355 The Real Spring Water
In the midst of the eerie silence, Lumian sensed an unusual heat in his right palm, as though it were ablaze.
Aside from this, nothing appeared out of the ordinary for now.
Given the circumstances, Lumian couldn’t afford a detailed examination. Ignoring the cold creeping through his body and his “calmed” thoughts, he retreated to assess the situation at the Samaritan Women’s Spring.
Indistinct figures and the long, weed-like black hair submerged in the water were drawn into a lightless abyss, swaying relentlessly, as though a fierce battle raged within.
The white-robed, corpse-like figure that had lingered nearby had vanished into thin air, leading Lumian to suspect that his encounter with the suspected high-level Demoness on the fourth floor was linked to a similar change in the Samaritan Women’s Spring.
This sight sparked a daring idea in Lumian’s mind.
Seeing the terrifying figure pulled back to the fountain by a strange power, one in fierce resistance and the other trying to suppress it, it seemed unlikely a victor would emerge quickly. Lumian decided to stay vigilant, pause his escape, and explore the possibility of setting a trap while collecting some of the pale-white spring water once it surged again.
The “water ghosts” were nowhere to be seen at the spring’s bottom, nor were there any blurry figures lingering nearby. It appeared to be a safe moment.
In the next instant, Lumian noticed Hela producing a golden bottle adorned with intricate, mystical symbols, reminiscent of the symbols he had seen at the basement door of the Highland Mystic Potion shop.
Hela didn’t wait for the pale-white spring water to rise again. She squatted down and pressed the bottle’s opening to the damp soil at the spring’s edge.
The soil was dark-colored, and the closer they got to the pitch-black hole, the more it seemed to contain countless colors. The soil was more ordinary the farther it was from it. It was no different from the slope itself in areas where hadn’t been submerged by the spring water.
The soil, dark and filled with countless colors near the pitch-black hole, dried up as the pale-white spring water receded into the abyss. However, the periphery remained slightly moist, producing droplets that were more tangible than the pale-white spring water and resembled the color of a nocturnal lake.
Seeing that Hela’s target was the liquid, Lumian asked in confusion, “Aren’t you going to wait for the Samaritan Women’s Spring to resurface?”
Hela shook her head.
“This is the true Samaritan Women’s Spring Water. The pale-white water is too dangerous to touch right now. Contact with it means instant death, wandering forever near the spring or its source. Our containers are no exception.”
That terrifying? Could it be that the Samaritan Women’s Spring is a byproduct of the pale-white water and not its true form? Lumian took out a metal canister he had prepared in advance and held it to the droplets seeping from the soil at the spring’s edge.
With just one drop, the canister showed signs of rust and decay from prolonged submersion.
Without a word, Hela produced a golden canister engraved with intricate symbols and tossed it to Lumian.
Only then did Lumian manage to collect the Samaritan Women’s Spring. His attention remained focused on the dark spring.
As long as the earth-shaking tremors ceased, he planned to make a hasty retreat with the Samaritan Women’s Spring water he had collected.
Lumian watched the sluggish progress, concerned that the pale-white spring water might surge again.
Hence, he silently cursed to relieve his pent-up emotions.
Drip, drip. He had only filled a third of the bottle when Hela decided to stop and seal the golden canister.
I mustn’t be greedy… Lumian warned himself, putting an end to the collection of Samaritan Women’s Spring with Hela.
Together, they sprinted toward the summit of the slope.
Before long, the sound of water echoed from behind them.
Once more, the pale-white spring gushed forth from the pitch-black hole!
Without looking back to assess the situation, they continued their sprint through the grayish-white fog, as if a relentless, intangible monster pursued them.
In a matter of seconds, they finally reached the fog’s edge. Lumian grabbed Hela’s arm and propelled himself forward.
Exiting the shroud of grayish-white fog, Lumian finally breathed a sigh of relief. The coldness in his body abated, and his thoughts settled significantly.
…
Psychic Piercing!
Jenna emerged from the shadows, her eyes crackling with lightning.
The man in the Warlock robe heard a surreal crack and felt an intense surge of pain radiate from the depths of his Spirit Body, gripping his mind.
Instinctively, he crumpled to the ground, curling up in an attempt to alleviate the agony.
Franca wasted no time and seized the moment. She pointed the mirror she held at him.
As the Warlock-clad entrustee appeared in the mirror, black flames ignited in Franca’s palm and spread across the glass.
Demoness’s Curse!
