Chapter 538: Long Saber and Wheat Ears
To facilitate the identification of members within the organization, they discussed and agreed upon a simple moniker: ‘Backlighters.’
Many of them were part of the church, but their goals were in stark contrast to those of the church that sealed and purged the chaos disaster.
Their goal was to open all seals of chaos, allowing the calamity to descend upon the world, cleansing its sins so that the world could be reborn anew.
Only through great destruction can there be great rebirth.
This was their creed. The world cycled through constant death and rebirth, and this era was ripe for a reboot.
This world had long since turned into a place of sorrowful sin, and only by crossing the sea of destruction could one reach a new world.
Compared to other simplistic doctrines of heretical cults, this organization’s teachings were more coherent. Furthermore, they imparted secret techniques like the Echeca Path, enabling true transcendence over the sea of suffering. This allowed them to sense higher-dimensional mana and power, thereby gaining even greater strength.
Under the dual incentives of spirit and matter, many joined them, slowly spreading across various regions.
In the next two months, Lolan Hill’s team pursued and suppressed this organization while continually tracing its upper echelons and core members.
Eisolas Diocese, Wheelwood Village.
Four people in black robes stood at the village entrance, silently observing the desolate village.
Many houses seemed scorched with black marks, and twisted corpses lay by the roadside.
Some appeared to have struggled, leaving scratch marks in walls and soil, while others seemed to have died peacefully in their sleep, lying quietly in the central open space.
“This village is closest to the nearest town, fifty miles away, sparsely populated. They survive by growing a medicinal herb called bitter root on the hillside; usually, they send someone down the mountain to sell it and communicate with the outside world during autumn.”
The “Red Hat” explained as he led the three others into the village.
“These people seem to have been corrupted by the chaotic phantoms, just as described in the scriptures,” said the “Cosmetician,” carefully stepping around the corpses.
“Yes, just like the chaos disaster back then. Those intangible shadows spread like a plague, destroying one village, town, and city after another. Most people suffered and perished, creating more chaotic phantoms, while a few who survived degenerated into mindless, polluted bodies, akin to walking corpses.”
“The places they pass through turn into polluted lands. Ordinary crops and life forms struggle to survive, only those corrupted monsters can adapt to such conditions.” The “Red Hat” took out a white handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth, examining the corpses by the roadside closely.
“Why would they do this?” the “Cosmetician” mused.
“Why? Perhaps due to madness and an inability to escape. Their joy comes from others’ pain.”
“However, the fate of this village wasn’t a natural disaster but man-made,” the “Red Hat” looked at the ‘open space’ in the village center.
It might no longer be appropriate to call it an open space, as it was piled high with corpses. Nearly 70% of the villagers died here.
They lay scattered, seemingly having gathered for meetings or activities.
After gathering clues and analyzing them, they concluded:
The ‘Backlighters’ organization had gathered the villagers here and conducted some kind of ritual. During the ritual, most people died instantly, while a few were infected by chaos, twisting and struggling in agony before dying.
“However, perhaps some didn’t die and left on their own,” Lolan Hill whispered, looking at the remaining traces on the ground.
“In other words, voluntarily?” the “Cosmetician” murmured.
“Yes, exactly.” The “Red Hat” flipped through a small book from the pile of corpses, a cold smile playing on his lips.
“At the ceremony, most participants would die, but a few would survive, becoming part of their ranks, the lucky ones.”
“Your deceased loved ones haven’t vanished but have become part of your spirit, forever by your side.”
“This is what their scriptures say.”
“The tide of chaos will judge this sinful land, and the devout will become true divine messengers, traveling to a new world.”
“Do they see calamity as a test and reward?” Lolan Hill murmured, noting the similarity to historical religious claims.
“Hmph, disasters are disasters, to be remembered, but not thanked. Cowards, all of them.”
In the Ivar World, although the Necromancer Sequence was unpopular, accused of manipulating the dead’s bodies and souls, it still held some positive aspects. For example, it saved humans on the brink of extinction and contributed to medicine, aid, and production.
But the Chaos Disaster was different. It brought destruction, and the land and sea corrupted by it made survival nearly impossible. Souls and bodies were twisted, no longer recognizable. It was the enemy of all living beings and unacceptable.
“Let’s go. There’s nothing worth searching for here. We move to the next location.”
Hours later, the group reconvened at the village entrance. White flames rose around the village, burning inward, purifying and destroying all remnants of corruption.
Lolan Hill stood among the four, watching the scene. The intense firelight brought waves of heat, slightly lifting her hood, revealing a few silver strands.
A hand landed on her shoulder, and she turned to see the “Cosmetician.”
“Aren’t you feeling a bit sad, Marionette Sister?”
“But this is how the world is—kind people and selfish, mad ones. To gain power and desire, they’d do anything.”
“Being good to others isn’t enough; you must punish the wicked and not pity them.”
“Because your pity will lead to more tragedy for the good.”
“Mercy only emboldens rampant evil, seeing your concessions as weakness and vulnerability.”
“Only cold, sharp punishment can stop the spread of evil.”
“If you don’t wield the sword, then the unarmed will be forced to take up arms, wanting to live.”
“Then, the world becomes a blood-soaked battlefield, with no room for goodness.”
“Only by holding a saber in one hand and wheat ears in the other can we cultivate the world.”
Lolan Hill was not unaware of these words; she had heard similar sentiments before, but never felt them so deeply.
Though she had arrived in this world, much of her memories remained rooted in her former country, where any murder case would spark societal concern.
A peaceful society shaped her tolerant and kind nature, a trait that shone brightly. In this world, even the turmoil in Hope Lane did not involve irrational lunatics.
But recent experiences had shown her the cruel, dark side of this world.
Unrestrained malice could spread to what extent? They would devour everything, forcing everyone onto the same path.
(End of Chapter)
