The days that followed were intensely fulfilling for Samuel.
Beyond the bare necessities of sustaining life, he devoted every waking moment to meditation, gathering the energy required to wield the Staff of God once more. In the backyard stood a well, and the cellar held a supply of black bread with a shelf life approaching infinity. He boiled the bread in well water, creating a thick porridge. A pot of this gruel, topped with a handful of scallion sprouts from a potted plant, could sustain him for a day or two. With these provisions, Samuel saved the time—and money—he would otherwise spend searching for food.
As a pastor by vocation and a doctor by trade, Reverend Samuel was too busy saving lives to waste energy on minor ailments lately. No visits meant no income. His past savings had been entirely spent on clandestine offerings and rituals for Saro, leaving him perpetually in a state where no income meant barely enough to eat.
If this continued, the venerable pastor risked collapsing from malnutrition. Fortunately, Captain Harriet stationed in Red Gum County was a kind soul. Every few days, he sent his adjutant with provisions as "thanks for the doctor's care of the soldiers." Officially, Samuel had only treated wounded soldiers newly arrived in Red Gum County—dressing wounds and curing colds and diarrhea (though he administered the medicine himself). The captain's generosity was astonishing. Grateful, Samuel prayed daily for the captain, wishing him passage to Salo's realm after death.
Exorcism proved no easy task. During his first attempt on the women in another room, the murky smoke clinging to their bodies resisted like a stubborn disease. Samuel strained to maintain the radiance of the divine staff. By the time the evil aura vanished from that person, he himself was staggering, unable to stand. That had been the most perilous session. Misjudging his own strength, he found himself unable to relight the candlestick afterward. He hid beneath a bed in a corner, emerging only hours later when he could finally light his way out.
After returning to the meeting, Samuel rested for an entire day. When he descended again, the woman whose exorcism he had completed had vanished. He'd never heard of a woman returning from such disappearances. Where had she been taken? Might she face an even worse fate upon awakening? Uncertain, Samuel dared not continue his treatments. He prowled the vicinity cautiously, peering around corners, until he spotted her face in the corridor.
Still bearing the pallor of illness, she strode with such briskness that Samuel nearly lost sight of her. Entering a ward, she pulled out a chair with a flourish, plopped down, and bellowed, "I'm fine now, sisters! Wake up soon yourselves!"
The booming voice startled Samuel, momentarily making him suspect she was some sort of bandit. Truth be told, upon closer inspection, the woman's bare arms (oops, eyes off the goods) were bulging with sinewy muscles—enough to take on five Samuels barehanded. The frail, pitiable impression she'd made in bed was clearly an illusion born of atmosphere.
Anyway, glad she's okay. Just glad she's okay...
Perhaps this wasn't a dungeon at all, but merely an underground ruin occupied by someone?
Samuel shelved his questions for now. After the woman finished her rounds, he stepped back in to treat the most critically ill patients.
Austere training likely did help earn divine favor. With Samuel's relentless efforts, his ability to dispel evil grew stronger. Initially, he needed hours of rest after each treatment, and a full day before he could wield the Divine Staff again. Later, even treating the gravely ill no longer left him dizzy. After healing the woman in the inner chamber and the soldiers outside, half a day's rest sufficed before he could resume his work. Maintaining the Candle of the Starlight God grew easier, and he could hold the lamp for increasingly longer periods.
By this point, Samuel began exploring the dungeon more thoroughly.
This subterranean structure was vast, its passages crisscrossing in every direction. He doubted he could ever find its end. Most corridors were illuminated by blue wall lamps, though some passages remained dark. Samuel ventured into one such unlit corridor once, walking a considerable distance without encountering anything.
The dungeon's inhabitants weren't numerous, yet it wasn't exactly deserted either. So far, Samuel had encountered several types.
First were ordinary people, always rushing by, leaving him only their backs. He'd seen women carrying bows and men in loose robes slowly walking while amusing children in their arms. He couldn't deduce the nature of the underground structure from these individuals. There were warriors here, yet it wasn't a secret military outpost.
Then there were the short ones. When Samuel first saw the first short figure, he thought it was just someone of small stature. But within half a minute, another short figure hopped past, then another, and another... four in total. This group of people who had collectively decided not to grow taller could not possibly be children. They all sported thick beards and were chattering loudly in the corridor—so loudly that Samuel could eavesdrop without getting close. He listened in for over ten minutes, his ears filled with phrases like "I want grilled fish" and "After quenching, it really does need ¥% to ¥%." (Each word was recognizable in the common tongue, yet strung together they formed incomprehensible gibberish). Samuel ended his day's exploration feeling dizzy, deeply regretting wasting so much time on this.
