Chapter 219: The Town You Can’t Return To

Chapter 219: The Town with No Turning Back

Stepping through the dark gateway under twin moons, Jason, the leader of the ascetics, felt an intense chill rush over him.

A cold and numbing sensation spread throughout his body, dulling his senses as the ascetics seemed to plummet rapidly into the unfathomable abyss beneath the deep sea.

After an unknown duration, the brown-haired, green-eyed youth opened his eyes to find himself on an antique street.

On either side of the smooth cobblestone pavement, wooden houses stood neatly aligned; some were private residences, while others had converted their windows into street stalls, selling fruits, bread, and other foods.

The street was bustling with people, all dressed in a peculiar style—both men and women wore dark sleeveless robes, with colorful ribbons wrapped around their forearms. A style Jason had never seen outside, yet the calls and laughter of the people blurred the line between this place and reality—there was laughter, warmth, normal light, and the rising smoke from cooking...

It looked like an ordinary old Western European town.

Jason furrowed his brow slightly, realizing he had been separated from the other ascetics.

So, the moment they stepped into the Shadow Realm, they were scattered to different places?

Jason remained calm, gripping the snake-shaped silver pendant hanging over his chest, murmuring, "Everything is the best arrangement of fate."

He believed that under the Lord's blessing, every coincidence would link together, ultimately leading them to victory.

Even if temporarily separated, they would reunite soon.

As Jason quietly observed his surroundings, a resident approached, seemingly not surprised by the sudden appearance of an outsider, greeting him with a warm smile:

"Are you a traveler from beyond the city walls? Welcome to the Twelve Cities!"

"Though we are far from the imperial capital and much less prosperous than the First City, I believe you will gradually fall in love with this place..."

Jason has always been a man of few words, let alone engaging with unknown creatures in dangerous environments; he remained silent for a moment.

He wanted to turn his head to look behind him, but a strong premonition welled up within him—

Do not turn back!

Do not turn back!!

Thus, Jason followed his intuition and continued walking forward without turning his neck.

The townsfolk were very welcoming, swarming around him like tiny insects circling fresh produce, chattering excitedly as they tried to engage the leader in conversation:

"Would you like to try some melon? It was picked this morning from the vine."

"Our city of Twelve is the friendliest in Sombera. Please stay a few days, traveler, you can stay at my place!"

"Where are you headed? Do you need someone to show you the way?..."

Faced with their beaming smiles, Jason sensed that something was amiss with these residents... They did not seem like true living beings.

After walking for a while, the townsfolk noticed that Jason did not respond to their enthusiasm, and their expressions gradually hardened, making their pale faces resemble half-set wax sculptures, frozen in an eerie, insincere smile.

"Why don't you answer, stranger?"

"Could it be... you don't like our city?"

The crowd stopped pressing toward Jason, and the once bustling street fell into silence.

Silhouettes stood still on the street, their eyes devoid of warmth, fixed intently on the young-looking outsider.

The tense atmosphere seemed like a balloon that was being inflated more and more, its fragile skin stretched to the limit on the street, waiting to reach a critical point before bursting with a loud "pop."

Guided by his sharp intuition, Jason made polite responses just before that critical point was reached.

Once he responded, the people on the street returned to their normal behavior, friendly smiles on their faces as they continued with their daily lives.

After several such exchanges, Jason thought reflectively:

The residents repeatedly emphasized that this was a friendly city—could it be that in this town, "friendliness" was a rule that must be followed, including the obligation to respond to others' warm greetings?

Under the watchful eyes of many, Jason struggled through the crowd and arrived at an open circular square.

This was the very heart of the town, where three streets converged, like three fingers extending from a palm.

In the center of the square stood a small black church, its spire adorned with a symbol composed of a crow and a pair of scissors: the side profile of a crow with outstretched wings forming a half-arc, while the scissors, artistically stylized and curved like a crescent moon, formed the other half-arc.

The two arcs joined perfectly, creating a complete circle.

Jason recognized it as the emblem of the Church of the Goddess of Misfortune—he had no intention of entering a temple dedicated to a foreign deity, so he stopped before the church.

Beside the church door, a wooden signpost stood, bearing a piece of yellowed parchment inscribed with unfamiliar characters.

These characters were as light and graceful as petals, each ending in a curve that linked them together, flowing across the entire sheet in an elegant script, likely the long-lost Sombella language.

Strangely enough...

Why could Jason read these words without the aid of any artifacts from the domain of "Truth"?

Just like the residents on the street, upon careful reflection, their words were also in a completely unfamiliar language, yet they flowed naturally into the mind of the outsider, effortlessly understood...

This detail couldn't help but remind Jason of the notebook stored in the Church of Truth — "Those who enter the Kingdom will become part of its subjects, forever residing in His land."

The subtle transformation of language, could it be part of the lost kingdom's process of "assimilating" outsiders?

Jason rubbed his temples and focused on the text on the wooden sign:

"Town Rules"

"1. The Twelve Cities form a harmonious and beautiful family. Residents should be friendly and courteous, abide by etiquette norms, and refrain from harming each other."

"2. The residents of this town are warm and welcoming, greatly appreciating the residence of newcomers, who will eventually become part of the town."

