Chapter 71 “Gathering In The Gutter”
This Translation is hosted on bcatranslation.com
The very moment Duncan raised the sun amulet high for all to see, a blanket of silence enveloped the gathering, lingering as palpably as a heartbeat in a quiet room. His words echoed in the stillness, hanging in the air like a fragile and delicate whisper, “I am one of us.”
A silent display of surprised glances was exchanged between more than a dozen pairs of wide-eyed observers. It was only after this wave of silence had passed that a man, who seemed to be the unspoken leader of the group, spoke up. He was lanky, towering over the others, and his voice dropped to a hushed whisper, urgency coloring his every word, “Put it away quickly! We might have church spies in our midst!”
Could this small amulet truly possess such influence among these devout sun worshippers?
Duncan found a fleeting amusement in the idea, though his face remained as impassive as ever, half hidden by the shroud of enigma he wore like a cloak. As he carefully secreted the amulet away, he shot back, “If there are truly church spies around, your conspicuous gathering would be a far easier target than my amulet.”
As the echo of his words faded into the stillness, a man with a grizzled beard couldn’t help but blurt out, “We’re not worried. Our assembly might catch the guardians’ attention. They might accuse us of…”
“Silence!” The group leader’s sharp command cut the man’s careless prattle short. He then redirected his attention to Duncan, “Given the city’s current state of insecurity, we must remain cautious. You may approach us, but avoid sudden movements.”
As Duncan sauntered casually toward the group, the leader studied him intently, scanning him from top to bottom. After what felt like an eternity, the lanky man whispered, “Do you live in this city as a believer?”
After contemplating briefly, Duncan nodded, “Yes.”
The body he now inhabited had indeed been a resident of the city, and so he now was too. He decided honesty was the best policy when it came to such blatant facts.
Duncan’s agenda was straightforward – infiltrate the heretic group under the guise of shared belief, extract information if feasible, keep a low profile if not, and if caught, have his pet dove Ai morph and carry them to safety.
The group leader, entirely unaware of the hazardous thoughts brewing in the mind of his so-called ‘comrade in faith’, continued, “I heard that the Storm Church attacked…”
“The gathering in the sewers a few days ago. A sun ritual was taking place there, but it spiraled out of control, and we suffered a severe loss,” Duncan admitted without a shred of remorse, carefully observing the reactions of the sun worshippers. He felt a noticeable easing of the tension in the air, save for the group leader who still held his wary demeanor, “I managed to escape with three others, but we were separated, and I lost touch with them until I came upon you all. I believe the Sun guided me here.”
The tall man responded with a grunt, his attention diverted to Duncan’s shoulder as he inquired, “What’s this?”
“My pet,” Duncan said, his tone filled with an air of nonchalance, “Can’t you see? It’s just an ordinary dove.”
Seizing the perfect opportunity to make her presence known, Ai punctuated his statement with a loud, distinct coo.
“That dove certainly is vocal…” The lanky man’s defenses seemed to lower, perhaps led to believe that a true devotee would not have the peculiar habit of toting a bird around town. He gave a nod of approval, then instructed, “Follow me, it isn’t safe to talk out here.”
A wave of relief washed over Duncan. His initial tactic to assimilate among the heretics seemed to have been successful. He fell in line with the cultists, delving further into the enigmatic labyrinth of back alleys.
The serpentine alleyway was darker and more intricate than Duncan could have ever imagined. It felt as if it were leading to the neglected heart of this decaying portion of the city. A crew of heretics guided Duncan, snaking through the convoluted network of old, steam-emitting pipes and traversing the foul-smelling paths flooded with sewage. They eventually reached a conglomeration of ramshackle buildings, revealing the unsightly underbelly of the otherwise thriving steam city to Duncan.
He had always believed that his life with Nina in the city’s most impoverished sector was the epitome of hardship. But now, in the face of these squalid depths, their dated shop seemed like a veritable sanctuary.
The majority of dilapidated houses lining the path seemed devoid of life, abandoned for what seemed like an eternity. However, from the shadows of a select few, Duncan could feel the gaze of weary, desolate eyes observing them. Perhaps belonging to homeless individuals seeking refuge in this forgotten part of the city, these onlookers regarded the intruding visitors with apathy.
But these melancholic stares retreated hastily—after all, the imposing presence of the heretics was enough to instill fear in the onlookers.