Were these dwarves alien species? He'd heard tales of malevolent species with abnormal heights, greenish skin, and either treacherous cunning or explosive tempers—creatures who delighted in ripping out corpses' entrails. Yet every dwarf Samuel encountered underground had rosy cheeks, spent 80% of their time grinning for no reason, and were on their way to another grin the remaining 20%.
One dwarf stumbled over his own feet as he passed Samuel, falling a foot flat on his face. He scrambled up only to stumble again after two steps. Samuel had to fight the urge to rush over and help him up. The priest secretly thought that if a race that fed on humans behaved like this, they'd have gone extinct long ago from never successfully catching their prey.
Perhaps these short folk were just... short? Stunted growth, leading to poor brains? Samuel wondered, almost beginning to feel pity for them.
The other two types of inhabitants could never be mistaken for humans.
The first time Samuel encountered one of those giant mole rats, he suspected his own exhaustion had blurred his vision. It was an enormous rodent, the size of a calf, with tough, earth-toned skin and front paws larger than a tiger's. Samuel held his breath as it sprinted past, feeling the ground tremble beneath his feet.
This creature was no pushover. At full charge, its bulk could likely topple a wall, and those massive claws only amplified its lethal potential. Samuel dared not approach too closely, fearing the creature might do something unpredictable—like suddenly swelling again, crushing him beneath its weight and exposing his presence. Did this thing eat meat? Before the priest's imagination could fully conjure the monster's dangers, a vision of a short figure atop it shattered all assumptions.
Not sitting on it—riding it. The dwarf rode the mole's back, tugging its tiny ears and yelling, "Hurry up, baby, we're gonna be late!" as it sped past behind Samuel.
It was hard to see a creature that let itself be ridden as a particularly dangerous enemy—especially when ridden by that sort of person, that seemingly brain-deficient dwarf.
Thus, among all the creatures Samuel encountered, only one kind truly made him wary.
Orcs.
That female orc had brown skin, white hair, and a pair of triangular ears standing erect amidst her hair. Her feet were bare, her claws—her toes—long and sharp, tapping lightly against the ground as she walked, producing a faint clicking sound. Like a dog's, those claws could grip the ground while running to prevent slipping; she could probably run very fast.
Samuel had heard of orcs and seen them from afar. Further north lay Lake Rebe City, the most bustling settlement around Angarsoth. His grandmother had brought him here to broaden his horizons. She pointed distantly at what Samuel thought was a circus tent, telling him those inside were forsaken by the gods for willingly debasing themselves by consorting with beasts. When the tent flaps parted, Samuel saw women with inhuman limbs, chained and chained, their eyes capable of haunting dreams.
They were not the orcs he had heard of. Orcs were terrifying, but not this kind of terror. The beastmen in tales were always fierce warriors, devouring human flesh raw, using bones as drumsticks and skin as drumheads—stories most parents still used to scare children into sleep. More credible accounts existed in history; the last war between humans and beastmen had occurred barely two centuries prior. Those savage yet powerful humanoids had plunged Erian into decades of bitter conflict. History books speak of orc warriors who fought a hundred men alone, of battlefield nightmares that transformed into colossal beasts. These were not tales, but real enemies demanding vigilance.
The orc before him belonged to the latter category.
It was still young, perhaps seven or eight years younger than Samuel, yet it carried the bloodthirsty aura of one who had participated in slaughter. It moved swiftly too, its stride distinct from the women Samuel had encountered underground. Those women carried the crisp efficiency of veterans in every gesture (though Samuel still couldn't recall where a female militia might be stationed nearby), while this female beastman's steps were lighter—not in the nimble way of the dwarves... How to describe it? It was a rhythm humans couldn't mimic, the dance of a predator.
It was extremely dangerous.
Samuel had nearly collided with it around a corner once. Those scarred green eyes had fixed him with a cold stare, making him almost think he'd been recognized. He'd hurriedly stepped aside, clutching his clothes, praying the fluttering hem hadn't brushed against it. The female beastman didn't catch him, but she lingered in that passageway, forcing Samuel to abandon his plan to proceed further. As he left, he silently murmured a prayer, his mood heavy.
Was this what a true beastman was like? Such a young beastman was already a complete killer. If they traveled in packs... the thought was unsettling.
Samuel's suspicions grew fiercely. He channeled every ounce of energy he could muster after healing into uncovering the dungeon's conspiracy, dreading the sight of a large group of training orcs around the next corner. He hadn't actually witnessed such a scene, but he couldn't bring himself to explore freely either. The female orc remained a constant shadow, her face grim as she circled him, perhaps catching glimpses of clues but not enough to pinpoint him.
