Chapter 811 — Between the Virtual and the Real

A winding, crumbling earthen ridge rose and fell in the night at a great distance. Starlight lit its edges, revealing what seemed to be a rift valley, or a deep pit.

Orlandel, Typhon's former imperial capital, lay quietly buried at the bottom of that enormous pit.

...

In the ancient, deep subterranean palace, the stern and somber-faced High Priest Semler of the Obscurus Cult, his hair thin, was making his rounds through the deepest level of the containment zone.

The newly installed arcane-web devices powered the mana crystals lamps, illuminating what had once been the darkest, most secluded region; the bright radiance seemed capable of dispelling even the oppressive, despondent atmosphere brought by the upper-level Narrator. Passing through the assembly hall on the lowest floor, Semler was approached by a priest who appeared to have just arrived; the man bowed his head slightly in salute:

"High Priest of the Solaris Cult, the dream regulation on the surface is complete. The dreamless vacuum zone now covers the entire Orendale region."

"Very good," Semler nodded. "Maintain dream surveillance over the Orendale region, and dispatch the spirit-knight reserves as well, to reinforce any area where a breach appears at a moment's notice."

"Understood, High Priest of the Solaris Cult."

"Also, pass the order down: station additional guards at the connecting passage at the bottom of the Throat of Orendale. Should a 'Class Zero' leak occur here... destroy the dome if necessary."

Faced with such an order, the priest hesitated for a moment: "High Priest of the Solaris Cult, in that case the palace's upper levels would likely sustain irreparable damage, and the entire subterranean palace could be exposed..."

"The upper levels can be abandoned. All our vital facilities are in the middle and lower levels; those two regions have elemental blessings and reinforcement spells and can withstand the dome's collapse. After we seal off the palace, we can solve the problem slowly. As for exposure... that no longer matters."

"Understood, High Priest of the Solaris Cult," the priest said with a slow nod, but could not resist asking one more question: "But... merely destroying the dome, can that truly hold back the 'upper-level Narrator'?"

"How could a heap of collapsed stone hold back a formless, immaterial god?" Semler gave a scoffing laugh and shook his head. "But collapsed stone can hold back the upper-level Narrator's 'believers'—and that is enough."

The priest who had brought the orders felt an indescribable pressure descend upon him, but he quickly drew a deep breath within that pressure and nodded firmly.

The priest departed. Semler stood in the empty, silent corridor of the containment zone, standing quietly for several seconds before giving a faint shake of his head and walking toward the area where the spirit-psalm choir members were contained.

A spirit knight clad in heavy silver-white armor, his helm inlaid with numerous mysterious runes, lowered his head before him: "High Priest of the Solaris Cult."

"Is all normal?" Semler asked in a low voice.

A muffled voice came from beneath the spirit knight's helm: "All normal, High Priest of the Solaris Cult."

"Has anyone spoken with the outside?"

"No."

"Very good."

Semler nodded, passed the guardian spirit knight, and came to the doorway of the outermost room in the containment zone. He rapped lightly on the metal door, which was painted with runes and inlaid with mithril, purple copper, and other mana-conductive materials; the sound of the knocking carried far down the deep, winding corridor.

Two seconds later, a gentle, pleasant female voice sounded from behind the door: "Who is it?"

"It is I, Semler," said the stern, somber High Priest of the Solaris Cult. "Lady Wendy, I have come to check on your condition."

"Ah, High Priest of the Solaris Cult Semler," said Wendy, who had been leaning against the corner of the room, idly watching a spider spin its web. She rose to her feet, brushed the dust from the hem of her skirt, and came near the door. "I am doing very well here—that irritating sound has not appeared for a long time now. Though it is rather dull in this room; only the spiders keep me company."

"Bear with it a while longer," Semler said, somewhat relieved to hear that the voice of Wendy, the "Spirit Song," was calm and clear, her state rational and lucid. "We have reached a critical stage. When the sun rises tomorrow, all will be well."

"I hope so."

…

Near the temple of the desert city-state of Nim Sanzhuo, in the only dwelling with lights burning, the white-haired girl named Naritel had already fallen fast asleep in the hay against the corner of the wall, while old Duvalt sat not far away like a guard, cross-legged on the ground, seemingly in devout prayer.

Watching this, Yuri could not resist whispering to Selina beside him: "Honestly, when that Duvalt fellow said Naritel was starving, I was already bracing for a fight. I truly never expected she was just... hungry."

Selina's answer was very brief: "The more normal it seems, the more abnormal it is."

"...How much longer do we have to 'keep company' with these two?"

"That depends on the opinion of the Wanderer from Beyond... Gao Yang Cecil."

Selina spoke softly, her gaze resting on Gao Yang not far away.

Gao Yang rose and came to stand before Duvalt, who seemed to have just finished a segment of prayer.

"The gods are dead," he said to the weathered old man. "To whom, then, are you praying?"

"Force of habit," Duvalt said with a shake of his head and a smile. "You see, faith... has inertia."

When he spoke of "faith has inertia," his tone was rather complex.

Gao Yang could not comprehend what psychological changes a man who had wandered for years through a ruined world might have undergone. He merely shook his head, then waved his hand to shoo away a spider scurrying across a nearby pillar.

"There are many spiders here at night," Duvalt said. "But have no worry—they are all gentle and harmless, and they will actively avoid people."