Chapter 379 Holy City (V) The Cross

Greed, bullying the weak, cruelty, indifference… Humanity’s original sins are eternal.

Not long after the race favored by the gods settled down in the Holy City, they divided themselves into classes based on wealth. The old, weak, sick, and disabled, who could not create value, were relegated to the East District.

The priest constantly served the gods in the temple, yet he worried about the common people outside the temple. One day, he returned from the East District and reported the poverty and sorrow he saw there to the God.

He witnessed the miserable sight but was frustrated by his lack of power, so he could only pray to the merciful God: “O Great Lord of the Holy, can you save those impoverished people and allow them to also gain the happiness of a new life?”

The weary God opened his eyes, snapped a golden branch from the World Tree vine hanging by his side, and said to the priest, “Exchange my authority for food and bestow it upon them.”

The priest then took the golden branch gifted by the God and went to the East District, plucking golden leaves one by one according to the God’s will, and bestowing them upon the people tormented by hunger and sickness.

Men, women, the elderly, and the young bathed in the glory of the Lord of the Holy, consuming the leaves. The authority of the God flowed through the bones and blood of every person; their souls were no longer sorrowful, and their bodies were far from death.

They thus became the citizens most resembling the God… Asakura Yuko and the mixed-race teenager named Vid Hayes walked toward the East District one after the other, neither speaking at first.

It wasn’t until the shadow of the temple completely disappeared behind them that Vid suddenly spoke: “Asakura Yuko, let’s form an alliance. I am a Free Player without a guild. As a member of the Wind Listener Guild, you’re practically a Free Player in this dungeon too. If we don’t want to be ambushed and killed too early by those bastards who came in as teams, we must unite.”

Asakura Yuko was not surprised by Vid’s proposal. As soon as she suggested exploring the East District, Vid immediately said he wanted to go there too, clearly intending to team up with her.

However, firstly, she didn’t know his background, and secondly, as the holder of the 【Forbidden Scholar】 card, she wasn’t desperately in need of an ally. So she calmly said, “With Fu Jue keeping things steady, it might not reach the PvP stage. When top-ranked players are put into the same antagonistic dungeon, no one can guarantee they can kill the opponent. Following past precedent, they usually tend to take the PvE route to clear the dungeon.”

Vid sneered, “Fu Jue might not even be able to protect himself. This dungeon suppresses everyone’s strength to a single level and introduces the Heretic mechanism, which allows for easy killing. The temptation of regicide is not something everyone can resist.”

“Why are you seeking an alliance with me?” Asakura Yuko adjusted her glasses and asked, “As far as I know, from the perspective of strength, nationality, gender, and other group divisions, you have more suitable options. Cooperating directly with Fu Jue would also be a good choice.”

“Alliance is just a nice word for it.” Vid showed his teeth, his smile looking somewhat sinister. “I hope to have a teammate I can command, one who can help me collect dungeon information and make the same choice as me during voting. It’s that simple.”

Asakura Yuko understood: Vid thought she was easy to bully and wanted to use her as a tool… She had always viewed the world from a comprehensive perspective; people of all stripes had a rational basis for existence in her eyes and could serve as objects of observation.

Therefore, she wasn’t angry right now. She simply scrutinized Vid’s expression and calmly asked, “How can you be sure we belong to the same faction? And how can you be sure I’m not a Heretic and lack the means to kill?”

Vid shrugged carelessly: “What does it matter? If we kill all the other players, even if we are in different factions, the final result will be a draw, and neither of us has to die. At most, the reward will be slightly less.”

Yes, when the camps, stances, and goals of others are unknown, if one has sufficient ability to wipe them all out, it is indeed simple, convenient, and leaves no future trouble.

But that was the ideal scenario. Reality often required considering more factors. Furthermore, although Asakura Yuko admitted she was no longer a good person, she still couldn’t bring herself to actively slaughter innocents when other options were available.

She thought for a moment and asked, “Can I refuse? I think there’s a chance you might kill me for the reward when only the two of us are left.”

“You certainly can refuse.” Vid’s smile was bright, much like a neighborhood boy encountered in the hallway in the afternoon. “But do you think, given your strength, that you can survive the dungeon’s inherent crises without help, even if you don’t die by a player’s hand? I remember you said you were administrative staff.”

An arrogant person, conceited and foolish, yet surprisingly sharp. Asakura Yuko made her judgment, thinking helplessly, “Why are there so many rabble even among the top-ranked players?”

