Chapter 793: The Spread of Corruption
Deep within the secret catacombs of the Evernighters’ headquarters in Typhon territory, Archbishop Yuri strode briskly down a long, shadowed corridor, flanked by a retinue of clerics. Clad in a white robe and exuding a refined air, Yuri’s face was clouded with a grim seriousness that no amount of the corridor’s glowing magic crystal lamps could dispel. His polished boots struck the ancient stone floor with a steady, urgent rhythm, echoing like a drumbeat in the hearts of the accompanying priests.
The faint whir of machinery sounded as the magical doors to the inner prayer hall slid open on either side. Yuri Charwen entered a crescent-shaped chamber, its walls adorned with arcane, ancient runes. His gaze swept swiftly across the room.
Scattered about on cushions were dozens of young clerics, dressed in white robes or skirts. Despite their youth, a potent and barely contained magical energy pulsed from each of them. Yet their expressions were weary, some even broken, as if suffering varying degrees of mental trauma. Attendants hovered nearby, tending to them.
One Evernighter priest on guard noticed Yuri’s arrival and hurried forward. “Archbishop…”
Yuri raised a hand to cut him off, speaking quickly, “What’s the status of the Psionic Choir?”
The priest glanced back at the scene in the hall, worry thick in his voice. “The entire Psionic Choir has been disconnected from the network and returned to the real world. They’re all here. The good news is no casualties. The bad news… they were mentally corrupted while covering the retreat of the vanguard.”
Yuri’s brow furrowed sharply. “Mental corruption? The entire choir?”
The Psionic Choir were renowned masters of the mind, experts at resisting psychic contamination and shielding comrades within dream realms. Yet now, the whole choir had succumbed to mental corruption?
Yuri and his entourage refused to believe it, but the grim reality was undeniable.
“Every single one,” the priest overseeing the prayer hall said in a low voice. “Including Lady Wendi, the pinnacle ‘Spirit Song’.”
Yuri Charwen drew a slow breath, holding it for two seconds before exhaling heavily. His voice dropped. “How severe is the corruption… No, just be honest. How many of the Upper Narrator’s followers are among them?”
The priest shook his head gravely. Yuri’s gaze shifted beyond him to the choir members receiving care in the hall.
Among the singers, a young woman in an exquisitely embroidered white gown with golden filigree caught his eye. Her delicate features lifted in a gentle, serene smile. She raised her right hand, palm down, as if covering an invisible earth beneath it. Her voice, magnetic and penetrating, reached straight into the soul: “Sir, may I take a moment to introduce you to our omniscient and omnipotent Lord, the salvation of all beings, the Upper Narrator…”
Before she could finish, a group of Evernighter priests rushed forward. Some gripped her shoulders, others pried open her mouth, forcefully pouring a potion down her throat. A burly priest raised a golden spike and, without hesitation, drove it into the back of her neck, shouting, “Forgive me, Lady Wendi!”
Yuri closed his eyes tightly. To him, this scene was as terrifying as Wendi’s sudden proselytizing of the Upper Narrator’s faith moments ago.
In the brief chaos, several other choir members, seemingly influenced by Wendi, began fervently spreading the Upper Narrator’s doctrine to their fellows. They were swiftly subdued—some had their speech forcibly cut off by magical spikes, others were pinned down and drugged, and a few were hypnotized into sleep by powerful spells.
Thanks to the prompt response, the turmoil did not spread further.
At that moment, a female voice echoed softly in Yuri’s ear: “It seems the warding runes in the deep prayer hall cannot suppress the mental corruption they’ve suffered. Keeping these contaminated brethren together will only worsen the situation.”
Yuri opened his eyes to see Selina Gerfen standing beside him. She had somehow “arrived” in the hall unnoticed. The lantern she held emitted an elusive, shifting light that quickly calmed Yuri’s restless mind.
The surrounding priests, either already aware of Selina’s true state or accepting her sudden appearance as natural, stood in unison and saluted, “Archbishop Selina.”
Selina nodded briefly, then turned her gaze to the Psionic Choir members. She sighed softly.
“Implement the highest-level containment protocol. Transfer all mentally corrupted individuals to isolated chambers deep within the palace. Ensure their environment remains comfortable and their mental state stable. Under no circumstances are they to interact or converse with unrelated personnel.
“Caregivers must rotate every six hours to prevent prolonged exposure and further contamination. Each caregiving team must consist of three: one in direct contact, one assisting nearby, and one observing from outside. Absolutely no one-on-one contact. If such contact occurs, regardless of duration or conversation, the caregiver must undergo the same level of containment.
“Effective immediately, enforce dreamscape restrictions within the catacombs. Unauthorized dreamwalking is forbidden. Except for containment targets, no one may sleep in the deep zones. Anyone who falls asleep, whether or not they enter a dream, must be subjected to the same containment measures.
“These are the orders of His Holiness, Pope Megalor III.”
Selina methodically relayed the strict commands from Megalor III. Yuri’s expression shifted slightly under the weight of these harsh measures, but he offered no objection.
