"She's dead?"
"Poor child, she was just—"
Muffled sobs rose from the crowd. Several older women clasped their hands together and whispered prayers to Lya.
"Plop!"
Casimir glanced back and saw Rem collapse limply.
She lay there with her tiny sesame eyes tightly shut, her gel body twitching slightly—clearly knocked unconscious by fear.
Casimir fell silent for a second.
So Miss Rem's earlier fear was sincere?
The robed cultists exchanged confused looks; this sudden turn of events had left them at a loss.
"She... dead?" a young cultist asked in a low voice, uncertainty thick in his tone.
Another cultist stared at Lya's body for a few seconds, then slowly nodded. "Dead. The holy light is gone."
"And the blue slime?"
"Fainted."
"......"
The leading cultist was silent for a moment, then raised his hand and pointed toward the Sanctuary. "Ignore them. Consume this last place of light."
As soon as he finished speaking, the shadows behind him surged again like a massive palm pressing toward the deeper part of the cemetery.
Darkness crept along the stone steps, flowed over the stone walls, and devoured the last traces of light on the ground.
People recoiled in terror.
They crowded inside the cemetery with the Sanctuary at their backs, barely relying on the glow of the Holy Light Mushrooms to hold back the darkness, though it clearly would not last long.
Facing this inevitable doom, many citizens grew quiet.
Some clutched relatives or friends tightly, closed their eyes, and murmured whatever prayers they could remember—toward the sun, toward His Majesty of the Great Slime Religion, or toward any being they could think to beg.
Others seemed to sink all burdens and, in the final moment, did things they never dared do before.
A young adventurer suddenly turned and gripped the hand of the young woman beside him. The same man who boasted loudly in taverns without shame blushed bright red now.
"I... I like you, Marsha!"
The woman froze.
The adventurer shouted on, "If I had known we'd die here, I should have told you sooner. Marsha, I liked you since three months ago when you first brought me a drink."
Tears filled the woman's eyes, her lips trembling, and she suddenly flung herself forward to hug him tightly.
"Mom, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snuck out to adventure..." A dwarf with a big beard crouched on the ground, hands on his head, now sobbing like a child.
"Your Majesty, if you can hear us, please bless my child..." A young mother clutching her child knelt and tilted her face up to the sky now shrouded in shadow.
"You still owe the tavern money..." Nobody said it aloud.
"I hid a pouch of silver coins under the bed, wonder who will find it."
"If only I hadn't argued with my wife yesterday..."
"Plip plop..."
The slimes bumped into one another, looking at each other’s gel, saying their last farewells.
The darkness drew ever closer.
It had already reached the people's toes.
Thick shadows moved like living things, extending countless thin tendrils to probe the trembling bodies.
Someone felt a chill at their feet, looked down, and found a boot half-swallowed by shadow; the cold crept up from the ankle.
Casimir stood at the very front, intending to resist, but then he seemed to see something and lowered his hand.
Boom!!!
A searing burst of holy light exploded from where Lya's body lay, instantly driving away the surrounding darkness.
The encroaching blackness melted like snow meeting flame, dissolving into thin wisps of smoke that dispersed into the air.
The New Sun cultists squinted against the brightness and raised their hands to shield their eyes.
They fixed their gaze on the light's source and saw the little girl who had been swallowed by shadow move.
Lya's "body" had, at some point, extended an arm with the palm facing upward, emitting holy light that dispelled shadow.
Under the cultists' unbelieving stares, Lya blinked, then struggled to sit up from the cold ground while rubbing the chin she had just slammed.
"Sigh..." she sighed ruefully, her small face creasing, "died again."
Her tone was as casual as saying, "I tripped again today," or "I overate breakfast"—mundane, everyday.
It was as if death to her was as ordinary as breathing.
The cultists: "......"
The cemetery citizens: "......"
Casimir inclined his head slightly, lips curved in a smile.
"Welcome back, Bishop Lya."
The leading cultist's lips trembled; he tried to speak but found he could not.
She had clearly been dead a moment ago.
How was she alive again?
He drew in a breath, forced down his fear, and said sternly, "Do not be fooled. Keep praying. The light of the New Sun will shelter us!"
Several cultists closed their eyes at once and moved their lips, reciting obscure prayers. Their voices grew louder and more frantic, as if trying to convince themselves—and the massive shadow.
Behind them the shadows surged again.
Darkness nearly congealed into substance, surging like black waves from all directions toward the cemetery. They crashed against the holy light with oppressive roars.
[Holy Light]
Liya raised her hand and a ball of holy light issued from her palm.
This light burned hotter and purer than before, trading blows with the shadows, each trying to swallow the other and wrest control of the ground beneath their feet.
But Lya was only one person.
That shadow mass was enormous, fueled by the accumulated faith of the Xirik Church over years and fed on countless innocent lives.
After a tense few seconds, the shadow slowly pushed forward and the holy light was forced back inch by inch.
Lya's little face flushed scarlet, a fine sweat beaded on her brow, her arm trembling and her footing faltering.
She turned her head and looked at Casimir, whispering, "Casimir, I'll be counting on you in a moment."
Casimir blinked, then understood her intention. He inclined his head. "I'll do my best."
Only then did Lya relax slightly and take a deep breath.
Boom!!!
A fierce holy light burst from within her, nearly materializing into a golden pillar that tore the surrounding shadows to shreds.
The beam shot skyward and cleared the gloom hanging over Darkness City.
Even the massive shadow creature let out a keening shriek, its bulk convulsing and recoiling, revealing the street it had previously swallowed.
A few seconds later the pillar faded.
Lya collapsed again, eyes closed, no breath rising from her chest.
