Thud, thud, thud.
A sudden knock at the door interrupted the sullen man’s montary puzzlent upon seeing the cotton ball. He imdiately shifted his gaze and turned his head toward the direction of the knocking.
After a brief sensing of the aura at the doorway, he walked to the door and unlocked the padlock.
A man, clothed in a dark-hooded robe with half of his face hidden in the shadow of the hood, stood at the door, sowhat displeased with the slow response, "Why did it take so long to open the door?"
"I am not your servant, Dumon," the man inside the room furrowed his brows, evidently in a foul mood, "Don’t take The Saint’s fleeting favor too seriously."
"Think what you will, Richard, I’m just giving you a heads-up," remarked Dumon, the Heretic, with indifference, "Don’t let fear linger too long in your heart. You’ve been acting off since retreating from The Dream of the Naless two days ago. Your excessive caution, fear, and hesitation have drawn The Saint’s attention. He hasn’t shown discontent, but if you continue like this, it will harm our mission..."
Before Dumon could finish, the Heretic known as Richard stepped forward abruptly, nearly pressing his sinister face against the other’s hood, "You could well try it yourself, instead of remaining in the safe real world and spouting such cool remarks!"
"I will go," said Dumon calmly, not minding the provocation and hostility from the other, just stepping back half a step, "Tonight, as the next batch of Chosen, I will enter The Dream of the Naless with you all."
Richard finally eased his hostile deanor, looking at the other in surprise, "The Saint has decided to dispatch the next group already? Has the plan been moved up?"
"What else? The situation you reported has been taken seriously. The Saint now knows that a dangerous force that opposes us has appeared in The Dream of the Naless, and that another power is making its move—Our ’allies’ have also sent word; they seem to have clashed with the opposition long ago," Dumon spread his hands and shook his head, "Put aside your grievances and suspicions. I know you faced difficulties in our last venture, but you are among brethren, and The Saint blesses us."
"...The Saint blesses us," Richard finally exhaled softly, his countenance fully relaxing, "I was a bit agitated just now."
"That’s understandable. After all, you were injured in the mission before last, and you encountered danger in the last one. Such traumas can take a significant toll on the mind," Dumon said, glancing up at sothing behind Richard—where a faint dust floated in the air and an ethereal, transparent black chain hung mid-air, with its end, a ’death herald bird,’ looking rather listless on a nearby cabinet, obviously not in a good state, "So, are you certain you don’t need a couple more days of rest? With your current condition, no one would object if you missed one venture."
"No need," Richard imdiately shook his head, his gaze becoming wary again, "My devotion to The Saint is my strongest power. I will adjust my state before the night falls."
"...If you’re that determined, then I will relay it to The Saint," Dumon nodded, "Besides, since you don’t plan to miss out on tonight’s venture, get ready. Head to the eting hall before nightfall, The Saint will announce so things."
Richard eyed the man outside the door and after a mont, nodded, "Alright."
Dumon said nothing more, just took another half step back, silently watching as the door before him closed. Then, that ever-calm and composed face finally showed a faint smile, and he turned to walk toward the depths of the Brilliant Starship’s corridors.
Another Heretic, shorter and stockier in a hood, erged from the shadows of the corridor and walked alongside Dumon.
After so distance, the Heretic called Dumon suddenly broke the silence, "Richard’s condition doesn’t bode well. His Symbiotic Demon is weakening, his mind is losing balance, and soon the symbiotic pact will drag him to death—the clutches of fate are closing in on him."
"This is the fate he chose for himself. The Abyss shall rember his sacrifice," the other cultist murmured softly, "We will return to that place of origin, it’s just a matter of sooner or later... but I am really curious, why is his ntal imbalance so severe? Others who have entered The Dream of the Naless have also encountered various failures, even so who were gravely ’Corroded’ and left the Dreamscape in a near-death state, but their ntal condition wasn’t as bad..."
Dumon stopped in his tracks, looked back at the closed door in the distance.
After a mont, he averted his gaze, shaking his head, "Not all trauma is created equal."
He turned back around, continued walking forward, and went on at an unhurried pace, "Facing Corrosion in the Dreamscape, fighting to near death—one cos back to recuperate with honor. But being beaten half to death by an underage girl with a dog in the Dreamscape, falling off the bed screaming—and all this in the eting hall, with The Saint ’retrieving’ the mory at the scene—it takes more than just rest to recover."
