"The gods do not speak. But we speak on their behalf. And the people... the people listen." — High Priest Longging, Temple Founder
Shadow fell silent.
Alperen waited.
"The Longging Temple," Shadow said at last. "This... is a different story, my Lord. Iron Shirt spills blood. The Hua Clan takes gold. But the Longging Temple..."
"What does it do?"
"It steals souls."
Alperen raised his eyebrows.
"Explain."
"You need to hear from Fox and Viper, my Lord. They... went inside. Into the temple. And they found something."
"What did they find?"
Shadow didn't answer. He simply stepped aside.
Two figures emerged from the darkness.
Fox and Viper.
Fox's Report
Fox stepped forward.
Short in stature. Slender build. An ordinary face. The kind that would vanish in a crowd.
But his eyes... his eyes were sharp. Eyes that saw everything, missed nothing.
"My Lord," he said. His voice was low. "I infiltrated the Longging Temple eight days ago. Disguised as a beggar."
"What did you see?"
"First... let me describe it from the outside."
The Longging Temple, thirty kilometers north of Iron Bridge City.
Nestled among mountains. In green valleys. A beautiful place.
The temple was massive. White marble walls. Gold-plated roofs. Giant statues—of Longging himself. Arms open wide, smiling.
From the outside... it looked like paradise.
Hundreds of pilgrims arrived every day. To pray. To "seek enlightenment." To "purify themselves."
And to receive the "Sacred Incense."
"Sacred Incense?" Alperen's eyes narrowed.
"Yes, my Lord. This is the heart of the story. But first... let me show you this."
Fox pulled an old notebook from beneath his cloak.
Worn. Yellowed pages. Leather cover.
"This... is a monk's journal. Written two hundred years ago. I stole it from the temple's secret archives."
Alperen took the journal. Opened it.
On the first page, in trembling handwriting:
"I am Monk Liang. I write this journal to record the truth. Because someday... someone should know."
THE MONK'S JOURNAL - PART 1
1st Moon, 3rd Day
Today I was accepted into the Longging Temple.
I am twenty years old. It's been three months since I left my village. I left behind my family, my friends, everything.
Why?
Because I want to find enlightenment.
Because I want to understand the suffering in this world.
Because... I'm searching for meaning.
The temple was beautiful. So beautiful. White marble walls gleaming in the sunlight. Flowers blooming in the gardens. The monks appeared calm, peaceful.
An elderly monk welcomed me. His name was Priest Chen.
"Welcome, my son," he said. He was smiling. A warm smile. "You will find peace here."
I believed him.
I truly believed him.
1st Moon, 15th Day
The first two weeks were wonderful.
Mornings: meditation. Afternoon: work. Evening: prayer.
A simple life. But peaceful.
The other monks were kind. The food was plain but filling. My cell was small but clean.
And most importantly... the "Sacred Incense" ceremonies.
Every evening, we gathered in the great hall. The incense was lit. Smoke rose. And we... prayed.
That smoke... it was beyond description.
When you breathed it in... the world changed. Colors grew brighter. Sounds softened. And all the pain inside you... vanished.
Only peace remained.
Pure, absolute peace.
Priest Chen said it was "The Breath of God."
"Longging loves us," he said. "This smoke is his love."
I believed it.
Why wouldn't I?
2nd Moon, 8th Day
I noticed something today.
After the incense ceremonies... I feel strange.
At first there was only peace. But now... there's something else.
Hunger.
I wait for the next ceremony. Impatiently. Every hour, every minute.
Is this normal?
I asked Priest Chen.
"It's normal," he said. "This is a sign that your soul is bonding with Longging. The more you bond, the more peace you'll find."
But... bonding?
Or... becoming addicted?
No. I'm being ridiculous. This is a sacred ceremony. Not some addiction.
Right?
3rd Moon, 1st Day
Today I missed a ceremony for the first time.
I was sick. Had a fever. Stayed in my cell.
And that night...
Hell.