She was dead once more.
But was this a true death?
The cultists hiding in the shadows no longer dared be sure.
Casimir watched the scene silently, then raised his hand and summoned holy light.
Before the cultists could recover, they saw the vampire step forward to stand before them again.
"Gentlemen," Casimir said with a serene smile, his voice as calm as inviting guests to tea, "kill me, then."
The shadow creature regrouped briefly and surged once more, overwhelming the cemetery and splashing over Casimir's feet.
The faint holy light in Casimir's hand flickered like a candle about to be extinguished, at risk of being swallowed by darkness.
But he knew he was not alone.
Suddenly dozens of holy lights flared up behind him. The sacred glow cut through the mist like dawn breaking, removing the pall of darkness and restoring hope to the land.
The New Sun cultists looked.
There stood dozens of robed figures in white.
Among them were slime believers. Their round bodies struggled to emit holy light; their glow was as weak as marsh fireflies, small but stubbornly burning.
There were humans, dwarves, elves...
Casimir recognized most of them: some were vendors who had listened to his sermons in the square a few days before, some were ordinary citizens who had attended the Sanctuary since its founding, and some were travelers who had been drawn to the light and stayed.
And the people at the very front were especially familiar to Casimir.
Lancaster Fisher.
This former Sun Church missionary now wore a slightly oversized white robe, hands clasped, reciting prayers over the slime holy emblem in his palm.
Behind him stood the Sun worshippers who had been imprisoned with him. Their confusion over the sun's disappearance hadn't entirely lifted, but the light in their eyes at this moment was brighter than ever.
Whether the sun had truly vanished mattered less than one thing: they finally saw those nauseating New Sun cultists again.
Nothing motivated them more than judging heretics.
Heretics must die!
Lancaster opened his eyes and smiled. "Bishop Casimir, we heard the Sanctuary's call."
"Bishop Lya used her life to buy us time. Now it's our turn."
The New Sun cultists grew breathless at the sight of the Sun worshippers, like cats spotting mice.
"Heretics!"
The sacred relics behind them seemed to react to the Sun worshippers as well, as if opening black mouths to swallow the whole Sanctuary.
"Heave!"
Suddenly a familiar voice rang out.
Lya bounced up from the ground again, brushed nonexistent dust from her dress, and beamed, "Alive again!"
She raised her hand and released Illumination, pushing the advancing shadows back once more.
The New Sun cultists: "......"
A chill of dread rose in their hearts.
Sure enough, after Lya's next burst of holy light and subsequent collapse, the shocking pattern repeated.
The little bishop died, then came back to life.
This happened over and over—dozens of times.
Every time they thought they could snuff out Darkness City's last light, Lya would spring back to life, lively as ever, then unleash holy light to repel the shadows.
The robed cultists moved from initial shock and fear to numb resignation.
They were dazed, stupefied.
Even they could not comprehend what Xirik had let loose upon them.
They could not continue like this.
The cultists exchanged looks. Taking advantage of one of Lya's deaths, they withdrew Shadow Dust from their pockets and fed it into the sacred relic behind them.
The moment the powder touched the shadow, the shadow creature violently expanded and instantly engulfed the front ranks—Casimir and the Sun worshippers among them.
Holy light trembled and grew precarious inside the darkness. In that blackness they felt life ebbing away. Some believers could not hold on and half-kneeling, began violently coughing, wiping blood from the corners of their mouths.
The slime citizens shrank together in fear but continued praying devoutly. One little slime peered into the darkness with cautious curiosity and suddenly puzzled.
"Something's glowing."
From within the shadow, a blue slime emitting a gentle holy glow slowly floated upward, dispelling the darkness for the struggling believers.
It was Rem.
She hovered silently in midair, surrounded by nearly transparent sacred light.
That light was as soft as spring water, gradually pushing back the surrounding blackness; the terrifying shadows seemed oddly powerless before her.
Her eyes were closed as though immersed in some holy ritual. The ordinary blue gel of her body now radiated a sacred glow.
"Huh?" Rem slowly opened her eyes, waking from her faint. Seeing the holy light around her, she was bewildered.
Why was she glowing?
Casimir realized what it meant.
This was not the power of faith.
It was a monster's instinct.
She was undergoing metamorphosis.
Just as some slimes in the swamp transform into venomous slimes, some near volcanoes become flame slimes, and some in frozen lands turn into frost slimes,
Rem was, under the pressure of shadow, transforming into a—
Holy Light Slime.
He had never seen such a variant recorded in any text, never heard of slimes mastering holy light.
Yet now he watched with his own eyes.
A slime, in despair and fear, had transformed into holy light itself.
"Could all of this have been part of Miss Rem's plan?" Casimir said, awed and reverent.
"Mmm..." Rem felt the vampire bishop had misunderstood again.
But what troubled her was she genuinely knew nothing.
She had slept and woken into this situation.
Moreover... she felt like all those evil people had now turned their gaze onto her.
Facing the New Sun cultists' malicious stares, Rem's gel body trembled as if she wanted to flee, but her body would not obey.
Then, with a snap, she fainted from fright again.
Yet her gel body still floated in midair like a guiding lamp, stubbornly resisting the surging shadows.
Before the cultists could figure out what she was doing, "Rem" opened her eyes once more. The tiny sesame eyes no longer showed fear or timidity but a calm, radiant light.
She looked down at her gel hand, then raised her head and fixed her gaze on the New Sun cultists.
That look was so eerily calm it inspired fear, as if a different entity occupied her for an instant.
If Chen Yu had been there, he would immediately notice she was being impersonated.
The timid, cowardly flower-shop owner logged off, and the true believer began her run.
