"…"
In that moment, Maric felt the elegant noble image he had of Hastur completely shatter.
-----------------------------------
At night, on the clearing by the lake, a bonfire was lit.
Around the bonfire, seven or eight small sticks were stuck into the ground, skewered with gutted fish of various sizes.
Maric glanced at the charred fish skewer in his hand, then swept his gaze toward Hastur on the other side.
He always felt that this scene was a bit absurd, unreal.
Hastur Campbell, the young and handsome baron, the last heir of the Campbell family, should have been a noble known for his elegance.
But now, his fishing and grilling skills were even more proficient than Maric's own abilities honed over years of wandering and rough living.
Was this his nature liberated by the wilderness?
Facing Maric's scrutinizing gaze, Hastur naturally took a bite of the fish meat, frowned slightly, and said: "What a pity there are no seasonings here."
The fish was a bit fishy; it certainly wasn't because his grilling skills were poor, but because there was no seasoning to enhance the flavor.
Speaking of which, it had been a long time since he tasted something spicy; grilled fish tasted better with a bit of spice.
"Have you been repressed for too long?"
Maric said as he quietly threw the charred fish skewer in his hand into the fire.
"To be precise, I just want to try something new."
"… You nobles really are idle."
"Yes, most nobles are very idle. They don't need to worry about material needs, so they have a lot of leisure time."
"Is that also why you want to step into the Beyonder world?"
Hastur didn't continue discussing these meaningless topics with Maric and quickly shifted the conversation to Miss Sharon.
He was very interested in Miss Sharon's past; he had already heard Maric's version of the adventure story and wanted to hear Sharon's version as well.
However, Miss Sharon obviously wasn't someone who liked to talk or introduce herself.
"Sharon is different from me. Her personality has been like this since childhood, quiet, not fond of talking, hating noise. Other than liking beautiful dresses, it's hard to find other girlish traits in her."
"Her teacher was a very capable person. Sharon learned and grew quickly. If it weren't for that accident, her life would have been far more exciting and stable than it is now, without needing to risk living secretly in Backlund."
"She has never complained about the hardships of life. No matter how the world changes or how dangerous it becomes, she always moves forward according to the principles she firmly holds in her heart."
Hastur listened quietly, curiously asking: "Did Miss Sharon never do anything mischievous or a bit wild when she was younger?"
"Of course she did, when she was little…"
Maric stopped abruptly at the critical point, coughed lightly, and said: "I was still young then, and I don't remember things very clearly."
He felt that if he dared to reveal Sharon's embarrassing childhood moments in front of Hastur, he would definitely get beaten.
"Maric, being willing to share is a good virtue."
"Sorry, my virtue has always hovered at a low point."
"There are only two of us here. Do we really need to fuss about that?"
"Hehe, do I look stupid to you?"
"Sigh."
Seeing that he couldn't persuade Maric, Hastur didn't continue pressing.
The two chatted for a while longer; Maric went back to stay with his zombie squad, while Hastur lay on the grass. He originally wanted to fetch a blanket to lay down, but later dismissed the idea.
If he wanted to play the part of a barbarian, he had to commit completely.
A life too civilized could never make one a true barbarian.
Late at night, a faint mist rolled in, and the entire air carried a hint of chill.
Lying on the clearing near the bonfire, Hastur woke from his sleep, tilted his head to listen, and indeed heard the whistle sound Maric had mentioned.
'Were the people of the Spirit Cult this idle?'
Coming out here into the deep mountains and forests in the middle of the night to hold a dance party?
Or were they holding some ritual that had already reached a critical point?
"Want to go take a look together?"
Hastur's thoughts were interrupted by Maric's sudden voice. He got up from the ground and looked toward Maric approaching with his zombie squad.
"Didn't you say the whistle would cause zombies to mutate?"
"Don't worry, I'll keep them away from here. Just you and me will go take a look."
"Alright, I'll go with you."
Hastur agreed to Maric's invitation; he was also curious about what the Spirit Cult was doing.
"I'll handle something first; wait for me here."
Maric led the zombie squad away and managed to suppress any potential changes they might undergo, then returned to meet up with Hastur.
Using the moonlight, the two carefully followed the source of the whistle.
After walking for about twenty minutes, they finally saw a cluster of firelight deep within the dense forest.
Even under the heavy cover of the forest, the firelight was dazzlingly bright.
If a ritual was indeed being held, then its scale must have been huge.
Hastur and Maric exchanged a glance, both knowing that they needed to be even more careful from here on.
