Chapter 38#
Temple of the Burning Lamp 18#
Perhaps using salt to make the lizards cry was not the ‘intended’ answer at all.
Killing people, taking blood—very likely killing one’s own companions—and then feeding the lizards with copious amounts of blood until they finally formed crystallized blood‑salt hearts… that was the method most ordinary people would naturally think of. That was what this fragment world wanted them to do.
So this was how a fragment world encouraged killing? Truly as sinister and twisted as the ritual they had witnessed.
Next, the crystalized heart was removed intact, every detail preserved, clear and translucent. Extreme evil so exquisite that it was almost beautiful. Had they not personally witnessed how it was formed, one would mistake it for an oddly styled work of art.
They then cut open the other two lizards. The relatively attractive red lizard had formed a delicate blood‑salt heart as well, while the stripe‑ringed lizard—being uglier—produced a heart with several patches of grayish impurities, clearly inferior.
They now had three hearts.
Everyone exhaled in relief—especially Djuna. She had held herself together by sheer willpower, and the moment the task was complete, she collapsed face‑down on the table and fainted.
Bai Song panicked by her side. After all, half of her wounds had been inflicted by his own hand. He tried to cover her with her clothing, or perhaps re‑bandage her. In the end, he wrapped Djuna in a cloak and carried her back to her room. The scholar also retired to his own room.
In the Pope’s quarters, only Ludwig and Yu Feichen remained.
Yu Feichen wrapped the blood‑salt hearts in an embroidered cloak, while Ludwig walked to the wardrobe and loosened the fastenings of his outer robe.
Yu Feichen said, “Need help?”
It was a deep stab wound—non‑fatal, but painful and inconvenient.
And at least until morning, the wound absolutely could not be kept smothered under clothing. There were no medicines here; any infection would be disastrous.
Ludwig nodded.
Yu Feichen stepped forward and helped him remove the robe, hanging it carefully inside the wardrobe. Neither spoke during the entire process. Aside from the faint rustle of fabric, the room was silent.
Yu Feichen didn’t mind this atmosphere. He was never talkative, nor did he enjoy being around talkative people.
If things could be communicated with a glance, that was even better. For something like helping His Holiness undress, a few looks and gestures were enough to coordinate smoothly.
Soon, the Pope was again dressed only in the loose, thin black silk robe. Its collar was tugged diagonally aside, revealing his collarbone and half his shoulder. Ludwig pressed a clean piece of white cloth against his wound—applying pressure to stop the bleeding, the simplest method.
Yu Feichen stood to Ludwig’s left. Seeing Ludwig’s slightly blood‑drained lips, he—despite not being fond of giving unpaid help—reached out and steadied the man by his right shoulder, half supporting him toward the bed.
Ludwig murmured, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Yu Feichen said. “Are you going to sleep?”
Then, without needing an answer, he already knew.
Ludwig’s eyes were half‑closed, long lashes lowered. His hand pressing the wound had slackened, allowing fresh blood to seep out again.
Yu Feichen sighed lightly and reached out to press the wound himself.
The Pope’s hand fell away, but red seeped through the cloth, touching Yu Feichen’s fingers.
Yu Feichen looked at the blood.
It was a wound he had inflicted, yet the blood had been drunk by a bunch of lizards. That thought was… mildly displeasing.
The moment that emotion surfaced, he realized something was off and examined himself.
Well then, he thought.
Should I drink it instead?
Forget it. I’m not into that.
The bleeding slowed under the pressure. Yu Feichen continued looking at the area—the skin around the wound slightly flushed from pressure, the collarbone and shoulder still bearing faint marks of wax droplets, all caused by him.
The scene from earlier rose in his mind—the moment the burning wax touched the cold‑white skin, the trembling of Ludwig’s lashes was like a ripple in his world.
He understood that people were no different from the blood‑hungry lizards. Just as those without salt would instantly consider killing companions to produce tears—
When faced with power, life, or temptation, once the gate of desire was opened, frenzy and brutality could overwhelm everything.
There was a legend in Paradise: anyone who entered the Gate of Eternal Night—even if they were normal the first time—would eventually turn into a doomed fugitive courting their own destruction.
He had always been exceptionally good at controlling himself, so he never believed that would be his fate. Yet during that strange ritual, during his second passage into Eternal Night, he had glimpsed that dangerous abyss—and it came from this Pope.
And now, this very Pope—the cause of all of that—was lightly clothed, gravely injured, and completely defenseless beside him, as if certain that Yu Feichen was safe to be near. That Yu Feichen would protect him.
