Chapter 36#
Temple of the Burning Lamp 7#
Where were they going?
Naturally, to the central courtyard—the place where the monks and nuns had just been summoned by the bell.
They exchanged a glance. Bai Song didn’t understand, the scholar’s gaze was filled with doubt. Ludwig, however, gave Yu Feichen a small nod.
After a brief silence, Djuna said, “Then let’s go.”
The minority followed the majority, and they moved immediately.
Although “go to the central courtyard” was a decision Yu Feichen made in a split second, it wasn’t a gamble—he had solid reasoning.
The temple kitchen didn’t use salt. Neither did any other part of temple life. Judging from the monks’ and nuns’ behavior, their daily lives were monotone and rigid.
Therefore, that white crystalline substance similar to salt was not something they used in daily routines. Then how did that nun come into contact with it?
There was only one answer.
Rituals. Ceremonies. Religious activities of the temple.
And just moments ago, the monks and nuns were summoned—very likely to conduct some kind of temple ritual.
On the way to the courtyard, he briefly explained his reasoning, earning an impressed look from Bai Song.
Exaggerated as Bai Song’s expression was, his investigation inside the temple had been helpful. Passing by a row of rooms, he said to Yu Feichen, “Brother Yu, that’s their storage room for clothes.”
Yu Feichen patted Bai Song’s head in praise. After confirming no one was around, he slipped through the window into the room. As Bai Song said, several wooden chests were filled with clothes, sheets, and various household items.
Yu Feichen picked out a few robes. It was impossible to distinguish monk from nun clothing—everyone in the temple wore the same loose, hooded black robes with a dark‑silver sun emblem on the back.
Being a cautious person, he also pulled out several nun veils from another chest in case they needed them.
The others came inside as well, and immediately understood what he intended.
“We’re changing clothes?”
Yu Feichen nodded.
The temple was wary of outsiders. They might not be allowed to observe the ritual looking as they did now. Spying was dangerous; disguising themselves and blending in was the safest approach.
Without further discussion, they went into different corners to change.
However, the knight’s light armor, the Pope’s ceremonial attire, and the lady’s layered gown were all too elaborate. Once removed, the heap of clothing in the corner stood out glaringly.
At that moment, the scholar spoke.
“I can’t move around easily,” he said. “I won’t go. I’ll take your clothes back for you.”
He did not want to go there.
There was no way the shadow monster was the only lethal rule in this world. The monks and nuns were strange, and what they were gathering for might be dangerous—even horrifying. Rushing in could be fatal.
In a chaotic world, survival depended on caution at every step.
From his perspective, the others were far too reckless. Exploration might yield great gains—but just as easily death.
Yu Feichen looked at him deeply.
“Alright,” he said.
Everyone had the right to choose self‑preservation. In any case, their clothes needed to be taken somewhere safe.
They parted ways. Yu Feichen, the Pope, Bai Song, and Djuna continued toward the courtyard.
Perhaps clouds had passed over the sun—the light dimmed slightly and the temperature dropped. When they reached the front of the courtyard, two groups of dark silhouettes disappeared down separate corridors.
Judging from their shapes, one group was monks, the other nuns.
They had to follow—but with three men and one woman, Djuna would be alone.
Yu Feichen met Ludwig’s eyes.
He raised an eyebrow.
Ludwig seemed to sigh softly, lifted his hand and held up his palm.
Yu Feichen placed the nun’s veil he had taken earlier onto it.
Then they watched the Pope hook the veil’s clasps onto either side of his hair. The semi‑transparent fabric fell, covering the lower half of the young Pope’s face.
Bai Song gave a low cough.
Yu Feichen cast him a calm glance—silently declaring his innocence.
It wasn’t he who asked the Pope to do this. Ludwig had chosen on his own.
It was obvious. They had already taken a risk coming here. If anyone was split off from the group now, no one could predict what would happen.
Although—he did admit he had been a little curious about how the Pope would look wearing a veil.
Well, now he’s seen it.
The Pope was tall and slender—taller than most women. But with the hood drawn up and the veil covering the lower half of his face, the disguise was surprisingly effective.
Time was running out—the line ahead was about to vanish down the corridor.
Ludwig turned with Djuna. As his wide black robe swayed with the motion, the sense of incongruity indeed disappeared.
Not because he looked like a woman—but because all sense of gender simply vanished from him.
The moment passed, and Yu Feichen tugged Bai Song toward the monks’ line. They joined the end just before the entire group entered a room at the far end.