The two pushed aside the branches and vines blocking the way. Maric walked in front, Hastur followed behind, gradually approaching the source of the firelight and whistle sound.
After moving closer, Hastur and Maric faintly heard voices coming from the direction of the firelight.
Words like "soul," "lord of the dead," and "happiness in the afterlife" were repeatedly mentioned.
From this information, Hastur could already confirm that the organization causing trouble tonight was definitely the Spirit Cult, though he couldn't yet determine which branch it was.
Although the Spirit Cult or the Numinous Episcopate worshiped death and revered the Underworld Emperor at the top of the Death pathway, they were internally divided into several factions.
There was the Royal Faction, the Artificial Death Faction, and some other smaller factions.
Each faction upheld different beliefs and pursued different goals.
The Royal Faction advocated supporting the descendants of the Death God and held great power on the Southern Continent; the Artificial Death Faction experimented with the Death Pathway's uniqueness to bring the first Underworld Emperor back from the depths of the underworld, it was the most insane and dangerous faction.
The Rest Faction simply believed that after people died, their souls lingered in the world, and only by letting the souls rest could they attain happiness in the afterlife, with the existence controlling whether souls could rest being Death.
This faction was very peaceful, with good intentions, and was the easiest to deal with; its pursuits were relatively aligned with the authority of the Goddess of the Evernight.
The Underworld Faction advocated summoning underworld creatures, similar to a summoning school branch.
As for the other factions, Hastur didn't know much about them.
"Continue?" Maric gave Hastur a look.
"Be careful."
Hastur nodded, agreeing with the idea of continuing to investigate further.
The two tiptoed forward, moving closer cautiously.
Through the gaps in the branches and leaves, they could vaguely see a group of people circling around the fire, performing an uncoordinated sacrificial dance.
Maric's expression was serious, while Hastur seemed relaxed.
Even their sacrificial dance was so sloppy and unorganized; they clearly didn't look like the official forces of the Spirit Cult but rather like auxiliary members.
"Should we leave first and report this to the Church of the Evernight Goddess?" Maric whispered his suggestion.
"..."
Hastur looked at Maric in surprise. Wasn't this sort of action supposed to be his specialty?
Maric, a member of a non-orthodox church, had such high awareness now?
"The Church of the Evernight Goddess is more conscientious in handling these Beyonder events." Maric couldn't understand Hastur's complicated gaze and whispered again.
"No rush, let's observe a bit more."
Hastur spoke and signaled for Maric to continue leading the way.
The two went in deeper, until they were about fifteen meters away from the blazing fire.
By the light of the flames, they could see the group circling and dancing.
There were elderly people, balding middle-aged men, young adults, children, men and women of all ages.
The firelight reflected on their faces, where peaceful and devout expressions hid deep sorrow.
After finishing the dance, some people couldn't suppress their sorrow and began to sob quietly, while others blew brass whistles, producing mournful sounds that made the surrounding temperature drop another notch.
They weren't about to summon some spirit world creature, were they? Should he use Spirit Vision to check?
As Hastur was thinking this, Maric had already activated Spirit Vision, and from his unpleasant expression, it was clear he saw something incredible from the spirit world.
"Is it dangerous?"
"Not for now," Maric gave his judgment.
Hastur relaxed, gently rubbed his fingers, and activated Spirit Vision.
The first thing to appear before his eyes was a huge, bloated creature from the spirit world.
Its shape resembled a toad, but it had no limbs and could only lie on the ground.
Its head was enormous, making the bonfire look like a mere spark in comparison, and even all those dancing people together wouldn't be enough to fill one bite of its mouth.
It looked very calm, only showing slight emotional fluctuations when the whistle sounds were heard.
Aside from this gigantic toad-like spirit world creature, there were a few smaller ones, staring intently at the brass whistles and occasionally letting out whimpers and urging cries.
Were all these summoned by the brass whistles, like spirit messengers?
Did this group not even have someone who could use Spirit Vision?
Hastur was puzzled, yet he also felt it couldn't be that simple.
That toad-shaped spirit world creature was simply too enormous, and its behavior showed that it already possessed considerable intelligence.
It likely wasn't a messenger but rather a spirit world creature that had formed a contract with someone.
Who would use such a massive thing as a messenger? By the time it finished delivering a message, who knew how much time would have passed.
Could this be a Spirit Cult preaching site?
As this thought surfaced in Hastur's mind, he heard a voice from near the bonfire.
A middle-aged man dressed in formal attire and exuding an air of wealth smiled toward their direction and spoke:
"Two friends from afar, would you like to join us for a dance?"