The Temple of Sorrow (1)
It was sinking.
Down into a darkness with no bottom in sight.
Where was up, and where was down?
He was falling into an abyss so black he could not even tell that much.
From a place where his scattered consciousness was coming apart.
A voice, impossible to tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman, spoke.
“Child beloved, why have you come to this place?”
Come here?
He didn’t know.
When he came to his senses, he was already here.
“Is that so. Then you did not come of your own will?”
Where is this place?
“A space of wandering. A whisper of the void. A world beyond the imaginary. Those who dwell near the Spirit World call us the crevice of shadows.”
The crevice of shadows.
He remembered hearing that name from Acheron.
A place close to death.
Then was ■■■ dead?
“Thus, this is your second visit to the crevice of shadows, child beloved. Remember this well. The shadow that falls over you will be both blessing and curse. Do not let the crevice of shadows take notice of you.”
The shadow deepened.
A shadow of pitch-black darkness that even swallowed the dark itself.
And then, once it had grown immense, the shadow devoured everything.
* * *
When he opened his eyes, he was in a space washed in dark tones.
Dim light leaked through the crack beneath a door.
Sitting up, Lawrence looked around.
A cramped room.
A hard bed.
That was all.
No window. No desk. No furniture.
In truth, there was nothing here except the bed.
His brows drew together.
How should he put it? It was a nasty room.
It felt as if it had been designed from the outset for nothing but sleeping.
Even that, however, had been done so stingily that it didn’t seem like a place where anyone could rest easy.
Still, apart from the oppressive atmosphere, his body felt fine.
The stubborn headache that had been clinging to him was gone, and the aches that had complained with every movement had eased away.
Even the robe stained with blood and sweat was spotless, as though nothing had ever happened.
He had definitely crossed through a rift into the Spirit World.
In other words, this cramped room was part of the same Spirit World as Dragon Valley.
He let out a breath of relief.
Somehow, he seemed to have survived the crisis.
When he had failed to touch the statue, his heart had nearly leaped into his throat.
But the light that emerged from the shattered fissure had saved him.
What, exactly, had that been?
The familiar starlight.
Why had that thing, which reminded him of the night sky, helped the boy?
Could it have been the guidance of the stars that Acheron had mentioned?
…
He didn’t know.
No answer came.
There was too little information to work with.
What had happened to the others?
If they had escaped the Eligator’s pursuit, that at least was a relief.
Nill was with them, so getting out of the swamp shouldn’t have been difficult. And since Ulvanie was nearby as well, they should have been fine as long as they managed to regroup.
The real problem would be if they hadn’t.
If they hadn’t escaped the chase, then Balik, Garrick, and even Nill could all be in danger.
Just like Morus and Astin, who had failed to make it out of the swamp and died to the Eligator.
Lawrence shook his head.
That couldn’t be.
They had promised to meet again alive.
All three of them would have made it back to Remington Village with their limbs intact.
Maybe that was wishful thinking.
Even so, he wanted to believe it.
For now, taking care of himself came first.
Lawrence got off the bed and gripped the doorknob.
Click.
It didn’t open. The door was firmly locked.
It seemed to have been designed so that it could be locked from outside, not inside.
He tried a few more times after that, but all he got in return was the cold sound of the latch refusing him.
In the end, Lawrence had no choice but to sit back down.
The pale band of light spilling through the crack illuminated his face.
Unfortunately, there was no other way out of the room besides the door.
Sitting in the cramped cell left him feeling less merely stifled and more outright unpleasant.
Forget wandering around the place.
There wasn’t even enough room to roll about freely on the bed.
He already had a bad feeling about it.
It would do him no good to stay in a place like this for long.
Wouldn’t it be better to break out before it was too late?
Since this was the Spirit World, he should be able to use magic if he set his mind to it.
He didn’t even need Shadow Spear.
One use of Fire Tail would smash a door like this at once.
Just as Lawrence raised his hand, Acheron’s warning suddenly flashed through his mind.
“You do not feel it only because you have entered the Spirit World. With excessive magic, the mana roils, and the body at its limit begins to collapse.”
Right. He couldn’t forget that.
The Spirit World called forth the shape carved into the soul.
What looked intact was only the surface.
In truth, his body was more than ragged; it was on the verge of falling apart.
No need to push himself.
