitely not doing this because I'm scared. I'm doing this to protect the lady better.
【Pfft.】
I knew you were peeking. Fine, whatever.
Lynch took a deep breath to calm his nervous tension. After confirming that the Sons of the Formless behind them hadn't pursued them inside, he raised his cane and slowed his pace. Miss Valente stayed close behind him, pointing her folding fan to the side, remaining on high alert.
Just as seen in the dream of Maya, the investigative journalist, this was a long corridor. The difference was that several frozen stone statues also stood along it. Unlike the ones outside, the statues here wore robes commonly seen on clergy members—though how the original sculptors had distinguished them so clearly was anyone's guess.
Complex murals were carved onto the walls on both sides of the corridor. Despite being buried deep underground for thousands or tens of thousands of years, the murals remained remarkably pristine and clearly visible, depicting the story of ancient Zur-Baha-Sahr offering corpse sacrifices to Mordiggian.
Under the eerie green glow, the walls were covered with twisted scenes. Miss Valente clutched Lynch's clothes tightly, wanting to look at the murals yet afraid to do so. She poked her head out from behind Lynch, stealing peeks at the unsettling narrative. Before they had taken more than a few steps, Lynch suddenly halted, freezing in place. Miss Valente bumped right into his back, then rubbed her forehead with a conflicted expression.
Without pausing to apologize, Lynch immediately explained in a low voice, “It seems we've overlooked a crucial detail.”
“Hmm?”
“Look at these murals. The corpses are brought into the temple, processed, and placed on the altar, after which Mordiggian comes out to feed,” Lynch said in a hushed, gloomy voice. “We all overlooked the fact that Mordiggian is the King of Ghouls—the sacrifices on the murals are all corpses. It doesn't eat living people.” Lynch sighed, wiping the sweat from his palms, his voice raspy as he continued, “So, if the annual sacrifices really walked in on their own feet, it means there's an intermediate step hidden here.”
Miss Valente's expression stiffened. “Turning us into corpses?”
“Yes.”
Lynch gave a bitter smile as he looked at their surroundings, an intense prickle of dread washing over him.
Too late. Too late.
Rate on N.U.
