Temple Island lay not far to the southeast of Bibo City.
Despite the solemnity its name implied, suggesting a place of sacred worship, Wu Yi could hear a bustling clamor from afar like a marketplace.
Vendors bartered in the tongues of many lands, their lively chatter peppered with occasional chants of “Praise be to Kefulu,” giving this once-desolate isle an unexpected sense of life.
The Vice Hierophant walked ahead, gently guiding Wu Yi by the wrist.
Passersby stepped aside of their own accord, bowing their heads and murmuring devoutly, “Praise be to Kefulu.”
“This was just a barren island once,” the Vice Hierophant said as they walked.
“Then why did they settle here?” Wu Yi asked curiously, “The island doesn’t seem to have many resources.”
“Exactly. That’s why even pirates can’t be bothered to come here.”
“Pirates?”
“Yes,” The Vice Hierophant’s tone was calm, “Ever since the Sea King died and maritime travel was unshackled, pirates have run rampant. Coastal towns are raided every other week. Most who join the Dagon Heresy are survivors from those pillaged villages.”
Even though Wu Yi was blind, the Vice Hierophant still pointed to a nearby kite vendor and explained:
“That’s Uncle Li from Donghuang Prefecture. Before his village was destroyed, the children loved gathering around his kite stand. When the pirates came, he survived by playing dead under a pile of kites. But he was the only one who made it out alive.”
“And that guard over there—he used to be part of an adventuring guild called the Starlight Expedition. They traveled across the Plains Province, even braving the storms at the Cape of Good Hope. They discovered an ice-capped land, inhabited by a people who called themselves the Inuit, and brought back a wealth of shamanistic knowledge.
But on their return voyage, they were ambushed by pirates. Everything was stolen. His comrades were slaughtered. As some twisted act of mercy, they forced him to walk the plank instead of killing him outright. He somehow survived… but like Uncle Li, he hasn’t been quite right since.”
……
“So,” the Vice Hierophant said, “They didn’t just join the Dagon Heresy because of shared misfortune. It was also because… the deity we worship is said to be the Sovereign of the Deep. Only She holds the power to make all sinners pay.”
As they spoke, they arrived at the gates of the temple.
Wu Yi felt a heaviness in her chest.
She hadn’t returned to shore in ten years.
She had thought that, with the Sea King dead, life would’ve been better for people.
“So… Do you hate Wu Yi?” she asked, “If she hadn’t killed the Sea King, the maritime ban wouldn’t have been lifted. The pirates wouldn’t have come.”
“Hate? Sometimes… when we remember, yes, there’s resentment.”
The Vice Hierophant’s tone remained utterly still.
“But we also know… that hatred is just a misdirected outburst.
This wasn’t Princess Wu Yi’s fault. If she hadn’t acted, the people of the land would’ve been forced to pay such crushing tributes to the divine realm, they might’ve turned to cannibalism just to survive, perhaps even worse….
The fault lies with us. We were too weak. That’s why we need a sanctuary. We need Lady Kefulu.”
Strictly speaking, the Dagon Heresy was a cult.
The deity they worshiped—Kefulu, an Elder Divinity. It was once the avatar of a fallen god.
Her mental influence was so powerful it passively warped the minds of those nearby, pulling them toward madness.
But for those with nothing left to lose, cult or not, what did it matter?
Worshipping Kefulu might be the only chance they had to exact vengeance.
“Well then,” the Vice Hierophant said, letting go of Wu Yi’s hand, “From here on, you walk alone.”
He bowed toward the temple’s entrance.
“I am merely a humble spiritbinder. I cannot resist the will of Lady Kefulu. From this moment on, please become Her voice. Deliver Her oracles to us.”
From the sound of the wind, the temple didn’t seem very large.
Its surface was smooth, with no cracks or seams—hewn entirely from a single massive stone.
Wu Yi pictured it in her mind: a structure of irregular, non-Euclidean geometry.
The layout defied conventional aesthetics, subtly disturbing in a way that felt… wrong.
She lifted her hand, found the wooden doorframe, and gave it a light push.
The door opened without resistance.
A dizzyingly sweet fragrance rushed out, so intoxicating that Wu Yi’s knees buckled, her mind reeling.
“No doubt about it… a god of madness…”
The door shut behind her automatically.
Ahead stretched a narrow corridor.
The walls to her left and right were close— tight and confining.
She couldn’t see, so she placed her hands against the wall and carefully moved forward.
The deeper she went, the stronger the scent became.
Her thoughts began to spiral under its influence, her mind bursting with strange and vivid ideas.
If an artist were here, they’d be ecstatic— overflowing with inspiration, grasping effortlessly at the wild notions they usually had to tear from the depths of their imagination.
So this was Kefulu’s power.
A mere taste could shatter logic, and from that chaos, creativity bloomed.
But go too deep… and logic would collapse entirely.
Sanity would dissolve into madness.
She had to be careful.
Wu Yi paused where she stood.
In this Prophet state— the price of her foresight her physical and mental resilience were far weaker than when she entered her Enchantress form.
She had to concentrate, steady her mind, or she’d pass out in this haze.
“…Are you there?”
She called out timidly.
No response.
Whoever was there… must be deeper inside.
But it was getting colder.
The farther she walked, the more the temperature dropped.
Wu Yi, dressed in nothing more than a thin blouse, a short skirt, and sheer white tights, had absolutely no defense against the chill.
Her whole body was trembling from the cold.
And with that sweet, fragrant mist still gnawing away at her sanity…
It seemed reaching the one within wouldn’t be so easy.
“I knew I should’ve dressed warmer… siiigh—”
It was so cold.
Her teeth chattered uncontrollably.
Fortunately, the spiral corridor finally seemed to reach its end.
The wall beside her vanished—no more surface to lean on.
She reached forward, hands groping blindly in the air.
Nothing.
Just empty space.
She must have entered the central chamber of the temple.
“Oh no—”
The air inside the temple was completely still. Too still.
There was no way to use echoes to gauge the space.
Which meant… she never realized there were stairs ahead.
A steep drop.
She missed the step entirely, twisted her ankle, and stumbled forward in a panic.
She tried to regain her balance but in her weakened Prophet state, that was impossible.
Oh no oh no oh no!
She was going to fall hard, and it was going to hurt.
Desperation took over.
She curled up, squeezed her eyes shut, and crossed her forearms to shield her body from the impact.
“Poof~”
She landed.
Hard but strangely soft.
Her face sank right into it.
Huh?
Had the temple’s builders anticipated she might fall, and left some sort of cushion there?
Still blind, Wu Yi reached out and grabbed hold of the soft thing beneath her, pushing herself upright with its help.
“What a thoughtful design,” she murmured, “And this thing’s warm, too…”
Frozen through to the bone, she instinctively hugged the warmth closer, rubbing it to draw in as much heat as she could.
“Oho~ This texture’s kinda amazing!”
Soft, springy like a water balloon.
It squished in all the right ways, reshaping however she pleased. Strangely soothing.
Rub.
And rub harder.
She kept at it, gleefully mashing the mysterious object… until a sultry, ice-cold voice dripping with menace suddenly rang out inches from her face.
“Are you quite done playing around?”
? ? ?
Wu Yi froze.
Something slithered around her waist—supple, sinuous.
A tentacle.
It wrapped upward… and coiled gently around her neck.
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