Chapter 76: Vessel
"Why are we here?" Mo muttered, his boots clicking against the polished marble as he tried to keep pace with Lucien's long stride.
He still couldn't parse the sudden, reckless decision to travel all the way to Adul.
It was his first time setting foot in the district, and the city certainly lived up to its reputation. Adul was known as one of the wealthiest hubs in the entire realm, and it showed in every stone. The wide avenues were paved in smooth white granite, the high manor houses were immaculate, and even the sunlight hitting the roofs seemed brighter, cleaner, almost blinding.
"Why? Simple," Lucien said, idly spinning his black umbrella between his fingers. The sun caught his long hair, making it shimmer softly as they walked. "We have to deal with some bold bastards who keep using my name to commit massacres."
His name?
Mo glanced sideways at him, his brow furrowing. Who in their right mind would do that? Only a complete lunatic would willingly attach Lucien's reputation to their own crimes. Did these people have a death wish?
"Who is it?" Mo asked, genuinely curious about the identity of someone that suicidal.
"How would I know?" Lucien replied smoothly.
Of course.
How would he know? Mo let out a small, ragged sigh, his throat tight, and shot Lucien a flat, bitter glare.
Yet as they pushed deeper into the upper estate district toward the massive castle overlooking the valley, Mo found himself subtly shifting his focus inward.
Living in an eight-year-old boy's body was a constant, exhausting nightmare.
Every few steps, a sharp pulse of pressure throbbed behind Mo's eyes, his condensed spirit energy clashing against the tiny, underdeveloped skull holding it in. His chest rose and fell in a sharp, shallow rhythm as his unused lungs struggled with the thin mountain air. With every step, he had to consciously adjust his balance, his ankles locking hard to compensate for the weight of joints that felt far too light, far too fragile.
A heartbeat. He could feel the annoying, steady thudding against his ribs, a physical ticking clock reminding him that he was no longer an intangible shadow drifting through the ether. He was meat and bone now. Weak, vulnerable meat and bone.
Mo looked up at the luxurious castle ahead and mentally offered a brief prayer for whoever was waiting inside.
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As they crossed the heavy drawbridge, however, the opulent atmosphere vanished.
The bright white stone faded into a dull, moldy slate gray, as if the life and color had been systematically scraped off the walls. The air inside the archway turned cold, damp, and smelling faintly of turned soil.
The moment they stepped into the outer courtyard, several figures stepped out from the shadows of the colonnade, standing in a tight line as if they had been expecting Lucien for hours.
Lucien didn't even slow down. He walked right past them with total indifference, treating the armed guards like wooden pillars.
They entered the grand hall, a massive, vaulted room drowned in deep shadows, and Mo immediately caught sight of the figure standing by the far stained-glass window.
Judging by the way the guards outside held their breath, Mo assumed this guy was either the mastermind behind the border raids... or the reason for this entire mess.
"Hello there..." The man turned around, his voice dripping with smooth, unhurried delight. "I've waited so long to meet you face-to-face. This is truly wonderful."
The sunlight filtering through the high window caught the man's soft pink hair, making it glow so brightly it almost looked white.
Lucien didn't bother offering a greeting. He didn't even give the man a full look, his dark eyes wandering lazily up toward the painted ceiling beams instead.
The man didn't seem offended by the disrespect. If anything, his smile only stretched wider across his face.
Mo rolled his void-black eyes, feeling a fresh spike of tension lock up the muscles in his jaw. Why does every single freak in this realm end up obsessing over Lucien?
Then again... Lucien was hardly sane himself. It was probably just birds of a feather.
"Please, sit," the pink-haired man said softly, gesturing toward a set of high-backed velvet chairs.
Lucien didn't answer. He walked over, slumped into the nearest chair, and leaned his umbrella against his knee.
Mo dragged his small frame over to the adjacent chair, hopping up onto the cushion with a quiet grunt, his knees aching slightly from the jump.
"Let's skip the small talk," Lucien said, twirling a loose strand of hair around his finger. "I don't give a damn what cult operations you're running, but stop dragging my title into your body count."
"Ah... my deepest apologies if my methods caused you any annoyance," the man replied, keeping his voice soft, almost timid. "But framing your movement was the only way I could lure you out here."
He offered Lucien a gentle, bashful smile, looking for all the world like a nervous courtier trying to confess a crush.
Mo almost gagged out loud at the sight, his stomach turning a tight knot. Even Lucien tilted his head, giving the man a deeply unsettled look.
"I know you've been tailing my trail for months, but this is getting pathetic," Lucien said, pushing himself up from the chair and grabbing his umbrella. "What are you actually trying to achieve?"
He turned on his heel, looking ready to walk out the double doors without waiting for a reply.
"Wait! Aren't you going to hear me out?" the man called out hastily, stepping forward like a stray dog following its master.
Lucien stopped. Free information was free information; there was no point throwing away an answer if the idiot was willing to talk.
The pink-haired man seemed to take Lucien's pause as a victory. He dropped down onto one knee right in front of Lucien, looking up at him from below with disturbing reverence.
"I am the vessel," the man whispered, his eyes wide and bright. "The true incarnation of the God of Sacrifice."
...
Eh?
Eh?!
Mo stared down at the guy, his headache throbbing hard against his temples. What the hell is this absolute idiot talking about?