Mystery: The Silver Key

Chapter 94. Superficial believers are believers, and verbal believers are naturally believers too...

Chapter 94. Superficial believers are believers, and verbal believers are naturally believers too...

Not far from the house where the battle had taken place, Cyril saw again a dark shadow crawling towards him from the corner.

"Damn it! Again?"

He nimbly flipped over to dodge the writhing shadow that lunged at him, then clasped his hands across his chest, his pupils contracted, and a burst of blinding white light erupted.

After the white light, something that could be described as an octopus with a rat's head or a rat with octopus tentacles emerged from the shadows. This time, it closed its eyes in time and continued to pounce on Sirion without slowing down.

Before being touched by those colorful tentacles, Cyril leaned back, a flash of silver lightning in his eyes.

"Mental piercing!"

A surge of spiritual power erupted from his body, like sharp, long thorns piercing the spiritual bodies of the spirit beings opposite him.

The tentacles that were slapping at him paused, then suddenly retracted, curling into a ball of flesh that bounced around on the ground, while emitting a constant whimpering sound like a baby crying.

"Waaaah~"

At the same time, a feeling of shame and a desire to confide in someone inexplicably arose in Sirion's heart. He desperately wanted to find someone to tell him all the dark thoughts in his heart.

...So, is the negative effect of this magical item that one has to endure mental torment after using it?

That does fit the role of "interrogator" quite well.

Gathering his scattered thoughts, he gently rubbed the ring in his hand with his thumb, a faint, continuous current flashing in his eyes.

"The Whip of Pain!"

"Chirp~ Chirp~"

The rat-headed octopus, curled into a ball and rolling on the floor, let out a painful wail, as if its soul had been whipped by a barbed whip made of lightning, and it was suffering inhuman torture.

boom! boom! boom!

Gunshots rang out in rapid succession, and a series of bullets trailing silver flames exploded on the swirling, rat-headed octopus, turning into fragments of light like the dawn.

They were densely packed and countless, forming a shimmering and violent hurricane that swept and ravaged the body of the rat-headed octopus.

Cyril glanced at the rat-headed octopus writhing in agony amidst the sharp silver storm. His spiritual intuition told him that such an attack was not fatal, but it was already his strongest offensive method.

"What a pity..."

With a sigh, he turned around without hesitation, opened the door, and left.

Two or three seconds later, the raging silver storm dissipated, and the rat-headed octopus, its body covered with large and small knife-like wounds, looked fearfully in the direction where Cyril had left. Its body was covered in a layer of black, and it quickly blended into the shadows in the corner of the room and the cracks in the floor.

In the clergy's lounge behind the prayer hall of the Harvest Church in the southern part of the bridge, the door opened by itself when no one was there.

The next second, a tall figure in a brown priest's robe and a handsome young man with illusory bat wings flapping behind him appeared one after the other at the door of the lounge.

"Um... Good morning, both of you."

Cyril glanced at Father Utravsky, who was blocking the doorway, and Emlyn, who had a gloating expression on his face, and greeted them awkwardly.

He was about to explain why he had suddenly barged into the church with a pre-prepared reason, but the first thing he blurted out was the most honest truth:

"I'm being chased by a spirit creature, and I'm no match for it, so I thought I'd come here to lay low for a while."

"I'd be best off persuading Father Utravsky to help me. That way, I might be able to ambush and eliminate it, and then no new guys should bother me for a long time."

"You're quite honest..." Emlyn gave him a strange look, then turned to Father Utravsky beside him and advised:

"Father, I think this guy has ill intentions and is definitely plotting something."

"And he barges into the church all the time, completely disregarding your authority and the glory of the 'Mother Goddess.' Shouldn't you educate, or rather, try to reform him?"

"He should be kept on as a volunteer so that he can repent for ignoring the radiance of the 'Mother Goddess.'"

"Mother Goddess?" Sirion glanced at Emlyn in surprise.

Although he knew that the "Earth Mother Goddess" was Lilith, the progenitor of the vampires, and that Emlyn would eventually come to believe in the "Earth Mother Goddess" from the bottom of his heart, it had only been a few weeks, and he had already submitted too quickly.

