Chapter 473 Weakening of Corruption
“You’ve recovered,” Jenna whispered to Lumian.
She refrained from speaking loudly, fearing that it might agitate her companion and trigger the same mutation again. Plus, there was the concern of attracting the ominous giant’s attention, shrouded in smoke and rain that made it elusive.
Lumian locked eyes with Jenna and realized from the reflection that he was back to normal.
Subconsciously, he responded, “This means the Hostel ritual, conducted by the heretics using me as a template, has ended…”
Suddenly alert, Lumian scanned the area.
With the Hostel ritual concluded, he anticipated the arrival of the evil gods’ bestowed from the other twelve rooms.
His gaze focused on an unusual area adorned with pale-black stone bricks, dominating the scenery.
It sprawled out, filling Lumian’s field of view, except for where it stopped short of the distant grand city and the colossal figure amidst the turbulent weather.
Stretching across his vision, grayish-white stone pillars loomed every 20 to 30 meters, some standing tall and others succumbing to collapse. These pillars, broad enough to span the reach of three to four people, obstructed Lumian’s and Jenna’s view beyond.
The sky above, supported by these stone sentinels, took on an odd translucency, as though an unseen fire silently raged, invisible to the naked eye.
The resulting glow cast an eerie brightness, akin to dusk on a war-torn battlefield. Lumian, lacking Dark Vision, could perceive his surroundings clearly without conjuring a crimson fireball.
He didn’t notice Madame Pualis and the other bestowed of evil gods.
“Did the residents of the Hostel not enter, or are they scattered in various places, arriving at random locations?” he mused aloud.
Unfazed, he redirected his focus, hoping Jenna possessed the pertinent information.
Though Jenna grappled with the concept of “random,” she grasped Lumian’s intent.
Without delving deeper into that mystery, she pivoted to the more pressing concern.
“What should we do now?”
At the same time, Jenna made a connection.
The Hostel was created using Ciel as a template… Based on the mystical knowledge involved in a Demoness’s curse, could Ciel harbor an evil god’s bestowed within him? Uh… He seemed to have mentioned before that he had Mr. Fool’s seal on him, and the one sealed is an evil god’s bestowed? The transformation was actually similar to the effects of a curse, but due to the seal, there were no serious consequences?
What do we do? Lumian assessed the chaotic scene before him: a colossal, blurry giant amid smoke, rain, lightning, and flames. He chuckled,
“Our move now is to put some distance between us and that giant.”
“We’ll head in the opposite direction of the city, find a secure hiding spot, and observe the unfolding events. Our goal is to locate an exit swiftly.”
Despite feeling an unusual pull towards the giant and the city, Lumian managed to resist. He was no longer under the intense attraction that had gripped him before—now that he lacked an angelic level. Rationality prevailed as he carefully considered the risks and benefits.
The giant, undoubtedly godlike in nature, seemed to be in a state of madness. Lumian, a Sequence 6 Conspirer, couldn’t afford to approach it casually. Just a glance could make him lose control!
The city, possibly Fourth Epoch Trier, held its own dangers—one that caused even demigods to perish within—with potential undead creatures and corruption like the old bones. Lumian had The Fool’s seal and the aura of Blood Emperor Alista Tudor, but he couldn’t feel as relaxed, carefree, or fearless as returning to Cordu before the corruption.
If he had entered the Fourth Epoch’s Trier with such intentions, he might have turned into an irrational, perpetually lingering monster sealed with an angel in the blink of an eye.
With that, Lumian turned and sprinted in the opposite direction of the giant’s figure in the ever-changing weather, away from the magnificent city.
He needed to put some distance between himself and the looming threat. Nobody could predict if the massive creature would make any noise!
The unrestrained voices of high-level Beyonders posed a grave danger to Mid-Sequence Beyonders.
Jenna put her trust in the seasoned Ciel and followed him with grace. They maneuvered past the grayish-white stone pillars, some standing tall while others lay in ruins, pushing further into the area paved with light-black stone bricks.
As Lumian sprinted, a slight frown creased his forehead.
He could feel a significant drain on his spirituality after the intense battle in the painting world and multiple Spirit World Traversals. If another mishap occurred, he questioned how long he could endure.
I need to find a way to replenish my spirituality… In reality, it’s midnight. Should I lay low until 6 a.m.? Lumian contemplated as he dashed forward.
…
In the fake market district on the surface, torrential rain cascaded upon Séraphine and the other “rooms.”
They stood on the street across from Salle de Bal Brise, their chests radiating with various hues.
One by one, figures materialized, piercing through the void and descending into the profound darkness. They entered the iron-black door tainted with blood and rust within the depths of the shadows.
