Chapter 105: The Parish Priest

The thick white mist was dense, obscuring most of the light and keeping the entire dream ruins in a perpetual twilight gloom.

Lumian stood up, gazing at the blood-red “mountain peak” while moving his limbs to assess his condition.

Compared to the “Hunter,” the “Provocateur” offered slight improvements in strength, reaction, speed, and agility—but not much.

Lumian felt the changes centered on three aspects:

First, his body had become more solid, and his recovery ability seemed significantly enhanced;

second, his spirituality had increased somewhat—for example, he could now maintain possession for four minutes instead of three;

third, he had gained the extraordinary ability called “Provocation.”

It could produce permanent state changes, but required active activation to trigger its desired effect.

The former referred to a qualitative leap in Lumian’s insight, far surpassing ordinary people—he could effectively detect which languages, behaviors, or topics made a target especially sensitive, and where they were more easily provoked.

Once actively used, “Provocation” would combine with insults and humiliating actions, causing communicable targets to lose their reason.

The more targeted the insults and humiliations, the stronger the effect of “Provocation”—but even a simple “shit” could provoke anger to some degree.

For non-communicable creatures, “Provocation” would make Lumian radiate a feeling they despised.

This ability paired well with the “Hunter’s” favored traps and ambushes, but for Lumian now, its practical value was far less than he’d hoped.

He had no time for more hunting—he only wanted to explore further the “wall” region surrounding the blood-red “mountain peak” and uncover the secrets of the dream ruins.

In comparison, the increase in spirituality and bodily solidity brought him greater joy—at least now he could venture deeper into the dim zone that induced sleep.

Leveraging the enhancements from the “potion,” Lumian pressed his thumbs against both temples.

This time, he activated “Spirit Sight” with perfect ease.

He finally had a simple, reliable gesture to toggle “Spirit Sight.”

Without delay, after steadying his mental state, Lumian changed clothes, took the “Fallen Mercury,” the iron-black axe, and the cloth sack of cheese biscuits, slung his rifle, and exited the half-buried two-story building, stepping into the faint gray mist that permeated the area, crossing the wasteland and entering the ruins.

He followed a familiar route, avoiding regions where monsters might lurk, advancing step by step.

After reaching the place where he’d encountered the three-faced monster, Lumian began to dance, partially activating the black thorn symbol.

With this “talisman,” he navigated increasingly dangerous terrain, scaring off several terrifying creatures.

Finally, he arrived before the thorn-like “wall” formed from fused houses.

After a few seconds of thought, Lumian chose his direction.

He intended to enter the area shrouded in darkness, where stepping in made one want to fall asleep.

His intuition told him that behind the wall of twisted trees, something of considerable importance likely lay—but the place that felt like nightfall was more likely to hold the secret of the dream ruins.

After all, “night,” “sleep,” and “dream” were words often linked together.

After a while, having danced the ritual dance again, Lumian reached the spot noticeably darker than its surroundings.

He exhaled slowly, then stepped firmly inside.

Instantly, Lumian felt as if he’d moved from a misty daytime into a cloudy evening—many things around him reduced to mere silhouettes.

Holding the “Fallen Mercury,” he walked while yawning.

“Don’t sleep, don’t sleep!” Lumian forced himself to keep going.

Along the way, he observed the chaotic rooms scattered along the “wall,” but found nothing concealing the secret of the dream ruins.

As for coins and other valuables, he no longer cared.

After walking dozens of meters deeper into this place, Lumian’s eyes could remain open only through sheer willpower—intense drowsiness filled his mind.

He considered, then decided to retreat, first explore the area behind the wooden wall, then re-enter this sleep-inducing zone from another direction.

That might help him reach places currently inaccessible.

Lumian turned around and took a few steps back, but the drowsiness didn’t fade—it grew worse with every passing moment.

Finally, he couldn’t hold on—he closed his eyes and slowly collapsed.

His vision plunged into darkness again.

…………

Lumian’s abdomen suddenly exploded in pain, forcing him to curl up and open his eyes.

The first things he saw were the gilded murals, the arched ceiling, then the face of the parish priest—serious, nose slightly hooked—and Pons Béne’s right fist, retracted with a grotesque smile.

I’ve been brought to the church? Lumian was unfazed by the scene above—he instinctively scanned his surroundings.

He saw Pierre Cléger, Raymond’s father; Guillaume Lizié, Ava’s father; Louis Bédic, the neighbor; nearly every villager.

