NOVEL NEXT Chapter 164: The Archbishop
The path ahead was unnervingly quiet, lined with rows of Twilight Acolytes standing like statues. Ryan knew at once that he was close to his objective.
The corridor stretched on, its far end lost in shadow, but some instinct urged him forward. Before stepping in, he cast a glance back, mapping his route in his mind. The layout clicked into place—this passage ran exactly in line with the metal door he had entered through. Whichever direction he had chosen earlier, the path would have funneled him here in equal time.
The passage itself was broad, close to twenty yards across. If he kept to the center, he could remain safely out of reach of the patrolling Acolytes. His only real danger was an accidental stumble, brushing too close and triggering an immediate attack.
The corridor wound and twisted. Barely three minutes had passed when the sound of footsteps drifted toward him. He tensed at once, pressing into the shadows of a wall that left him unseen by the nearest Acolytes, and waited.
From the bend ahead, pairs of Twilight Sentinels emerged, their heavy tread echoing as they marched outward. Relief loosened Ryan's chest when he saw that none of them were Twilight Trackers. He let out a quiet breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
With the Acolyte patrols spaced nearly fifty yards apart, Ryan had ample windows to move between them. It was less a challenge than a test of patience. He advanced in short bursts, pausing, then moving again. Time blurred, and when he checked himself, he realized nearly an hour had slipped away.
At last, the corridor opened into a stone chamber entrance, a structure that stood out sharply from the surrounding walls.
Just as he prepared to approach, movement stirred behind him. A group of Twilight Cultists filed out of the passage, their robes whispering against the stone. Ryan slipped instantly into concealment, the Shadow Cloak wrapping him in darkness, and watched as they strode toward the chamber doors.
The entrance was barred by two massive slabs of stone, their weight enough to make Ryan wonder how he would ever force them open. He no longer needed to. His arrival had triggered an event, and these cultists were his unwitting key.
At the lead cultist's approach, the stone doors groaned and parted. One figure entered first, while the others fanned outward, joining the Acolytes to guard the threshold.
The doors began to grind shut again. Ryan didn't think twice. He bolted forward, calculating that within his Shadow Cloak their perception could stretch no farther than five yards.
He slipped through the narrowing gap a heartbeat before the doors sealed. The slam echoed, then was swallowed by an immediate, oppressive silence.
Just inside, another stone barrier loomed, blocking direct sight into the chamber. Ryan edged around it with care, peering into the room beyond.
He froze, then ducked sharply into a corner. Two Twilight Trackers were already inside.
The chamber was unlike the halls outside. Its walls and pillars were carved from Radiant Tear crystals, their pale glow shimmering faintly. Ryan had only ever seen such crystals in the Grand Cathedral of the capital, and even there they had been considered priceless relics. To find them here, buried deep in the Twilight Cult's stronghold, was almost unthinkable.
All lingering debuffs on Ryan's body had long since faded. More than that, the glow of the Radiant Tears seemed to fill his veins with strength. He felt himself surge with newfound vitality, a powerful blessing that doubled both his health and his damage output.
For a reckless moment, the thought flashed through his mind: he could simply rush forward and cut down every figure in the chamber.
And why not? His quest target, Dimia, was right there—kneeling beneath the idol.
Dimia's lips moved in solemn prayer before the carved likeness of the so-called Twilight God. Ryan knew better. That thing wasn't a god at all, only a tyrant from the Abyssal Depths, wrapped in borrowed divinity.
The cultist who had entered alongside the Trackers held back, waiting with unusual patience until Dimia's prayers ended. When she finally rose, the others in the chamber withdrew as if dismissed by some unspoken command. Even the two Trackers moved out, leaving only Dimia and the lone visitor.
Ryan stayed low, hidden in the crystal glow. With the Trackers gone, his nerves eased, and he shifted his attention to the conversation about to unfold.
The cloaked figure revealed himself at last: Bishop Alaric, one of the highest-ranking leaders in the Twilight Cult.
"Archbishop Dimia," Alaric said with a smile that was anything but kind, "your tastes remain as exquisitely wicked as ever."
He gestured around the chamber. "To kneel before our god in a sanctum built from Radiant Tears—the crystals most beloved by the Light itself. Don't you find the irony delicious?"
Ryan nearly scoffed out loud. The Bishop wasn't wrong. The scene struck him with the same bitter contradiction. If not for curiosity about where this exchange was heading, he might have already struck down the pair, collected his objective, and warped out with his Hearthstone.
For all their pompous titles, both Alaric and Dimia were merely elite-grade NPCs. Their health barely cleared seven thousand apiece—less than Ryan's own, especially with the Radiant Tear's blessing coursing through him. With his damage doubled, dispatching them would be no harder than swatting down ordinary mobs.
Ordinarily, he would have done exactly that. Efficiency was everything; time wasted meant time lost. But now, Ryan found himself strangely content to wait. He had more than enough power in reserve, and the quest reward hardly concerned him. Better to let the cutscene play, so to speak, and learn what he could.
So he listened, piecing together fragments of the cult's plans as the two exchanged words.
When the long conversation finally drew to a close, Ryan felt boredom creep in. Alaric lingered only to issue one last command.
"See that the modifications to the Giant Insect King are completed without delay. Its role in sweeping the Dreadful Mire is vital."
Dimia's expression didn't flicker. "The enhancements are nearly finished. Three days at most, and it will be ready."
"See that it is."
With that, Bishop Alaric departed. The heavy stone doors groaned shut behind him, sealing Dimia alone inside the Radiant chamber.
And Ryan.
The moment had come.
He stepped forward with measured purpose, Radiant light curling around him like a second skin. His weapon, Command, gleamed in his grip, already alive with the power to strike.
It was time to end this.