From the ship's cabins, reaching the assembly hall required traversing a long corridor and descending a sloping staircase—this was a large vessel, capable of accommodating not only numerous cultists but also providing space for various rituals and ceremonies. For those annihilation cultists who followed the Abyssal Saint, being able to board this ship was itself a privilege.

Most cultists did not have this qualification—they were not qualified to board the ship, not even qualified to know of its existence. They could only hear whispers of it during private gatherings with fellow believers, fragments of information about the ship from other meeting points:

There was a ship, carrying the will of the Saint and the glory of the Lord, patrolling the sea. It was a symbol of the cult's noble cause and the key to opening the next glorious era…

Richard, clad in black robes, walked slowly along the seemingly endless corridor, occasionally encountering other robed members of the cult. Some would greet him, but he responded only minimally. Sailors in coarse cloth shirts appeared in the corridor, symbolic chains around their necks, respectfully bowing to every passing black-robed figure—these sailors were also followers of the Saint, but their talents were mediocre, unable to withstand the power of demons, so they could only handle mundane tasks here, serving those "priests" who had truly gained power.

The corridor was not dimly lit, but the dark colors and oppressive style of the decor still gave an overall impression of gloom. Intricately patterned iron-black candlesticks were mounted on the gray-white walls on both sides, and classical-style oil paintings hung between these decorative candlesticks. The paintings depicted landscapes unlike the real world in large swathes of dark colors, as well as distorted and grotesque human figures. Dark red drapes hung from the ceiling on both sides, concealing even darker and more ominous corners.

The followers of the Abyss believed that the darkness of chaos was the Saint's "hue," the "base color" of the world's creation. They used this style to decorate their gathering places, seeking to "converge" with the Abyssal Deep Sea in the real world—they believed this would please the Saint.

The dark and oppressive decorative style could not conceal the extravagance and refinement of the decorations themselves. Richard knew that the construction of this ship had cost an astonishing fortune, but someone was always paying the bill—officials hoping to extend their lives, merchants tormented by illness, nobles seduced by power, their offerings when begging the Saint for mercy had created everything on this ship.

The Four Gods Church and the city-state authorities had created a solid set of rules for the so-called "civilized world." These rules were like iron walls, protecting the mediocre and foolish commoners well, but even the most严密的 iron walls had loopholes, as they had in the past millennia, as they did now, and as they would in the future.

The assembly hall was ahead.

At the end of the corridor, a heavy door stood open, revealing an exceptionally spacious and bright hall. A dome supported by thick pillars soared upwards, and a magnificent chandelier with a triple structure hung from the ceiling, illuminating the entire space—

For practical reasons, this hall could not be kept as dimly lit as other places. The builders could only demonstrate their reverence for the Abyssal Saint through various decorations and furnishings. Whether it was the tentacle-like reliefs on the surface of the giant pillars, the paintings on the wall at the end of the hall symbolizing the Abyssal Saint and resembling dark branches, or the various bizarre sculptures arranged along the walls, all of them collectively outlined this mysterious, oppressive, and majestic atmosphere of "worship."

Richard walked into the hall, moved among his brethren, pulled the edge of his hood down further, and then looked up towards the high platform in the center of the hall.

That was where the "Saint" was.

The Saint was already there.

That awe-inspiring devotee, the purest one closest to the "Lord" in this suffocating mortal world, the fellow believer who had walked the furthest on the path of the Abyss, was raising his eyestalks from the edge of the platform, surveying the cultists gathered in the room.

He occupied almost half of the platform's area, his massive body like a "crown" woven from thorns—fearsome black bones stacked and piled up on the platform like a bird's nest. In the middle of the bones was a slowly wriggling brain nearly two meters in diameter. The bones outside the brain formed a cage-like structure, and nerve cords extended from the gaps in the cage, forming eyestalks at the ends. These eyestalks moved slowly around the outer edge of this "crown of bone thorns," surveying the surroundings. At the very top of this "crown" was a jet-black chain.

That jet-black chain extended from the brain inside the bone cage, floating in the dust, and then returned to the bones like a thicket of thorns, forming a closed-loop structure. This structure was the symbol of the "Saint"—he had already crossed the lower stage of "mortals and demons forming a symbiotic contract." Now, his contract pointed to himself. Little of his human essence remained. In that awe-inspiring posture was the purity of an Abyssal demon.