Inside was a candle‑lit chamber. The monks lined up, and at the front was a table.
Behind it sat an old man with his face hidden in a black hood. He wore a black iron mask, making it impossible to tell whether he was the same person who had received them earlier.
The monks passed through the room to receive items.
Each received a silver dagger and a long matchstick. The daggers were the length of a short knife, sharp enough to gleam.
After receiving them, the monks exited through another doorway.
When Yu Feichen and Bai Song reached the front, they lowered their heads deliberately. The old man’s withered hands lifted and handed them the knife and matchstick.
They had blended in successfully.
Then they continued following. The long line of monks crossed another corridor and entered the central courtyard.
A strange scene unfolded before them.
The courtyard was large—a circular field built from white limestone.
Placed on the ground in a radial pattern were black iron racks. Each rack was made of a support structure and three long black iron bars on top. Arranged together, the racks formed a pattern identical to the sun totem from earlier, symbolizing sunlight radiating outward.
In the center, another iron stand supported a tall pillar with a black circular plate on top. Nothing rested on it.
The monks spread out.
A bell sounded somewhere.
“Sha‑sha.”
“Sha‑sha.”
The heavy rustle of fabric and dragging footsteps echoed behind them.
The masked elder slowly appeared from the direction they had come. Unlike before, he now carried a silver tray the size of a wagon wheel.
On that tray was piled a mountain‑shaped mound of snow‑white crystals. Under the sunlight, it shone like a snow peak.
Yu Feichen’s pupils contracted, and Bai Song tugged at his robe!
It was unmistakably—
Salt.
Yu Feichen stared unblinkingly at the masked elder. The old man, who seemed to be some sort of priest, carried the salt tray with bowed head, walking in a posture filled with reverence and dread.
So salt was such an important offering here?
Yu Feichen pointed and asked the monk beside him:
“What is that?”
The monk mechanically looked toward the tray. “It is the Ever‑Unwithering.”
Yu Feichen walked to another monk.
“What is that?”
“Unfading beneath daylight.”
“What is that?”
“The Ever‑Unwithering.”
“What is that?”
“Unfading beneath daylight.”
While his questioning looped, the masked elder proceeded and finally placed the salt tray on the central platform, then stepped back.
The bell sounded again.
On the opposite side of the courtyard appeared the nuns.
The monks each held a gleaming silver dagger. The nuns each held a blood‑red candle.
The candle‑holding nuns dispersed into the area, mixing with the monks. Yu Feichen blended into the crowd, watching the nuns’ line and slipping through until he finally reunited with Ludwig at the back.
“What did you do?” he whispered.
“Only received the candle,” Ludwig said.
“I have the match.”
Ludwig nodded silently.
Above the veil, his dark‑green eyes were calm. A strand of silver hair slipped from his hood. The candle, held in those pale fingers, looked even redder—like solidified blood.
The faint glimmer beneath his eye, though his expression was blank, resembled the trace of a compassionate tear.
This quiet, restrained appearance reminded Yu Feichen of those nuns he had questioned.
And their words.
“A nun must not speak too much with outsiders, or it tarnishes the divine’s purity.”
Too much speaking would harm the sanctity of the deity.
Harm sanctity.
He wasn’t a talkative person. And yet in this moment, he suddenly felt like speaking a little more to His Holiness.
The thought flickered and vanished. The next moment, strange music rose from somewhere. The rhythm was erratic—drums without pattern, pipes that alternated between shrill and wailing. At the sound, the monks and nuns all turned at once to face the salt tray.
The ritual began.
The monks and nuns formed ordered rays according to the iron racks, beginning to dance to the music, making strange gestures.
Sometimes they folded their arms across their chest, sometimes they twisted wildly, sometimes they lifted their hands toward the sky, sometimes they moved in ways so bizarre they bordered on madness. Their bodies bent stiffly in unnatural angles. Later, their formation began to shift, moving around the circular path or flowing elsewhere to exchange positions.
Yu Feichen tried his best to imitate their movements. Though not perfect, no one noticed—each was absorbed in their own ritual.
Then each monk stepped forward in turn to scrape his silver dagger lightly against the mound of salt, and returned to his place. The nuns pressed their red candles to their foreheads and bowed deeply toward the salt.
The sunlight dimmed further; wind swept across the mountaintop. A long horn sounded in the music like a wailing cry—and everyone froze.
Yu Feichen froze with them.
