Chapter 155: The Trickster's Temple
Raven, Jovie, Count Alden, and Kael were the only ones left alive from the convoy.
At their lead marched a dozen skeletal knights, their armored leader at the front. The undead carved down every monster that crossed their path, clearing the way with ruthless efficiency.
The survivors pressed on for more than three hours, detouring into several intact buildings in hopes of something valuable. But nothing of worth turned up.
Meanwhile, Raven kept checking the compass. At first, the needle barely shifted from its fixed point. But the deeper they went, the more it quivered, tugged slightly off its course.
"Go left," Raven instructed quietly.
The skeletal knights obeyed, their creaking armor clattering faintly in the silence.
"Now, a bit to the right," Raven said again, eyes never leaving the compass.
After another thirty minutes of his careful guidance, they reached a structure unlike anything else they had seen—a towering gateway lined with intricate carvings, guarding the space beyond. Behind it loomed a grand pyramidal temple, its stones immaculate, untouched by time.
No barrier of magic surrounded it. Yet the temple stood tall and whole, as though defying the decay that consumed the rest of the ruins.
Raven's voice was low with wonder. "What… is this place?"
"It looks like a temple," Jovie murmured. She stepped closer to the tall iron gate, brushing her hand against its surface. "Strange. No rust… no cracks. Even after all this time."
With the lightest push, the door swung open without resistance.
Inside stretched an open yard, where fruit trees—mango, orange, and apple—flourished alongside ornamental plants.
Jovie's brows furrowed. "Someone is maintaining this place." Her gaze traveled to the yard's centerpiece: a tall stone statue.
It depicted a young girl with long hair and kitten-like ears. She looked no older than twelve, her gown flowing to her feet, a unique flute clasped in her hand.
Jovie froze. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "How can she be here…?"
"You know her?" Raven asked, already closing the distance to examine the statue more closely.
Jovie's expression tightened, caught between awe and unease. She nodded. "She is the Goddess of Trickery. But… her statue shouldn't exist here. This world wasn't supposed to have any ties to the gods." She moved nearer, fingers brushing the inscription at the base.
Her voice dropped as she read aloud. "Commissioned by Saintess Bella Collins…"
Jovie's lips pressed into a line. After a moment, she turned sharply toward the temple's main hall. "Come on. Let's keep moving."
They crossed quietly into a vast hall upheld by a hundred towering pillars.
"Is this a place of worship?" Count Alden muttered, frowning. People of the Ivory Continent were not religious—they revered the elemental spirits as creators: the Wind Spirit, the Celestial Water Spirit, the Earth Mother, and the Rebirth Flame. But even those were only honored during festivals or funerals. Never had there been temples, never statues.
And yet, here stood a shrine to something far different.
They walked past rows of carved creatures—mythical beasts, birds, even humanoid races long vanished. Finally, they reached the pyramidal structure's main entrance, four meters high and imposing.
Raven stepped forward and pushed the door open.
Inside, the main temple was eerily pristine.
Not a single mote of dust lay upon the golden floor. The polished pillars gleamed as though freshly set. Time itself seemed to have halted here.
At the far end, a colossal statue of the Goddess of Trickery towered above them. Golden light shimmered faintly over her serene, mischievous face. Unlike the childlike figure in the yard, this form showed her as a maiden of eternal youth—long hair flowing, flute resting lightly in her hand, eyes full of secrets.
Raven frowned. "Something feels eerie about this place."
"Let's spread out," Jovie said, her tone clipped but steady. "Search the hall. See if anything valuable remains."
Count Alden lingered near the door, his sharp amber gaze sweeping the chamber. His hand rested on his sword hilt, caution etched in every movement. Kael shadowed him, eyes darting across the shadows.
Raven, however, felt the pull of the statue. He slipped the compass from his coat, flipping it open.
The needle spun wildly before settling—pointing straight at the Goddess's silver crown.
He circled the statue once, then again. The needle followed, unshaken. Always fixed on the crown.
"The fragment's inside the crown?" he muttered.
Drawn by instinct, Raven stretched out his hand. His fingers brushed the cool silver metal.
The air shifted.
A blinding white light engulfed him.
When his vision cleared, Raven stood in a different hall entirely—lined with chandeliers, golden carpets, and hundreds of sealed glass boxes glimmering faintly in the light.
'Where am I? Zera?' He turned quickly, but found himself alone.
[This place feels like… a weapon vault,] Zera's voice whispered in his mind.
Raven exhaled slowly, relief anchoring him. But then—
"Let's play."
The soft, playful voice drifted from his left. His body tensed.
He turned. A tiny girl hovered beside him, no larger than a doll. Bluish butterfly wings fluttered from her back.
'A fairy…?'
[She looks like one, but no. Be careful.]
"You are…?" Raven asked cautiously.
The little being giggled, her gaze unnervingly sharp. "I'm Sere. Fragment of Wisdom." She studied him, lips curling. "You don't look very wise."
Raven opened his mouth—"A—"
But his voice froze, smothered by an invisible force.
"That's against the rules," Sere pouted. "It's my turn to ask."
She leaned forward, eyes glinting, and spoke:
"Three potions rest on the stone.
One heals, one kills, one simply tastes like bone.
Red bubbles warm,
Blue lies still,
Green hums a silent tune.
The one you seek won't spill,
But holds the scent of the moon.
What is it?"
Raven stiffened.
'A riddle? Out of nowhere?'
[Careful. I feel something strange entering your body,] Zera warned sharply.
A solemn expression settled over Raven's face.
'Red bubbles warm… dangerous. Blue lies still—worthless, maybe harmless. Green hums… a tune, and the moon's scent…'
His eyes flickered. "The green one."
Sere gasped, then clapped her hands, spinning in the air. "Ohh! You're right! You're smarter than you look." She twirled around him like a child chasing butterflies before fixing her gaze back on him.
[She's waiting. It's your turn now—ask wisely,] Zera urged.
Raven nodded slowly. "What happens… if I give the wrong answer?"
The fairy's smile sharpened, her playfulness warping into something far more dangerous.
"You die."
Raven's heart skipped a beat.
'I need to leave.' He felt that a single word could lead to his demise!
Before he could steady his thoughts, Sere's voice chimed again:
"It has no hands, yet tells a tale.
It ticks in silence, pale and frail.
In magic halls it does reside,
Yet never moves, though time has died.
It neither starts nor comes to an end—
What is this gift, even time cannot bend?"