She sighed, squinting her eyes, and said, “Fine, I agree, provided you are willing to guarantee my personal safety. Also, remember to tell me in advance what you need me to do, and I suggest you don’t reveal your intention to kill on the first day, lest you die on the first night.”

“I’m not an idiot; I don’t need you to remind me.”

The two stopped talking and continued forward. After leaving the temple, their clothes changed back to black robes, perfectly matching the theme of the Holy City and drawing no attention.

Along the way, many believers, also dressed in black robes, came and went, their gaze never falling upon them. Everyone’s expression was pure and solemn, but upon closer inspection, it was a blank look of confusion.

Turning the corner, a small square came into view. A dense crowd clustered together, forming a large black mass of bobbing heads, surrounded three layers deep, leaving only a small empty space in the center.

They waited silently, without noise or commotion, as if some important ceremony was about to take place there, and they were indispensable participants.

An elderly priest in a white robe walked out from the crowd and stood in the center of the clearing. His face was more sinister than Father Laki’s, and his eyes were murky like a swamp.

He spread his arms and solemnly announced: “During the recent offering, someone refused to pay tribute to the Great Lord of the Holy. I conducted an investigation and discovered that he fell into depravity last night and became a shameful Heretic.”

A mechanism in the ground was triggered; the movable marble slabs slid apart, and a pitch-black cross, two people high, slowly rocked up, stabilizing half a meter above the ground.

The priest raised his right hand and chanted loudly: “Let us pray for our compatriot, wash away the sins he has committed, and grant him a pure and flawless new life…”

The crowd parted, creating a path. A brown-haired youth wrapped in a gray shroud was pushed by two white-robed figures toward the center of the square.

The youth’s eyes were filled with terror, and he cried out, incoherently arguing, “I’m not a Heretic! I didn’t refuse the offering! I was just scared…”

His voice was quickly drowned out by the thunderous shouts of the crowd.

“Crucify him! Crucify the Heretic!”

“It’s because of him that the night is getting longer!”

“Crucify him! Appease the Lord’s wrath!”

The believers abandoned their peaceful and calm demeanor, displaying an enraged, righteous indignation. It was as if the young man before them was an enemy who had killed their parents, and they needed to devour his flesh alive to satisfy their hatred.

Everyone shouted the same words, repeating the perfectly correct sentiments for such a situation. The power of the collective was overwhelming, and every individual swept up in it felt a profound sense of security and genuine pride.

Asakura Yuko watched all this silently, not unfamiliar with this kind of religious fervor.

The Balance Church, where she had served for six years, also held execution rituals for heretics. She herself had once been one of those nailed to the execution rack. This personal experience combined with theoretical research gave her more insight than others.

Six years ago, she was twenty-two, an intern journalist who traveled to a war zone in Africa where anti-Federation forces were rampant. On the way, she was captured by a group of fanatical believers from the Balance Church.

The bearded believers jabbered in the local language, preparing to publicly execute her and her fellow travelers as leverage to intimidate the Federation.

Asakura Yuko had never told anyone that she had resolutely gone to Africa intending to die there.

In college, she joined a progressive society. Through various channels, she learned about the corruption hidden beneath the Federation’s peaceful facade and discussed with like-minded youths their ambition to change the world.

Later, the society was banned, and members committed suicide one after another; it was effectively her turn. In journalism, the dead have far more power than the living, she thought. Rather than dying inexplicably in her homeland, she might as well use her death to orchestrate a sensational news story.

She smiled at the believers and said, “Please kill me,” then closed her eyes and waited for the end, unable to say whether it was to deliver a final shout or simply because she was disappointed in the world and planned to use death to conceal the fact that she was running away.

Unexpectedly, just as she was about to die, White Crow arrived, sternly rebuking the crazy and stubborn believers, and patiently and powerfully telling them that the true enemy was the ruling class of the Federation, not innocent civilians.

From the first moment she saw White Crow, Asakura Yuko was deeply attracted to this gentle yet charismatic woman.

She felt that this cult leader, so hated by the Federation, might not be as unforgivable as rumored. On the contrary, she was worth reporting, just as the public deserved to know the facts and the truth.

A more meaningful endeavor was placed before death, just as she had written in her diary upon arrival: “The criticisms against the occupied territories undoubtedly contain too much imagination and exaggeration. I hope to see the full picture with my own eyes and leave material for posterity to understand this period of history through my writing.”

White Crow seemed to perceive her thoughts and smiled, saying to her, “If you want to stay a little longer, find a place to live. I brought a new batch of supplies, and there’s enough food for you.”