Richard looked up at the Saint and then lowered his head in reverence.

The Saint was about to cross that final step, just a negligible distance away. His chain would disappear, and he could achieve the ultimate pursuit of all annihilation cultists—to obtain complete purity, enter the Abyssal Deep Sea, and accompany the Saint.

But this great fellow believer was still here, remaining in this suffocating reality. This was because he still remembered his responsibility, to lead many fellow believers like himself, dull of talent, to realize that eternal cause—undoubtedly, this was worthy of respect.

"Everyone is here."

A low, aged voice suddenly entered the minds of everyone present. The assembly hall, which had been filled with a slight buzzing of conversation, instantly fell silent, and a solemn atmosphere enveloped the surroundings.

The Saint on the high platform raised an eyestalk and looked towards the entrance of the hall. The heavy door creaked shut and locked, and his voice continued to enter everyone's minds:

"The sun is about to set. In three hours, the Dream of the Nameless will open again. Before this dream opens, we must confirm the known information…"

Richard instinctively tensed up, listening intently to the voice coming from the Saint.

He had that hot, itchy feeling again—coming from his chest, as if something was wriggling slightly under the skin there, with fine fibrous structures clinging to and growing between his flesh and bones, slowly spreading.

He even felt that those fine fibers had spread to his lungs, to his heart, and continued to drill deep into his body.

Perhaps before long, he would have enough cotton?

The pressure on his shoulders had somehow lessened again. In a daze, Richard heard the voice of a little girl laughing softly in his ear, but soon, the Saint's voice rang out again in his mind, causing his spirit to concentrate once more—

"...We have conducted several explorations of the Dream of the Nameless, including sporadic infiltrations by fellow believers scattered throughout the city-states, as well as exploration operations organized by upper-level priests. Fellow believers, you should have received the news that in some of these actions… we have encountered setbacks."

As the "Saint" on the high platform spoke, the "crown of thorns" woven from bones made a slight clicking sound. Part of his black bones moved, and faint streams of light gathered at the edges of the bone spurs, gradually flowing into the air, forming an increasingly lifelike phantom.

These phantoms, formed by the convergence of streams of light, eventually solidified clearly, outlining the image of a girl wearing a black dress, with short black hair, a decorative bell around her neck, looking somewhat thin, and with delicate features.

The girl looked about fifteen or sixteen years old. Perhaps because she was too thin, her appearance might have been younger than her actual age, and one of her arms, along with most of her shoulder and part of her torso, showed obvious non-human characteristics. At the end of that jagged, hideous bone structure, a jet-black chain extended, and the other end of the chain was something the annihilation cultists present were all too familiar with—an Abyssal Hound.

The cultists in the hall were slightly agitated. Some were discussing something in low voices, while others who knew the inside story in advance turned their gazes in the same direction.

Richard felt those gazes falling on him.

He awkwardly pulled his hood, a conflicting feeling of pride at bringing back important information but also embarrassment and entanglement tormenting his heart.

Fortunately, the Saint's voice relieved his embarrassment in time—

"...After experiencing some personnel losses, one of our fellow believers finally brought back valuable information. What you see is one of our enemies.

"Do not be deceived by her appearance, believers. She is not one of us, but some existence even more depraved and taboo than a heretic. She controls a powerful Abyssal Hound through unknown means, but more dangerous is that her own power seems to be even greater than that of the Abyssal Hound—and her methods are ruthless, and her actions are bizarre and unpredictable.

"The fellow believer who brought back this information is an outstanding member of our group. He has rich combat experience and considerable strength, but he was still severely injured by the enemy's despicable sneak attack, and even nearly devoured by the strange Abyssal Hound under her command… You must be vigilant, because in future actions, the fellow believers entering the Dream of the Nameless may still encounter this dangerous blasphemer again.

"What you need to be most wary of are this heretic's bizarre and treacherous attack methods. Her attack method is…"

The Saint suddenly stopped.

It seemed that even such a powerful and wise pure one would be somewhat lacking in vocabulary when describing the power of that female heretic.

Richard pulled his hood again—after returning, he should reinforce the hood.

And in his mind, he heard the Saint's voice ring out again:

"...Her attack method is to throw the dog out."

(End of chapter)