Chapter 7: Most Stories Begin the Same Way
“Now you can tell me, right?”
“Your plan.”
The two of them walked side by side in the dead of night as Shiltina spoke.
“You’ve probably guessed it already.”
“Although what is about to descend at dusk is undoubtedly an evil god... at this current point in time, what exists in Deep Blue Port is not the complete form of that ancient deity.”
“It’s merely a shred of divinity, a fragmented will.”
“Or perhaps, it’s simply a trace of aura left behind by chance.”
Hearing Rast’s response, a thoughtful glint flashed through Shiltina’s eyes.
That was indeed what she had suspected.
If what currently resided in Deep Blue Port was truly a complete deity, then everything they were doing would be utterly meaningless.
With their current rank and sequence, facing a fully restored ancient god was no different from ants challenging a dragon.
That was a gap that could not be bridged by experience, skill, or countless trial and error.
In the face of such an absolute disparity in status, forget trying tens of thousands of times—
Even if they tried a hundred thousand or a million times, the outcome would never change.
“According to current findings from the exploration of Nightworld’s historical fragments, the traces of gods run through nearly all of human civilization.”
“However, aside from rare periods when the gods walked the earth... in most cases, whether righteous or evil, their influence on the real world is extremely limited.”
Shiltina considered for a moment before speaking.
“Some scholars in the Imperial Capital who study Nightworld history speculate that perhaps these gods exist in a different dimension than our world, or are separated by some kind of insurmountable barrier.”
“Only through specific methods—ritual sacrifices, proselytizing, and mortal faith—can their power briefly descend into the mortal realm.”
“Exactly.”
Rast’s voice was soft. “What happened in Deep Blue Port is much the same.”
“A common fisherman, during a routine outing, accidentally hauled up an ancient sculpture.”
“The sculpture was quite strange—it could fulfill many of its owner’s wishes. Not only could it heal illness, it brought luck, even longevity and eternal youth... almost omnipotent.”
“Relying on the sculpture’s divine nature, the fisherman quickly transformed his life, even helping many other commoners tormented by disease. Naturally, those he helped were grateful and willingly became his followers.”
“Compared to the sculpture’s miraculous effects, the price it required seemed negligible.”
“As for what happened afterward, I probably don’t need to say.”
Shiltina nodded.
Such a story was not unfamiliar to her—she had heard it many times, both in the real world and in the Nightworld.
The origins of hidden cults and heretical groups were usually the same—
Some lucky soul stumbled upon an object tainted with divine aura... and was gradually seduced and corrupted.
Until, eventually, they fell into the abyss and opened the gates of hell, bringing about the descent of an evil god.
“If that sculpture had come from a righteous god, then that fisherman might have become a founder or saint of a future church, remembered by history as a divinely inspired prophet,” Shiltina murmured.
Most stories begin the same way, but in the end, they follow completely different paths.
“Actually, even now, many members of that cult still believe they’re using the sculpture’s power to save this decaying city, this rotten nation... and that the price the sculpture demands is nothing more than necessary sacrifice in the process of changing the world.”
“Unfortunately, there’s no ‘what if’ in this world.”
Rast’s tone was calm and devoid of emotion.
“We’re here.”
He halted his steps and looked up slightly at the blurred silhouette of a building beneath the night sky.
“This is one of the underground cult’s strongholds I mentioned.”
“And at the same time, it’s also where that sculpture—tainted with the evil god’s aura—is currently located.”
…
Number 17, Luoning Street, was a large estate with its own courtyard, set a fair distance apart from surrounding buildings.
No sooner had Rast and Shiltina approached the estate than two black-robed figures—dressed similarly to them—watched them warily from the entrance.
“Pass...”
“The red oak tree in Central Park.”
Before the guard at the gate could finish saying the word “passcode,” Rast immediately spoke up.
As he spoke, he walked briskly toward the two men, his hoarse voice tinged with urgency.
“Lorry, Davi, our base on East Street has been spotted by the Inspection Bureau. I need to report to the leader immediately.”
Upon hearing the correct passphrase and their names mentioned directly, the guards’ vigilance visibly relaxed.
But just as Rast stepped up to them—
One of the men’s expression turned serious again and raised a hand to block him. “No, the leader said he’s not seeing anyone to—”
Squelch—
The sound of a dagger piercing flesh.
“You—”
Squelch—
Before the other man could react, the second blade had already struck.
Both corpses fell silently, but Rast caught them mid-fall.
“Give me a hand.”
After saying that, Rast lifted one of the corpses and carried it into the estate, hiding it in a secluded corner.
Shiltina didn’t ask anything—she simply grabbed the other body and followed behind him.
The outer courtyard of the estate was pitch-black and eerily silent.
However, the main building was brightly lit, and through the windows, vague human silhouettes could be seen moving about.
“From now on, you’re Lorry, and I’m Davi.”
Rast finished stashing the corpse and looked toward the illuminated mansion.
“The lighting in there is bright—it’s easy to be recognized. And you can’t mimic voices, so you can’t bluff your way through like in the dark.”
“So stay out here in the courtyard. Wait until the drugs I placed in the ventilation system and food take effect, then come in.”
Shiltina glanced at Rast, who was weighing two packets of powder in his hand. “How long will that take?”
“Three to four hours. The cultists inside are all young and strong, and many have undergone flesh corruption due to exposure to the sculpture’s aura. They have some drug resistance.”
“Deep Blue Port’s law and order has always been decent—at least on the surface. Even in the black market, you can’t find sedatives that are too strong. And now that it’s the middle of the night, I can’t exactly make new ones on the spot.”
Rast shrugged.
This cycle was originally something he planned to play like a host simulator—meeting Shiltina at work in the hotel, and then deciding on a whim to clear Deep Blue Port this time around had all been coincidences.
These two packets of powder were already the strongest tranquilizers he could find in such a short time.
“Actually, it doesn’t have to be this troublesome...” Shiltina pondered.
“There’s a more effortless way.”