A moment later, they moved again.
Then people began mixing randomly. He noticed monks were searching for nuns, and upon finding one, standing before an iron rack as if forming pairs.
He pressed his hand onto the shoulder of the silver‑haired “nun” in front of him.
During the shifting, Ludwig had stayed nearby, though Bai Song and Djuna had vanished. Hopefully they had paired together.
As pairs were formed, the music grew louder and stretched across the clouds like a distant call.
Soon, all monks and nuns had paired, each standing beside one of the iron racks. The racks, waist‑height, with three iron beams, looked like…
Like dissection tables. Or narrow beds—just large enough for a body.
And the surfaces were filled with tiny grooves, like the blood grooves carved into blades.
It looked like an execution bed.
The thought had barely passed when Yu Feichen saw the monks bend together—one arm under the nun’s ribs, the other lifting her knees—placing her onto the rack, then pulling back her veil.
What were they doing?
No time to think—everyone acted together. So he lifted Ludwig and placed him on the rack.
As the veil was moved aside, Ludwig’s hood slipped slightly, silver hair scattering over the edge.
The music changed again.
The nuns suddenly raised their hands and began unbuttoning their robes.
The robes were simple—only three buttons held them together. When unfastened, the garment slid off, then was pulled out from under them and flipped over like a blanket. The sun emblem that had been on the back now lay over the heart.
But the reversed robe did not fully cover the body. Shoulders, neck, arms, legs, and feet were exposed to the dimming light.
Ludwig, too—his pale skin stark against the black robe and iron rack.
The masked elder lay prostrated before the salt tray, unmoving.
The music shifted again, becoming frantic, and the monks removed the black iron chains from their own necks and the nuns’.
They were short chains clasped like handcuffs—easy to separate. The monks divided the chain, then used the short pieces to bind the nuns to the racks.
Yu Feichen assessed the situation, then did the same.
Out of courtesy, he said to His Holiness, “Pardon me.”
The Pope cast him a cold glance in acknowledgement.
What followed was indeed discourteous.
The black chains wrapped around the Pope’s pale wrists, locking both down.
Then the ankles.
Finally, a chain around the neck.
Four limbs, the neck—bound firmly to the execution bed. But Yu Feichen left the knots loose; they could be broken easily.
The blood‑red candle was placed on Ludwig’s chest, then lifted by his hand.
The music fell to a low, eerie murmur.
Clouds gathered overhead.
The elder at the center rasped, “Ignite—”
A scraping sound rang out as the rough match was struck across the iron surface, lighting the red candle. The flame flared, making the wax appear even more sinister.
Soon, the flame melted the wax, forming droplets.
Wind blew, and the flame flickered violently.
A drop fell.
A bright red bead of wax landed on Ludwig’s elegant collarbone.
The skin there may have trembled—or perhaps not.
Wax was hot. Pain was natural. But the true fear came not from the heat, but from the waiting.
Because the candle sat there, and a burning drop could fall at any moment—
or the person holding it could choose to tip it at any moment.
This uncertainty and surrender amplified both the dread of waiting and the sensation when the wax finally fell.
In many worlds, this was a method of torment. In harsher cases, a punishment.
Here, however, it belonged to a ritual.
When the music shifted again, the monks began dripping wax onto the nuns.
The first drop landed on the forehead.
Yu Feichen tilted the candle.
Half‑lowered lashes trembled—like fragile branches before wind. A red bead bloomed on Ludwig’s smooth forehead, then slid slowly downward.
He still maintained a faint, placid composure, eyes reflecting the sky.
But watching that face at this moment, Yu Feichen found himself slightly dazed.
The wax bead looked like a tear.
If that blood‑colored tear didn’t slide from the forehead—but from the eye, or from the place beneath his eye—from the tear‑mole—
If it really resembled a tear—
Suddenly, the nun’s rigid voice echoed in Yu Feichen’s ear like a demon’s whisper.
“Harmful, to the divine’s, purity.”
Harmful to purity—yet it didn’t diminish beauty. It even made it… more captivating.
Yu Feichen tore his gaze away.
A deep instinctive warning rose within him—the kind triggered by overwhelming danger. He felt that if he kept staring, he would fall under a demon’s spell and plunge into an abyss.
So he looked only at the next place he was supposed to drip the wax.
The right shoulder.
This time it wasn’t a single drop—it was continuous, from shoulder to fingertips.
The wax fell like blood but purer, streaks of red running down pale skin, leaving faint marks where they passed.