After this exchange, both Heretics lapsed into a mutual silence, continuing their slow march forward. It wasn’t until so ti later that the shorter, stockier cultist muttered thoughtfully, "That’s truly fearful..."
"Yes, truly fearful."
In the cabin, Richard sat grimly on the bed, listening as the sounds in the corridor faded with distance, his expression growing increasingly fierce with each passing second.
His Symbiotic Demon, the death herald bird, lay listlessly on the nearby short cabinet, a faint mist emanating from the demonic bird, almost materially floating mid-air and diffusing outward, enhancing its "master’s" sensory capabilities.
But after a mont, he still resisted the urge to continue releasing his perceptive powers and, driven by rationality, retracted the power of the death on back into himself.
He had to quickly restore his own condition and that of the Symbiotic Demon. He needed to prove himself in the forthcoming actions—the end of the cycle was approaching, and the world’s twilight would soon descend. It was crucial in that "Dreamscape" whether the deep following of devotees could gain a foothold after the deep-sea era, in the unknown age to co.
Proving himself in that "Dreamscape" would be the best shortcut to eternal glory.
He took a long breath and inadvertently touched sothing soft on the bed with his hand.
It was still that ball of cotton.
Richard picked up the object with so puzzlent, raising his head and glancing around the not-so-spacious cabin, as if looking for the source of this mysterious cotton.
Had it co from the bedding?
He looked around the room and failed to find the source of the cotton. Finally, he ca to the window and scratched his head in confusion.
Why should he care so much about a ball of cotton?
The heretical follower briefly wondered, then shrugged—after all, it was just a ball of cotton, not worth such attention.
He undid his shirt in front and touched his skin, found a zipper, casually pulled it open, and stuffed the ball of cotton into the writhing flesh.
A soft giggle suddenly ca from a corner of the room, as if a five- or six-year-old girl was hiding inside the wardrobe, watching the clumsy adult and laughing in a gentle mockery.
The death on on the bureau seed to sense sothing, but it rely raised its head suspiciously in the direction of the sound before lowering it again.
...
"Rabi has found one of the heretics’ strongholds?"
Inside the captain’s quarters of the Brilliant Starship, Lucresia sat before a vanity desk. A greenish fla flickered around the edges of the mirror before her, while candles burnt quietly in front of it. Her father’s voice erged from within the mirror.
"Yes," Lucresia nodded at the mirror, "The stronghold is on a ship, and from the looks of it, they’re not ’hidden’ on the ship but fully in control of it. And there’s a significant number of heretics gathered... It must be an important base."
"...That rabbit has done a great service," Duncan in the mirror nodded solemnly, a hint of emotion in his tone, "These heretics are elusive, never acting ostentatiously within the City-State, making them very difficult to capture. I didn’t expect we would find a gathering point this ti... Hiding on a ship, that does indeed exceed our expectations."
"The ship is large, and it seems to be equipped for various dark and bloody rituals. Rabi caught a strong scent of blood; a residue of multiple sacrifices—such a ship could not dock at the City-State as ordinary ones do, as the remnants of dark rituals can’t escape the Church’s notice. Therefore, there must be a supply port backing it..."
Listening to Lucresia’s analysis, Duncan reflected in the mirror began to ponder; after a while, he suddenly asked, "Is Rabi still hiding on the ship? Will it be discovered?"
"It is very good at concealing itself unless it actively confronts so high-ranking followers on the ship, like that ’The Saint’ face-to-face. Normally, it won’t be exposed," Lucresia said, "It is a shadow from Spirit Realm and can hide in the emotions and perceptions of people. On that ship, the environnt itself, full of negative energies, provides the best cover."
"Good," Duncan nodded, "Then let Rabi continue to stay hidden; do not contact ’The Saint.’ Gather as much intelligence as possible."
His original plan was to have Rabi construct a mirror ritual to allow himself to "descend" in person as soon as it found the heretics’ hiding place, then quickly transfer his followers over before the heretics were killed, and beat up those heretics before their Symbiotic Demons could commit suicide, capturing as many as possible in their unconscious state.
The whole plan was succinct and efficient and had received high praise from Fenna.
But now... it appeared that the "big fish" Rabi had found was much bigger than anyone had anticipated, so naturally, the matter couldn’t be resolved so simply and crudely.
As an angler, he would have to let out a bit more line.
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