Alice in the Land of Steam

Chapter 1370 Should we find them?

Arnor Christopher reached out and pulled Kalia along, the dark elf woman gracefully leaping onto a weathered red shale rock, her amethyst skin shimmering in the bright moonlight. Her silver hair flowed like desert night mist before being quickly tucked into the hood of her cloak. Selena glanced back at them, winking mischievously as if hinting at something, her fluffy wolf ears twitching excitedly, but Arnor ignored her. Kalia, however, spoke up, "Watch where you're going, Selena."

The werewolf girl shrugged it off: "I'm watching. Don't worry, it's going to be a nice night, there shouldn't be a sandstorm."

As it spoke, its pointed ears twitched back and forth, catching messages carried on the wind, and its nostrils flared slightly, distinguishing different smells in the air: the dampness of settling water, the sour smell of secretions, the fishy smell of nocturnal insects, and a strange, indescribable scent of metal and ash, which, though odd, was familiar and somewhat reassuring.

All signs indicate that everything is normal and there are no abnormalities.

Besides the three, the group also included Gordan, a former mercenary from the giant race, and Edwin, a bard who was human like Anor. The group traversed this desert known as the "Land of Burial Bones," where countless jagged stone pillars pierced the sand like the ribs of prehistoric beasts. In the distance, weathered rock formations gleamed with copper and ochre hues, appearing like burning embers in the night. Even at night, the winds did not cease, whipping sand across the rock formations with a howling sound like a boiling furnace.

Arnor, the strongest among them and a Sequence 7 transcendent being on the [Justice] path, rightfully became the leader of the team. After climbing a tall sand dune, he signaled for everyone to stop and decided to camp on the leeward side of the dune for the night, setting off again early the next morning to complete their mission.

The so-called "camping" was really just a matter of lighting a campfire and having the strongest man, Gordan, move a few huge rocks to provide some shelter from the howling, cold winds at night. In this land of burial bones, temperature and wind are demons that inspire fear, claiming the lives of countless travelers. During the day, the scorching sun evaporates the body's moisture, and the hot wind, carrying sand and gravel, beats against the skin like a dagger scraping through flesh; while at night, the temperature plummets, and the wind howling through the jagged dunes and eerie stone forests carries a bone-chilling cold that can freeze to the bone. Therefore, it can be concluded that this land is equally uncomfortable both day and night.

Perhaps it's the other way around: it was the intrusion of these outsiders that made this land uncomfortable, which is why it tried every means to drive them away. When all life disappears and everything returns to desolation and silence, that is when it reveals its eternal and unchanging appearance since time immemorial.

Unfortunately, mortals are the race most adept at change and adaptation. Even if the environment itself doesn't change, they will change themselves, adapt to the land, and ultimately gain the right to survive. This is true of the ancient inhabitants who have been rooted here since time immemorial, the imperial armies that later invaded this land in search of treasures buried beneath the desert, and tonight's travelers.

The desert night was so quiet you could almost hear whispers in each other's hearts. Campfires leaped and burned in the sheltered spot formed by boulders, casting distorted shadows on the travelers. The silver moon hung high, its light dyeing the dunes pearly and steely blue, while the distant rocky peaks resembled the black fangs of a giant beast.

Contrary to the world's image of a dashing and talented bard, Edwin, born into a minority tribe, appeared to be a taciturn man with bronze skin highlighting the textures of the desert. He was dressed strangely, clad only in animal hides, his arms and abdomen bare, yet he seemed oblivious to the night's chill. The bells adorning his cloak tinkled softly in the wind, like the low growls of young animals. During a rest, he took out his rock flute from a deerskin bundle—an ancient instrument gifted by a tribal elder, carved and pieced together from three sections of dried red rock, its surface riddled with natural holes and crystal clusters, gleaming with a dark bronze luster in the firelight.

For most bards, music is a means of earning a living and a source of applause; only a select few with a sense of honor would pursue it as an ideal. But for the Aksai people, living in this land of burial, music is an integral part of survival, and musical instruments hold a status equal to weapons. They imitate the sound of wind blowing through holes in rocks by playing rock flutes. When everyone plays together, the resonant sound can even mimic the approaching storm, foreshadowing the most terrifying calamity in the vast desert: sandstorms.

Wild animals, hearing the prelude of wind and sand, would flee in panic and dare not disturb them, and the Aksai tribe has continued to this day.

Before leaving his tribe, Edwin was the tribe's best piper, protecting the tribe with his rock flute for over a decade. But he later realized that the sound of the flute could only drive away wild beasts, not the imperial army, which was even more brutal than the colonists. So he bid farewell to his tribe and friends and embarked on a journey to find the legendary rebel army.

Before parting, the elder personally handed the flute to him.

As Edwin's fingers gently traced the holes, the desert wind seemed to whisper within them, telling of the people's earnest hopes.

He brought it to his lips.

The melodies of the Aksai people resounded once again in the depths of the wilderness, filled with a mysterious and ancient sense of vicissitude, making one think of those ancient stories passed down from time immemorial: the undercurrents beneath the dried-up riverbeds, the ruins of ancient cities buried by sand, stardust falling into the sand and turning into glass, and the mythical beasts that only appear on moonlit nights running across the boundless sea of ​​sand.

Who knows if the story they are searching for is one of them?
The companions listened intently, and Anor's act of adding firewood to the fire ceased at some point. The dark elf Kalia listened with her eyes closed, her pointed ears twitching slightly. The giant Gordan tapped his knees lightly with his thick fingers, the rhythm precisely matching the music, each tap causing the ground to tremble slightly. Even the noisiest werewolf girl, Selena, remained silent as usual, leaning against the rock, her eyes filled with melancholy and a sense of loss.

