Church could no longer rember how he left the Great Rift, nor could he recall what he was doing now. His consciousness was close to nothingness, and all his actions at the mont seed more like instinctive subconscious actions than controlled by will.
A walking corpse.
In an effort to destroy the sealed gas canisters as much as possible and prevent disaster, Church ca into close contact with the Blight Plague, which severely drained his own Ether and invaded his flesh. After this, Morrison’s attack followed, its deadly wings raising a howling wind. Along with the onslaught of the Blight Plague, Church nearly died in that deadly corridor.
Now his blood seed to have dried up, rotting black wounds crusting together into hideous, terrifying scars. His eyes were lifeless, and countless fragnted thoughts wandered through his mind, never able to co together.
In a daze, Church thought of his mother once again. It felt magical, like dreaming.
Who had ntioned it to him... oh, the stranger claiming to be his father.
He said Church’s mother was an excellent Narrow Space Walker, always perfect at grasping the depth of Stealth to ensure she wouldn’t get lost in the Narrow World.
But on one mission, she fell into an irresistible peril. To complete the task, she underwent a Complete Stripping.
For Narrow Space Walkers, each extra second of Complete Stripping increases the risk of losing themselves, and that ti, she completely stripped for too long.
Long enough that she was utterly lost within it...
Church could imagine how his mother died, completely subrged in the Narrow Space, utterly forgetting who she was, self-awareness vanishing into oblivion, her body collapsing in so corner. Under twisted perception, would people see her body as a stubborn stone? Or a carcass of an animal?
No one knew.
The only thing known is that external observation could no longer see her at all. She lay there quietly until the body decayed, returning to dust.
Church did not want to beco like her. He still had things to do, stubborn ones etched into his instincts.
chanically stepping on Opus’s streets, Church relied on the last of his consciousness, pulling himself from Complete Stripping, reverting to the First Stage of Stealth.
His presence rapidly diminished. Passersby brushed by him, paying no mind to this battered figure, only a few paused briefly, curious about the scent of fresh blood in the air.
To perfectly hide his information and avoid enemy sights, Church’s clothes were an Alchemy Armant capable of altering attire and body shape. Accompanied by the "Faceless" mask tight against his face, Church could change into another person anyti, even without using Secret Energy.
One mont, Church was a bloated rchant, the next, he beca a gaunt scholar.
But now, these Alchemy Armants had sustained severe damage. The Blight Plague not only corroded Ether but also these armants. Church’s clothes beca tattered, and as he moved, his attire and form began malfunctioning similarly.
So too with Church’s face, facial muscles twitching lightly as if stricken by so illness. This was the outer manifestation of the Faceless, in actuality, the mask had multiple damages, the Blight Plague gnawing at it like a terrifying venomous insect.
Breathing beca deep and rapid. Useless mories in Church’s mind were largely consud by Complete Stripping. Though he escaped in ti, his mories still fragnted and blurred.
At least one thing, Church still vaguely rembered.
"We need sothing to anchor our existence... We are like kites, soaring high in the howling gale. That thing is the thread pulling us back to the ground, the anchor stabilizing the ship."
The man’s words echoed once more in his ears.
For a long ti, Church was unsure what to use to anchor his will. After all, everyone was strangers to him; in this world, he seed to hold only his responsibilities.
Until one day.
The blurry consciousness gradually cleared.
When Church ca to, he had arrived at a familiar place. A wave of fragrance from indoors soothed his wounds.
Perhaps it was divine favor, the malfunctioning Alchemy Armant stabilized briefly, Church’s attire becoming a common staff uniform, his face turning into the familiar Church recognized by others.
"Good morning, Afeiya."
Church greeted the other person, his voice normal, bodily pain perfectly suppressed.
"Church?"
Afeiya saw that familiar figure in the sunlight, appearing sowhat excited, "I knew you would co!"
Church was an odd guest, yet such a peculiar visitor brought Afeiya a feeling she never had before.
The feeling of being needed.
What followed repeated too many tis, both had grown accustod to it, Afeiya picked up the bouquet she prepared for Church, handing it to him.
Church accepted the bouquet politely, holding it in front of him. As usual, after so small talk, they should part ways, but this ti neither moved.
