Cesar continued to examine the hound unit members who had perished at the hands of the butcher. In the damp darkness, the creature's torch provided a faint glow, illuminating a bloated face marred by gas buildup. Its decayed, fish-like eyes stared rigidly at him, while the damp stench seemed to crawl over the corpse's swollen lumps like gray-green maggots.
The individual hadn't been dead for long, yet the body already emitted the stench and appearance of prolonged decay.
"Since losing its divine authority, Hood has been missing for a long time. Even the undying Marsites scoured the entire continent without finding its trace," Jeanne remarked, her gaze following the direction where the insects had disappeared. There, only clammy darkness remained, along with a corridor entrance that seemed to plunge endlessly into the abyss. She withdrew her gaze, her tone somber. "Now—I can at least confirm that Claudius has made contact with it. If we can relay this intelligence to the First Throne through the church, her nation will be turned upside down by at least ten thousand tireless, sleepless, and unfed Temars—beings that can reassemble even after being reduced to ashes."
It was unusual that she didn't express schadenfreude.
"Hood has indeed been missing for a long time." Although intrigued by the Burner's line of thought, Cesar decided not to delve into it under these circumstances. Given their unfamiliarity, inappropriate inquiries might be seen as provocation. He changed the subject. "Long ago," he said, "people used the phrase 'Hood's Breath' to pray, face death, and curse their unfortunate fate. Back then, we believed that after all life ended, the souls of the deceased would pass through Hood's Gate. Such nostalgia."
"Is that really worth reminiscing about?" Jeanne countered, her tone blunt and laced with unmasked sarcasm. "There's nothing worth remembering. All it did was skewer the souls of the dead on roasting spits; its priests treated flies and maggots as adorable little spirits. They smeared themselves with the blood of the condemned—raising those disgusting creatures all over their bodies and calling it devotion!" As she spoke, she tested her recently healed arm—it seemed to have recovered well, as if uninjured. Nonetheless, her incessant complaints continued. "It's absolutely vile. Besides your heretical gods, I've never heard of anything more disgusting."
"Showing respect to the immortals is a proper etiquette, follower of Elant."
Cesar half-lifted his dark eyes, partially hidden beneath black hair, continuing to examine the corpse before him. Most of the hound unit members who fought the butcher had died gruesomely—that sack-clad entity was covered in ancient and lethal spells—even older than humanity itself.
"The king of the deceased family hasn't fallen; he was merely kicked to the ground by your Lord."
As he issued these warnings, his voice was gentle, carrying a peculiar melody.
"It's truly a pity that it hasn't completely fallen."
Her gaze, beneath golden hair, gleamed with schadenfreude, and her moist lips curved into a beautiful arc. When Cesar turned to face her, his eyes lingered momentarily.
Such a face wasted on a Burner.
For certain reasons, he refrained from voicing this thought aloud. Like Miss Jeanne, he wasn't always candid with his words.
"It seems I can't discuss such matters with you," he continued, his hand probing the swollen lumps on the corpse, his expression as calm as if flipping freshly baked bread. "Forget it; I should focus on figuring out how to escape."
Jeanne snorted softly, refraining from further comment on the topic.
Perhaps a dissatisfied huff would make a young girl appear more endearing, but her snort only made her seem colder. Her black attire seemed to reflect her mood, as gray and somber as the environment.
The stench of rotting flesh grew stronger under his keen observation, the scent of death thickening the air to the point of suffocation. Yet, the two before the corpse pile were evident exceptions. Occasionally, a fleeting, dim light would flicker in the gloom, and an abnormal chill seeped from the shadows, as if some invisible entity was writhing and permeating the surrounding air—precisely the kind of heretical magic Jeanne had mentioned, or rather, spells cast by foreign entities that ran counter to the world's divine order.
Jeanne continued to fix her gaze on him, her expression growing increasingly impatient. Leaning against a coffin, she followed the direction of his hand movements and then asked, "Tell me, heretic—what have you discovered?"
"First—"
Cesar pointed to a young man who clutched a dagger, its tip embedded in his own eye socket. His auburn hair, matted with blood, resembled tangled animal entrails, and a bizarre smile lingered on his face, as if he had embraced a lover.
"Do you understand what this is?"
"I was about to ask you..." Jeanne's tone was notably displeased. "But if I must answer—perhaps a spell of mental confusion?"
"Long ago, during the final days of the First Empire's collapse, mages attempted to summon deities from another dimension to oppose High King Carlo," Cesar responded, shaking his head instead of directly addressing Jeanne's guess. "This act allowed those foreign entities you refer to as 'evil gods' to enter our world. The dungeon we're in, along with these creatures of baffling physical traits, are also manifestations of these foreign deities' descent—"
"I detest history lessons. Could you take your textbook and die elsewhere?"
Communicating with barbarians is truly challenging, Cesar mused with some frustration.
"Simply put, this place isn't part of the real world. It's difficult to connect with the Maze as a source of magic here. Ordinary spellcasting can only be achieved by expending one's internal energy or by using special materials—such as spiritual entities."
"Or... by casting spells as unusually as you do." Jeanne eyed him with a faint, cold smile. "Don't tell me Hood and its priests have become followers of these evil gods. It was once a deity, after all."
"The sun shines upon the earth, indifferent to human notions of good and evil."
"...What are you trying to say?"
"These foreign deities are entirely different from our world's pantheon. We often regard them as anomalous existences, akin to natural phenomena," Cesar explained gently. "When they—or parts of them—descended in the past, some were so fragile that High King Carlo's army easily destroyed them. Others drove even ancient gods to madness with their insanity. Hood aligning with these foreign deities isn't unimaginable. I've spent nearly half my life studying them—their greatness and beauty are beyond imagination, and they require no faith. As for the so-called followers of evil gods, they're merely cautious intermediaries, like us."
As he recounted the past, his pronunciation carried an archaic tone, reminiscent of poetry recitation. This reminded Jeanne of the old priest who once taught her history, though he had died long ago.
"I lack the interest to refute you," Jeanne said impassively. "Debate is no more effective than a chair of nails or a pair of pliers. Let's assume your conjecture is correct—that Hood has indeed contacted these evil gods and allowed its repulsive priests to master their spells. Does this mean—with your understanding of these deities—that we can specifically purify them?"
"Not at all."
"...Are you rehearsing a comedy? Heretic, I have no desire to play a comedian in such a disgusting place," Jeanne said, her face contorted in disgust, then shifting to a malicious smile. "Of course, if the punchline were your hanging—I might sit in the audience and applaud warmly."
"I suggest you revisit the 'History of Mages' at your church," he retorted calmly. "Neither these foreign deities nor our world's gods have directly bestowed all spells. Ninety percent of spells were researched and designed by mages based on magical sources. Speculating on the spells an immortal who has contacted foreign gods might have designed is no simpler than becoming a deity oneself."
"It seems wasting time here with you is a grave mistake."
"At the very least, we can follow in their footsteps, saving considerable effort, don't you agree?"