I can find no other word.
I was sweating. Shaking. Nauseous. My head felt like it would split open.
But the worst part... the emptiness inside me.
An indescribable emptiness. As if my soul had been ripped out. As if nothing remained within me.
"Incense... I need incense..."
I found myself repeating it. Like a madman.
Finally I couldn't bear it. Despite my fever, I dragged myself to the hall. Joined the ceremony.
And when the smoke filled my lungs...
Everything passed.
Peace returned.
But... this time it was different.
This wasn't peace.
This... was captivity.
3rd Moon, 15th Day
I asked other monks today.
"Do you experience the same things? Without the incense..."
Monk Ming bowed his head. "Don't talk," he whispered. "Don't ask. Just... obey."
"But this is addiction—"
"QUIET!"
I saw fear in Ming's eyes. Pure, naked fear.
"If they hear you... they'll take you too."
"Take me? Where?"
Ming didn't answer. He just turned and walked away.
I couldn't sleep that night.
Where do they take people?
Who do they take?
And why... is everyone so afraid?
Fox's Interjection
Alperen looked up from the journal.
"Does it continue?"
"It does, my Lord. But first... let me tell you what I saw. It will make more sense alongside the journal."
"Tell me."
I entered the temple as a beggar.
They were distributing "charity" at the gates. Every day. Hundreds of beggars came. Food, clothing, money.
And... "Sacred Incense sticks."
Small sticks. Finger-length. You burned them and inhaled the smoke.
"Take this, child," a monk said to me. "This will bring you peace. A gift from Longging."
I took it. But I didn't use it. I hid it.
That night, I examined the stick.
It wasn't ordinary incense.
There was something inside it. A familiar smell. Sweet, sticky, dizzying.
"Moon's Tear."
The most dangerous drug in Openag.
Even in tiny doses it creates addiction. In high doses... it takes complete control of a person.
And the Longging Temple...
Was distributing this as something "sacred."
For free.
To everyone.
"Moon's Tear?" Alperen's voice was cold.
"Yes, my Lord." Fox bowed his head. "A substance similar to opium. But far more powerful. Once you use it... you can never stop."
"And the temple distributes it for free."
"Free at first. But then..."
Viper stepped forward. He spoke for the first time.
"Let me continue, my Lord. I... went deeper."
Viper's Report
Viper was different from Fox.
Tall. Gaunt face. Cold eyes.
A quiet man. Spoke little. But when he spoke... you listened.
"Fox stayed outside," he said. "I went inside. Beneath the temple."
"Beneath?"
"Yes. There are underground facilities. Large. Very large."
I secretly descended to the temple's basement level.
Three floors down.
Each level darker. Each level worse-smelling.
At the bottom... I found the factory.
"Factory" might not be the right word.
More like... hell.
A vast cavern.
Hundreds of people working inside.
All of them gaunt. All of them pale. All of them... half dead.
The air was heavy. There was a sweet, sticky smell. The scent of poppy. The smell of opium. And beneath it... the smell of rotting flesh.
Because some of them... were no longer alive.
I saw a corpse in the corner. Nobody cared. They kept working. Walking right past the body. As if it wasn't there.
Some were cutting poppies. In huge cauldrons.
Sharp knives. Mechanical movements. They had made the same motion for hours, days, perhaps years.
Some had missing fingers. Too exhausted to pay attention. Too dazed to be careful. Blood was flowing. Nobody cared.
Some were preparing paste. Black, sticky paste.
Boiling in massive cauldrons. Steam rising. Those who breathed that steam... became even more dazed. Even more numb.
Some were making incense sticks. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands.
Thin bamboo sticks. Coated with paste. Dried. Packaged.
In one day, one worker made a thousand sticks.
A thousand sticks = addiction for a thousand more people.
None of them were chained.
But none of them ran.
Why?
Because they were all addicts.
In exchange for work... they received their dose.
One dose per day. If you worked.
If you didn't work... withdrawal.
