Chapter 380: Holy City |
Flor's face was ashen, whether from pain or terror, it was impossible to tell.
His lips trembled as he stammered cautiously, "I... I'll answer! The legends say the Holy Lord brought light and warmth, drove away poverty and fear, and shielded us from the monsters in the darkness..."
"He brought us the prophecy of the Final Judgment, when the temple will fall and the dead will bury their dead..."
The first part of his account was similar to Father Laki’s, but the latter half was new. Asakura Yuko seized on the key phrases. "How did the Holy Lord drive away poverty and fear? What is this 'Final Judgment'? And what do you mean, 'the dead will bury their dead'?"
Flor explained, "The Holy Lord transformed His very authority into food for us to share. We ate the golden leaves He gave us, and ever since, we haven't felt hunger. Even our wounds heal quickly, as long as they aren't fatal. The priests tell us we are the ones closest to God."
"But this gift came at a price," he continued. "The prophet said we must keep our faith pure for the Holy Lord to continue protecting us. For some reason, though, the number of heretics in the city keeps growing, and we've never been able to stop them. The Lord has grown angry. He's going to take back His protection and cast us out of this promised land."
"When He no longer protects us, the night will come. All sorts of unspeakable dangers lurk in the darkness, tempting us to fall from grace and stealing our lives. All who die gather in the graveyard, where the old dead take up shovels to bury the new... And these days, the night is lasting longer and longer."
In the real world, the "Final Judgment" was little more than a religious scare tactic, a pretext the church once used to sell indulgences and fleece the faithful of their money. Whether a similar dynamic existed in this instance was another question entirely.
But from the way Flor spoke, this "doomsday" was no empty legend. Once divine protection was lost, the "dangers" of the night were real and deadly.
Flor nodded. "Yes. Only heretics would refuse to repay the Holy Lord's grace. Only they would be unwilling to donate to the Lord."
Taken in context, his words made it sound as if the Holy Lord were demanding repayment for His grace, intent on extracting something from His followers.
But Asakura Yuko knew many of the Weird Game's deeper secrets, and she could easily spot the logical flaws in this narrative.
The Holy Lord distributing His authority to save the faithful was an undeniable fact. Any believer could confirm it simply by assessing their own physical condition.
Would a god who could part with something as vital as His own authority truly stoop to demanding repayment for His generosity?
Even if He were, what could these NPC believers possibly possess that would be more valuable than the very authority He had bestowed upon them?
Devout faith was valuable, certainly, but it could never compare to a god's unique authority. Asakura Yuko had followed White Crow for years, working tirelessly on the plan for her ascension to godhood. She trusted her judgment of value, which only made this puzzle more baffling.
After a moment's thought, she asked another question. "Is there any warning before the night comes? And what, exactly, are these dangers in the dark?"
"Normally, the night arrives after the temple bell strikes twelve. Now, it comes at the eleventh strike." Flor's voice was thick with palpable dread. "The priests say that in the dark, the dead crawl out of hell to kill, and demons tempt the faithful to fall from grace."
"Have you ever seen one of these demons yourself?"
"Never. You know how it is, we don't dare go out at night. We don't even dare to look outside... Anyone who has seen a demon has fallen and become a heretic."
Asakura Yuko had heard enough. In a swift motion, she plunged the short knife into Flor's throat. She withdrew the blade, and a spray of blood spattered her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, smearing the crimson on her clothes.
The black fabric absorbed the stain completely, leaving no visible trace. Only up close could one catch the faint, coppery scent of blood.
Flor's eyes shot wide, his pupils dilating. He died without a sound, the scream caught in his throat.
Asakura Yuko adjusted her glasses and muttered to herself, "The rules state, 'One must not attack others in the Holy City.' Yet I was able to attack and kill a believer. That must mean, according to the instance's logic, that believers aren't considered people."
She calmly dragged the corpse into a corner, then returned to Vader's side. Taking out the [History Page] she carried, she began to write.
A strange theory about the world of the Holy City instance began to form in her mind.
The believers used the chimes of the clock tower to tell time, which suggested they had no time-telling devices of their own. And bells, of course, could be manipulated.
Combine that with the fact that the believers were too terrified to leave their homes at night, or even look outside, and the rumor that anyone who "saw a demon" became a heretic and was promptly executed... It was hard for Asakura Yuko not to suspect that this whole "donation" business was a sham, a farce cooked up by the clergy to line their own pockets.