He would hold off on a forced breakthrough for now.
He still didn’t know what kind of place this was.
He needed to prepare for any unforeseen situation.
But just sitting in the room wasn’t doing anything for him either.
There was nothing to look at.
No object to fiddle with.
In the end, Lawrence started playing with Shadow.
At first he experimented with all sorts of shapes.
Just as he had in the swamp, he split Shadow into two and controlled them separately.
Similar forms.
Simple movements.
The strain on his body was not severe, and the control itself wasn’t especially difficult.
But while handling Shadow in itself wasn’t a problem, applying it in real combat was another matter entirely.
No mage, no matter how skilled, could watch both left and right at once.
He had vaguely felt as much when he crossed the river with Shadow.
Even something as simple as lifting and moving it had demanded far more thought than he’d expected.
The strength needed to bear the weight.
The size needed to keep balance.
The proper speed. Maintaining the shape.
Even while focusing on controlling Shadow, he’d had to keep thinking constantly so the rope wouldn’t fall.
And adding another movement on top of that…
At his current level, wasn’t that practically impossible?
Even in the Spirit World, where magic was supposedly easier to handle, it still seemed to be a hopeless shape.
Unless he could ask the neighbor for help, it didn’t look feasible.
Multiple thought.
The pinnacle of a linked mind.
Was that truly the only way to reach that state?
If so, then splitting Shadow Spear into two would also…
“Ah.”
No. Absolutely not.
Lawrence hurriedly withdrew Shadow.
At this point it was a sickness.
He wasn’t resting when he should, and instead was training magic just as he always did.
Hadn’t he learned that rest mattered just as much as practice?
He forced his eyes shut and lay back down on the bed when—
Clack.
The latch on the door came loose.
Lawrence shot upright, and through the gap in the door he saw light spilling in.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
No answer came from beyond the light.
The door had opened only because the latch had released and the weight had shifted.
There was no need to hesitate.
Lawrence stepped out of the cell and checked his surroundings.
Beyond the door stretched a narrow corridor.
It was barely wide enough for two grown men to pass shoulder to shoulder.
Lawrence’s cell was at the very end of the corridor.
Behind it was nothing but a dark wall, without so much as a single window.
Doors lined both sides of the passage at regular intervals.
They all seemed to be the same kind of cell he had just come from.
Those who had come outside were heading somewhere down the corridor.
People?
No. He couldn’t even be sure of that.
The figures wrapped in thick robes kept their upper bodies bent far too low.
They looked almost like hunchbacks.
Oddly enough, the crown of each head had been shaved clean.
The exposed skin was a gray close to lead.
There were no voices, and not even a footstep echoed.
Lawrence fell in behind them as they filed down the corridor.
As the line naturally sorted itself out, he took up the rear.
“Excuse me. Could you tell me where this is…?”
The man who heard him looked back.
For an instant, Lawrence startled.
The man’s face was hidden behind a blank white mask.
…….
Without a word, he lifted a hand.
His finger pointed toward the end of the corridor.
There, a spiral staircase rose upward.
The men who had come out into the corridor were all heading that way.
…….
The others were dressed no differently.
Only the crowns of their heads had been neatly shaved, and on their faces danced nothing but blank white masks.
No matter how he tried to speak to them, it was useless.
Without a word, they merely raised their hands and pointed at the stairs.
With no alternative, Lawrence joined their procession.
No—there had never really been a choice to begin with.
The only path connected to the corridor was the staircase.
In a line, they climbed the spiral stairs.
The stairwell, empty of even a single torch, was not as dark as he had expected.
Here and there, openings like window slits had been cut into the stone.
It seemed the light seeping in through those gaps was what illuminated the steps.
He glanced out through the opening in the wall.
Beyond the slit, he could see a blue sky.
And nothing else.
Or rather, he couldn’t look much farther even if he wanted to; the gap was simply too small.
Still, the fact that he could glimpse the sky made him wonder if this place might not be underground at all, but rather some high tower.
When he emerged from the stairwell, a broad antechamber welcomed Lawrence.
…….
A breath of admiration escaped him.
The sight spread before him was simply that stunning.
The floor, engraved with geometric patterns, gleamed brilliantly.
Its polished surface bathed the antechamber in beautiful light.
Following the walls, he found mysterious statues placed at intervals.
