Chapter 36 – Entrance
After passing the administrator's residence, the crowd escorting the "spring sprite" on its blessing procession headed toward the mountain river.
Yet as they walked, Lumian's heart rose and a knot of unease tightened inside him.
He remembered every pit he'd dug—none of them lethal—and now the entire procession was marching straight toward one of his trap clusters.
Part of him hoped the traps would work; another part prayed no villager, especially his friends, would be hurt.
Just then, Raymond, walking beside Ava, stumbled and pitched forward, sprawling face-first in a spectacular belly-flop.
Instinctively, Lumian spun toward Raymond, needing to know whether he'd fallen into a trap. Relief washed through him the instant he saw Raymond was safe.
But Raymond's face burned with shame; showing off this clumsily before Ava was mortifying. As he pushed off the ground, his palms sank into oddly loose soil.
He clawed at the dirt, his expression darkening. "There's a trap here!"
It lay directly ahead—right in front of Ava and himself.
If he hadn't tripped, both of them would have tumbled straight in.
The moment he said it, Ava—already pale—turned even whiter; any irritation she'd felt over Raymond's stumble vanished, replaced by gratitude.
Too much of a coincidence.
Raymond spotted my trap? No, he simply fell… but that's even stranger.
So uncanny it felt deliberate.
Uneasy, Lumian stepped forward, brushed aside the loose soil, and erased the fresh digging marks. After a cursory inspection, he straightened and announced, "A hunter's leftover trap!"
"A hunter's leftover trap!"
A chorus of coarse curses erupted around him.
The river rite ended, and despite the subdued mood, the Blessing Parade reached its climax.
Then came the final step: entering the church.
As the villagers sang, the choir finished, yet the Parish Priest still hadn't appeared. Lumian glanced around and muttered, "Godfather said the priest would be here, but now only the one declaring Lent's end remains. Doesn't he know the administrator announces it?"
Lumian frowned, puzzled, as the young folk began drifting away.
Footsteps echoed clearly at the doorway.
Lumian's head snapped toward the sound; framed in the entrance stood a familiar figure.
Clad in the white-and-gold vestments of clergy, raven-haired and imposing—Parish Priest Guillaume Bene.
Beside him, a Shepherd who had specially groomed himself and hurried back for Lent—Pierre Berry.
The priest's voice rang out, solemn and commanding.
"Escort the spring sprite away."
Here he was—the master of ceremonies, the Parish Priest rumored to be a mid-Sequence Beyonder—Guillaume.
Lumian's gaze locked on Guillaume; from the corner of his eye he caught Aurore signaling.
His pupils contracted; every muscle coiled as he prepared to spring forward and stop the final rite.
At Guillaume's words, Shepherd Pierre Berry bent down, grinning, and lifted the axe.
"Escort the spring sprite away!"
Lumian was already moving, fist flying toward Pierre's jaw.
But Pierre's body twisted with an uncanny, inhuman dodge; the axe came down hard.
Ava—only an ordinary girl—turned deathly pale, frozen as the blade hurtled toward her neck.
Swish!
A black-handled sickle with golden cracks intercepted the blow.
Pierre's pupils, once calm, now quivered as Gray Mist writhed across Ava's abdomen like flayed flesh, droplets of blood pattering to the floor.
A figure sinuous as a serpent stepped out of Ava's body, scarlet flesh-magic gliding along the sickle to knit his half-formed limbs.
"Worth every hour I spent studying this weapon," Ning Lu murmured, slipping a monocle over his right eye.
Gray Mist drifted toward him, blurring the scene as countless eyes seemed to flow onto him. With a brush of his hand, the mist settled like a white mask shot through with starlight.
A chuckle echoed: "Pretending to be a Believer of God… reminds me of what I once did. We're alike, you and I."
Ning Lu laughed softly and traced an inverted cross upon his chest.
Up, down, left, right.
The Gray Mist flared into starlight that burst across the church.
"Fool's Seal broken—yet the Gray Mist found a new master, flowing onto Ning Lu, his face now only a vague outline: a white mask veiled in starlight."
"Ah, disguised as a Believer of God… brings back memories; we truly are alike."
Ning Lu chuckled and raised a finger.
Up, down, left, right.