And withdrawal... was worse than death.
I saw someone going through withdrawal.
A man. Perhaps forty years old. Curled up in a corner. Shaking. Sweating. Vomiting.
"Dose... dose... please... dose..."
The worker beside him didn't even look up.
"Should have worked," he said. "If you hadn't slacked off yesterday, you'd have your dose."
"I was... I was sick..."
"Everyone's sick. Everyone works."
The man begged. He cried. Nobody listened.
Two hours later... he stopped.
He was dead.
They dragged his body to the corner. Kept working.
I saw a woman.
In her thirties. Must have been beautiful once. High cheekbones. Large eyes.
Now... she was like a skeleton. Skin stretched over bones. Hair falling out. Teeth rotted.
A knife in her hand. Cutting poppies. With mechanical movements.
I approached her. "How long have you been here?" I whispered.
The woman raised her head. Her eyes... were empty. Completely empty. Nothing inside. No hope, no fear, no anger. Nothing.
"Time?" She laughed. A dry, cracked laugh. Like a crow's caw. "There is no time here. Just... work and get your dose. Work and get your dose."
"How many years?"
"Years?" She tilted her head. Thought. For a long time. "I don't know. Maybe three. Maybe five. Maybe ten. I can't remember."
"Don't you want to get out?"
"Out?" The woman looked at me. Confused. "There's no dose outside. Here there is. Why would I leave?"
"There's sun outside. Fresh air. Freedom."
"Freedom?" The woman laughed. That dry, cracked laugh again. "Freedom hurts. The dose doesn't hurt. I don't want pain."
"Your family..."
"FAMILY?" The woman's voice rose. For a moment something appeared in her eyes. Anger? Pain? "My family sold me. To pay their debt. Sold me to the temple."
"How?"
"My husband." The woman spat. "We were married for three years. One day I came home, he wasn't there. But men from the temple were. 'Your husband sold you to us,' they said. 'For 500 gold.' 500 gold. That's what I was worth."
She paused for a moment.
"But it doesn't matter. I don't care anymore. Nothing matters anymore. Just... the dose."
And she picked up her knife and went back to work.
As if I wasn't there.
As if we'd never spoken.
"How many people are down there?" Alperen asked.
"At least five hundred, my Lord. Maybe more. And they add 'new ones' regularly."
"New ones?"
"Those who become addicted outside. Those who can't pay their debts. Or... those who simply disappear."
Alperen thought.
"Continue."
Beside the factory was another section.
They called it the "Education Center."
I went inside.
And... I saw children.
Dozens of children. Ages eight to fifteen.
All wearing monk's robes. All with shaved heads. All... looking the same.
Individuality erased. Names erased. Only numbers remained.
"Number 47! Louder!"
A priest stood before them. Whip in hand. Teaching a lesson.
"Longging loves you," he was saying. "Longging saved you. Your families abandoned you. But Longging... Longging never abandons."
The children repeated.
"Longging loves us. Longging saved us."
Monotone. Soulless. Robotic.
One child was too slow. He looked about ten. Maybe tired. Maybe distracted.
The whip cracked.
"NUMBER 23! LOUDER!"
The child trembled. A red mark appeared on his cheek.
"L-Longging loves us! Longging saved us!"
"I said louder!"
"LONGGING LOVES US! LONGGING SAVED US!"
The priest smiled. "Good."
And continued the lesson.
"Now, second lesson. 'Who are we?'"
The children answered. All together.
"We are Longging's children!"
"Who is our family?"
"Our family is the temple!"
"Who is our mother?"
"Our mother is Longging!"
"Who is our father?"
"Our father is Longging!"
"Our old family?"
"Gone! Old family is gone! Only Longging remains!"
Brainwashing.
Pure, systematic brainwashing.
Every day. Every hour. Every minute.
Carved into the children's minds.
And of course... they were given "Sacred Incense" too.
Every day.
Low doses at first. A "special blend" for children, they called it.