He saw the altar had been utterly transformed—no longer adorned with sunflowers, but now filled with lilacs, tulips, and other symbols of the Hidden One.

The solar emblem behind the altar was gone; replaced by a grotesque, twisting thorn circle, as if black liquid flowed within it.

Seeing this familiar symbol, Lumian felt dizzy, his chest slightly warm.

He knew this was the sign of minor internal corruption stimulation—without yet manifesting the black-green symbol.

Had the parish priest turned the church into the Hidden One’s altar? Saint Sis must be so wronged… Lumian suspected Valentine would go berserk if he saw this.

Straining against his bonds, he scanned further and saw the stained-glass windows and murals depicting the greatness of the Eternal Sun and Saint Sis’s preaching remained untouched.

The renovations must have been rushed… Lumian now roughly understood the church’s condition.

At this moment, the villagers were utterly silent—as still as wax statues.

The parish priest observed Lumian’s reaction for a moment, then turned to Pons Béne:

“How could you let him stay asleep?”

“As soon as you brought him back to the church, you should’ve woken him up—by any means necessary!”

“I understand,” Pons Béne replied, gazing at the parish priest with abject humility—as if this man were his master, his god.

Lumian, leaning back against a pillar, looked up at Guillaume Béne and asked:

“Where’s Aurora?”

The parish priest smiled:

“You’ll find out in a moment.”

“What about the three outsiders?” Lumian’s mind raced, searching for escape strategies, while keeping the conversation going.

Guillaume Béne glanced outside the stained glass, his expression relaxed:

“They escaped—they’re probably at the nearest highland pasture by now.”

“But don’t expect them to rescue you and Aurora tonight. From what I know of officialdom, they always delay, observe, and wait until they’re certain before acting. Sometimes, they’d rather do nothing than risk doing something wrong. That’s how they wasted my life for over a decade.”

Lumian had to admit the parish priest had some truth—but Ryan and the others weren’t waiting for that reason.

He knew that without understanding why the cultists had taken him and Aurora, Ryan and the others wouldn’t take drastic action—such as triggering the cycle by leaving Kerdou Village. They were still waiting for the Twelfth Night, hoping to discover what was causing this problem, to lay a solid foundation for escaping later.

Seeing Lumian fall silent, the parish priest’s smile widened.

He announced in a tone of finality:

“I plan to complete the ritual tonight.”

What? Lumian was bewildered.

Guillaume Béne, in good spirits, explained patiently:

“I’m moving the April 9 ritual to tonight. Those three outsiders won’t have a chance to interfere.”

What? The Twelfth Night can be moved ahead? Lumian was stunned, shocked, and inexplicably terrified—he couldn’t speak.

At that moment, the parish priest Guillaume Béne turned to Pons Béne:

“Before you bring him to the altar, keep him awake. Don’t let him sleep. Use any method—just don’t kill him.”

Pons Béne asked eagerly:

“What if I kill him?”

“We’ll all die!” the parish priest glared at his brainless brother.

Bring me to the altar, restart the ritual? Will my black-green symbol activate again? Listening to the Béne brothers’ conversation, Lumian felt slightly calmer.

The parish priest turned his gaze back to Lumian, leaned down, and said:

“Don’t worry—you’re not the vessel. We have a better choice.”

A better choice? Lumian’s heart jolted. Following the parish priest’s gaze, he looked toward the former altar.

Aurora had appeared there—wearing a simple white robe, her golden hair unadorned and hanging loose, her pale blue eyes vacant and empty.

“Aurora!” Lumian cried out.

Aurora remained statue-like, unresponsive.

The parish priest nodded with a smile:

“Yes. Your sister is the better vessel.”

“Your role in the ritual is to help us move the date forward—no need to wait for that specific moment, no need to wait for the constellation’s shift.”

Lumian felt both fear and confusion:

Why can I help you move the Twelfth Night ritual ahead?

The parish priest leaned down again, meeting his eyes, smiling expectantly:

“Because most of the blessings we seek reside within you.”

What? How does he know? Lumian’s pupils dilated instantly—he tried to see Guillaume Béne’s face more clearly.

The parish priest Guillaume Béne leaned closer, whispering into Lumian’s ear:

“You didn’t think only you and Pualis retained memories within the cycle, did you?”

ps: Requesting monthly votes~

(End of Chapter)