Chapter 605 Gathering

To get from the cabin to the assembly hall, one had to traverse a long corridor and a sloping staircase—this was a large ship, capable of accommodating not only a large number of cultists but also providing venues for various rituals and ceremonies. For those annihilation cultists who followed the Sacred Lord of the Deep, being able to board this ship was an honor in itself.

Most cultists didn't have this qualification—they weren't qualified to board the ship, or even to know of its existence. They could only hear whispers of it during private gatherings with other brethren, snippets of information about the ship coming from other meeting points:

There is a ship, bearing the will of the Sacred Lord and the glory of the Liege, patrolling the seas. It is a symbol of the cult's lofty cause and the key to opening the next glorious era…

Richard, cloaked in black robes, slowly walked along the seemingly endless corridor, occasionally encountering other black-robed brethren of the church. Some would greet him, but he only gave the bare minimum of a response. Sailors in coarse cloth jackets appeared in the corridor, wearing symbolic chains around their necks, respectfully bowing to every passing black-robed figure—these sailors were also believers of the Sacred Lord, but they were of mediocre aptitude, unable to withstand the power of the demons, so they could only be here to handle mundane tasks, serving the "priests" who had truly gained power.

The corridor wasn't dimly lit, but the dark colors and oppressive decor gave an overall sense of gloom. Ornate, iron-black candlesticks were mounted on the grayish-white walls on both sides, and classical-style oil paintings hung between these decorative candlesticks. The oil paintings depicted landscapes unlike those of the real world in large swaths of dark colors, as well as distorted and grotesque human figures. Dark red curtains hung from the rooftops on both sides, concealing the darker and more ominous corners.

The followers of the Deep believed that the chaos and darkness were the "tone" of the Sacred Lord, the "background color" of the world at its birth. They used this style to decorate their meeting places, seeking to "move closer" to the Deep Sea in the real world—they believed this would please the Sacred Lord.

The dark and oppressive decorative style could not conceal the nobility and refinement of the decorations themselves. Richard knew that the construction of this ship had cost an astonishing amount of wealth, but someone was always paying for this consumption—officials hoping to extend their lives, merchants suffering from illness, nobles seduced by power. Their offerings when begging the Sacred Lord 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 ordinary people very well, but even the most tightly sealed iron walls had loopholes. There were in the past, there are now, and there will be in the future.

The assembly hall had arrived.

A heavy door at the end of the corridor 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 roof, illuminating the entire space—

Out of practical considerations, this hall could not maintain the overly dim environment of other places. The builders here could only use various decorations and furnishings to show their reverence for the Sacred Lord of the Deep. Whether it was the tentacle-like reliefs on the surface of the huge pillars, the paintings symbolizing the Sacred Lord of the Deep on the walls at the end of the hall, resembling dark branches, or the various strangely shaped sculptures arranged along the walls, they all jointly outlined this mysterious, oppressive, and majestic atmosphere of "worship."

Richard entered the hall, walked among his brethren, and pulled down the brim of his hood further. Then he shifted his gaze upward, looking at 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 being closest to the "Lord" in this suffocating mortal world, the brethren who had gone furthest on the path of the Deep, was raising his eyestalks from the edge of the platform, scanning the cultists gathered in the room.

He occupied almost half of the entire platform. His huge body was like a "crown" woven from thorns—a terrifying pile of black bones intertwined and piled up on the platform, like a bird's nest. In the middle of the bones was a slowly writhing 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, the ends forming eyestalks, slowly moving and surveying the outer edge of this "Crown of Thorns." And at the very top of this "crown" was a pitch-black chain.

That pitch-black chain extended from the brain inside the bone cage, floating in the dust, and then returned to the bones like thorny bushes, forming a closed-loop structure, and this structure was the symbol of the "Saint"—he had already crossed the low-level stage of "mortals making symbiotic contracts with demons." Now, his contract pointed to himself. His human essence was almost gone. That awe-inspiring posture was filled with the purity of a Deep demon.

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