But the result was the same.
Addiction.
If you start young... you never escape.
In a corner, there were smaller children.
Ages five to seven.
They hadn't started training yet. They were in the "preparation" phase.
What did "preparation" mean?
I saw.
A female monk sat with the children. Speaking in a sweet voice.
"Who wants to go home?"
All the children raised their hands.
"Me! Me! Me!"
"Going home is bad," the woman said. Still in that sweet voice. "Those who go home are punished. Longging becomes sad."
"But my mother..."
"Your mother abandoned you." The woman's voice hardened. "Your mother didn't want you. She brought you here and left. She's never coming back."
The child started crying.
"B-but my mother loves me..."
"No." The woman leaned into the child's face. "Your mother doesn't love you. Nobody loves you. Only Longging loves you. Understand?"
The child was sobbing. Couldn't answer.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"Y-yes..."
"Who loves you?"
"L-Longging..."
"Does your mother love you?"
"N-no..."
"Good." The woman smiled. "We'll talk again tomorrow."
And she turned to another child.
Same questions. Same destruction. Same trauma.
One by one.
Systematic.
Methodical.
THE MONK'S JOURNAL - PART 2
5th Moon, 22nd Day
Today I was given a "mission."
I was to go to the villages and "preach."
I was excited. Finally I would leave the temple. I would bring "enlightenment" to the people.
How naive I was.
Target village: Bamboo Village. A small village of two hundred households.
Three other monks accompanied me. And two cartloads of "gifts."
Food. Clothing. Medicine.
And of course... Sacred Incense sticks.
When we arrived, the villagers welcomed us with joy.
"The monks have come!"
"Longging is with us!"
"There are gifts!"
We distributed the gifts. Everyone was happy.
Then... we gave them the incense.
"This is Longging's gift," I said. As I'd been taught. "It will take away your pain. Bring you peace."
The villagers took them. Thanked us.
And that night... we burned them together in the village square.
Smoke rose.
Everyone breathed it in.
And... I saw the change in their eyes.
First surprise. Then relief. Then... happiness.
False happiness.
Poisoned happiness.
That moment I understood.
We weren't missionaries.
We were... dealers.
Drug dealers.
6th Moon, 3rd Day
We went to Bamboo Village a second time.
This time the gifts were... different.
No food. No clothing.
Only incense.
And a price.
"One stick: 5 copper."
"But it was free last month!"
"That was Longging's gift. This is... regular supply. In exchange for prayer."
The villagers couldn't refuse.
Because most of them... were already addicted.
One week had been enough.
Just one week.
5 copper. Then 10. Then 20.
The price kept rising. The addiction deepening.
Those who couldn't pay... received an offer to "serve the temple."
"Come work for us. We'll give you incense in return."
And people went.
Left their families and went.
Because there was no other choice.
8th Moon, 17th Day
Today there was a rebellion in a village.
Olive Village.
The villagers rose up against the temple.
"You're poisoning us!" they shouted.
"You're taking our children!"
"You're tearing our families apart!"
They were right.
Completely right.
But... the temple was powerful.
Priests came. Level 2 warriors.
The rebellion was... suppressed.
"Suppressed" is a gentle word.
It was a massacre.
The five families who started the rebellion... were killed in front of everyone.
Men. Women. Children. The elderly.
"This," said the High Priest, "is the price of defying Longging."
The villagers watched.
No one made a sound.
Fear... was stronger even than addiction.
Fox's Interjection - 2
"Does this village still exist?" Alperen asked.
"It does, my Lord." Fox nodded. "Olive Village. I went there. I saw."
"What's it like?"
"Like a ghost village." Fox's voice dropped. "There are people. But... they're not living. They just... exist."
I entered Olive Village. Disguised as a merchant.
It was quiet.
Terrifyingly quiet.
Normally in villages you hear children's voices. Laughter. Arguments. The sounds of life.
Here... there was nothing.
Only silence.
