A small, tan leather box worn over one shoulder. Its leather surface was scuffed, faded, and rough, with frayed edges that made it look quite old. The brass clasp on the lid bore patches of greenish rust, feeling icy cold to the touch.
On the front of the lid was embossed a double-headed snake emblem—the holy emblem of Fiona, the Lord of Suffering.
From the memory just now, it was clear that the bird-masked plague doctors walking through the pestilential lands were believers of the Lord of Suffering. Lynch surmised that those events occurred during the great catastrophe at the end of the Third Age, within the century or so after the three goddesses had just returned from the Dreamlands.
It was precisely the people's terror of that plague that condensed into this mystery relic. Only world-ending fear and nightmares of that scale could birth a manifestation grade mystery relic whose threat level rivaled the descent of an evil god.
Strictly speaking, the Torch of Light was already the second manifestation grade mystery relic Lynch had come into contact with. However, since that previous mirror had been shattered by everyone's joint efforts before he could even lay hands on it, calling this his first was reasonable enough.
He just wondered how long this one would last. After all, time-type relics seemed destined to be broken in his hands...
Could it be that on top of bringing disaster to allies whenever I visit, I now have a new title: Bane of High-Level Mystery Relics?
Amusing himself with the thought, Lynch carefully stroked the hard-won treasure, feeling as though a massive weight had finally lifted from his chest.
Even if he had a thousand or ten thousand reasons to rationalize it, knowing that his actions would ultimately lead to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people had still placed immense psychological pressure on him. Though his conscience was clear—the blame naturally lay with the Shadow Alliance, who had orchestrated all of this—thinking of those innocent victims still inevitably left him with a lingering sense of guilt.
Obtaining this mystery relic changed everything. Lynch now held the ultimate trump card against the Shadow Alliance. The Torch of Light was the very thing they feared most, meaning that for the first time, Lynch had seized back the initiative. With proper maneuvering, he might even have the chance to completely shatter the conspiracy they were brewing through him.
However, its exact usage still required careful study.
For a high-level mystery relic of the highest danger rating, various research institutions possessed at most a few sparse records without detailed descriptions. Even its previous owners, the Milt siblings, knew very little about it; using it relied entirely on trial and error, and containing it relied entirely on offering it up to deities, meaning they could offer no constructive advice. Fortunately, through the deep reading enabled by his high inspiration, he had gained a preliminary understanding of it.
Lynch sighed softly. Taking advantage of the fact that this was not the real world, he held his breath and gently flipped open the brass clasp on the lid.
The expected resistance did not materialize. With a soft click, the clasp unlatched, and the box lid opened on its own.
The interior was equally unadorned, divided into twenty-four small compartments. Medicine bottles of varying sizes filled every single compartment.
Based on his current understanding, this object functioned as a fully automatic altar. As long as so-called beauty and hope were sacrificed, the pure water inside these medicine bottles would transform into targeted healing medicine. If enough sacrifices were offered before opening the box, it would unleash the Torch of Light, conceptually dispelling a specific plague based on the quality of the sacrifices. The best possible outcome was to completely neutralize a plague—nipping the panic in the bud before an outbreak could occur.
The containment method also surprised Lynch—not because it was complex, but because it was so simple.
A mystery relic's rank represented its danger level, not its containment difficulty. The Torch of Light belonged to the gentle type, meaning its containment method was straightforward and it was resistant to losing control. However, if it ever did run wild, it would fully live up to its dangerous classification.
To contain it, one only needed to ensure that no fewer than eight medicine bottles in the box were filled with liquid before midnight each day to prevent a breach. This symbolized remaining ever-prepared to plunge into battle against plagues.
Overall, aside from being extremely specialized, this mystery relic was excellent in every aspect. The only tricky part was the matter of sacrifices.
Descriptions as abstract as “beauty” and “hope” were the most headache-inducing, lacking quantification and relying entirely on interpretation and discovery.
According to what Ms. Skye had said earlier, noble emotions like familial love, friendship, and romantic love could all be sacrificed, as could life itself. However, these sacrifices had to be strictly voluntary; otherwise, they would fail to take effect, as there was nothing beautiful about coercion.
However, those details could be studied slowly after returning. Extracting the containment method to ensure he could manage it was enough for now. He couldn't just linger indefinitely in someone else's Megalithic Throne room fiddling with something capable of triggering a world-ending catastrophe. Doing so was no different from barging into someone's house clutching a nuclear bomb to disarm its detonator. The fact that Tawil hadn't beaten him to death yet was already a testament to the entity's composure.
Lynch chuckled self-deprecatingly and carefully slung the worn-out box across his back. A rank five manifestation grade mystery relic could never fit into a rank three disaster grade storage bracelet, so wearing it was his only option.
He tried moving his body. It wobbled slightly, but didn't hinder his movement. Satisfied, Lynch nodded, then pulled out his exquisitely crafted stun gun. Gritting his teeth, he switched it directly to charging mode.
The miniature steam engine revved to life once more, the dense web of gears, coils, and connecting rods inside the gun body spinning rapidly. Lynch watched the energy gauge until it pointed to maximum—ready at a moment's notice to unleash an arc attack—before stuffing it back into its holster.
Caution was the parent of safety. Who knew what he would encounter once he stepped back out? Lynch prepared for the worst without hesitation, meticulously adjusting all his weaponry to ensure he was primed for battle at any instant. Only then did he look up and smile at Tawil, who had been observing him quietly.
“Leaving so soon?” The Ancient One seemed slightly regretful. “Will you not reconsider entering the Ultimate Abyss?”
“I can't say I'm completely uninterested in the truth,” Lynch shrugged, explaining calmly. “But I have responsibilities I cannot abandon, and there are people waiting for my return. I won't risk my life for the truth. Besides, my view is that if I am truly qualified to gaze upon the light of truth, it will naturally present itself to me. If I am not qualified, forcing the issue is meaningless.”
“Your attitude is quite similar to Randolph's. I understand. Then, Awakened under the crimson moonlight, we shall watch over you continuously. The Megalithic Throne welcomes your arrival at any time. Should you change your mind and wish to glimpse the secrets of the world's origin, or should you find something to trade for knowledge and information, you may seek out my apostle whenever you wish. I will guide you through the Gate of the Silver Key. But remember: equivalent exchange.”
Lynch tipped his hat and bowed slightly. Delaying no longer, he slung the Torch of Light over his back and stepped through the reopened Gate of the Silver Key.
Stepping out, he felt a brief spell of dizziness, followed by a sudden jolt as he sat bolt upright on the sofa in the living room of the Milt residence.
The cigarette in his hand was still burning. Ms. Skye and the Yithian sat nearby, while Natalie and Diana remained beside him in their original postures, looking at him with deep concern. No time had passed at all—everything that had just happened felt like nothing more than a dream.
Only the medicine box slung across his body proved that it had all been real.
Lynch looked up, smiled at the two ladies, and said softly, “Sorry to make you worry. I'm back.”
However, the words had barely left his lips when an eerie divine sense, laden with sinister malice, tore through the void and manifested directly inside the living room.
In the next instant, mystery surged, and the whistling sound of a sharp blade cutting through the air suddenly rang out right beside his ear.
Rate on N.U.