This stalemate persisted until only six or seven victims remained.
That day, Samuel felt unusually optimistic. His persistent efforts had paid off; now only a handful of recently admitted soldiers lingered below. Descending the stairs, everything appeared unchanged—except for the hospital beds.
The beds were empty.
Samuel froze, his mind racing to figure out where they could have gone. Earlier that day, the captain had sent provisions, and they'd exchanged brief words. Samuel had discreetly inquired about the army's status, and the captain had mentioned that those not yet recovered remained in their usual place. The guards above were still on duty. The captain's men said they hadn't been moved. So where had they gone?
The priest spun abruptly, passing through the wall and into the vast, unknown underground structure. It was eerily quiet. Samuel walked for over ten minutes without seeing a single soul pass by, as he usually would. His heart sank with each step. The worst possibility seemed to have materialized: the mysterious, malevolent force lurking within the dungeon had finally made its move.
Just then, he spotted a figure.
It was an ordinary-looking boy, running forward with light, quick steps. He moved surprisingly fast. Samuel, lost in thought, only remembered to chase after the boy once he'd already passed by. The priest was a step too late and had to sprint forward desperately to avoid losing this sole lead. Consequently, when the boy suddenly stopped, Samuel couldn't halt his momentum.
His hands, clutching the two sacred artifacts, flailed wildly through the air. This futile motion did nothing to help, only throwing his limping balance off. He slammed headfirst into the boy's back, bouncing off and crashing to the ground, dazed and disoriented. Though Samuel had desperately raised the artifacts as he fell, the Holy Grail and the candlestick were far from unscathed.
The candle flame went out.
The boy who had been knocked down scrambled to his feet and turned to look at him, as if wondering where Samuel had come from. He appeared no older than fifteen, freckles dotting his nose, and possessed a pair of sharp, round eyes. Clad only in a vest and knee-length shorts, he bore no inhuman traits and carried no aura of malevolence. Samuel recalled seeing him before; he had called a woman Samuel had rescued "sister."
"Kid, I'm not some suspicious character," Samuel said nervously, worried the boy might indiscriminately call for guards or something worse. As he gathered his words, the youth raised an eyebrow and reached out to pull him to his feet.
"How old are you, anyway? I'm fourteen myself. Don't call me kid," the boy grumbled.
"I'm twenty-five. Eleven years older than you." Samuel thanked him for the help, his mind torn between inquiry and warning—the latter prevailing. "Listen, kid, this place is dangerous..."
"I have a name! I'm Aaron!" the youth declared, crossing his arms emphatically.
"Alright, Aaron. I'm Samuel... a chosen one of Saroth."
The latter part of the introduction slipped out in this perilous, desolate underground city. The old woman had said Saros's followers must hide, for evil ruled the world, deceiving most people, and the god Saros's final strength could not withstand any further drain. Finally, Samuel uttered the words that had echoed countless times in his heart and dreams. They made him flinch, then straighten his back.
The time had come! The followers of the Sun God could not forever hide in the shadows like rats afraid of the light. If exposure meant death, then let it happen here! He would not die in prison, nor at the hands of fools. His blood would purify this wicked underground city. A chosen one of Saroth should die fighting evil, not ignorance. What moment could be more fitting than now?
Samuel's blood boiled with solemn purpose. He declared gravely, "Listen, Aaron. You cannot stay here. I will take you back to the surface. Terrible things have happened here..."
"But we live here," Aaron said, puzzled. "We've lived here for quite some time."
"This is a dangerous dungeon! You can live here now only because the dungeon's demon hasn't awakened yet! The soldiers outside have vanished—the demon's minions may have stirred. Once it awakens, it will be too late!" Samuel urged.
"We could have lived above ground," Aaron shrugged. "But the army fired a cannon into the forest where we lived, casting a curse. The land became completely uninhabitable. My sister nearly died because of it."
"What?" Samuel froze, utterly taken aback.
He had heard of the army's campaign—the people of Red Gum County had learned of the extermination of the Abyss's descendants through the troops' passage. The youth before him clearly wasn't one of those descendants, yet the aura clinging to his sister was decidedly unholy.
There must be some misunderstanding, he thought. Hadn't the soldiers been cursed while fighting the forest monsters? Weren't those women victims of the demonic forces that stormed the town? This didn't make sense! Samuel couldn't help but retort, "Impossible! The army was cursed by demons!"
"No," Aaron snorted coldly, "they struck first and accidentally brought the curse upon themselves. The captain didn't know what would happen either, and then everyone fell victim."
Ah, that made perfect sense! Samuel perked up, declaring with conviction, "Demons must have infiltrated the army's higher ranks! Their evil scheme pits humans against each other with weapons. I swear by my status as a chosen one of Sarai..."
