The monk-soldier talked as he loosened the head-wrap crowning his head.

Right before Shelika, he bared the third eye set like a black gem in the center of his brow.

The eye was grotesquely curious—larger than the two below. Around its pupil, the sclera rippled with concentric black rings, like waves around a whirlpool.

While Shelika stared, curiosity like a moth to a candle, the monk-soldier blinked that odd eye. With the hand holding a brush, he pointed at her carriage. “You’ve got one more inside, right?”

Shelika answered, still foggy-minded, “Mm… what about it?”

He sighed, voice sandpapery with impatience. “Pilgrimage fee for two. One costs 1,000; two makes 2,000. That tracks, yeah?”

Her gaze kept drifting to that brow-eye, her thoughts like scattered leaves. His words finally jolted her.

She’d been too lost in the scenery, and forgot the Dark Blood Clan girl sleeping in the compartment.

Shelika hurried out, “Right, that’s correct.”

So it was for two, not some Holy City surge-price because the crowd swelled like a tide.

Without his reminder, Charlotte inside would’ve been tagged as a fare-dodger slipping into the gates.

They say the Holy City deals with that harshly, with penalties like cold iron.

If Charlotte’s “fare-skipping” sparked trouble, the one caring for her—Shelika—would be the one to suffer.

Guilt pricked like thorns. Shelika blamed herself.

She breathed out, then ducked back into the carriage. From her travel satchel, she drew a heavy coin pouch, weighty as a river stone.

Half of it came from sweat-earned wages in Oriel City; half was relief money after she’d helped save the city.

Together, it made 25,145 rupees.

She set the weighty pouch carefully on the seat, like placing a brick on silk.

She pulled a second, smaller but still ample bag. She counted out 2,000 rupees, poured them in, checked once more, then stepped down with the bag.

The monk-soldier grumbled as he took it. “So slow. First time in the Holy City? Couldn’t you prep the fee?”

“Sorry,” Shelika said, voice soft as mist.

“Fine,” he snapped, eyes briefly snagging on the Eternal War Armor at the front of her carriage like a metal statue. Seeing the long line behind her, he waved her on. “Go on, get inside.”

“Alright.” Shelika’s group cleared the gate checks and walked into the Holy City.

“So this is the Holy City, Diarama…” Shelika breathed, eyes taking in streets buzzing like hives, steeped in incense-thick faith.

While wonder hummed, she opened her “Memories” like a book and searched her mind for data on the city.

Soon, the pages turned, and she found what she needed—

The Holy City Diarama is the Dark Spirit Empire’s second-largest. Its skyline bristles with towering terrace-temples like spears.

In its layout, Diarama splits into Outer District and Inner District.

The Outer District rings the city, wide as a belt. Pilgrims and travelers flock here. It holds the market street, the amusements, and Temple Street, where the Earth Mother and her servant gods are worshiped.

The Inner District sits at the center, walled and solemn like a sanctum. It hosts grand rites and major ecclesiastical affairs, and it houses the Earth Mother Grand Hall.

Those aurora-bright, five-colored ribbons painting the empire’s night are holy beams rising from the Grand Hall’s god-pillars.

Shelika felt it—the Wasteland Deity lurked in the direction of that light, like a hawk behind the sun.

She lifted her gaze, tracing the pillars toward the Inner District. Maybe, just maybe, she’d glimpse the Wasteland Deity, mighty as a giant eagle.

Sadly, the Inner District’s walls rose too high, cliffs of stone.

Aside from those impossibly tall pillars, nothing else showed.

Frustration fluttered like a caged bird. If she couldn’t see from the Outer District, then she’d just enter the Inner District, right?

But the Inner District stays closed to common believers; only priests of a certain rank pass those gates.

Ordinary believers must wait for Worship Day, which comes once a month like a full moon.

Only then, by joining the High Priest’s grand rite, can they step into the Inner District.

For now, Shelika kept a low profile and never mentioned she’d once been a priest.

So, as she stood, she was just a regular believer, bound to wait for the next Worship Day.

Of course, if things turned urgent, she wouldn’t sit on her hands and wait.

But right now, she sensed the Wasteland Deity still within the city, quiet as a sleeping beast.

“Let’s find a place to rest,” she decided, calm settling like dust.

She stopped a passerby, voice polite as spring rain, and asked about lodging.