So, how could these believers, herded like lambs to the slaughter, be considered people? They were merely assets, resources to be exploited...
Of course, this was all just speculation based on her knowledge of real-world religions. To truly understand the situation, she would have to investigate for herself when night fell.
"You just killed him?" Vader's expression was complicated as he looked at her. "Weren't you going to keep him around a bit longer?"
This brief, violent interlude had completely upended his perception of Asakura Yuko.
She killed so efficiently, never wasting a word when a blade would do. Was this really one of those blowhards from the Listening Wind Guild? He would have sooner guessed she was from the Sila Guild.
"I'd asked everything I needed to," Asakura Yuko said calmly. "He was of no further use, and he might have reported us to the clergy. I have no desire to be branded a heretic and sent to the gallows before the voting even begins."
She seemed to sense his unease and added, "And for the record, while I may have a non-combat role here, I was a war correspondent in my old life. I've killed before."
"This instance banned all weapon-type items," Vader pressed. "So how can you still use a knife?"
"It's not a weapon. When I bought it in the store, the game classified it as tableware."
"You've got to be kidding me."
Asakura Yuko continued to write as she spoke, her hand moving steadily. A new passage was already taking shape on the History Page, its tone as cold and detached as any real historical text:
[The Holy City is a place of faith and death. It was born from a single act of benevolence by the Holy Lord. In the words of the faithful and the clergy, "the monsters were driven away, and the light had come"...]
The [Taboo Scholar] identity card required a sufficient accumulation of "history" to activate its effects. Since this instance was itself steeped in history, Asakura Yuko made a point of diligently recording events.
But as she wrote, certain questions began to trouble her—
Was the Holy Lord truly Si Qi, the former player? Given the immense time span, how could he have taken part in the Holy City's ancient history? Could it have something to do with the authority over space and time?
As a newcomer, Si Qi had achieved countless True Ends in just a few short months, shattered several instances, and shot to the top of the rookie rankings after killing Chang Xu. He even possessed multiple identity cards... It was as if some higher power had sent him to conquer the game itself.
Considering the rumors of a wager among the gods, and the fact that Li, the God of Space and Time, had been curiously inactive of late, a startling theory suddenly took root in Asakura Yuko's mind:
Could Si Qi be Li's proxy?
"Find something?" Vader asked, watching her expression closely.
Asakura Yuko reined in her thoughts, her expression unchanging. "If the clues from Father Laki and Flor are both genuine, then there's a monster roaming outside the Holy City—also called an 'evil spirit' or 'demon'—that comes out at night to hunt."
She matter-of-factly recited the information she'd just gleaned from Flor. "This land was once shrouded in perpetual darkness, until the Holy Lord arrived and brought with him a light that could drive the monsters away."
"The Holy Lord built this city to keep the monsters out, but only those who have faith and regularly offer tribute are granted His protection. Any believer who fails to pay is branded a heretic by the clergy and executed. At the same time, the city itself isn't completely safe. Monsters appear here at night as well, and anyone who sees one is corrupted into a heretic."
This was all information they already had. Vader pressed her. "So what's your take on the main quest? How does a perfectly good city under divine protection just get destroyed? Don't tell me the Holy Lord just kicked the bucket one day and the monsters flooded in."
Asakura Yuko gave him a sidelong glance. "If I knew the answer to that, we'd be back in the game lobby listening to the clear announcement and final score."
Vader failed to pry any more secrets from her, but he didn't seem disappointed. He mulled it over for a moment, then returned to his previous point. "There's a problem with the 'heretic' mechanic."
"Witnessing a monster and failing to pay tribute both result in being labeled a 'heretic.' Those two things are completely different; they don't even seem related. Someone has to be lying."
"I came to the same conclusion," Asakura Yuko agreed with a slight nod. "If we want to learn more, we can either wait for nightfall and explore, or we can press on and gather more clues now."
Since night had not yet fallen, they chose the latter.
They continued on, one following the other. The deeper they ventured into the East District, the more depraved the scenery became.
A yellowish-green sludge churned in the cracks between the cobblestones. Clogged drains vomited filth into the streets, and a foul, bubbling foam, like pus from a lanced boil, collected in the gutters.
Men, women, and children, their skin covered in sores, were dressed in little more than rags. Their clouded eyes stared blankly ahead, their gazes vacant. Scabies spread over their flesh like moss, and tattered scraps of cloth were plastered to weeping lesions.