I saw people. Sitting in front of their houses. With empty eyes.
A woman was there. A baby in her arms. But she wasn't feeding it. Just staring. Blankly.
There were children. They weren't playing. Weren't running. Just... standing.
I approached a man.
"Hello, brother. Could I get some water?"
The man looked at me. Slowly. As if even turning his head was difficult.
His eyes... like glass. Cloudy. Distant. As if no one was inside.
"Water?" He seemed to struggle understanding the word. "Water... at the well. But... first is prayer time."
"Prayer time?"
"Yes. Three times a day. Morning. Noon. Evening. We burn incense. Pray to Longging."
He looked at the time. Looked at the sun. Instinctively.
"Fifteen minutes left. I need to prepare."
And he stood up. With mechanical movements. Like a robot.
He went inside.
I walked around the village.
Everything... seemed half-finished.
Fields untended. Animals neglected. Houses crumbling.
People weren't working. Weren't producing. Just... praying.
And taking their dose.
I entered a house. The door was open. No lock.
Inside was a family. Father, mother, two children.
All sitting on the floor. In a circle. Incense burning in the center.
Eyes closed. Breathing the smoke. Murmuring.
"Longging... Longging... Longging..."
One of the children was five years old. Maybe younger.
He was thin. Very thin. You could count his bones.
But he was breathing in the incense. Like his parents. Regular. Deep.
Five years old and already an addict.
In this village everyone was an addict.
Even the babies.
Fifteen minutes later... smoke rose from everywhere in the village.
From every house.
From every window.
From every chimney.
Sweet, sticky, poisonous smoke.
The village was swallowed by a cloud. White, dense, suffocating.
And the villagers... were "praying."
Voices rose from the houses. All together. At the same time.
"Longging loves us."
"Longging protects us."
"Longging saves us."
"Thanks be to Longging."
Hundreds of voices. At once. Same tone. Same rhythm.
Like a choir.
A dead choir.
After the prayer ended, people returned to "normal."
But nothing was normal.
A man picked up his sickle. Went to the field. But after ten minutes of work he stopped. Just stood there. For hours.
A woman nursed her baby. Finally. But the baby was weak. Maybe the mother's milk wasn't enough. Or maybe it was poisoned.
The children started to play. But it wasn't really play. Just... movement. Meaningless, aimless movement.
I found the village elder.
An old man. Maybe sixty years old. But he looked eighty.
"How long has the village been like this?" I asked.
The elder looked at me. For a long time.
"Like this? What do you mean?"
"The people... they seem half-dead."
"We're alive." The elder smiled. An empty smile. "Alive thanks to Longging. Before Longging... we suffered. Now... we have peace."
"Peace? The fields are empty. The animals are dying. The children are weak."
"These things don't matter." The elder shook his head. "The world is temporary. Longging is permanent. The body is temporary. The soul is permanent."
"But you'll starve to death!"
"If we die..." The elder smiled. That empty smile again. "We'll join Longging. Is that bad?"
I couldn't answer.
What could I say?
These people... were already dead.
Their bodies were alive. But their souls... their souls were long gone.
Longging had taken them.
All of them.
"How many villages are like this?" Alperen asked.
"As far as we know... at least thirty, my Lord. Maybe fifty. Under the Longging Temple's 'protection.'"
"Total population?"
"Between fifty thousand and one hundred thousand. Perhaps more."
Alperen thought.
"The temple's revenue?"
"Approximately ten million gold per year, my Lord. Just from incense. Plus 'donations.' Land grants. Slave... I mean, 'volunteer worker' trade."
"Military strength?"
"Two hundred Level 2s. Most are priests. Plus over two thousand Level 1 monks. And... the High Priest."
"Who is the High Priest?"
"Priest Longging III. The great-great-grandson of the founder. Level 3. Silver Blood."
THE MONK'S JOURNAL - PART 3 (FINAL)
1st Year, 2nd Moon, 5th Day
I've decided to escape.
I can't take it anymore.
