The 666th Sacrificial Festival
The suffocating sense of despair completely swallowed the warmth of the campfire. Aria and the survivors were gripped by the premonition of an impending, gruesome slaughter; no one dared to speak, exchanging only terror-stricken glances.
Just then, the massive beastman sitting next to Claudette gulped audibly, his throat bobbing as he stammered out a question.
"W-w-what kind of hound is it? If such a terrifying hound... no, such a monster is roaming about, how on earth are we supposed to avoid it and turn the waterwheels?"
Claudette poked at the sparking campfire with a stick and replied indifferently.
"The things that crawl out every time a Sacrificial Festival opens are different, so I don't know if it's some crazy hound, a monster, or a corrupted entity this time. But there is one rule I've learned for sure after experiencing it myself."
She raised her voice, looking around at the survivors.
"They never kill us in one hit. No matter how lethal the weapon they wield, if you take the first strike, you're given a chance to run away, even if you're bleeding. Only when the monster lands a second fatal blow are we completely incapacitated and left to collapse on the ground."
At Claudette’s words, the survivors' complexions brightened slightly. The fact that they wouldn't die in one hit was a significant glimmer of hope.
"What happens after we collapse? You said earlier that we become sacrifices," a young human boy asked in a trembling voice.
"That’s right. Once you fall, it drags you away and binds you with rope to the bizarre pillars set up all over the map, or impales you alive on giant iron hooks. But you don't need to be too desperate."
Claudette smirked and gripped the hem of her cloak tightly.
"You can endure being bound up to three times. If someone is captured or suffering, another person can sneak in, avoid the monster's gaze, and untie them, which means you can run away again. So, everyone, keep your wits about you, scatter, and just quietly turn your assigned waterwheels. If you're unlucky enough to be caught and can't move... I’ll be sure to come and save you, so don't be too scared and just finish turning those wheels."
At the confident promise of the veteran survivor, a faint flush of color returned to the faces of the boy and the beastman.
"I will keep that in mind! I'll endure to the end, even if it kills me while turning the wheel!" the beastman responded heroically, thumping his chest.
Just then, a thin man who had been crouching on the other side of the campfire cleared his throat and stood up. "Ahem! Everyone, don't worry yourselves too much."
He brushed off his scorched red robe and lifted his chin with an arrogant expression. "I’ll have you know I am a formal mage belonging to the Flame School’s Magic Tower! Even though the incompetent gods of the Pantheon have thrown us into this hell like orphans, we great mages are always prepared to defend the truth! If it were me, I could easily roast a monster like that!"
Ralof snorted at the mage’s boastful bluff.
"Huh? I thought you lot were all toasted to a crisp by the angry mob in the square and died out? Was there still a leftover runt breathing? Weren't you the one about to be roasted on a pyre before you could roast any monsters?"
At Ralof’s biting mockery, the mage’s face turned as red as a tomato. "Y-you ignorant hunter! How dare you insult the Magic Tower that explores the truth? You shall taste my fireball right now..."
It was the moment the mage, in his fury, flicked his finger to cast a spell.
Whoosh-!
A bizarre and chilling gust of wind blew from within the thick fog that blocked all sides of the clearing.
The flames of the campfire, which had been crackling away, instantly died down to nothing but ash, and the warmth of the surroundings evaporated as if it were a lie. The survivors' argument ceased abruptly, and everyone held their breath, staring in horror at the ash-gray fog creeping in from all directions.
"Prepare yourselves. The monster's time is approaching."
Claudette stood up and commanded in a low, cold voice. "Remember. You just have to follow the rules as I said. Don't think about running away selfishly; no matter who the monster is chasing, quickly turn all your respective waterwheels. And if we just pick the locks... even if not everyone makes it, most of us can survive and get out."
Her voice was infinitely solemn, carrying the weight of a veteran survivor looking after her companions.
However, a strange light of suspicion lingered in Aria’s eyes as she listened to that solemn speech.
Claudette’s words didn't quite add up. That sacrificial and devoted attitude of saying she would personally go to save them. If she were truly such a wonderful helper who looked after her companions... how was it that in the last Sacrificial Festival, she had lost all seven of her other companions to a cruel monster and managed to survive alone to return to this clearing with the campfire?
'This woman... she’s twisting her words as cunningly as a con artist. She might be trying to use us as a shield.'
Aria’s keen intuition as a Saintess was piercing through the selfish survival instinct hidden beneath Claudette’s hypocritical shell.
But Aria was given no time to voice that suspicion.
Vwooooom!
The ground beneath their feet began to vibrate unpleasantly, and the thick fog wrapped around the eight survivors like a snake, perfectly swallowing them into the stage of a horrific slaughter.
At the time Aria was sucked into the abyss of fog, I was sitting in the corner of my room, frantically refreshing the page of the Outer Gods Gallery I had open on my monitor.
"Damn it... this shit again."
The list of posts on the bulletin board was being updated dozens of times per minute, but the titles and nicknames were still plastered with horribly distorted tentacle shapes or bizarre hieroglyphs. Moreover, these symbols emitted an ominous energy that made the inside of my eyeballs ache and my head throb just by staring at them.
"If I look at this for too long, won't my SAN score actually drop and I'll go insane?"
I frowned and scrolled with the mouse. Every time I refreshed, other shitposts were pushed down to the bottom by new posts, but only one single post, shimmering in dark red at the very top of the board, stubbornly maintained its position.
"It must be... a notice, right?"
It was the unwritten rule of anonymous communities. A post in a bold red font pinned to the very top. It would surely contain the major main events currently happening in the Eden continent or the ramblings of the administrator.
"For the sake of information, I'll pay this much in points."
It was a waste, but I bit the bullet and paid 10 points to approve the translation of the notice. Then, the bizarre hieroglyphs smoothly converted into Korean and appeared on the screen. As I expected, it was a perfect notice from the gallery administrator.
"Ha... as expected, that crazy perverted frog bastard was involved."
I let out a deep sigh, suppressing my boiling rage. It was now certain that the one who had kidnapped Aria as if picking her up with tweezers was that Seven Calamities bastard, who had his Kappa army slaughtered by me and held a grudge.
I scrolled down with my mouse to read the contents of the notice.
"Crazy bastards... they opened a gambling den with other people's lives?"
I was so dumbfounded by the cruel and cheerful amusement of the Outer Gods that I couldn't even speak. Thousands of comments were already being posted in real-time below the notice, and a frenzy of betting was underway.
I felt a chill run down my spine as I watched the comment section.
Following that, a long reply was posted by Seven Calamities, boastfully showing off the specs of the champion he had hired for all to see.
Below that text, a GIF of the bizarre movements attached by Seven Calamities was playing. In the screen, a skinny, murderer-like figure wearing blood-stained rags struck a giant bell three times with a bone club—ding. ding. ding.—and his form scattered like mist, perfectly turning invisible into space. His movement speed while invisible was almost at the level of cutting through the wind.
I rested my chin on my hand and muttered seriously. An assassin who approaches at insane speeds while invisible and smashes the back of your head. To ordinary survivors, someone like that was nothing short of a Grim Reaper.
But below that overwhelming boast, someone’s biting, provocative comment was posted.