Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 124: The Deep Pit

Myss tugged at the magical thread, fine beads of sweat forming at his temples.

At first, Brief and Bedsheet Archdemon had been pulling the thread along at an unhurried pace. But not long ago, it had suddenly slammed to a halt and stopped moving. Myss had assumed the thread had extended too far and the flow of magic had been severed.

Yet no matter how many waves of magic he fed into it, the thread remained completely unresponsive. He couldn’t understand what had gone wrong.

Only a few minutes ago had it suddenly started moving again, shooting forward like an arrow.

“Brief and Bedsheet may have stopped for a while,” Salaar said beside him.

The Hero had clearly begun treating the sight of Myss casting magic as entertainment. His eyes remained on the Archdemon while his mouth worked through a handful of nuts, his teeth crunching loudly through the kernels. Whenever he shelled an especially plump one, he would casually turn his hand and push it into Myss’s mouth.

At times like this, the Archdemon would chew the nut at high speed, his cheeks moving rapidly in a way that was extremely pleasing to people, or more precisely, to Salaar.

“They stopped for that long?” Myss swallowed the nut with a gulp and grumbled unhappily.

“This world is fascinating to them,” Salaar soothed. “Maybe something happened along the way. We can ask them when they return.”

If controlling magic over such a long distance weren’t so exhausting, Myss genuinely wanted to develop an eavesdropping function for the thread. He curled his lip but restrained himself.

The magical thread continued extending.

Gradually, Myss began to feel an unpleasant tugging sensation inside his brain. Just as even swallowing nuts was becoming difficult, the thread stopped once more and traced a circle in place.

That was the signal that it had reached its destination.

Myss had no doubts. The thread couldn’t let him see or hear, but he could sense a dense magical presence and the outlines of square blocks of stone.

Aside from being a little exhausted, everything had gone unbelievably smoothly.

…By the time Myss’s magical thread found the High Priest, the sun had already set, and Myss was nearly sprawled flat across the bed.

“He’s in the largest room. He has the strongest magic, and a beard so long it almost drags across the floor.”

Myss spoke between heavy breaths. Even though he had prepared himself mentally, actually doing it had nearly exhausted him to death.

Salaar held a cup of raspberry-jam pudding and brought a spoonful to Myss’s lips.

“Yes, yes. Very impressive.”

Myss glared at him. “Easy for you to say.”

“I originally planned to persuade you first, then sneak into the underground church tonight and control the priest with mental magic,” Salaar said. “For me, the most difficult part would have been convincing you to dress as a woman. I didn’t expect you to be so… enthusiastic.”

Myss froze. “What?”

Salaar withdrew the spoon. “You didn’t seriously think I would happily accept the Blind God’s Blessing with some girl I don’t know, did you?”

“It’s you I love. If you refused, and I immediately turned around and paired myself with someone else, what kind of ‘love’ would that be?”

That was right. Salaar was extremely skilled in mental magic.

Myss stared blankly.

He had never needed to struggle so hard to develop a new spell in the first place. He had simply assumed that the great hero Salaar wouldn’t care about some details unrelated to their actual mission.

…No, that was wrong. Salaar was his enemy. He shouldn’t rely on an enemy in the first place. This hadn’t been wasted effort. This was called seizing the initiative!

Myss convinced himself at lightning speed and continued controlling the thread deep underground.

Now that he had grown accustomed to directing magic through a distant extension, he could even spare his mouth to complain.

“All right, I understand what you were thinking. Why are you smiling like an idiot?”

“Am I?” Salaar touched his lips. “That must be because your smile is so twisted. Press the corners of your mouth down a little. They’re nearly curling into waves.”

“I’m not smiling!”

Myss bared his teeth and nearly broke his precious magical thread.

……

Underground, inside the Root Church.

Night hadn’t yet fallen completely, but the interior of the church was already shrouded in darkness. Magical lamps decorated the walls, spreading dim, ghostly green flames over the stone bricks. It wasn’t a lush vibrant green but rather the color of will-o’-the-wisps hovering over a pile of bones.

A magical thread as fine as spider silk hid inside a crack between the bricks, blending perfectly into the shadows.

A few steps away, an extremely elderly man straightened his body.