Priests in pallid shrouds drifted around the corners, gliding like ghosts through streets that were crowded yet deathly silent. They moved in pairs, each duo carrying a jar and a dagger.
Asakura Yuko concealed herself in an alleyway, her gaze fixed on the scene before her.
The jars the priests carried were transparent, and from her vantage point, she could see chunks of flesh inside, each one streaked with fine, bloody filaments.
The chunks were packed together in a viscous mass, each piece squirming and twitching, contracting and expanding as if it were breathing.
Black tendrils materialized from the air, plunging into the jar like veins and throbbing with a vibrant, rhythmic pulse, as if they belonged to some living, feeding creature.
The glass jar pulsed in time with the tendrils, contracting and expanding like the heart of some colossal beast. The flesh inside visibly dwindled, and where the tendrils met the air, motes of golden light began to seep out.
Gilded specks drifted through the air, floating and falling like shredded pages of an ancient scripture before slowly fading and vanishing into nothing.
It was a strangely beautiful and holy miracle, born from a grotesque foundation. Had she not seen it with her own eyes, she never would have imagined it was nourished by flesh and blood.
Vader saw it too and drew a sharp breath. "Gods alive," he muttered, "more of this disgusting crap. I really hope dinner tonight is vegetarian. What the hell is that stuff, anyway? What's it for? They're not... they're not going to make us eat it, are they?"
He might have just been muttering to himself, but Asakura Yuko still gave his question serious thought, though no useful answer came to mind.
Vader didn't have to ask again. His question was answered moments later.
She watched as the priests stopped before a row of squat houses. The emaciated believers waiting at each door took the offered dagger, silently carved a piece of flesh from their own bodies, and dropped it into the transparent jar.
The moment the new piece of flesh touched the mass in the jar, it writhed and merged with it. At the same time, thick buds of flesh sprouted from the believer's wound, regenerating at a visible rate.
The new flesh had the texture of a ripe pustule. It clung to the skin like a wad of phlegm, quivering with every movement of the body.
So this was the tribute the believers had to pay—not money, but their own flesh and blood!
Three lines of silver text materialized on the system interface:
[Side Quest Updated]
[Side Quest: Make a donation.]
[Reward: One piece of kindling.]
...
In the temple's rear courtyard, Qi Si's long black robes trailed behind him as he walked over the damp, broken flagstones, heading deeper into the desolate gloom.
He held the Sea God's Scepter, and its surging divine power swept the path clear of grit and dust. Yet a faint, cloying scent of decay lingered in the air, impossible to dispel.
For a moment, as if sensing something from a great distance, he raised a hand to his throat. The smile on his lips widened.
"You've killed a great many people, haven't you?" he asked, glancing at Father Laki beside him. His voice was gentle.
Once Father Laki realized he couldn't stop Qi Si from entering the rear courtyard, he had pragmatically appointed himself a guide. He now walked beside Qi Si, ostensibly to show the way, but in reality to keep watch—not that it had any real effect.
Hearing Qi Si's question, the priest closed his eyes. "Yes," he admitted. "I have killed many. All the heretics of the past died by my hand. They are buried here, deep in these graves."
As if to prove his words, a vast field of burial mounds came into view just ahead. They were dotted with crosses of all sizes, stuck into the earth at crooked angles. Some were new, others were already decaying.
Qi Si tapped a finger against his chin. The crimson in his eyes swirled like a dark mist, and an illusion bloomed before him—a vision of a sea of blood and a mountain of corpses.
A vision of the past superimposed itself on his sight. He saw the very ground beneath him squirming, soft and yielding like rotting, suppurating flesh. A river of lurid green fluid and pale yellow maggots flowed down the slope, only to be held back by a faint, golden-red light just before it reached his feet. Countless gray-black figures clawed their way out of the earth, threw back their heads, and let out tormented wails.
The scene of a ritual sacrifice unfolded. Believers with daggers scraped flesh from bone. Blood and meat pooled in a massive pit, congealing into a monstrous, tumorous mass.
As those at the front collapsed, more took their place. The fleshy tumor grew ever larger, yet the ritual never ceased. New corpses piled atop old skeletons, layer upon layer, until they formed a colossal burial mound...
With a wave of his hand, Qi Si dismissed the vision. The scarlet receded, sinking back into the depths of his eyes.
As if prompted by some instinct, he took out his History Page and opened it.
A line of messy script was writing itself across the yellowed paper:
[Record 1: Let the dead bury their dead.]
[Skill: Upon your death, you may choose to kill one player.]