Facing an Ancient God for a Year

Chapter 1310: Chapter 1308: Morning Sleep

In the town square, the Celestial Sphere Sect once again proved their distinguished reputation.

Following Fu Qian’s reminder, Amila and the others shifted their gazes toward the little chapel, their expressions turning grim.

They seemed genuinely guilty about disturbing someone’s morning slumber.

But orders were orders, and the three exchanged glances swiftly.

“Let’s go in and take a look.”

The most composed among them, Simon, made the final decision, though his eyes were fixed on Fu Qian as he spoke.

Clearly, Simon hadn’t let the strange sight before them distract him from their current mission, maintaining an air of professionalism.

“Alright, the sound is oddly familiar to me, even.”

Fu Qian seemed entirely unfazed and agreed readily.

As they walked past the square, Fu Qian even greeted an elderly woman seated on a bench feeding pigeons—the only human presence in sight.

Unfortunately, the woman seemed overtly shy, never lifting her head. Instead, she stretched out her left hand, holding a handful of peas, as if asking, “Would you like some?”

Having already eaten breakfast, Fu Qian naturally declined politely, glancing at his three companions for their input.

Without a doubt, he was refused as well. Amila’s expression was now indescribable.

Clearly, luxury had left her selective about her breakfast options.

Fu Qian shook his head in regret, raised his hand to touch the intricately patterned chapel door, and gently pushed.

Unlocked, but immovable.

The trio, Simon included, had been watching Fu Qian’s every move, so they naturally noticed the anomaly.

When Fu Qian raised his hand to knock, Amila stopped him abruptly.

To the side, Simon raised his Broad Sword once more.

Lead Flame roared to life as Amila pulled Fu Qian aside. Simon silently stepped forward, weapon poised at the door.

Screech—

But at that moment, with a faint scraping sound, the door opened slightly on its own.

What’s more, the strange chanting ceased abruptly.

Turns out, this method of waking people is pretty efficient.

Fu Qian watched with admiration, stepped forward without prompting, and pushed the door wide open.

Hiss!

The sound of sharp inhalations from behind him rose almost simultaneously.

…

The chapel wasn’t large, its structure simple enough to take in at a glance.

Empty and silent, the elegant pulpit itself remained intact, while the chairs and tables beneath were in utter disarray.

Yet, this didn’t mean the chapel was devoid of an audience.

Raising their sights, above the massive insignia of the Celestial Sphere Sect, they noticed someone reclining diagonally in midair.

Indeed, no visible means of support; they were simply suspended in an unusual position, as if still lost in slumber.

The evidence supporting this eerie assumption? They hadn’t even dressed themselves yet.

In fact, around them floated over a dozen others—some plump, some thin, some male, some female—all mirroring the same posture, suspended in midair.

As their breathing continued, their bodies gently swayed up and down, as if lulled by unseen currents.

A familiar scene, isn’t it?

Fu Qian sighed softly, stepping lightly into the chapel.

It hadn’t been long ago, in a place called Old Town, that he encountered a similar occurrence.

He himself had been part of the small group that opened the vault doors there.

To be fair, that sight had been even more… jarring.

“What is going on here!”

Breaking the silence, Amila finally transformed into the first impolite visitor, voicing her incomprehension aloud.

“So, what does Lord Praut look like?”

Fu Qian raised a finger to his lips, gesturing for quiet as he asked in a hushed tone.

While speaking, he intentionally scrutinized the appearance of each suspended figure, as though preparing to cross-reference them to the answer.

…

Unfortunately, the strange sight coupled with Fu Qian’s question seemed overwhelming for Amila.

Her gaze turned vacant as she stared at Fu Qian, momentarily struck speechless.

“Lord Praut isn’t among them.”

Simon interjected, taking up a vigilant stance.

“From the clothing on the ground, it looks like these are townsfolk, along with a few novice members. The sounds earlier were likely coming from them.”

Reginald’s expression was visibly troubled, but he inspected the scattered garments on the floor seriously before offering his conclusion.

“It’s beyond comprehension—what happened here? And where is Lord Praut now?”

…

Clearly, this question cut too deeply; neither Simon nor the recovered Amila could provide an answer.

“Why not just ask them?”

On the sideline, Fu Qian proactively suggested.

“According to Amila, Lord Praut has been here for quite some time; the townsfolk should recognize him.”

Wait, seriously?

The suggestion earned Fu Qian two incredulous looks, tinged with subtle concern for his sanity.

Yet, Fu Qian appeared oblivious, as his gaze locked onto one particular figure—nearly the highest point of the chapel’s dome.

Back in Old Town, he had eventually found a graceful noblewoman and engaged her in friendly, candid conversation. Maybe this time would be similar?

“Hey!”

Fu Qian called out, unreservedly, waving at the long-haired figure’s shrouded face.

The chapel erupted into a ripple of unrest. His voice seemed to jar everyone from their dreamlike state, as all the faces slowly turned toward the group.

The faint breaths, already quieting, utterly ceased with this collective motion.

…

Sadly, this eerie silence lasted no more than five seconds before Fu Qian’s call was met with an infinitely sharper chant.

The bizarre breathing intensified, ascending in pitch and volume, its unnerving resonance scratching at the marrow of their bones.

While unnerving to the others, Fu Qian seemed unaffected, only observing his companions’ reactions with detached amusement.

He then noted something else: while the group sang with closed eyes, the strained breathing had clearly emanated from the long-haired figure he’d addressed.

“Something unseen is entangling them—affecting their mental states as well. It’s dangerous—”

Reginald’s warning trailed off as his gaze froze in alarm.

The Dark Moon Apostle, after a brief survey of the scene, suddenly leaped to grip a nearby pillar. Using the leverage, he nimbly vaulted higher, seeming intent on reaching the suspended figures despite Reginald’s caution.

Seriously—he’s really going to ask someone?

Amila, equally stunned, displayed glowing patterns on her skin—an almost reflexive release of her shield.

Her defensive measures had barely activated before their de facto scout reached the long-haired target, latching onto the dome’s edge and hanging in the air.

“Hello, miss,” Fu Qian’s voice rang from above, calm and unmoved by the uncanny situation. “Could I trouble you for a moment?”

As the disturbed breathing escalated, he continued, waving amicably. “I’d like to talk about our Pontiff and savior—the great Dark Moon.”