He had snow-white hair and a long white beard. The beard had been carefully groomed, its end nearly brushing the floor, and gave off the sweet fragrance of nut oil.

His long hair had been even more meticulously arranged into several braids, each decorated with fine hemp cords strung with beautiful, dried fruits and herbs. Fresh flowers had been tucked into every gap.

His clothing covered far more than that of the younger people. A broad robe wrapped around his withered body, making him look like a flower bud that had lost all its moisture.

The old man gripped a staff tightly in his right hand. A massive green gemstone sphere floated above its tip, radiating a soft glow that nearly blended into the flames around him.

“My God…”

The old man coughed twice and lifted his face. He was so old that his eyebrows had grown frighteningly long, nearly covering his eyes entirely.

Yet there was nothing in front of him.

He stood at the center of the great hall. By all logic, there should have been an enormous divine statue before him, or at the very least some sacred emblem.

Instead, ten paces ahead of the old man, at the very center of the entire church, there was only a massive pit.

The pit was more than ten meters across. Around its edge stood numerous stone statues roughly the size of real people.

Carved from snow-white marble, they depicted men and women, young and old. Some knelt in prayer, while others reached toward the bottomless pit as though trying to grasp something within it.

The statues were clearly ancient, yet astonishingly lifelike. Looking only at their silhouettes steeped in shadow, they were almost indistinguishable from living people.

The only unsettling detail was their eyes.

Every statue had its eyes closed, without exception.

“My God, please grant us your prophecy…”

The old man called out in a hoarse voice. Moist points of light shimmered beneath his long eyebrows.

The pit gave no response. Only the faint whisper of wind moved through the temple.

The old man sighed softly and walked several steps forward with the aid of his staff, drawing closer to the dark opening.

He opened his mouth and began to sing in a dry, withered voice.

It wasn’t an incantation or a prayer, merely a lullaby with the simplest possible lyrics.

The old man’s voice was rough, and the melody plain. The song couldn’t be called beautiful in any sense.

Yet as it echoed through the great hall, faint and indistinct murmurs rose from within the pit, like the babbling of some creature.

“My God, I hear you… Ah, Yolanda, who lives in the southwest. Such a memorable and lovely young woman. She will become your radiant right eye…”

He muttered unclearly and bowed deeply toward the black pit.

Then he slowly turned around. The end of his wooden staff struck the stone bricks with every step, producing a soft tapping sound.

With a creak, the tall doors of the hall slowly slid open.

Bright, warm light from the corridor poured inside. The old man narrowed his eyes and released a long breath.

“Our God has chosen the right eye.”

He announced to the young priests waiting outside.

“It is the one who lives in the southwest… who lives… the witness staying at the inn by the city gate… Myss…”

The young priests looked at one another.

“My Lord, all of this year’s witnesses were registered. Every one of them is male,” one male priest said, lowering his head. “And there has never before been a case where two witnesses were chosen at the same time…”

“Are you questioning the word of God?” The old man’s voice was hollow yet authoritative. “The Blind God has chosen both eyes. We must obey.”

The male priest lowered his head even further and fell silent.

The others exchanged uncertain glances, but no one else spoke.

The old man seemed somewhat dazed. He lightly shook his head and stroked his snow-white beard.

After a long pause, he vaguely said, “I am tired. Arrange the remaining matters according to the old customs.”

……

“…Just like that?”

Back in the inn room, the back of Myss’s clothes was soaked through with sweat.

He had been careless. He had never considered that controlling another person meant he would also have to invent the words himself. Fortunately, there was a Salaar beside him with an absurd excess of knowledge.

“That should be enough for now,” Salaar said. “It seems your control hasn’t yet reached the point where you can completely reshape a human’s perception.”

“But I can make him confused.” Myss huffed. “As long as I keep controlling him, he won’t… What are you doing?”

Salaar climbed onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Myss from behind.

One hand slid along Myss’s arm before resting over the back of the hand with which Myss controlled the magical thread.

Myss had been concentrating on controlling the thread since noon. By now, the Archdemon was thoroughly exhausted, his entire body warm, making him feel especially strange to hold.

Myss shifted unhappily.

“I asked you a question. What are you doing?”

“Even if the Eye-Opening Ceremony sounds peaceful, we must remain vigilant at all times,” Salaar said softly. “You shouldn’t waste all your energy on something like this. Let me borrow your magic.”

