Facing an Ancient God for a Year

Chapter 1316: Chapter 1314: Body of Impurities

When Fu Qian mentioned discomfort, he was obviously not referring to Simon’s injuries.

The visual impact of the suspected “discarded pawn” after Transformation might be exaggerated, but its difficulty paled in comparison to what had come before.

Simon appeared battered, yet he hadn’t suffered serious wounds; the way he carried himself suggested nothing more than routine occupational damage.

However, the reason for asking was because Simon seemed “ill.”

The gaze cast upon him remained cold, but now carried a faint, muddy tint of blood-red.

It was as though he had been contaminated by something.

To be honest, this was rather strange.

From their prior joint operation, it was clear that encountering unclean entities inside a Nightmare was to be expected, but typically, Simon didn’t seem like someone who’d be affected first.

Whether it was power or will, he was obviously stronger than Amila and the others.

Why would this happen?

…

Fu Qian had always been accustomed to carrying answers when posing questions, so at this moment, regarding the Taboo Decree said to be mastered by Hunters, he had vaguely deduced what the price might be.

Their excessive sensitivity to filth might stem from the fact that they themselves served as litmus tests.

A certain unique Star Law not only failed to grant the Blessed Ones immunity to contamination, but instead turned Hunters into the group most exaggeratedly prone to infection.

This must also be one of the reasons Simon appeared so quickly beneath Fu Qian’s window—proximity enhanced the efficacy of gathering contamination.

It certainly was a taboo. Fu Qian had previously been puzzled; even if it were something akin to the Spear of Fated Death, at the end of the day, it was little more than an excessively dramatized killing tool—surely that alone wouldn’t preclude Hunters from joining the Sanctuary.

But if this truly was the case, it might also explain why the two Hunters encountered so far shared this particular style.

Through repeated cycles of contamination and cure, their will might remain steadfast, but their humanity was likely being eroded.

“You seem more unwell than before.”

Thankfully, some elements still lingered. For instance, faced with Fu Qian’s concern, Simon offered a classic retort of “You’re the one who’s sick.”

“Well said. If I don’t descend into Hell, who will?”

Unfortunately, what Simon received in return was an even more unexpected response.

Fu Qian tilted his head upward, releasing a long, melancholic sigh.

“To save all beings, to empty the Nightmare—if one does not traverse the astray, how can one be called a Herder.”

…

Even Simon was silent for a moment.

“The moment the Sun rises—is that the most painful?”

Yet Fu Qian wasn’t inclined to let him off the hook, gazing down from a height, his face full of compassion.

…

Simon still didn’t answer, nor did he deny it.

“Because that’s when the Stars fade?”

Fu Qian seemed pleased with this reaction, continuing.

“That particular explanation isn’t entirely precise, as strictly speaking the Sun is also one of the Stars—I have studied your doctrines a little.”

“Still, most people enjoy stargazing or meditation at night. The overly dazzling Sun is often viewed as unbalanced, correct?”

As time passed, the Sun indeed became increasingly glaring, and Fu Qian finally withdrew his gaze.

“So at its critical moment of ascent, the filth in the air becomes clear, contamination accumulates upon the body at an unprecedented speed—isn’t it easy to imagine the discomfort?”

“To every Hunter, this is the most sacred blessing from the Stars.”

Faced with his rapid-fire questions, Simon finally responded—his tone remained steadfast and cold.

Brilliant!

Whether or not tone mattered, this reply undoubtedly validated many things.

So much so that Fu Qian refrained from voicing objections to Simon’s statement.

To sacrifice for preserving the purity of faith—such an opportunity was not something everyone could access, let alone one so divinely bestowed.

“Understandable. It seems today you’ll have plenty of chances to feel blessed.”

Without further inquiry, Fu Qian ended the conversation with startling efficiency and proceeded forward.

“If you’ve more to share, feel free to visit my church.”

…

The remains of the discarded pawn upon the ground had nearly lost all vitality.

And yet, at the instant Fu Qian approached, it still struggled to crawl away with all its might.

This scene, so oppressively intimidating, naturally did not escape the eyes of the three figures behind him.

As a result, none made any move to intervene; they simply watched him out of the corners of their eyes as his towering silhouette strode step by step toward the sharp spire of the church.

…

In the square before the church, the atmosphere finally livened up a bit.

Fu Qian’s arrival even caused a small stir.

In contrast, Fu Qian appeared very satisfied with the dozen seated or standing figures present.

Morning exercise might be a healthy habit, but the efficiency at which their numbers had grown since his departure was somewhat… excessive.

And there was the thing that had just emerged.

As time stretched on, the Brilliant Tyrant’s rending of this illusory world was steadily intensifying.

Clearly, the hosts of the Nightmare had taken the hint.

They had learned to race against time, fighting against the rupture while working with the utmost expedience to fulfill the Nightmare’s purpose.

Now all Fu Qian needed to do was return to the church and await his visitors.

Amid the fractures of illusion continually surfacing, the winged forms shown atop the Winslow Mansion were once again dragged into view as Fu Qian walked.

Unable to gaze directly at Fu Qian’s form, the audience watching him were naturally drawn to this spectacle, wide-eyed in mesmerized awe—save for one particular figure.

Fu Qian came to a halt beside the bench where a lady had once fed pigeons with peas for breakfast. The elderly woman remained in the exact same position, sitting there as before.

So was the handful of peas in her hand, still untouched. The pigeons from earlier were nowhere to be seen.

“The crowd seems to have scared them away—if you’re interested, feel free to visit my church.”

Fu Qian casually remarked.

…

Without making a sound, the old woman lifted her head for the first time and looked up.

Thin lips, a high-bridged nose, and two hollow eye sockets marred by fine wounds.

Judging by their shape, they almost seemed as though they’d been pecked out by sharp beaks.

With just one glance, Fu Qian said nothing further, continuing forward to push open the door to the small church once more.

A stronger wave of chanting and moaning instantly washed over him, accompanied by suffocating heat.

Unperturbed, Fu Qian sidestepped droplets of bodily fluids that sporadically fell from above, strolling leisurely until he reached the Pulpit, where he sat with grace.

The continuously spreading fractures followed him all the way, eventually extending to the Holy Emblem behind him, lending a desolate air of desecration.

This scene was, without exception, observed by the gazes of countless eyes outside the church doors.

Amid their stiff and fearful watching, a hunched figure slowly ascended the steps to the door.

Drawn by the sound, the old woman’s path to the church seemed considerably easy.

Once she reached her destination, however, there was an inevitable amount of commotion.

Silence.

After the old woman groped her way to an upright chair and sat down, Fu Qian raised his head and unleashed a Gospel Blast.

Numerous naked figures convulsed violently as if struck by lightning.

The chanting and gasping came to an abrupt halt.