Yu Feichen felt the rise and fall of Ludwig’s breathing and looked down at his face.
Half‑asleep, Ludwig looked nothing like the calm, decisive figure he was outside. He seemed especially vulnerable—and clean.
Indeed, both Anfield and Ludwig were clean.
His calmness and composure made Yu Feichen believe this man had survived endless danger and gathered countless experiences, yet carried none of the scholar’s selfish, calculating malice. Instead he was upright—almost gentle.
Yu Feichen also clearly remembered: throughout the day, Ludwig had pulled him to safety twice and intervened once to help him.
It wasn’t special treatment. If any other member had been in danger, Ludwig would have done the same.
“Ludwig,” Yu Feichen said suddenly.
Ludwig lifted his eyes.
“What is it?” His voice carried a drowsy nasality.
“I want to say something.”
“…Mm.”
Rarely did he meet someone even more stingy with words than himself, Yu Feichen thought.
He tried interpreting that “mm,” and concluded it meant: “Go ahead.”
He did indeed have something to say.
He wanted to say: although he didn’t know why he had met Ludwig in two different worlds, if they crossed paths again—
“Don’t get so close to me.”
No one answered him.
A light weight leaned on his shoulder. The Pope had fallen asleep instantly.
Yu Feichen: “…”
He had offered a rare, genuine piece of advice—a once‑in‑a‑hundred‑worlds occurrence—and this man responded by falling asleep.
Whether or not he heard, Yu Feichen had said it.
Disgruntled, he first pulled the sleeping man closer to stabilize him, then—after a while—pushed him off, repositioned him flat on the bed, and kept pressing the wound.
In the last world, he had lung disease. In this world, fainting spells. While others gained power; this man gained ailments.
The sun moved past the “well’s” rim, and the land grew dark. Near dinnertime, Ludwig’s wound finally stopped bleeding. Yu Feichen left, carrying two hearts to the dining hall—leaving one in the drawer, as he doubted they needed so many.
The Empress and her group were back as well. Everyone gathered to share intelligence.
On the Empress’s side, not a single member was missing. But on their side, they were down Djuna, Jude, and the Pope. The expressions across the table tightened at once.
—Only one day apart and three out of six were missing, one with a severed arm. Even in a brutal world like this, the casualties were excessive. And tomorrow was their team’s turn to investigate.
At the far end sat a pale-faced girl dressed in the robes of a temple nun, named Molly. Only after hearing that only one had died and the other two were injured but alive did she breathe again.
The two groups exchanged information. The Empress’s side had spent the entire day mapping the temple layout with detailed annotations. They had also attempted to infiltrate the Holy Son’s chambers but failed—the place was guarded too tightly.
Then the Empress shared something crucial—especially for Yu Feichen.
“They held a ritual today. But when we tried to follow, the path wouldn’t allow us through, it was like walking in circles.” the Empress said.
So the ritual truly barred outsiders. Yu Feichen’s group had only succeeded because they followed the monks. The temple clearly held supernatural forces.
Yu Feichen asked, “Do you know what the ritual was for?”
“We found a bit of information,” the Empress said. “They were preparing something called ‘Unfading beneath daylight,’ or ‘Water of Immortality,’ ‘Blood of Immortality,’ ‘Light of Immortality’… many names. It symbolizes light.”
“Ever-Unwithering?”
“Yes, that was another name.” She nodded. “We found fragments of the ritual texts, but the wording was chaotic. We took too long to decipher it and missed the start of the ritual.”
“What do they do with it?”
“They prepare the item, chant blessings for it, then use it to bathe the Holy Son, hoping to prolong his life.”
Yu Feichen: “…”
He had guessed many possibilities, yet the answer still surprised him. That “symbol of light” was salt. Bathing an injured person in salt water—wasn’t that just helping him die faster?
Was it ignorant superstition? Or malicious intent?
He was thinking when the old man in the cloak shuffled in with their food.
After serving, his hoarse voice rose:
“Honored guests, have you found the legendary elixir’s ingredient?”
The scholar glanced at Yu Feichen, urging him to take out the blood‑salt hearts. Yu Feichen, however, did not move. He wanted to see what would happen if they claimed they hadn’t.
No one spoke. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
The old man repeated, deeper,
“Honored guests… have you found the legendary elixir’s ingredient?”
The room fell silent. All the candles flickered wildly in the oppressive cold.
“Have….. you…. found… ingredient?”
A wave of blood‑stench filled the air, like countless cold black tendrils crawling up their bodies, gripping their throats. The deadly chill made it clear—if they didn’t present the ingredient, death would strike instantly.
