Chapter 435: Torn by Doubts

“What’s wrong? Worried we won’t pull this off?” the man asked. “It’s true that we might not fully understand the lay of the land here. This era isn’t exactly what we planned for.”

Those in the room watched Damian’s sudden, bewildered expression without anger or suspicion. The stranger patted the mattress beside him, inviting Damian to sit.

“A little,” Damian admitted once seated. “This era’s Goddess of the Night isn’t at all like the one we once knew. She is… too languid, perhaps, or unnervingly benevolent. And her following has grown far beyond what it once was.”

The man at his side was plainly dressed in rough cloth; the only striking thing about him was a hooded cloak he wore.

He drew the hood back to reveal a youth’s face with white hair and no remarkable features, one that was surprisingly young.

“Tell me everything,” the youth said with a soft smile, patting Damian’s shoulder. “Perhaps I can offer counsel.”

Damian’s two companions fell quiet and took seats nearby, watching as the exchange unfolded.

Damian gathered himself and began to recount what he knew: the current scope of the Church of Nightfall and the uncanny gifts the Lady of the Night had bestowed. The Prayer Network, the Midnight Library, the channels of power and knowledge the cult now wielded…

“Oh?” The white-haired youth raised an eyebrow. “Divine power used to build such things… It’s difficult to fathom, but it would be extraordinary if true. I would never have expected any god to act in so supportive a fashion, though certainly with their strength such feats would be possible.”

He sounded less astonished at the breadth of the Church’s power than at the notion that a deity would stoop to such practical stewardship. That unsettled him more than the Church’s size.

“If gods grant their worshippers such tools as broad communication, codified transmission of knowledge, and resilience against spiritual contagion, then rapid expansion is all but guaranteed.”

The youth shook his head. From what he had been told, the Church’s rise was almost inevitable. Damian produced a book from the small cabinet beside his bed, a copy of the holy book of the night, and extended it to the stranger.

“You should read this,” he said.

“Oh? The faith’s holy book? There must be something worthwhile in it for you to be presenting it to me.”

The youth took the volume and flipped through it with casual rapidity. He skimmed page after page, his fingertips falling at last on a passage that made him pause. With a decisively soft snap, he closed the book and handed it back to Damian.

“Huh.” He tapped his chin, thinking. “This is unexpected. A theology that tells followers to mind their day-to-day life first, then speak of faith… This attitude is almost irreverent. Still, it aligns in part with things we already know. There is overlap in the ends they pursue.”

“This era’s Church of Nightfall and God of Eternal Night is truly unique. Perhaps you might wish to devote yourself to her faith as well…”

Damian noticed the interest in the young man’s tone and recounted how the Prayer Network and the Midnight Library felt when he used them, the way the Night Goddess’s gifts had altered the believers’ lives. He offered his impressions candidly.

The youth laughed softly. “I would like to experience such wonders too. What you describe sounds irresistible. But sadly, I know more than you do. Knowledge carries a cost. Once you know certain things, you lose the right to be a simple believer. Regrettably, I cannot truly worship deities. That is my burden.”

Damian frowned. The remark puzzled him. The youth, however, only smiled sadly and tapped his forehead as if to punctuate an old, inescapable truth: understanding came with its own drawbacks.

“Is that so? Do we need to alter our plan, then?”

Damian didn’t quite understand what the youth meant, but the youth clearly knew more arcane knowledge than he did. It was rather odd that such knowledge would leave him unable to place faith in deities, but not particularly unbelievable.

“So we must alter the plan?” Damian asked, trying to pin down what that burden meant for their mission.

“Yes.” The youth’s nod was firm. “Adjustments are necessary.”

“Understood.”

Damian bowed, showing relief and a flicker of joy now that modifications to the plan had been decided on.

“You needn’t bow,” the youth said lightly. “I will undertake the modifications to the plan later. Carry on with your original tasks for now. This holy book is remarkable. Without it, the Church would not have grown so quickly.

“Much of the peculiar character of this cult springs from its archbishop’s rhetoric. I shall take the time to speak with him.”

He regarded Damian with a directness that made the younger man uneasy but hopeful. “As for you, Damian, do not worry. This era’s Goddess of Eternal Night and her cult are peculiar, but in a way that makes their faith looser, more diffuse. She is therefore more fragile than any other god.”

The youth’s next words made Damian’s heart sink. His task wouldn’t change; the youth had simply grown somewhat interested in the archbishop of the Church of Nightfall.

“Take this,” he said. “When the time is right, use it. I cannot become a believer, and therefore I cannot carry out the act myself. As a member of the Lightless Order, you must do it. The consciousness bound in this dagger can reshape the Goddess of Eternal Night of this era into one similar to that in the past.”

The youth then picked up the dagger Damian had left on the table and held it out. He drew a finger along Damian’s right forearm. Dark energy mingled with a surge of wizardry and bled into the skin. A black sigil appeared, precisely the shape of the dagger in miniature. By the time he withdrew his hand, the blade in Damian’s palm had vanished.

“That will keep it from being lost,” the youth said. “Now the rest depends on you. Don’t disappoint me—no, don’t disappoint us, or yourself. If we are to birth that utopia, every link in the chain must hold.”