It was both shocking and mesmerizing.
Yu Feichen stared a long time, breath tightening for reasons he couldn’t articulate. Perhaps he should avert his eyes again, to avoid the demon’s whisper.
But he didn’t.
Just like the second before a blade dipped into blood, the instant a killing edge lowered—he enjoyed walking that boundary.
He wasn’t dead. He would continue to live. But the thrill of standing at the edge of life and death—the tremor and exhilaration—was the most vivid emotion he had ever felt.
He liked the threshold.
Like now.
After the right side was done, he moved to the left shoulder. Then the legs.
By now, the four limbs and forehead were stained with blood‑red marks. With such deliberate placement, Ludwig no longer looked like a living person, but like an offering arranged carefully upon an altar.
Especially because it was Ludwig—while the other nuns cried out in pain, he made only slight tremors, quietly enduring the continuous torment. Only at the end did he softly close his eyes, like a fragile, silent doll.
The music stopped.
Was it over?
Definitely not. The masked elder still lay motionless before the salt, like a corpse.
What was next?
What was missing?
The places of greatest significance to sacred rites—
The head, the limbs, and… the heart.
Yu Feichen looked at Ludwig’s chest. The sun emblem rested on the black robe like an eye opening in the dark.
Cold light flashed.
The monks drew their silver daggers—every one of them.
At the same moment:
Djuna lay on her rack. The cold gleam flashed across her vision. She saw the deadly blades, gasping sharply.
This strange ritual—no, this sacrificial ceremony—what did it intend?
A rite required a sacrifice.
Sacrifices could be dead or alive. But the living, once sacrificed, were dead all the same.
Her eyes widened.
All the monks pointed their daggers at the nuns’ hearts—and stabbed downwards.
Knives scraped through the salt, pierced the robes, split the sun emblem, and sank into beating hearts with a wet sound.
The nuns convulsed instinctively, trying to arch off the racks, but the chains held them. Their cries of pain filled the air, then fell silent one by one as their lives drained.
One pair after another—blood gushed forth, splattering into a fine crimson mist. The sun emblems became soaked with blood, and the grooves carried the red flow down to the ground.
Before Djuna, Bai Song raised the knife—but his hands trembled, frozen.
He couldn’t do it.
But a monk nearby seemed to glance toward them.
A shock of terror surged over Djuna, every nerve screaming at once.
No! Surrounded like this—they’d be exposed! Exposure meant danger!
Djuna gritted her teeth, raised her left hand—Bai Song had only loosely hooked the chain around it.
She grabbed Bai Song’s trembling hand and drove the dagger into her own chest—somewhere near her heart—she didn’t even care exactly where.
Agony exploded. The knife withdrew. Heat spilled out. She collapsed like a dying fish. She didn’t know if she would die from this injury, but her mind was extraordinarily clear.
The events of the past two days flashed through her like a flickering film—vivid and bizarre.
All her life, she had carried this trait:
The safer the situation, the more careless she was.
The more dangerous, the clearer she became.
She couldn’t control it.
When she first emerged from the VR pod into this world, she had been terrified—the world too real, everything too sudden. Thankfully, her husband was beside her. Later, hearing the conversation at the breakfast table, she convinced herself that this was simply an extremely realistic game.
As long as the developers discovered the bug, she and Jude would return to the real world.
At least, thinking that way made things less frightening.
There were so many candles, but she wasn’t surprised. Game developers loved flashy designs; she had seen plenty and never thought it strange.
Later, the room grew too hot, and she extinguished the lights.
The moment she truly realized something was wrong was when the little knight lifted his hand to knock on the door.
The worry on his face was too real. His eyes too sincere. No amount of technology or AI could recreate an expression like that.
But she had already extinguished the lights. Would turning them back on help? What lurked in the shadows?
She couldn’t remember what she felt when she looked at her shadow in the moonlight, or when she noticed a slight difference in the shade—something darker, just a little. Something that seemed to move.
So she stepped into the bed’s shadow, letting the two shadows overlap, then stepped out.
But the dark thing remained inside her shadow.
When Jude got up and lit the lamp—
He stood, and his shadow stretched.
She tried something.
She took a step forward, letting her shadow overlap with Jude’s.
This time, when they separated, the thing had moved into Jude’s shadow.
Later—the lamp was fully lit.
A single tear slid from the corner of her eye.
But her gaze remained fiercely clear.