After an unknown amount of time, the melody gradually slowed down, as if the wind had ceased. The last few notes fell gently like grains of sand, merging into the silence of the night. Yet the lingering sound still resonated in the air for a long time, as if the rock flute was unwilling to stop singing, or rather, the desert continued its whispers through this instrument.

The campfire crackled, and shadows danced as they crept up the dunes. Selena snapped out of her reverie, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Edwin, what's that tune? I've never heard you play it before!"

“The Song of the Ancient King’s Remembrance.” The poet put away his flute, his tone steady: “It is said that a king from ancient times died alone when his city fell, and the exiles of that country composed this song in his memory. Some say that the Aksai people are the descendants of those exiles.”

"Is this also a legend of the burial ground?"

"One of the legends."

The poet answered succinctly.

Selena's curiosity was not extinguished by his indifference, but instead grew even stronger: "Since you are also an Aksai, from the oldest indigenous tribe in the Burial Grounds, you must know a lot about the legends of this land, right? Have you heard of the legend of the 'Church on the Whale's Back'?"

Edwin thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head: "Never heard of it."

“I think so too.” Selena was clearly disappointed. The poet glanced at her and said, “There are many legends about the burial grounds, and no one has recorded them all yet, but I think the so-called ‘church on the whale’ should not belong to this category. After all, the most recent one of those legends can be traced back to three hundred years ago, while the rumor of ‘church on the whale’ first appeared about three months ago.”

The time spans of three hundred years and three months cannot be measured by common sense.

Selena was aware of this as well, but she still had some hope: "It would be much easier if we could get clues from the natives. Otherwise, how long would it take to find such a small church in such a vast desert? Besides, according to legend, the church was built on the back of a flying whale. What if we were about to find it, but it suddenly flew away?"

The usually taciturn giant Gordan couldn't help but laugh out loud. Although he deliberately lowered his voice, his laughter was still like the beating of drums or thunder, possessing a chilling aura: "That makes things easier. We can simply follow behind it instead of searching aimlessly like we are now."

The werewolf girl rolled her eyes: "That seems to make sense."

Compared to them, the dark elf woman Kalia's focus was not on the legend itself: "I just hope it won't take too long."

They also did not want to dilute the already scarce fighting force of the Holy War Army for a vague and unfounded rumor.

"Don't worry, we'll search for another month. If we still can't find any clues, we'll turn back." As the leader of the team, Yanor first calmed everyone's worries with one sentence, then changed the subject: "However, I have a feeling that we will definitely find it."

He picked up a twig and drew several patterns in the sand. Anyone familiar with the province's geography could tell that these represented several important areas of the Atoliga province: "Two months ago, the church on the whale's back first appeared in Nightshade Valley near the city of a thousand towers, Sorelan. Subsequently, it was sighted in Mirror Lake, Ironflow Valley, Windwhistling Fortress, and Holy Mountain Monastery. Connecting these areas, you'll find a very clear route. It's almost straight toward the heart of the Atoliga province, and the next place it stops, barring any unforeseen circumstances, will only be a burial ground."

After hearing his analysis, Kalia felt a little relieved, as did Selena. But besides being happy, she also thought of another question: "Speaking of which, Brother Arnor, you haven't told us why we're looking for that 'church on the whale'?"

"Isn't that obvious enough, you little wolf cub?" Gordan grinned, revealing his gleaming white teeth. "Of course, it's to find someone."

Neither the flying whale nor the so-called church truly matters. On this magical, primitive, and savage land of the Eastern Empire, what strange things haven't happened? What wondrous sights haven't been witnessed? A flying whale cannot compare to a giant beast, and how can a mere church rival the Great Temple of the Holy Kingdom of Nordorn? The former remains a myth, while the latter is a real entity.

Therefore, finding the people in that church is the most important thing.

“Since it’s a church, it’s natural that there are believers.” Arnor did not deny it, but continued along with Gordan’s words: “Before I set off, one of the goals that Cheryl hoped I would achieve was to make contact with the believers of that church, and preferably, to find out their origins and background.”

"What should we do after we find them?" Selena hesitated. "Those people don't seem to have done anything wrong, do they? I've heard that they've been treating the wounded, helping the weak, and helping the poor and those in distress without expecting anything in return. Many people think they are messengers of heaven, bringing peace and justice."

As for why they are not called messengers of God, it is because on this continent, most gods are not very worthy of respect, and most mortals only have fear of them.

“They didn’t do these things without a purpose.” Arnor knew more about the situation than the werewolf girl, so he explained calmly, “They’re supposedly proselytizing.”

"Then let's spread it."

Selena didn't find this strange at all. The Eastern Continent was teeming with bizarre religions; one would fall today, and a dozen more would spring up tomorrow, like insects that could never be eradicated. With so many religions vying for limited followers, they naturally devised various methods to spread their doctrines. Compared to those evil cults that relied on violence, terror, and coercion to proselytize, this newly emerged church was much more moderate.

“This is different, little wolf cub.” At this point, the giant Gordan slowly suppressed his smile and said coldly, “Don’t look at what they do, but look at what they say.”

Selena's eyes widened in surprise: "Huh? Isn't it usually the other way around?"

"This situation is rather special."

Arnor gazed at the campfire flickering in the wind, his dark eyes reflecting the dazzling flames, yet appearing so profound that no one could fathom his thoughts. Only his calm voice echoed in the cold wind of the wasteland: "If it were merely a trick used by the new church to spread its doctrines and expand its power, Cheryl would naturally ignore it. But some say that those people are proselytizing in the name of the Goddess."

They call themselves—

"The Church of the Holy Goddess".

Give me some cats