Though Zuo Qiu spoke these words with casual ease, An Jing kept sensing a madness beneath his calm tone—one no less intense than the People in the Coffin's.
This Historian's devotion to history mirrored the Rot Chanter's fanatical pilgrimage to [Decay]. Terrifyingly fervent.
But what was he chasing?
With the survival pressure lifted, Zuo Qiu finally let his excitent show. He grew talkative, eager to share. Reading the confusion on the Puppet Master's face, he laughed openly:
"Don't you find history fascinating? Of course, the history of the Land of Hope that ca after the descent of the Gods is even more compelling!
There are stories here utterly unlike anything in reality—countless extraordinary, bizarre, spectacular tales. And the closer you get to the Underworld, the stronger that pull of the unknown, because so few know the history down here. When you uncover a story that only you know, that sense of achievent, that satisfaction—it's more beautiful than anything else in the world."
An Jing was silent for a mont, then nodded thoughtfully.
"You're using these fresh mories as an offering to Him?"
"Fresh?
No, no, no—you've got it wrong, Puppet Master. These stories may be fresh to us, but for my Benefactor [mory], who has already witnessed every history across the Land of Hope, they're probably nothing worth noting.
I'm not a devout [mory] believer. I rely use [mory]. His blessings give
the ability to explore the unknown, and in return I conveniently transcribe the old stories I've morized for Him. That's all.
I do this mostly to please myself. Life needs a little excitent, doesn't it?
Just like you—even as a [Silence] follower, you ca all the way here for one chance to catch a glimpse of Them.
Puppet Master, the [Decay] Pilgrimage Site now lies at our feet. The Septic Final Tomb, the vessel of His Will, floats right above our heads. Look up at that inverted pyramid in the sky. How does it make you feel?"
'Feelings?'
'I may not have any feelings about the Septic Final Tomb. But about you... this lying Historian... I do have a few thoughts.'
Yes—Zuo Qiu had lied.
The Master of Deception Card in An Jing's hand told her that the portion where the Historian described his own faith had been entirely fabricated.
There were many lies in what he'd said, but she'd already guessed where the deception lay!
He'd claid he wasn't a devout [mory] believer. But that was false—he was deeply devout. Even just now, in this conversation by the Blood Lake's edge, he'd been practicing his devotion to [mory].
But this devotion wasn't a simple offering of mories. It was...
Making mories live on!
Just as the Historian himself had said: personal mories might be lonely and secret, but history wasn't—because it was always passed from person to person.
Right now, her silent self had beco yet another chronicler of the Historian Zuo Qiu's story.
She'd witnessed him arrive here, witnessed him share his tales, witnessed his devotion to [mory].
This Historian wasn't sharing his knowledge at all. He was passing the torch of [mory]. He could have kept these secrets hidden, but he'd chosen to speak them—not for her awe or admiration, but to make her rember [mory] for him.
So this was his path?
This 2,300-point Historian was anything but simple.
An Jing frowned in lengthy silence, contemplating how she should walk her own road ahead. But mid-thought, her eyes flew wide in utter disbelief:
"The Septic Final Tomb is... sprouting?!"
"Huh?" Zuo Qiu blinked, then laughed. "So it's not just
hallucinating from excitent. You too—"
But he stopped mid-sentence. Because the flash of erald that had suddenly appeared in their blood-streaked, black-and-white world seed to be...
Not a hallucination!
He froze, then his face contorted with extre exaggeration, his voice climbing several pitches to an ear-piercing shriek:
"How is this possible?!"
How? Nothing was impossible.
Just as the two were still trying to figure out how to approach the churning Blood Lake, the unthinkable happened.
Of course, "unthinkable" wasn't quite right—everything before them was Cheng Shi's handiwork. He'd stolen [Decay]'s faith and offered it to [Prosperity], calling [Prosperity] down into the Underworld. And now, boundless Vitality and [Prosperity] swept forth like a crushing wave, surging straight toward the [Decay] Pilgrimage Site—the Septic Final Tomb!
The two stood rooted in shock, and in that single mont of stunned paralysis, they watched the massive serpents in the distance, fleeing and writhing, transform back into trees—but no longer rotting deadwood. These were towering giants of [Prosperity].