Sculptures and sacred paintings whose meaning he could not make out.
Several pillar-like walls supported the ceiling, and the curved walls and roof connected naturally into an arched dome.
Within the vault overhead, a mosaic shone splendidly in the darkness.
At the very least, no artificial light was needed here.
Holy radiance passing through the mosaic embraced the entire chamber.
And at the edge of that draped light stood it.
A black door filled with solemn brilliance.
Unlike the other structures, it bore no artistic carving of its own.
And yet, simply by standing there and catching the light, it exuded a reverent atmosphere.
As if by prior arrangement, the men gathered before the door.
There must have been more than one stairway leading into the antechamber, because they were arriving one after another and taking seats wherever there was room.
…….
Still no voices were exchanged.
One man knelt with his head bowed.
Another lay prostrate, kissing the floor again and again.
That was not the end of their strange behavior.
Many of them made even more violent gestures.
One man pressed his hands together and bowed repeatedly.
Another rose and sat again and again, slamming his forehead into the floor.
Another crawled across the ground with both hands and both feet bound.
They were repeating actions that made no sense at all.
Fanatics?
The word flashed through his mind, and he forced it away.
He had no idea what the full story was, so it would be reckless to jump to conclusions.
Still, it was clear enough that they were believers of some religion.
And not merely believers, but deeply devout ones far removed from anything ordinary.
The Holy Cross Order…
Of course not.
That was ridiculous.
Today was the first time he had even realized there might be religion in the Spirit World.
A faint, involuntary snort of laughter escaped him.
…….
He knew far too little.
It struck him all over again how many things he simply didn’t understand.
He wanted to learn, but a person’s circumstances could not be solved merely by wishing for it.
Even thirst that left the throat parched had no way to be eased right now.
No one here was going to answer his questions.
If he wanted answers, he would have to go running after them himself.
For now, the one thing he knew for certain was that this antechamber was their destination.
They only repeated their bizarre motions.
No one seemed to care about anything else.
Thanks to that, Lawrence was able to examine the antechamber at his leisure.
First he studied the black door standing prominently before him.
Unlike the surrounding works of art, it alone felt out of place.
He couldn’t tell what it was made of, but the plain door, stripped of all ornamentation, seemed to devote itself entirely to catching the light from the arch above.
Even when he gently pushed it, the door did not budge.
Between the tightly shut panels, he could see a finely wrought keyhole.
Just like the cell, it seemed impossible to enter without a key.
He turned away.
At the far end of the chamber were four spiral staircases.
They led not up, but down.
Just as Lawrence had come from the cell to the antechamber, each of those staircases seemed to be where the other believers had ascended from.
Then below this place must be those stifling cells.
There was also one staircase leading upward and another descending upward—an oddity in itself. The stairs, gleaming white, were enough to make even the thought of setting a foot on them feel burdensome.
Lawrence headed downward first.
* * *
At the bottom of the stairs, a silent corridor emerged.
Stone coffins had been arranged along both sides of the long passage.
Did the short inscriptions beneath each one indicate who lay inside?
■■■■
He couldn’t read them.
The writing on the coffins answered him only with a stabbing headache.
And it wasn’t just one.
The farther in he went, the older the coffins became.
The inscriptions on them sent warnings through his mind as though a blade had been driven into it.
There was no point looking any further.
It simply meant that, with Lawrence’s current cognitive concepts, he still could not understand them.
When he reached the end of the passage, he found two soldiers waiting there.
Soldiers clad in armor and helms similar to the black door.
The face-covering masks made it impossible to read any expression.
With their spears crossed, the soldiers barred his way.
They were not human.
And more than that, they were not even living beings.
The mana Lawrence felt from them was similar to the golem he had once fought when he met Arwen.
There was no hostility.
Careful not to provoke them, Lawrence looked beyond the spears.
There was no path.
What lay behind the soldiers was a stone coffin.
His shoulders loosened with disappointment.
Another coffin, on top of all the ones he had already seen on the way here.
The unusual thing was that, unlike the tightly sealed coffins, the one guarded by the soldiers was transparent enough to see through.
Inside it lay remains.
Remains of someone who had died with both hands folded over the chest.
And in those hands was a key, gleaming with black light.
He felt it instinctively.
That key held by the corpse was what opened the black door.