Before Myss could respond, a streak of golden light appeared along his magical thread.

It was even finer than the black magic itself. Tentatively, it wound around the thread’s surface and flowed along it.

Less than two seconds later, Myss felt Salaar’s weight sink against him.

Salaar clicked his tongue softly, his rapid breaths brushing against the back of Myss’s neck.

“What, did you think my technique was simple?”

Myss let out a mocking laugh and immediately seized the chance to sneer.

“Even after absorbing the memories of so many humans, your understanding of magic is still pretty lackluster.”

“It can’t be helped. How could pitiful little me compare with the Chaos Archdemon?”

Salaar didn’t take offense; instead, he simply rested his chin on Myss’s shoulder.

“I’m already satisfied to steal even a little knowledge from you.”

Myss gave a pleased hum and generously decided to support Salaar’s weight.

He could sense Salaar’s magic using his thread as a foundation and extending outward with awkward uncertainty.

To Myss, that clumsiness was nearly incomprehensible, like a fish struggling to understand how someone could drown.

Still, he allowed Salaar’s golden light to climb along the thread until it touched the distant old man.

“Done,” Salaar said tiredly. “I replaced the chosen person in his memories with you. Now, even if you release your control…”

Before he could finish, the magical thread snapped.

The two of them collapsed together on the spot, too exhausted even to lift their arms.

As they fell, Myss used the last of his strength to make sure his hero cushion landed underneath him.

They lay together on the bed. Through a narrow gap in the curtains, they could see a tiny patch of starlight.

Myss rested his head on Salaar’s chest.

Salaar’s heart was beating quickly, thumping so hard that Myss couldn’t lie comfortably. The sweat on their bodies had gone cold and made their clothing stick to their skin, yet Salaar didn’t even have the strength to cast a cleansing spell.

Judging only from their appearance, anyone who didn’t know better might think the two had just fought a vicious battle.

“…I suddenly think we’re both extremely bored. We spent an entire day doing something completely meaningless.”

Myss spoke gloomily.

“You turned me into an idiot, you bastard.”

Looking only at the result, the Archdemon and the Hero had racked their brains and exhausted every bit of strength merely to become sacrifices to some nameless wild god.

Never mind that it had nothing to do with their investigation. The Eye-Opening Ceremony didn’t even seem to offer any visible reward.

Myss had only ever seen this kind of deranged behavior during their time inside the seal.

Salaar had once gone to tremendous effort to send an entire bag of dried mushrooms into the air using bright magical light. He had waited for them to explode outward like fireworks, then personally gone around collecting them one by one.

At the time, Myss had been curious whether Salaar would become so anxious that he couldn’t sleep if Myss hid one or two with his tentacles.

Yet back then, he had still been intelligent enough not to be ruled by such a stupid impulse.

…And now look at him. He had been corrupted by Salaar! Worse still, Salaar bared his teeth in an infuriating grin.

“You only noticed now?”

Myss rolled over unhappily and sprawled across Salaar’s body. “I’ll remember this debt… Hey, when do you think the Blind God’s people will come for us?”

Salaar casually squeezed his sweat-dampened braid.

“Unfortunately, Brief didn’t mention the exact time, and my magic wasn’t capable of eavesdropping. Just in case, you should sleep first. I’ll wake you when they arrive.”

“No. Then I won’t have time to prepare. I need to get ready before I sleep,” Myss declared solemnly.

The closer the visual illusion was to his real appearance, the easier it would be to control.

To increase the chance of success, he needed to dress himself up a little.

With that thought, Myss laboriously crawled off the bed and reached toward the plate that had held the bread.

“Where’s my bread?” Myss slowly turned his head. “The two round loaves. I deliberately left them on the plate!”

Salaar: “I ate them.”

Myss instinctively looked down at his own chest, then shot an accusatory look at Salaar.

“…”

Salaar: “…”

The Hero seemed to realize something, and a faint crack appeared in his expression.

Myss clenched his teeth. “Fine, just fine… Get up. Before the shops close, we need to go buy some bread.”

“…Okay.”

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The author has something to say:

Myss: You’re not supposed to eat the props. [angry]

Salaar: ………………Okay. [afraid]

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