Black flames erupted from the man’s body, weakening his struggling spirit.
Soon after, crystalline ice encased him layer by layer, and colorless spider silk cocooned him, revealing his form.
Franca’s intention was to restrain him, not kill him. After all, nobody knew if he was involved in any corruption or high-level matters, and reckless spirit channeling could lead to accidents.
Seeing the man weakened and heavily restrained, Franca whispered in surprise,
“That’s it?”
In the next moment, the man struggled to speak under the threefold control of black flames, ice, and spider silk, his voice faint but determined. “You’re committing a crime!”
As soon as he finished speaking, a violent tremor emanated from deep underground. A rock from the tunnel’s ceiling plummeted toward Jenna’s head.
Jenna swiftly rolled to dodge, but she still felt the impact of falling debris.
Franca faced a similar predicament. She sensed that if this continued, the entire tunnel might collapse. Even with Mirror Substitution, she couldn’t guarantee her safety in this segment of the tunnel.
Without hesitation, she clenched her right hand, reigniting the remaining black flames within the entrustee’s body.
Black flames engulfed his Spirit Body, and the Warlock-dressed man quickly met his end.
The tunnel’s tremors ceased, leaving nothing but dust hanging in the air.
Franca breathed a sigh of relief and wasted no time. She swiftly set up a spirit channeling ritual, while Jenna kept a vigilant eye out for any passersby while kneading her shoulders and back.
After a while, Franca completed the Magic Mirror Spirit Channeling Spell. Holding the mirror, she gazed at the pale-white face with a hint of arrogance and inquired, “How much do you know about the secrets of the Deep Valley Quarry?”
The man’s spirit responded in a daze, “Some seek to use machinery to prolong their lives, while others seek machinery to acquire life.
“A portion of the Deep Valley Cloister is sliding into the abyss.”
Can’t you be more specific? Franca pressed, “Which organization are you from? Why are you exploiting the gatekeeper’s disappearance?”
Just as the man was about to respond, an ever-changing fog suddenly enveloped the mirror.
Crack!
The mirror in Franca’s hand shattered instantly.
Bang!
The man’s body, encased in ice and spider silk, exploded. His flesh disintegrated into mist that filled the surroundings.
Almost simultaneously, Franca shattered like a mirror, breaking into fragments that fell to the ground.
Her figure quickly outlined at the tunnel’s intersection and appeared beside Jenna.
“As expected, something was amiss,” Franca said solemnly, watching as the indeterminate blood mist gradually settled and melded with the ground.
By that point, the corpse had transformed into a pile of minced meat, with only the metal items on it remaining intact.
Franca and Jenna conducted a simple search and found a brass key and coins worth 200 to 300 verl d’or.
They didn’t dare linger. After erasing any traces of their presence, they made their exit.
Approximately two to three minutes later, a pair of legs clad in knee-length brown boots materialized beside the puddle of flesh and blood, clutching a shrunken, golden kettle with a protruding wick.
…
The scorching sunlight bathed the entrance to the catacombs of Place du Purgatoire, and Lumian felt as though he had returned from the kingdom of the dead to the world of the living. The chill that had permeated his body gradually dissipated.
Turning to Hela, whose pale-white complexion, purplish-red livor mortis, and signs of decay had yet to fully heal, he smiled and remarked, “Even though it wasn’t a real battle, it’s the closest I’ve come to death.”
Hela replied simply, “Those who can retain a mark in the pale-white spring water for a long time were once formidable individuals.”
As Lumian strolled to the edge of the square, he casually inquired, “What’s the purpose of the Samaritan Women’s Spring? You can’t actually use it to forget the past and pain, can you?”
Hela shook her head.
“For me, it can serve as a replacement for a certain ritual, or rather, become the central element of another ritual.”
Lumian didn’t fully grasp the concept, so he didn’t press for more details.
Soon, however, he noticed that the residual chill in his body and thoughts hadn’t completely vanished just because he had left the catacombs.
While it had mostly dissipated, it seemed to linger within him, resurfacing gradually as night fell.
“The abnormality in our bodies is still present,” Lumian reminded Hela with a solemn tone.
Hela nodded.
“I have a solution. The one who tasked you with obtaining the spring water should have a solution as well.”
Lumian acknowledged her words briefly and bid farewell to Hela, making his way toward the public carriage stop.
Compared to the abnormality of gradually dying, he was more concerned about the Earth Blood ore that had corroded his palm, as well as the bizarre “rust.”