"So this is the sculpture tainted by the breath of an Evil God—the source of the Iron Cross Plague that spread in later centuries?"
Hiltina's gaze locked onto the statue at the center of the altar.
The sculpture was cast from a grayish-black metal. Its details were obscured, the surface dull and rough, yet one could still make out the faint outline of a human form bound to a cross.
She reached out, intending to take a closer look—only for Rast to stop her.
From within his coat, Rast drew a small, square box of dark metal, carefully placing the cruciform sculpture inside. He sealed the lid tight, movements deliberate and precise.
"Lead casing," Rast said, lifting the box slightly. "It can't completely block contamination—only a container made of mythril could do that perfectly. But time's short. I'll have to make do."
Hiltina folded her arms, watching as he secured the sealed box. "So… this means we're done here?"
The entire operation had gone far more smoothly than she had expected.
They had disrupted the cult's summoning ritual, wiped out the base, and even secured the corrupted relic that served as the source of the infection. The rest of the cult's members—those scattered remnants still hiding elsewhere—were no longer any real threat.
By all logic, all that remained was to dispose of the sculpture: bury it deep underground, or cast it back into the sea. After that, they could hole up somewhere safe in Deep Blue Port and wait out the rest of their mission time.
"Unfortunately," Rast said, tucking the lead box against his chest, a wry smile crossing his face, "if things were really that simple, I'd have cleared this loop a long time ago."
He continued calmly, "Remember what I said earlier—when a resident of Deep Blue Port happens to catch sight of that sculpture, even for an instant, the seed of corruption takes root. It doesn't matter if they forget what they saw afterward."
"The laws that govern gods are not so easily understood—or evaded."
He glanced around at the shattered ritual circle, its symbols smeared and candles toppled. "Sacrifice, ritual, and faith—these are indeed the most efficient and convenient ways to invite a god's descent. But they're not the only way."
Rast's tone grew quiet.
"Anyone who has ever glimpsed that sculpture, even by accident… anyone who's merely heard of its existence—they can all serve as His vessel, His flesh. The only difference from the ritual itself lies in how much power it consumes… and how many bodies it needs."
"I don't know whether this particular dusk in Deep Blue Port has some special meaning in the occult sense," he murmured, "but what I do know is that the divine descent at precisely 6:30 PM on October 9th is the one unchanging fact across the tens of thousands of cycles I've lived through."
"If the ritual succeeds, so be it. But if it fails—if the cultists are wiped out—then the countless residents of Deep Blue Port already tainted by the corruption will become His medium instead."
Rast's eyes reflected the flickering candlelight as he gave a faint, almost bitter laugh. "The trajectory of fate marked by a god's will doesn't change because a few mortals flail in defiance. Just as you wouldn't cancel a school trip simply because a worm chewed a hole in your bag."
Silence fell again. Only the steady crackle of burning wax filled the chamber.
Hiltina gazed out the narrow window. The sky above Deep Blue Port was a dull, suffocating gray, the harbor shrouded in early night. Her chest felt tight.
No contact. No belief. No intent was even necessary—just a single careless glance or passing rumor was enough to spread the taint.
Who could say how many potential carriers were lurking in this ancient city now?
Perhaps the infected already outnumbered the untainted.
And the contamination had begun months ago—maybe even half a year—long before either she or Rast could ever have intervened.
She had thought this was a hero's tale. That if she defeated the villains and destroyed their dark ritual, she would save the city and rewrite its doomed ending.
But now… it felt like they were no heroes at all—just insects clinging together, struggling to survive in a flood that would wash them all away.
Against the tide of destiny, every effort seemed so fragile, so futile.
"But you're not the kind of man to just sit back and die, are you, Rast?"
After a long silence, Hiltina's voice broke the still air.
"If you'd truly given up, you'd still be wasting away in that hotel, playing pretend with your costumes… not dragging me all the way here."
Her gaze sharpened, locking onto his eyes—dark and fathomless as a midnight sea. "You already have a plan, don't you?"
"Of course."
Rast flipped open the cylinder of his revolver, sliding fresh rounds into the empty chambers one by one. "Otherwise, when you asked me earlier about our odds of success, I'd have said zero instead of one percent."
Hiltina frowned slightly as she watched him reload.
These weren't the same standard bullets he'd used before. Each round's lead core was jacketed in a layer of copper—a full metal jacket round. Slower, less lethal against flesh, but designed to pierce armor with brutal efficiency.
But Deep Blue Port had no armored targets. Unless Rast planned to take on the Royal Navy's steel fleet with a revolver, what use were they here?
"What exactly are you planning?" she asked, rubbing her temples. "The contamination has already spread through Deep Blue Port. That's a fact we can't change."
"And because of the Night World's rules, I can't leave the city's boundaries. I assume you're under a similar restriction—otherwise, you'd have fled long ago."
The city was now a ticking time bomb of infection. They couldn't stop it. They couldn't escape it. It seemed there was nothing left to do but wait for the inevitable.
"Still," Rast said quietly, "we do have one advantage."
"According to the Night World records, perhaps because of the dimensional barrier between our world and theirs, a god's interference with the physical realm—whether through descent or through awareness—is extremely limited."
"So while the Evil God can influence our world through the corrupted sculpture, His true self can't perceive Deep Blue Port directly. The divinity sealed in that statue acts only according to a preset rule."
Hiltina's eyes narrowed. "So you plan to exploit that limitation?"
"Excellent deduction," Rast said, clapping softly. "Miss Hiltina, it seems you're not just a fine swordswoman—you might make a decent detective too."
"You're mostly right… But before we, mere insects, attempt to challenge a god—" He snapped the revolver's cylinder shut with a metallic click. "—there are a few crucial things we need to take care of first."
"What things?" she asked, frowning again.
Click.
"Dinner," Rast said, flicking a bullet between his fingers, then letting out a yawn. "And sleep."