He understood the gravity of the moment. Such severe containment and control were necessary because…
The influence of the Upper Narrator was breaking through Sandbox One. It was already attempting to breach the barrier and enter the real world.
The Evernighters in the hall began executing Pope Megalor’s orders. The Psionic Choir members, dazed and tainted by the Upper Narrator’s corruption, complied as best they could under the remnants of their reason, submitting to the impending containment.
Selina turned her gaze back to Yuri. “Have we identified what attacked the vanguard?”
Yuri sighed, shaking his head. “I just returned from the Spirit Knight’s rest area. Thanks to the Psionic Choir’s cover, they escaped corruption, but their cognition and memories are severely distorted. A few who barely recall the event described something very strange: they said they were attacked by their own shadows.”
“Attacked by their own shadows… sounds like a psychic backlash,” Selina mused. “Anything else? Any other details?”
Yuri thought for a moment, then nodded. “There’s one detail that may or may not be relevant—the vanguard was attacked after nightfall in Sandbox One.”
Nightfall… The “night” within Sandbox One seemed to carry a particularly mysterious occult significance. Previously, the Phantom Town had been shrouded in an abnormal night, and now Sandbox One appeared to exhibit similar eerie phenomena.
The hall fell silent. Selina stood quietly, head bowed in contemplation, as if wrestling with a difficult decision.
After a minute, she lifted her head and met Yuri’s eyes. “Call an emergency meeting. Gather all archbishops still able to act. We… may have some hard choices to make.”
Yuri met her gaze steadily.
As the most senior archbishop in the Evernighter order and a saint who had survived for seven centuries, Selina held the same authority as Megalor III to convene the highest archbishop council. Yet in all these centuries, she had rarely done so. The few times she had were moments that shaped the fate of the entire order.
After a brief pause, Yuri nodded. “Understood. I’ll make the arrangements.”
…
In Cecil City, at dusk, Gawain stood on a terrace overlooking the distant dark mountains. Suddenly, a familiar mental ripple surged through his mind, interrupting this rare moment of peace.
A major incident during the Sandbox One exploration? The Evernighters’ highest archbishop council convening an emergency meeting?
Gawain stood silently, focusing inward to listen to Daniel’s report. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, turned, and left the terrace to return to his room.
The maid Betty trotted up to him.
“Betty, inform the other attendants that no visitors are to be received tonight,” Gawain instructed the young maid. “And when Hetty and Rebecca return, let them know as well. I probably won’t be leaving my room this evening.”
After Betty left, Gawain addressed the empty air beside him. “Guard the door.”
Amber’s voice responded from the ether, “Understood!”
With everything in place, Gawain wasted no time. He settled onto a soft couch, adjusted into a comfortable position, and soon slipped into a deep “dream.”
In the shifting light and shadow, he passed through invisible mental barriers and arrived at the heart of the mind network’s dream city.
The dream city, resplendent and magnificent, was eerily quiet.
Gawain immediately sensed the unusual atmosphere. Standing at the edge of a plaza, he looked down a street that was usually bustling with people, but now only a few clerics patrolled. The plaza, once a gathering place, was deserted. The mind crystals, normally crowded with visitors, were guarded but empty.
A familiar presence appeared beside him—Daniel.
As soon as he materialized, the old mage bowed. “Greetings, my lord.”
Gawain looked at him. “Where is everyone?”
“The mind network has enacted emergency security protocols. All mid- and low-level users have been switched to basic connection mode, limiting their access to the network and providing only essential computing power. No one is immersing their consciousness directly into the dream city anymore,” Daniel explained, head bowed. “This is to prevent the Upper Narrator’s corruption from spreading and breaching the real world.”
He paused, then continued, “The vanguard encountered a severe crisis during the Sandbox One exploration. One archbishop was even mentally corrupted and has become a follower of the Upper Narrator in the real world. The entire order is now in the highest state of emergency.”
“…It seems the situation has deteriorated badly,” Gawain shook his head. “When is the meeting?”
“In five minutes,” Daniel nodded. “I’ve reset the virtual port of the central temple and arranged a ‘seat’ for you.”
He hesitated, then couldn’t help but ask again, “My lord, are you sure you want to ‘observe’?”
Gawain looked at Daniel. “First, we need to make sure the ‘seating’ you’ve arranged is discreet enough—able to shield us from the gaze of Megal III.”
“No need to worry about that,” Daniel replied confidently. “With the situation growing more tense and after several successful demonstrations, I’ve secured full control over the psychic network’s security permissions. I personally handled the low-level rewrites in the Central Temple, so you’ll have an absolutely secure ‘observer’s seat.’”
“Then that settles it,” Gawain nodded. “Given the circumstances, I definitely want to attend as an observer.”
This time, the High Council of the Sleepless Order would have an “Outer Wanderer” sitting in on their meeting.
(Recommended: the new blue-and-white release, I’ve Survived 999 Heavenly Tribulations—from the same author as Dungeon Player. As always, it’s a wild ride of imagination. But that’s beside the point; the important thing is it’s a solid read.)
(End of chapter)