Asakura Yuko stayed, helping with easy tasks, teaching the children in the Balance occupied territories to write, and mostly observing and interviewing White Crow.

That month, she learned many stories of Balance members, knowing they had all experienced various injustices, their families and hopes shattered under the giant millstone named “Federation.”

She also understood White Crow’s ideals: this world needed a revolution; the old order needed to be rewritten. Since gentle voicing was not allowed, then more severe measures must be adopted.

Asakura Yuko stopped thinking about death. She wanted to live, if only for White Crow, for the grand ideals she described, and to see the utopian ending the Balance Church pursued.

She donated all her assets in Sakura Prefecture to the Balance Church, and White Crow formally extended an invitation for her to join.

White Crow said, “I know you are an atheist, and in fact, I may not be as pious as you believe. Members of Balance don’t necessarily need to believe in gods; they only need to believe in the two words ‘Balance.'”

“Moreover, Yuko, didn’t you want to write my biography? I’m still alive, so your biography won’t be easy to finish.”

Asakura Yuko thus became a member of the “Balance” who did not believe in gods… At this moment, in the center of the square, the youth judged as a “Heretic” by the priest had been tied to the cross.

His hoarse voice grew weaker, only repeating futilely, “I’m not… a Heretic…”

None of the onlookers were moved, all watching the dying heretic with composure. They maintained a cruel indifference, like an impartial jury in a tribunal.

The priest pointed at the youth tied to the cross and solemnly declared, “He was tempted by the devil and believed the heretics’ fallacy. We shall give him the final judgment.”

“Judgment! Judgment!”

“God, look at us!”

The believers cheered loudly, their faces radiating fanaticism. Irrational emotion spread like a virus, and everyone was part of this grand performance.

A white-robed man held a ferocious long nail and drove it into the youth’s wrist. Blood and flesh splattered out, followed by the second, the third… Long nails were mercilessly driven into the youth’s four limbs. His screams went from high-pitched to faint, eventually being covered by the surging voices around him.

The priest made a lifting gesture, the white-robed man put down the nails, and fiddled with the wooden mechanism beside the cross.

The tilting cross was slowly raised, standing straight and tall in the center of the square. The conspicuous execution platform and the corpse upon it formed the most eye-catching landmark in the square, both bloody and sacred.

Asakura Yuko blended into the noisy crowd, watching calmly, almost indifferently.

This was a dungeon; everything in the dungeon was fake, and the death of an NPC was not worth caring about.

Even if it were a real person, she would not spare excessive compassion now. Individual sympathy was useless compared to collective suffering; if the rules governing the world did not change, saving more people was futile.

The youth on the cross lowered his head. The judgment of the Heretic finally concluded, and the believers dispersed like seawater receding from the beach.

Confusion was the best time to fish in troubled waters. Asakura Yuko quickly locked onto her target—a believer in the corner who looked absent-minded.

She drew a short knife, walked over as if to chat, and cleanly placed the blade against the believer’s neck.

The pale blade was concealed by the fabric of their robes. From behind, they looked like good friends, walking arm-in-arm.

Asakura Yuko spoke in a low voice, using minimal words: “Follow me, or die.”

Even Vid was momentarily shocked by Asakura Yuko’s clean and swift bandit-like behavior. After all, he had always thought Asakura Yuko was the theoretical type who only dealt with clues on paper.

“You call this ‘administrative staff’? Why is she drawing a knife at the drop of a hat, more decisive than me, a combat player?”

At this moment, the unlucky believer was dragged by the collar into the shadow behind a marble building.

This believer had an unremarkable appearance, usually blending into the crowd unnoticed. He had only been standing on the street for a moment before Asakura Yuko targeted him—a truly unwarranted disaster.

Looking at the trembling believer NPC, who even pulled up his trousers, Asakura Yuko pressed the blade down slightly. Her voice, accustomed to asking all sorts of questions, was calm and chilling: “What is your name?”

“Fl… Flor…” The believer stammered out a name, his eyes shifting nervously.

“Tell me about the legend of the Lord of the Holy,” Asakura Yuko enunciated clearly, word by word. “What exactly are the dangers in the darkness and the prophecy of the Final Judgment? Tell me everything you know.”

“You don’t know these things… You’re a Heretic!” Flor seemed to have heard something unbelievable. His eyes widened in terror, and he opened his mouth to shout.

Asakura Yuko was prepared. She covered his mouth with one hand and plunged the short knife fiercely into his left palm with the other. Her lowered voice was devoid of emotion: “If you don’t want to answer, the next cut will be in your throat.”