"3. Looking back is forbidden. Once you move forward, everything behind you is no longer your concern."

"4. Birth and death are essential parts of life for town residents and normal pathways for newcomers to integrate into the town. There is no need to panic; accept them calmly."

"5. ■■■■ Please live and act in the new district in front of the church. Entry into the old district is strictly prohibited, and violators will bear the consequences."

"6. Newcomers should actively enter the old district to prepare to become a member of ■■■■■."

"7. The elderly and ■■ should voluntarily stay in the old district, waiting for ■■■ to arrive, only then can they leave and return to the new district."

"Finally, we wish you a pleasant life in the town!"

Jason pondered for a moment, then extended his finger, tracing and writing in the air in front of the wooden board.

The first rule confirmed his earlier suspicion: that one must adhere to etiquette and maintain "harmony and friendliness" within the town.

The third rule aligned with Jason's instinct when he wanted to look back, though the specific reason was unknown. The phrase "everything behind you is no longer your concern" seemed peculiar, as if it held some hidden metaphor.

Regarding the fifth rule, Jason guessed that the obscured text might be "ordinary residents," just as he had seen before, where the residents maintained the appearance of normal people, bustling about their lives on the streets.

The sixth and seventh rules, however, differed greatly from the previous ones—it seemed that in the town, outsiders, the elderly, and the ■■ were positioned distinctly from ordinary residents...

The rules encouraged these three groups to enter the old district. Why?

Was this a friendly reminder or a malicious temptation?

What was the difference between the old and new districts? What did they each represent?

Jason silently noted these questions, casting an inquisitive gaze toward the sealed roads on either side of the church.

Those two paths were not paved with cobblestones; weeds grew abundantly beside the muddy ground, suggesting they had been long abandoned. The two dark alleys extended left and right, leading behind the church, serving as the routes to the old district.

His intuition told Jason that they would eventually have to pass through these paths to reach the unknown backside.

However, before that— he needed to wait for his companions at the spot.

Jason closed his eyes quietly, habitually praying to fate.

...

Meanwhile, in another corner of the town, another Ability user of the Fate domain from the Ascetic Order slowly awoke.

She awoke in a simple yet tidy wooden hut.

"Am I alone here?" she muttered to herself as she got up, "Troublesome, I don’t have any direct offensive abilities, I need to find my fellow members quickly..."

Suddenly, there was a loud "clatter," and the old wooden chair beside her collapsed.

Amidst a pile of brown wooden structures, the ability user keenly spotted a hint of white... something seemed to be hidden within the wooden boards of a chair.

Upon closer inspection, the ability user realized that a gap had been deliberately pried open under the seat, with a thin, tattered page of notes stuffed into the crevice.

The edges of the pried wood were lined with jagged splinters, some still stained with dark blood—almost evoking the image of someone desperately digging their hands into the wood, enduring the pain as the splinters pierced their flesh, to hide this page of notes deeply.

If not for the ability user's power known as "Constant Luck," which literally means always maintaining the best state of luck, the secret within this chair would likely have remained undiscovered forever.

With great care, Constant Luck extracted the tattered page, smoothing out the crinkled folds, only to be disappointed when she found the page thoroughly soaked in blood, the writing blurred beyond recognition.

She sighed, wishing her companion from the "Time" domain were here; it would have been so much better...

At that moment, a flash of inspiration struck her.

She suddenly remembered that there might be another method outside of abilities to address the issue with the tattered page—

That was the mysterious ritual.

Using rituals as a medium to invoke the power of high-ranking entities within the church system is a common, relatively safe, and effective approach used by devout believers.

Thus, Constant Luck retrieved a bottle of pure silver powder, several fine incense sticks, and a sharp ritual knife from her backpack.

She wrote the revered name of the ritual object with the silver powder, lit the candles, and then cut her wrist with the ritual knife, allowing her blood to flow along the silver-powdered script, forming a complete circuit imbued with mystical power.

Kneeling before the candles, she clasped her hands together in devotion and recited the revered name:

"O traveling bard of myriad worlds, monument to history, guardian of the ash thorn..."

"O great apostle of fate, Lord Bryce—devout believer and ascetic of fate, I humbly beseech you to restore what is broken or defiled, to return it to its pristine past."

In an instant, the wind rose from the ground and swirled within the wooden hut.

The breeze seemed to carry the damp, fresh scent of morning plants, and Constant Luck faintly saw the candle flames flicker. Deep within the scorching heart of the flame, a pair of gentle, blood-red eyes seemed to open.

"—I accept."

In the next moment, the candles all went out, and the silver powder and blood on the ground spontaneously ignited, forming a winding, coiling fire serpent that slowly vanished into the air.

And the entire wooden hut was now completely renewed.

The once-old tables and chairs were now shiny as new, the broken chair had been restored to its original state, but most importantly, the bloodstained, tattered page of notes had become smooth and white, returning to its pristine condition as it once appeared in history.

Constant Luck leaned in for a closer look and saw the following written in hasty handwriting:

"Do not look back! Do not look back! Do not look back!"

"Do not go to the old district; it represents death."

"You must go to the old district; the only gate leading out of town is at the end of the old district."

"Follow the town rules, but do not fall into its trap and become a permanent resident."

"Survive."