Guided by directions, she followed the Outer District avenue, wind of traffic at her back, until she reached a towering terrace-temple.

According to the local, travelers lodged right in this temple.

The sign did say “Lodging,” and also “Temple of the Wind Deity” in bold brushstrokes.

The sight tugged at her doubt like a thread.

But people flowed in and out like currents, so she went with the tide and stepped inside.

The hall wore an inn’s decor, yet the Wind Deity’s ornaments ruled the space like banners.

Statues of the Wind Deity, frescoes swirling like gusts, and costly wall hangings lined the walls.

Many knelt and prayed before them, devotion pooling like still water.

Seeing Shelika and other travelers enter, attendants came at once like sparrows drawn to grain.

A man dressed as a Wind Deity believer greeted them with trumpet-bright warmth. “Oh—rare guests, welcome to the Wind Deity’s temple! Looking for rooms?”

He produced a price list, voice honeyed. “If you convert to the Wind Deity, you’ll get travel-friendly god-arts, and a discount on lodging.”

The Wind Deity is one of the Earth Mother’s servant gods, patron of wind and travel. The granted arts aid long journeys—pathfinding, warding beasts.

With the Wind Deity’s believer status, you get deals here and in other inns across the Dark Spirit Empire.

For traveling merchants, that badge is a tailwind.

“I—I, me! I’ll convert to the Wind Deity!”

Most of the travelers who came in with Shelika converted on the spot, like leaves blown the same way.

Shelika, undecided, stood out like a lone reed.

A Wind Deity priest approached her, eyes widening, tone kindly as warm tea. “Oh—such a beautiful Blood Clan lady. Won’t you become a believer of the Wind Deity?”

He coaxed on, “With your gifts, the Wind Deity might favor you. You could become the Wind Holy Maiden, handpicked by the god!”

Shelika had no such intent. “No, I—” she began.

Before she could finish, another voice cut across like a blade.

A man of the Demonic Human Race, robed like clergy yet built thicker, pushed through the crowd with a dusky chuckle. “Heh… Wind priest, you still recruit with such a soft touch?”

The Wind priest glared as if at a past-life enemy. “You! A priest of the Fire Deity!”

The Fire Deity priest turned, struck a flamboyant bodybuilder pose, and offered Shelika an olive branch. “How about it? Beautiful Blood Clan lady, your perfect figure would be the perfect banner for our doctrine!”

The Fire Deity is also a servant of the Earth Mother, patron of flame and physique—mostly physique. So his faithful are musclebound men, this priest included.

“Look at this sculpted form!”

He struck a “philosopher’s pose” and his clothes burst. Under a flash of light, eight-pack abs blazed into view, all hard lines and pride.

“Oh—! Oh!!”

The “muscle rays” hit them like arrows. Many who’d sworn to the Wind Deity switched instantly, eyes worshipful, kneeling before the Fire priest.

Shelika’s stomach turned; muscle is fine, but too much feels like overeating.

So her gut recoiled at his invitation.

She refused again. “No, I’ll pass—”

As before, the Fire priest cut her off mid-breath.

He rounded on the Wind priest, anger crackling like sparks. “She refused me—you must’ve fed her something!”

The other sneered. “Hmph. I said nothing. It’s all the Wind Deity’s will.”

“But you, Fire priest, dare tread the Wind Deity’s domain,” he intoned, aura rising like a storm front.

The Fire priest snorted. “So what if I did? What can you do to me?”

He flexed, muscles carving shadows, and fire crawled up his body like living paint.

“By the Wind Deity’s name, watch me judge you! Transform—!”

The Wind priest struck his own “philosopher’s pose.” A rainbow burst seemed to pop right there, his outfit exploded, revealing a lean build no less fierce. The room whipped up into a gale.

They closed in, tension taut as bowstrings, a brawl about to break.

“Come on!”

“I fear no one!”

With their gods’ power blazing, the two bare-chested brutes started trading blows at high speed, right before everyone’s eyes.

“Ora ora ora ora!”

“Muda muda muda muda!”

Crashing impacts boomed, firelight flickered, and a racing wind tore through. The scene fell under the rule of wild combat.

The travelers became spectators, eyes shining. “Amazing! So this is divine blessing—this is a priest’s strength! Doing what we could never do, so effortlessly!”

Weariness washed over Shelika like dusk. She watched in speechless disbelief. “Let’s find a normal inn instead…”