The youth’s expression softened as he traced a finger along Damian’s right arm, lightly brushing the black sigil that had formed there. The dagger had fused with the mark. If he wanted to, Damian could summon the weapon back into his hand at any moment.

“Well then,” the white-haired youth said cheerfully, sweeping his cloak aside. “Farewell for now. When the time comes, I’ll be in touch.”

His tone was light, almost casual. With a deft flick of the wrist, his hooded figure began to collapse inward, folding upon itself like a reflection drawn into a mirror. He vanished without a sound. Not even the faintest ripple of spatial energy lingered in his wake.

“The world we dream of…”

Damian murmured under his breath, fingers brushing the mark on his arm. He didn’t know exactly what he was feeling—whether it was doubt, anticipation, or unease. Something deep within him twisted, conflicted, an emotion he could not name nor understand.

“Eat first—it’s getting cold.”

A lunchbox scraped across the table. His companion’s nudge drew him back to the present.

“Right… food first. What’s for today again?”

He opened the box. Inside were two slices of perfectly toasted bread sandwiching thick cuts of roast meat, still glistening with fat, layered with crisp vegetables to cut through the grease.

Crunch.

He took a bite. The savory richness of the meat melded with the charred fragrance of the bread, the heaviness of the fat perfectly balanced by the freshness of the greens. It wasn’t an extravagant meal, but it seemed heavenly.

“Still as delicious as ever…” he muttered, half to himself.

Meanwhile, in the small garden beside the cursebinding spire, Wang Yu sat at a wooden table piled high with plates. Most were already empty; the few that remained were swiftly being cleared away as he devoured the last of the desserts with unabashed delight.

“This is amazing! Avia must’ve learned her cooking skills from you, right? Don’t tell her I said this, but your baking’s even better than hers.”

Across from him sat Mira Svein, Avia’s mother. Her gentle smile only deepened as she watched Wang Yu eat, his every mouthful accompanied by unrestrained praise.

Wang Yu’s praise was no mere courtesy. It was sincere. Avia had inherited her mother’s culinary brilliance in full; both were extraordinary cooks.

Yet when it came to desserts, Mira’s skill truly stood apart. Even Wang Yu, who didn’t have a sweet tooth, could not help but feel a fleeting sense of bliss after just a single bite.

“I’m glad you like it,” Mira said with a laugh. “I heard there’s been some trouble over in Aleisterre. Shouldn’t you go take a look? With you there, your companions would surely have an easier time.”

Watching Wang Yu eat so heartily was strangely infectious. His sheer enjoyment made others hungry just by looking at him. For a cook, there could be no better compliment. Mira was delighted.

Wang Yu hadn’t cleaned out the entire spread. Several desserts still remained, neatly arranged. Clearly, he’d saved those for Avia.

And really, who would have guessed that this easygoing young man, cheerfully praising her baking, was a legend among legends? There was no inkling of his strength seeping out through his aura—no weight of power, no chill of command—just warmth and gratitude.

“Haha, they can’t rely on me for everything,” Wang Yu replied with a grin, patting his stomach. “They’ll handle it fine without me. The Church of Nightfall and Aleisterre won’t stop spinning just because I’m not around. Me? I’m just a bit of extra garnish on the side. Besides, it’s nice to spend some time here instead. See? Unexpected rewards already.”

Mira smiled again, shaking her head softly. What he said made sense. If he went to Aleisterre, there’d be no trouble at all, but then again, trouble was part of growth.

Edward and Charles were both capable enough to know when not to ask for help. As for the Church of Nightfall, Wang Yu had long since left its daily affairs to others.

“Where’s Avia? Don’t tell me Lilya roped her into another alchemy project. The pastries are best while they’re warm,” she said, glancing about.

Her tone was light, though a quiet curiosity simmered beneath it. For all her familiarity with Wang Yu, there was much she didn’t know. For instance, he hadn’t ever spoken about his family, not once. Neither had she met them. Was he estranged from them…?

“Mom, I’m here!” A soft pulse of spatial distortion rippled through the air as Avia appeared behind her mother, wrapping her arms playfully around Mira’s neck. “Aunt Lilya didn’t need my help today. Since Wang Yu already sorted out all the alchemy materials, she got dragged off by the tower master instead.”

Reaching across the table, she picked up a small cake and took a delicate bite, her eyes lighting up.

“It’s so good! Mmm, Wang Yu, my cooking’s not as good as Mom’s, right?”

Her tone was sweet, but the glint in her eyes was mischievous.

“Uh, how’d you know that?” Wang Yu scratched his head awkwardly.

Avia tapped the edge of her eyebrow with a teasing grin.

“Alright, alright, I surrender!”

Wang Yu raised both hands in defeat. The Perfect Fractal lens, indeed.

Mira chuckled softly, watching them bicker. Warm sunlight spilled through the garden leaves while the scent of sweets lingering in the air. In that moment, as a mother, she felt overcome by bliss. Still, Wang Yu and Avia hadn’t come to the cursebinding spire just to visit her. They were here to make a few preparations…

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