Séraphine gazed at the surreal scene, her vacant eyes and rigid expression suddenly overtaken by sorrow. Rainwater drenched her long brown hair.
Beside her, Gabriel’s face beamed with joy as he spoke in an otherworldly tone, “Is it over? Can we be together forever?”
Séraphine’s rain-soaked face twisted. She instructed Gabriel, “Leave this place and stay away from me!”
“Why?” Gabriel questioned, perplexed.
Séraphine’s role as a Hostel Room had been fulfilled. There shouldn’t be anything else, right?
The monster could resume its normal life.
Séraphine uttered in pain, “With the tenants gone, the Hostel’s rooms no longer hold any value…”
Before she could finish, a pair of transparent dragonfly-like wings sprouted from her back, etched with open, cold eyes.
Silently, Séraphine’s form disintegrated. The wet lake-blue dress lost its support and plummeted to the ground. Adorned with writhing flesh and blood, each piece bore dragonfly-like, dreamy wings and eye-like patterns.
Séraphine’s head remained relatively intact. Surrounded by blood dragonflies, a few wheat ears and mushrooms sprouted from her face. Raindrops struck her face and slid.
She opened her mouth, as if leading to another world, and her voice turned shrill.
“We’re not bestowed, but the work of pixies!
“Go!”
Gabriel stared vacantly at Séraphine, a composition of blood dragonflies and a head. An indescribable sorrow etched across his empty, cold face.
In the midst of the pouring rain and sunlight, he instinctively took a few steps in the opposite direction before halting.
The playwright turned, retracing his steps toward Séraphine.
A gentle smile curled on the corners of his mouth.
“I’d forgotten. I’m already a monster. Where can I go?
“I’m grateful you let me run on my own in the end.”
As Gabriel spoke, he bent down, allowing his knees to touch the ground and the puddles.
His arms enveloped the countless blood dragonflies and Séraphine’s struggling head, and he planted a deep kiss on the lips adorned with wheat ears and mushrooms.
Thud! Thud! Thud! The blood dragonflies sliced through his flesh with their wings, burrowing into his body, draining his life force.
He persisted in the kiss.
Raindrops pelted them.
Before long, translucent and dreamy wings emerged from Gabriel’s back, stained with blood.
Amidst the spine-chilling gnawing sounds, Gabriel’s body collapsed and melted, likewise for Séraphine’s head.
In the midst of the ensuing blood, strange-shaped dragonflies with translucent wings, resembling meatballs, soared into the air, resembling bright fireworks in a storm.
Suddenly, blazing sunlight descended, engulfing the area and the abnormal bodies.
Not far away, Angoulême, Valentine, and Imre spread their arms in unison.
Upon returning to église Saint-Robert, they remained unaffected by the ritual, no longer within the world of the painting. They stayed grounded, and once the situation stabilized, they made their way to Salle de Bal Brise.
…
Quartier éraste, Sacred Heart Cloister.
Storms and lightning veiled the golden sun, but for now, they couldn’t thwart the sunlight from piercing through.
This caused the entrance to Salle de Bal Brise to blur and tremble, yet it persisted. The painting world that had swapped with the surface gradually became ethereal, drawing nearer to returning to the rock wall.
After Magician and Justice escaped the onslaught of sunlight, they realized they had lost Lady Moon’s trail.
The former’s eyes sparkled with resplendent stars.
Soon, she “saw” Lady Moon’s silhouette.
The evil god’s Blessed didn’t conceal herself as she forcefully entered the unstable darkness and the mysterious, illusory iron-colored door.
With a flash of starlight, the Major Arcana card holders, Magician and Justice, arrived outside Salle de Bal Brise.
The two hesitated, uncertain whether to pursue her.
At that moment, Justice softly exclaimed, “I feel that the underground’s allure and beckoning towards me have weakened…”
Their hesitance stemmed from the fact that delving deep underground into Fourth Epoch Trier would subject them to immense and abnormally terrifying corruption for demigods.
The heretics didn’t mind. Essentially, they had gone mad. At most, their madness would be more intricate and thorough, but they had no choice but to consider this issue.
“The corruption has weakened?” Magician was surprised.
As far as she knew, only two individuals could cause this phenomenon:
One was Mr. Fool or The Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings. By temporarily bolstering the seal’s power, They could curb the various corruptions in Fourth Epoch Trier and diminish them.
The other was the deity who had gained a rudimentary grasp of the greatest abnormality underground: “The Lord that created everything, the omnipotent and omniscient God, the Lord who reigns behind the curtain of shadows, the ruler of the mind world, and the degenerated nature of all living things.”