Emlyn's expression visibly stiffened for a moment, then she glared at him through gritted teeth:

"I...I clearly said 'Mother Earth,' 'Mother Earth'!"

"You misheard me. Don't question my faith in the moon!"

Cyril shrugged, ignoring his reaction, and turned to Father Utravsky, who had remained silent, bowing slightly and speaking earnestly:

"I'm sorry, Father, I'm willing to take responsibility for my recklessness."

"Hmm... perhaps I can help you with missionary work. Although the three major orthodox churches in the Kingdom of Rune restrict your missionary activities, I can get people to come to the Harvest Church to listen to the teachings of the Mother Goddess."

His words touched upon some unpleasant memories for Emlyn, and the noble vampire immediately flew into a rage:

"You despicable and shameless bastard!"

"Your despicable and shameless methods are not proselytizing at all; you are inciting trouble and blaspheming the faith!"

Father Utravsky added, "Faith must come from the heart."

Cyril nodded slightly: "Of course, I just intend to introduce some people in need here so that you can spread the teachings of the Mother Goddess to them while they seek help."

"Whether they are willing to change their original beliefs is not important. What is important is to increase the popularity of the Harvest Church among the people of Backlund, just like a good product needs to be advertised in the newspaper."

"When enough people know about this place, some will naturally want to know more; they are the potential believers."

After speaking, Xirui pursed his dry lips. He didn't really want to say so much, but now that he opened his mouth, he couldn't help but want to say more and in more detail, to want to hear all of Zulu's thoughts.

This negative impact is the enemy of "fraudsters," and it's not exactly friendly to "masters of trickery" and "magicians" who are good at performing and fooling others.

While he was silently complaining about the ring's negative effects, Father Utravsky gave his reply:

"You can stay here and wait until the crisis is over."

"As for your promise, there's no need to make a fuss about it. Doing so would make you appear as a traitor to the faith by the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery."

Emlyn, standing to the side, curled his lip and said disdainfully:

"This guy probably visits the Harvest Church more often than the Steam Church, so what kind of devout faith does he have?"

Cyril remained awkwardly silent for a long while, it seemed... he really had never been to the church of the "God of Steam and Machinery" since he transmigrated.

(-)

Superficial believers are believers, and those who merely pay lip service to the faith are naturally also believers...

At night, the crimson moon, appearing and disappearing above the clouds, draped the city below in a veil of mystery.

At 15 Minsk Street, Klein was leaning back on the sofa, absentmindedly flipping through today's Tasok Daily.

He was debating whether to go above the gray fog to contact Cyril, who had suddenly left that morning, to check on his condition. After all, he was a member of the Tarot Club and a fellow countryman he hadn't recognized, so he felt he should care about him.

The spirit creature that appeared this morning was clearly not weak, and the "astrologer" didn't have much direct combat ability. Moreover, the "peacekeeper" weapon had a negative effect, which might make the battle even more serious.

Klein, unaware that he had already guessed the truth, was pondering how to avoid the gaze of the bodyguard who resembled a female ghost and enter the gray fog to check on Sirion's current condition.

A sudden knocking sound rang out on the door.

Klein had some reservations, but he still put down his newspaper, walked to the door, and reached out to grasp the doorknob.

The next second, the Joker's intuitive premonition formed a picture in his mind:

A slightly overweight sheriff, wearing a black and white checkered uniform with three V-shaped epaulets on his shoulders, was standing outside the gate.

His expression was serious and somewhat urgent, as if something important had happened.

Klein recognized him; he had previously filed a police report about Meursault, the "executioner" of the Zmanger Party, and this was the sheriff who had interrogated him.

Since it was someone he knew, Klein didn't hesitate to turn the handle and open the door.

The sheriff, dressed in a black and white checkered uniform, looked at Klein and said with a serious expression:

"I'm here to let you know to be careful tonight and tomorrow, and watch out for strangers."

"good."

Just as Klein was about to nod, his head suddenly went numb, his vision blurred, and it was as if a thick layer of frosted glass had been placed around him.

At the same time, his body became sluggish, and his thoughts were like an old, rusty machine, unable to process a single idea for a long time.