"What is Sarai?" Aaron interrupted.
"The great and eternal God of Light, Sun, and Justice," Samuel declared fervently. "His radiance illuminates the earth, from the dawn of the first sunrise to eternity's end. All should revere him..."
"Then why have I never heard of him?" Aaron asked.
"Because demons have corrupted Erian's leadership!" " Samuel declared indignantly. "These wicked sinners have blinded the people, obscuring my god's glory and hindering his salvation!"
"You're the child here, always going on about 'demons' and 'demons'." Aaron laughed. "Did your parents tell you cavities are the devil's doing too?"
"Watch your tone! Demons are no laughing matter!" Samuel snapped.
The priest, enraged by the youth's flippant tone, launched into a lengthy historical discourse. He recounted how revered the Saroth faith once was, how nearly all human kingdoms bowed before its divine might. He recounted how Saros' priests and paladins shielded humanity through dark wars, how when the Abyss plotted to seize the land, Saros' faithful united mankind to thwart the conspiracy—mentioning the great Paladin Bezalel and the venerable Saintess Maria...
"Can you keep it brief? Didn't you say we had business to attend to?"
"...Alright."
Samuel reluctantly halted his epic heroic tale, hastily skipping over the stirring Battle of Erian—though skipping this part was a tremendous loss, for the slogan "For Erian" itself originated from that era. These stories had accompanied Samuel through his tedious childhood, when he was too young to fully grasp the teachings of Saros. He recounted how Saros's followers rallied humanity to banish demons back to the Abyss, severing its ties to the world. He spoke of cunning demons who hid among mortals, sowing doubt in the hearts of the foolish. After Saros's followers once more protected humanity and defeated the orcs, those corrupted by demons suddenly turned against them—their betrayal grieved the god Saros. The Lord God departed from humanity, refusing to hear their prayers. Only when divine glory once again spread across the land would Saros return in response to devout supplication.
"This is the true history, corrupted by the demons who falsely equated the divine messenger with the Abyss! Since then, preaching has been suppressed, and Saros's name concealed." Samuel clenched his fists as he spoke.
Before he could begin preaching, Aaron tilted his head curiously and asked, "Are gods and demons sworn enemies?"
"Mortal foes!" Samuel declared.
"Then why would demons lump gods in with them? If they could control the situation, no one would willingly be grouped with their mortal enemies." Aaron cut straight to the heart of the matter.
"Because..." Samuel stumbled, then after a few seconds delivered a response with commendable quick thinking: "Because the demons' reputation is beyond redemption. No one with conscience would believe them. So they slander the gods, making fools think both are equally evil."
He saw Aaron's mouth open, clearly about to speak again. Before he could speak, Samuel quickly interjected: "But the followers of Saroth never yielded! When the temple was burned by fools and evildoers, the devout protected the last divine artifacts as they fled—the Holy Grail of the Moon God, the Candlestick of the Starlight God, and Saroth's Divine Staff. As their inheritor, I received the gods' relics and all their hidden history. I healed your sister with the Divine Staff—proof enough of Saros's greatness."
"The Sun, Light, and Justice God is called Saros. What are the names of the Moon God and Starlight God?"
This question did not come from Aaron. The female voice originated behind Samuel. He turned to see a woman wearing a thick hood, from beneath which a sliver of white bone protruded, partially obscuring her face.
Who was this masked figure?
"If you possess all knowledge and history concerning Saros, you should also know the names of the Moon God and Star God, and the true name of the Divine Staff," the masked woman continued.
Her tone of casual doubt irritated Samuel. "The Moon God and the Star God need no names," he stated confidently, "and the Staff of the Gods? Its name is simply the Staff of Saros."
The woman chuckled softly. Samuel frowned, feeling mocked.
"The Moon Goddess is Patricia, the Star Goddess is Yuna," she said. "As for the Staff of Saros? Does it answer when you call it by that name?"
Now certain she was mocking him, Samuel stiffened his face and declared, "Madam, if you find this amusing..."
The lady didn't wait for his protest. The beast skull mask shifted, facing Samuel, and uttered a few syllables.
It wasn't the common tongue, but Samuel understood—for it was the language Saros's followers used to pray to their god. She spoke neither prayer nor exclamation, only these words: "Scepter of the Sun."
Samuel's chest grew fiercely hot at the utterance of that name. In the next instant, the Divine Staff emerged of its own accord, radiating a warm golden glow. More exuberant than ever before its activation, the staff leapt from his chest, leaving the priest staring at it in stunned silence.
"See?" said the woman in the beast-bone mask. "It answered me. It seems you're far from knowing everything about this."