Chapter 72: “The Information From The Meeting”

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From an unbiased perspective, it was evident that the religious sect members were exceptionally meticulous in their approach. Duncan’s immediate acceptance into the group was anything but straightforward. Possessing the sun amulet did not instantly establish his credibility, nor did his recounting of the incidents at the underground sacrificial site. The sect was far from lax, meticulously evaluating his every action and dissecting his words. Even upon reaching their meeting place, they took extra steps to verify his authenticity, demonstrating extraordinary caution, even for a secretive cult evading capture.

However, their methods of discernment assumed Duncan was a standard human being, which were entirely ineffective against someone like him, the captain of the Vanished.

The lean, commanding figure of the group took the unassuming fabric from Duncan’s hand, seemingly oblivious to any changes in the relic’s inherent power. After acknowledging Duncan as a new member, he gestured towards a vacant spot, saying, “You can settle there for now, brother. You’re not the only new face here.”

Duncan nodded and moved towards the designated spot, making mental notes of each individual in the assembly. To his astonishment, the adherents here differed significantly from those he encountered at the sacrificial sewer site. Unlike the typical black robes of the Suntists, these individuals were dressed as ordinary citizens, with their faces fully exposed, devoid of hoods.

Driven by curiosity, he asked a nearby follower, “Is it customary to reveal one’s face at such gatherings?”

The disciple seemed taken aback, replying, “Do the believers in Pland always cover their faces during meetings?”

A slight frown creased Duncan’s brow, “You’re not from Pland…”

“We’re from Lansa,” another follower interjected. The Suntists appeared more relaxed, having confirmed Duncan as a fellow believer. “We arrived last week. Before we could contact the local believers, the attack occurred…”

“All of you here… you’re from Lansa?” Duncan was mildly surprised. This revelation explained the presence of many Suntists in the city, despite the destruction of the sewer sacrificial site.

“Yes, all believers here are from Lansa, but we have groups from other city-states in various hiding places,” another follower added. “We are aware of what has been happening in Pland. For the last four years, that damned governor and the church’s minions have tried to squash our movement. You must have faced challenges as well. But, fortunately, those times are behind us now.”

Duncan responded with an ambiguous nod, only to be questioned by the first believer he spoke to, “That dove on your shoulder is rather… unusual.”

Duncan’s eyes flickered with discomfort at the comment. He knew he wasn’t the only one intrigued by the dove perched on his shoulder. While a dove wasn’t unusual, attending a cultist gathering with one was certainly odd.

He dismissed the comment about the bird nonchalantly, saying, “It’s my pet, adept at assisting me in various ways.”

As he engaged in casual conversation, Duncan’s mind processed his earlier speculations: the significant influx of Suntists into Pland indicated these typically discreet cultists, who had recently orchestrated the conspicuous sewer event, were planning something grander.

His stealthy approach had led him precisely to the truth. He began to understand why the cultists at this gathering chose not to hide their identities, instead blending in as ordinary citizens.

In the sewer, the Suntists veiled their identities, limiting interaction among lower-ranking members to counteract the church’s frequent purges and prevent key information from exposure during betrayals or arrests. This was necessary for local Suntists under such pressure. However, these newcomers from various city-states didn’t share this experience—they were simple cultists, not highly trained special forces.

Moreover, they didn’t see a need to conceal their identities: the attendees were “old friends” from the same city-state, well acquainted with each other, making disguises pointless during the assembly.

Their guise as common citizens could facilitate a quick escape. If their hideouts were discovered, they could easily blend into the lower city district’s populace, an area lacking stringent administration.

As Duncan contemplated these thoughts, his gaze swept across the gathering and abruptly felt an intense stare fixated on him.

Trusting his instincts, he turned to identify the source, finding a petite girl with short black hair. She wore a black dress adorned with white lace, looking refined and modest, about the same age as Nina. What caught his attention was a deep red choker around her neck with a tiny silver bell—an accessory that seemed oddly out of place despite its charm.

As Duncan’s gaze met hers, she effortlessly diverted her eyes elsewhere. Though subtle, Duncan was certain the previous intense gaze belonged to this young girl.

Why would such a young girl be among this congregation of cultists? The question sprang up as he observed her attire again, sensing a stark dissonance between the girl and her environment.

Lost in his musings, the sudden creaking of a door hinge snapped him back to the present. The lean cult leader ordered the basement door closed and proceeded to the gathering’s center, drawing every eye towards him.

Duncan understood the congregation was starting. He set aside his thoughts, focusing on the evolving scenario. He watched the lanky figure confidently step into the limelight, a mysterious smile flickering on the man’s lips. From his robes, he produced an object, lifting it high for all to see.

It was a pale golden sun mask, identical to the one the Sun priest wore at the underground ritual.

“Honor the grandeur of our Lord, speak the truth under His watch,” the lean man proclaimed, his voice saturated with profound reverence. “Bow before this sanctified mask, may the protection of the Sun’s offspring be imbued within, guiding me in leading the brothers and sisters gathered here.”

The surrounding cultists chanted the sacred name of the Black Sun in harmony, then bowed, pressing their fists to their foreheads in respect. Surprisingly, their reverence was not directed at the slim man but at the golden mask, as if it was the tangible manifestation of a divine entity and the man wielding it merely an instrument.

To blend in, Duncan mirrored their actions, but oblivious to the sacred words, he murmured multiplication tables under his breath. Meanwhile, he meticulously studied the cultists’ behavior, trying to decipher the significance behind their ritualistic actions.

The tall, lean figure solemnly donned the mask. Almost immediately, Duncan sensed an alteration in the man. It was as though he adopted a new persona, an extra shadow springing from his form. Fixing his gaze on the sun-like golden mask, Duncan saw its engraved lines seemingly shifting. The mask appeared to come alive, as if a distant and potent consciousness projected a fragment of its power onto the mask, imbuing it with an ethereal aura.

The simple act of donning the mask, accompanied by a short ceremonial ritual, had transformed an ordinary man into an avatar of divine authority.

The cultists began chanting, “May the splendor of our Lord endure forever! May the path of our Lord manifest upon this world!”

Duncan was deep into the six-digit multiplication table when his mind abruptly flashed back. He had seen a priest wearing a golden mask at the sewer assembly before, but the priest had completed the “donning” process by the time Duncan arrived. Given his unfamiliar surroundings and the limitations of his temporary body, he hadn’t considered the peculiarities of the seemingly ordinary golden mask or questioned why believers called the masked priest the “emissary.”

Now it seemed the Sun mask might be the “communication device” used by the “higher Sun offspring,” lingering on civilization’s fringes, to control their followers and observe the world remotely. Or, more accurately, a type of psychic projection apparatus?

Realizing the item’s potential significance, Duncan’s gaze shifted subtly, scrutinizing the golden mask.

This small relic might just be destined for him.

For those that just want to support me, you can follow the link to paypal donating. Sadly you won’t be able to get the benefit of reading ahead 

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