In the sunlight, Afeiya stared into Church’s eyes, feeling a strange familiarity, sensing she had seen such eyes sowhere before.
It was ti to say goodbye. Afeiya suddenly felt a strange sensation as if this ti Church was truly leaving, never to return again.
Afeiya was struck with a sense of panic, unsure of what to do, clumsily bringing up topics in hopes of delaying the farewell.
Just like friends at a crossroads, talking endlessly about trivial matters, vainly trying to outlast the inevitable farewell.
Afeiya asked, "How are the alum roots doing?"
"Not bad," Church said, "I’ve been reading books, books about how to care for plants... It should be a while before they bloom."
Church’s words were fragnted, like snippets pieced together haphazardly. The Secret Energy’s influence on him continued, and the injury to his body stimulated his nerves. Maintaining normal communication was already quite an accomplishnt for Church.
"Is that so..."
Afeiya continued, "If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask . After all, books can be rigid, and I can teach you hands-on."
Church hesitated for a mont and said, "If there’s a chance."
"What’s wrong?"
Faced with Afeiya’s question, Church hesitated again. He could clearly feel that Afeiya was becoming unfamiliar to him. The aftereffects of the Secret Energy had already affected his recent mories, making many things related to Afeiya vague and precarious.
Church didn’t have much ti left, and it was at this mont that he sowhat understood what Palr was forcing him to comprehend back then.
So this was how it was.
"I... I have to leave."
Church casually told a lie, sothing he’s most skilled at as an intelligence officer.
"Due to a job transfer, I might never return here. Thank you for the flowers during this ti; they were vibrant and fragrant."
The flowers were like a stunning splash of color, making Church’s pale life less monotonous.
"I thought I should co and say goodbye to you."
The more Church spoke, the more emotions surged from the depths of his heart.
He never really had an anchor; if there was one, it was his own na.
His life was so monotonous, and because of the side effects of his Secret Energy, Church would never form real connections with anyone. He thought he would always walk alone, yet at this mont, Church realized he had long possessed what could be called an anchor.
And it was precisely because of this that Church made such an unexpected decision, contrary to his usual cold observer role, to imrse himself in the story.
Church unconsciously smiled as he figured it all out, at such an absurd mont.
"Your flowers are really nice; I don’t want them to wither."
Therefore, the Decay Plague must be completely destroyed within the Fog Abyss Fortress.
"I thought about just leaving," Church said, "but then I thought I shouldn’t. I hope I’m not being presumptuous."
After all, Church’s connection with Afeiya wasn’t much; often, it was just Church letting his imagination run wild. He was always like this, like a lizard hiding in the damp, dark swamp.
Saying too much, too deeply, would only add to the trouble... but it felt good to say it out loud.
"No... how could that be."
Afeiya felt her thoughts getting a bit muddled, and she turned to thank Church, "I should thank you."
"What for?"
"To be honest, this is a busy, cold city. I never thought anyone would like sothing like this," Afeiya glanced at the flowers in Church’s arms, "I was considering doing sothing else. Thank you for making feel needed, that what I do is aningful, and not futile."
Afeiya continued, "Your eyes are very pretty, and I’ve seen soone with a similar gaze to yours before."
"Is that so?"
Hearing this, Church chuckled. It was ti to leave, and just as he was about to turn and leave, Afeiya called out again.
"You haven’t paid yet!"
Church was taken aback and patted his pocket, but apart from a blood-stained dagger, he found nothing.
He said, "Sorry, I didn’t bring any money."
"Then next ti."
Afeiya said to Church, as if she had gotten her way.
"Pay back next ti."
...
The rapid descent had lasted for who knows how long, and the blade in his hand had sliced through countless rocks. The high-frequency vibrations numbed his entire arm, even the pain becoming a blur.
Standing on a protruding rock covered in ashes, Bologue wearily pulled the Malice from the pile of rubble. He could feel an eerie suction around him, as if countless specters were relentlessly gnawing at his Ether.
Ether vacuums were always so unbearable. Casting his gaze into the distance, amidst the vast expanse of ash, one could faintly see a city shrouded in ashes standing tall.
The source of the conflict, the tomb of King Solomon.
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