“You see, this is Pland, the most flourishing city-state on the Boundless Sea,” murmured the man clad in black, who initially drew Duncan’s attention. His words felt like they were directed at himself as much as they were at Duncan, “It’s the same story everywhere—Lansa, Cold Harbor, even the Elves’ so-called ‘haven of peace and justice’, Wind Harbor… They all profess that their ‘Sun’ casts an unbiased light upon the world, bringing illumination and order to all beings. But how much of this sunlight truly seeps into these grimy gutters?”
Duncan remained silent but lifted his gaze. Overhead, a complex network of steam and fuel pipes twisted and twined, extending from the city’s upper levels and industrial district. Massive valves and pressure mechanisms sat atop the surrounding rundown buildings like monstrous parasites. Sunlight filtered through the gaps between the pipes, casting an unhealthy pallor onto the sewage-laden ground that reeked with a repellent odor.
This was the detritus of the city, predominantly made up of condensed steam escaping from nearby pipes, mingled with industrial chemicals that seeped from the factories and accumulated day by day in the lower districts of the city.
Even though Duncan hadn’t spent a significant amount of time in the city, he could easily deduce how such an “urban sore” had come into existence.
Duncan cast a glance at the disgruntled man dressed in black, his expression remaining impassive.
Whether they were seduced by the allure of the Sun’s heir or driven by the harsh realities of life, the emergence of these heretics had its own justifications—but did it really matter?
These heretics, who self-righteously believed that they were coerced into residing in these city gutters, still ended up in the lower parts of the city, capturing and sacrificing the penniless homeless. None of the myriad disheveled individuals in that cave had come from the wealthier, privileged citizens of the upper city.
As an “outsider” who was yet to fully comprehend this world, Duncan felt no compulsion to judge this city-state. However, as a former sacrificial victim, he had little empathy for these heretics.
Without uttering a word, he eventually arrived at the heretics’ headquarters.
The base was concealed underground, within the confines of a disused factory.
Like nocturnal creatures flitting through the darkness, the cultists always seemed to discover the ideal sanctuary. Or perhaps it was the prosperous steam city itself, with its myriad forgotten nooks and crannies that provided a fertile breeding ground for such nefarious deeds.
By circumventing a semi-collapsed exterior wall of the factory, they opened an iron gate leading to an underground structure. Despite initially hoping to satiate his curiosity about the “steam era” by exploring the factory’s inner workings, Duncan was denied this opportunity. Instead, he was escorted down a sloping staircase that descended deep into the cultists’ clandestine lair.
The expansive underground space, which was likely a former warehouse or a machinery room of the factory, was now emptied, leaving behind only the remnants of a pipeline system on the ceiling and gas lamps on the walls that were no longer functional. Recognizing the hazards of complete darkness, the cultists had illuminated the room with lamps fueled by whale oil. Their flickering light revealed an unexpectedly large congregation of cultists.
Despite the church’s brutal attack on one of their ritual sites, how was it possible that so many sun worshippers were still gathering together? Were these cultists proliferating like mushrooms in the dark, thriving in these dank, squalid conditions? Duncan surveyed the expansive basement, puzzled by the array of shadowy figures. The cultists returned his gaze, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and caution.
The tall, gaunt man reappeared, followed by several muscular underlings who positioned themselves around Duncan. Raising an eyebrow, Duncan quipped, “So, another search after entering? I wasn’t aware that was a rule.”
“If you were indeed a church spy, a pat-down wouldn’t serve any purpose,” the lean man responded, extracting a frayed piece of fabric from his pocket, “This is merely a more stringent method of verification. Just a necessary safeguard. We’ve suffered the loss of many brethren for a variety of reasons over the years.” He extended the strip to Duncan. “Hold it, and recite along with me.”
Upon examining the grimy piece of cloth, Duncan noted that it appeared to have been torn from an old garment, marked with dark splotches that resembled dried blood. An unconventional tool for verifying the allegiance of their members, he pondered, observing that despite their questionable battle skills, these professional outcasts had refined their countermeasures against infiltrations to a highly sophisticated level.
Accepting the cloth strip, Duncan paid heed as the gaunt man commenced a low chant: “In the name of the day, may the radiance of the lord shine upon…”
The phrases echoed familiarly in Duncan’s ears — another cultist had recently intoned similar words to him—the one who had presented him with an amulet.
Unobserved, Duncan subtly raised a finger, allowing a wisp of green flame to seep into the fabric strip. Then, maintaining his impassive expression, he echoed the lanky man’s invocation.
The strip remained lifeless in his hand, showing no signs of reaction.
Following a lengthy, tense silence, the gaunt man nodded in approval and reclaimed the strip with a slight smile, “Welcome back to the glory of the Lord, brother.”
how clever, I like it ?
Duncan is getting the hang of things.
“whale oil”?