She didn’t know where exactly she had stabbed. If she died, then so be it—call it retribution.
But if she lived, she would survive with everything she had. Nothing would ever frighten her again.
She didn’t know what kind of world this was.
But games were to be won.
Djuna slowly closed her eyes.
Blood streamed from her chest, running along the grooves to the floor. No one noticed anything unusual.
Meanwhile—
When Yu Feichen’s dagger approached Ludwig’s chest, it stopped mid‑air.
His motion had been steady—yet he suddenly halted.
And did not strike again.
The monk beside him, who had already killed his nun, turned and stared—dagger dripping with blood, hollow black eyes fixed on Yu Feichen’s blade.
Then the second monk.
The third.
One by one, all of them turned, gripping their blood‑stained daggers, staring at him.
Yu Feichen still did not move. His eyes even seemed slightly dazed.
It happened just moments ago.
When he was about to strike, the Pope—Ludwig—or Anfield—whatever version of him he was—this person whose features were as refined as a doll, whose blood‑stained form looked tragically divine—slowly opened his calm, noble eyes.
In that instant, it was as if black iron turned to jade, the ritual altar became a sacred pedestal, and all surrounding bloodshed flashed into light.
It was only a man opening his eyes—
Yet Yu Feichen’s descending blade froze.
Not because he couldn’t bear to kill.
But because in that instant—like lightning splitting the world—
He had looked beyond the edge of danger, and glimpsed an abyss with no end.
He wanted to drive the blade through that heart.
Wanted the chains to choke that throat.
Wanted to stain sanctity with blood, and tear serenity apart.
In that moment, he truly wanted to kill him.
Around them, hollow eyes stared, unblinking, malice cold as a flood. The nearest monk raised his dagger and took a stiff step toward them.
Footsteps rustled.
Yu Feichen’s gaze returned to what it usually was—or perhaps to another side of him, or simply to the expression he used like a mask—calm, indifferent, clear.
The silver dagger plunged into Ludwig’s flesh—first the tip, then the blade. He knew every structure of the human body intimately. Though the strike looked deep and harsh, it harmed nothing vital; only a few drops of blood flowed.
This was how a righteous knight should treat his teammate.
Yet as he withdrew the blade, another voice whispered within him:
Yu Feichen.
You really are not a good person.
As Ludwig’s blood flowed down the grooves, the monks turned back as if nothing had happened.
Now all the nuns lay motionless on the racks, hearts pierced, blood drained along the grooves into the patterns on the ground until a large totem was soaked red.
The monks all turned toward the salt tray, closed their eyes, and prostrated.
Their foreheads pressed to the ground, devout and unmoving. Not a single one looked up. Not a single one shifted. No doubt this was part of the ritual.
What were they doing? Yu Feichen didn’t know. What they intended next with the salt, he couldn’t guess. But their goal today was clear—the salt tray. Their so‑called “Ever‑Unwithering” and “Unfading beneath daylight.”
And now everyone had closed their eyes. No one could see him.
If they were to acquire salt from such a ritual, the opportunity was fleeting. But it had finally appeared.
They had to seize it—now.
Yu Feichen lightened his steps, slowed his breathing, and walked between the racks. Then toward the center.
Open and unhurried.
He fully understood the risk. But failing to obtain what they needed would likely be even more dangerous.
The salt tray grew closer and closer. He stepped past the prostrated elder, reached the platform, and confirmed again that the crystals were what they needed.
Then he picked it up. And turned, and walked away.
At the same time, Ludwig dressed himself and moved quietly toward the exit.
Bai Song stared wide‑eyed at their audacious operation. A moment later, he made a quick decision—he lifted the half‑conscious Djuna and headed for another exit.
This way, if Brother Yu was discovered, Bai Song could divert some attention.
And so, the four of them, all dressed in black robes, crept out of the ritual hall—full of people yet silent as death.
The corridor was close. The exit even closer. A wall ahead would block some of the view.
Yu Feichen was fully focused, every nerve taut, listening to every faint sound—
Crack.
Someone’s foot? On a leaf? Or maybe no one stepped on it at all—maybe the wind had blown it, scraping it across the limestone.
The air behind them suddenly dropped in pressure. A surge of killing intent rushed forth.
Had they been discovered? Or had the kneeling phase ended?
No time to think. In the very next second, they all took off running!
Flee!
« Prev|TOC|Next »
Happy reading~
-Syeki
Like what I do? ❤ Please consider buying me aKo-fi~ 🙂