His voice grew heavier, more rigid.
“Have—you—found—”
“We found it!” the scholar shouted, sweating.
Yu Feichen placed two hearts on the table.
Immediately the oppressive atmosphere vanished. Warm light returned, as if nothing had happened. The old man lifted the hearts—one pure, one impure—with trembling reverence.
“I feel it… the power of resurrection… Honored guests, you truly found it… This is the hope of Casablanca.”
As if he had never spoken in that terrifying voice, he bowed devoutly with the hearts in hand.
“Please enjoy your meal. The temple’s ritual was again obstructed by evil today. Guests, be cautious tonight. Do not forget your identity. You must follow the rules of the temple.”
Muttering, he left. Everyone exhaled in relief.
No one had much appetite. They exchanged information quickly and withdrew.
The candles in their room were new—someone must have replaced them earlier. In the afternoon, Yu Feichen had removed three‑quarters of the candles in his room while sunlight remained, piling them up. He and Bai Song returned to rest in the Pope’s room as usual.
Under the bright candlelight, Yu Feichen contemplated the temple’s shadows.
Avoiding shadows was crucial to avoid the shadow‑creatures lurking within them. Simple in theory, difficult in practice. He had climbed a tree earlier, unavoidably touching the tree’s shadow. Only because the courtyard was empty and the tree’s shadow stood isolated did no monster enter—it was safe.
If the fragment‑world aimed to kill players at all costs, would it next lure them into stepping into shadows? And what exactly were the temple’s rules? Did “do not forget your identity” count as a rule? Or did it imply something else?
As he pondered, he saw Bai Song tossing restlessly on his lounge chair, visibly troubled.
Yu Feichen waited for him to ask for help. After a long while, Bai Song finally spoke:
“Brother Yu… have you ever touched a girl?”
Yu Feichen: “?”
He asked, “What kind of touch?”
“The… close physical kind.”
“No.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Yu Feichen now wished for him to shut up. His expression was politely blank as he let Bai Song’s words trickle in one ear and out the other.
“Today… I… Lady Djuna… clothes… carrying…” Bai Song stammered like a groom on his wedding night.
Yu Feichen: “You’re twenty‑three.”
No need to act like an embarrassed teenage fool.
Bai Song slapped the lounge chair in frustration, pained by Brother Yu’s inability to empathize.
Had Brother Yu never experienced growing pains at twenty‑three? He had carried the Pope, cradled the Pope, even smoothed the Pope’s hair so skilfully. Bai Song despaired.
Then he remembered—at twenty‑three, Yu Feichen had already been tricked into entering Paradise and had been working for the High God for years.
Bai Song sighed. “Brother Yu…”
But Yu Feichen suddenly looked toward the door and made a quiet gesture.
There were sounds in the corridor—coming from the room of the nun‑role player named Molly. They barely remembered her—she was the first character placed in the temple, had sat at the end of the long table, and later joined the Empress’s team.
At this moment—
Molly stood pale‑faced, staring at her burning candles.
“No…”
She backed away trembling until her back slammed into the door with a dull thud.
Her room was bright as day. All the candles were burning violently, flames surging. She didn’t know why the fire was so intense, nor why the candles burned so fast—night had barely fallen, yet all of them—every single one—were already burned to the last sliver, about to extinguish.
When they went out, the whole room would be swallowed in darkness.
Recalling what she’d heard of Lord Jude’s death, Molly’s eyes widened in terror.
She didn’t want to die! She didn’t want to die like that!
This was only her second dungeon—why was it so dangerous? She had lived in a peaceful city before all this. Then one day, disappearances began happening everywhere, like the world had broken. People vanished without a trace. She lived in endless fear until she too was pulled into this lethal place others called a “dungeon.”
There, she had met someone willing to help her. He had told her:
The clearer the rules of a world, the more brutal the punishment for breaking them. But if you follow them, your chances of survival are highest. The most dangerous worlds are the ones whose rules aren’t made clear—you never know when the horror will strike.
She tried desperately to recall what mistake she had made. Then, looking down at her black robe, the old man’s words struck her like lightning.
“Do not forget your identity.”
Could it be… because she had not joined the other nuns when they all gathered earlier?
The candles blazed wildly, burning to their final thin layer. Light peaked. Sweat drenched her. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t bear to watch. She threw herself at the door and ran out.
Standing in the corridor, she took shaky steps forward, staring desperately at the rows of deep, dark wooden doors.
Among these people—
Who will help me?
Who… who will take me in?
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-Syeki
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