Every night I have nightmares. Of the people we killed. The villages we poisoned. The children we stole.
I came here to be a monk.
To find enlightenment.
But here... there is only darkness.
Tomorrow night I'll run.
I'll hide this journal. In a secret place.
Maybe someday... someone will find it.
Maybe someday... someone will learn the truth.
And maybe someday...
Someone will stop these monsters.
1st Year, 2nd Moon, 6th Day
This may be my last entry.
Tonight I run.
If I succeed... I'll never write in this journal again. Because I'll leave it behind.
If I fail...
I won't be able to write anyway.
Whoever you are, reading this.
Know that what is written here is true.
The Longging Temple is not sacred.
They are... monsters.
Monsters in human form.
And if you are strong...
Stop them.
Please.
— Monk Liang
Alperen closed the journal.
"What happened to the monk?" he asked.
Fox answered.
"Unknown, my Lord. The journal ends here. But... I also examined the temple's records."
"What do they say?"
"1st Year, 2nd Moon, 7th Day. 'Monk Liang achieved enlightenment during meditation. He has joined Longging. His soul is free.'"
"So..."
"He was killed, my Lord. Most likely. And recorded as a 'natural death.'"
Alperen nodded slowly.
"It's been two hundred years."
"Yes."
"And the system is still the same."
"It's grown even larger, my Lord. Back then it was just a few villages. Now... it's an empire."
The Longging Temple - Power Analysis
Viper stepped forward. He held a piece of paper.
"My Lord, let me summarize the information I've gathered."
THE LONGGING TEMPLE
Leader: Priest Longging III
Age: 180Level: Level 3 Silver BloodCharacter: Cold, calculating, fanatical
Military Strength:
1× Level 3 (High Priest)200× Level 2 (Priests)2000× Level 1 (Monks)5000+ "volunteer guards" (addicted villagers)
Economic Strength:
Annual revenue: 10-15 million goldSources: Drug sales, "donations," landControl: 30-50 villages, 50,000-100,000 people
Weaknesses:
Addicted population = weak population (can't fight)Priests trained as "clergy," not warriorsSystem relies on secrecy (what if truth comes out?)If drug production is disrupted = chaos
"Interesting." Alperen stood up. Looked into the darkness.
"Iron Shirt uses fear. The Hua Clan uses money. The Longging Temple... uses addiction."
"Yes, my Lord."
"All three are different. But all three do the same thing."
"What is that, my Lord?"
"Control people." Alperen turned. His eyes gleamed in the darkness. "Through fear. Through money. Through poison. Different methods, same result."
"And you, my Lord?"
Alperen thought.
For a long time.
"I..." he said at last. "I will also control. But differently."
"How differently?"
"They make people slaves. I... will make them family."
Shadow, Fox, and Viper looked at each other.
"Family, my Lord?"
"Do you remember Samara, Shadow? The children."
"Yes, my Lord."
"They won't be slaves. They won't be addicts. They won't be cowards." Alperen smiled. Cold. "They will be... fanatics. But willingly. Lovingly. Because I will give them something else."
"What will you give them?"
"Purpose. Meaning. Belonging." Alperen gazed into the darkness. "People want to belong to something. They want to live for something. They want to die for something. The Longging Temple does this with poison. I... will do it with a real purpose."
"And that purpose?"
"Empire." Alperen's voice dropped. "My empire. Their empire. We'll build it together. We'll grow it together."
"And die together?"
"No." Alperen shook his head. "I won't die. And they... they won't die either. Because as long as the empire lives, we will live too."
Silence.
Shadow thought.
My Lord... speaks like a cult leader.
But there's a difference.
Cult leaders lie.
My Lord... tells the truth.
And which is more dangerous?
"One power remains." Alperen turned. "The Leo Star. And the king."
"Shall I tell you tomorrow, my Lord? The night grows late."
"No." Alperen sat down. "Tell me now. I have no intention of sleeping."
"As you command."