The fog rolled back in retreat. The blood-red wasteland beneath their feet gradually shed its scarlet hue.
Every drop of putrid blood on the vast ruin retracted into the Blood Lake, then rose as countless viscous droplets—a curtain of rain flying upward, returning to the Septic Final Tomb.
In every carved groove of the inverted pyramid, tiny green shoots had sprouted. When the ascending blood droplets washed over these newborn buds, the fresh life instantly withered into [Decay]'s residue, scattering from the sky like ashen snow.
For a breathless stretch, [Decay] and [Prosperity] warred endlessly atop the floating tomb while below, a rain of stillborn life fell.
And when the Septic Final Tomb drained the entire Blood Lake dry in its struggle against [Prosperity]'s invasion, the lake-bottom scenery—never before seen by mortal eyes—was finally revealed to the Historian and the Puppet Master.
With the fog gone and visibility crystal-clear, Zuo Qiu and An Jing quickly made out what lay buried at the bottom of that viscous crimson lake.
One glance was enough to root them to the spot, scalps prickling.
People!
No—more accurately, people on the threshold of death who hadn't yet fully died!
Countless decaying bodies sat like blood-encased chrysalises at the lake's floor, stretching endlessly in every direction—dense, packed, beyond counting.
"They... they're..."
Staring at the nightmarish vista, An Jing felt an electric current of pure soul-shock rip through her body. She finally understood who Xin Xin had warned her to watch out for.
Throughout their journey, they hadn't encountered a single [Decay] pilgrim. They'd had no idea who was actually worshipping at this Pilgrimage Site. But now she understood—perhaps even Zhen Xin hadn't known that [Decay]'s pilgrims had long since rged with the Blood Lake, becoming part of the Septic Final Tomb itself.
So the Historian had been wrong too. These pilgrims who'd sought [Decay]'s favor hadn't crumbled into ash. They'd sunk to the lake's bottom, becoming one among the densely packed chorus of blood-soaked voices!
And the reason they were called a chorus was this: the instant the Blood Lake ran dry, countless wails, howls, shrieks, and lantations erupted from its bed. Tens of thousands of pilgrim voices resonated in unison, forging a dirge of [Decay].
The song was so achingly moving, so pitiable, that Zuo Qiu and An Jing found themselves wanting nothing more than to join in—to contribute their own strength, helping the Septic Final Tomb above resist [Prosperity]'s invasion!
But the urge lasted no more than a second before it shattered.
Because An Jing reacted with blinding speed, silencing their surroundings and instantly yanking both of them from the trance.
By the ti the sound vanished, Zuo Qiu jolted awake, clutching his knees and gasping for air: "Thank the fates you're here... Puppet Master, if not for you, I might've Oathbroken and joined them today..."
An Jing didn't acknowledge Zuo Qiu. Her gaze had drifted to the spot where Zhen had entered the Blood Lake. There, a "living person" whose body was still not entirely coated in blood was clawing his way out of the drained basin.
This supposedly most devout Rot Chanter was desperate—wishing he'd been born with two extra pairs of limbs—anything to escape this place that had nearly claid his life and soul. He roared. He cursed. He thrashed with every limb, scrabbling upward. Yet he couldn't free himself from the great [Decay] chorus's pull.
But just then, among the shower of [Prosperity] ash raining from the sky, a single thread of green that hadn't fully decayed fell before his eyes.
The Rot Chanter made so unknowable decision. He lunged and seized that last scrap of green. In that instant, every trace of blood drained from his body, his flesh healed, and he ran laughing wildly out of the lake bed.
The two watched in silence for a long mont.
"Heh—a [Decay] follower who Oathbreaks at [Decay]'s own Pilgrimage Site. Look at that—now this is the kind of spectacular history I live for!"
With that, Zuo Qiu pulled out his History Book.
An Jing was Noncommittal. She turned to peer into the depths of the rainforest, brows slightly furrowed, apparently wondering what terrifying force had caused all of this—and whether Xin Xin had found the person, and the answer, she'd been waiting for.
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