Chapter 232

Father Matthiel's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, his curiosity flaring into a bright bonfire. An intrigued smile spread across his face.

"Bold. Very bold indeed my dear," he breathed, utterly captivated. He was not just cheerful, he was an explorer. He smelled a mystery, and it was the sweetest scent in the world to him.

"Well then! A mask for now it shall remain! But please, I insist." He gave a sweeping bow, gesturing toward the door. "Take a walk with me. Let us get properly acquainted. I find a stroll through the grounds helps the conversation flow. And consider this your personal, private introduction to the House of Caelus."

Lyssandra grinned. She was starting to like this odd, cheerful priest. "Sure. I'd love to."

They walked down the corridor, which was narrower and less ornate than the main halls, the flagstones worn smooth by centuries of nuns and priests shuffling back and forth between the cloisters, the archives, and their simple cells. The air here was cool and quiet, the only sound their own footsteps and distant hush of evening prayers.

While they walked, Father Matthiel began to speak, his tone casual and informative as if he were giving a tour. "So tell me, Lyssandra, are you at all familiar with the founding tenets of our faith?"

Lyssandra shook her head. "Not particularly. I've heard the name Caelus, of course."

"Well! It is quite fascinating!" he beamed, launching into his subject with great enthusiasm. "For instance, did you know that the original name for the church was The Brotherhood of the Cosmic Socks? Caelus, you see, is associated with all things vast and empty. The early scribes believed that if there was an all-consuming void god, he would certainly be a master of creating gaps. And nothing creates a frustratingly perfect gap quite like a missing sock!"

He chuckled, clearly delighted by this little piece of trivia.

"And another fun fact!" he continued, pointing down the hall. "See this window here? The small one with round glass? Legend has it that if a parishioner is plagued with chronic thoughts of slander, they can whisper a secret confession into that pane."

"The next day, a single, perfectly smooth pebble will appear on the windowsill. The person must then swallow the pebble whole, and Caelus, in his wisdom, will absorb their slanderous thoughts! A bit of a choking hazard, I admit," he added, "but quite effective, if rather unpleasant for the congregation member who mistook a confession pebble for a sugared almond at the last summer feast!"

Lyssandra blinked. A mask of pure, disbelief-crossed confusion was on her face behind the mask. "You… you're kidding me."

"I most certainly am not!" Father Matthiel said cheerfully. "The pebble was later exhumed from a privy, but that is a story for another time! My point is, we are a church with personality."

Lyssandra let out a real, genuine chuckle. It was impossible not to. Father Matthiel’s cheerful energy was infectious, his ridiculous stories completely disarming and utterly delightful. She nodded along, simply enjoying the tour and the man's endless, rambling passion for his silly little church.

As they passed the grand narthex with its high ceiling, golden altar, stained-glass windows casting colors across the polished floors, Lyssandra made a silent promise to herself.

'I have to build something like this in my dungeon when I get back. Not the same god, of course, but that feeling. The quiet awe, the intricate artistry, the secret halls… my dungeon needs a grand cathedral too.'

Finally, the long, enjoyable stroll brought them back full circle. They stood in front of the simple wooden door to her guest quarters. Father Matthiel turned, his smile as warm and wide as ever. "Well! I believe that concludes our tour for the evening. I do hope you enjoyed yourself."

"I truly did," Lyssandra said, her tone sincere. "Thank you for the walk, and the history lesson. You've given me a lot to think about."

He beamed. "I am glad! And once again, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. For protecting our Miriel. She means the world to us… to me. Sleep well." He gave a short, respectful bow.

Lyssandra nodded in return. "And you, Father. Good night."

She turned the handle on the door and stepped inside, the door clicking shut softly behind, leaving her alone with quiet atmosphere of the church at night and a mind full of bizarre, wonderful thoughts.

'Did you see the guy has been following us, master?' Luna's sloshy voice echoed in Lyssandra's mind while she turned the lock on the door.

'Yeah, it was so obvious,' Lyssandra thought back. Her mind had tracked it from the moment they entered the church grounds. A persistent, bobbing dot on the mini-map.

She glanced at it. A yellow dot – the priest was moving away down the corridor. But a second yellow dot, the one that had been there all day, had not moved. It had stopped nearby, a silent observation.

She smirked. 'Their spy is working so hard to be plain to see.'

She plopped down onto the bed, the frame creaking a welcome. 'But I understand. A woman in a black cloak and mask walks into your church, claiming to have saved their precious saintess. Who wouldn't be suspicious? If it were my dungeon, I'd have locked that person up and interrogated them myself. It's just standard procedure.'

A sigh escaped her before she leant back on the pillows. 'But that's enough for now. Time to head back to the real world. The dungeon needs its boss. Luna, do your job.'

'Yes, master,' the slime replied obediently.

Lyssandra closed her eyes and reached out her will, a mental tendril stretching across the distances and pulled. Her consciousness, her true self, shot from her clone's mind back into the central nexus of her dungeon core. The swap was instantaneous.

One second, she was lying on a guest bed in the Church of Caelus. The next, she was floating in the warm, viscous darkness, surrounded by the comforting energy.

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On a small hill overlooking a twisting path, a man and a woman dismantled their lean-to.

The man, Joric was wiry and tough with weathered face and a short, unkempt beard. He shoved a rolled-up bedroll into a pack in one smooth motion.

"You know, for someone so eager for glory, you sure complain a lot," he grunted, a smile playing on his lips.

The woman, Vana, was striking. Tall and lean, sharp cheekbone. Dark hair tied back in a tight braid. Her leather armor scarred and patched in dozens of places, creaked when she kicked dirt over the embers of their campfire.

"I'm not complaining, I'm voicing my concern over our current mission, which is, if I recall correctly, 'chasing a rumor'," she shot back, her voice a dry monotone somehow sharp at the same time.

Joric chuckled, unperturbed. He tossed the last of their cooking supplies into his pack. "A rumor that comes with proof, my dear wife."

She scowled, jamming her hands on hips. "Proof? You mean those shiny-shiny trinkets that ragged party was showing off in the Gilded Grin days ago? They looked like cheap charms you'd win at a village festival."

"The ones gambled at their table wouldn't stop bragging about? The elf who kept showing off that shiny new bow with the string made of wyrm gut?" Joric countered. "Didn't look cheap to me. And the gold! I've seen treasure from established dungeons that wasn't that high-quality."

He finished packing the gear and stood up, adjusting the sword on his belt.

"And that squire from the party," Vana grumbled, picking up her own pack, "Did you see his face? Pale as a sheet, and he kept staring into his ale like it was a pit of vipers. If he just found a pot of gold, Why the hell did he look like he’d just caught his girl in another man’s bed?"

"Who cares?" Joric said, waving a dismissive hand. "Probably didn't get his fair share of the loot and was jealous. The important part was what the talking bear - the Bjorin I think, at their table said. The scary one, the one who barely touched his drink and had those vacant eyes."

Vana stopped. "The one you said you wouldn't play cards with for all the gold in the kingdom?"

"The very same," Joric said, his voice dropping slightly. "He said the dungeon had changed. That it had… a new kind of intelligence? That there was a core, yeah, but the core wasn't just making monsters. He said they met the owner. That they completed tasks, not killing monsters though, and were rewarded."

"That's bizarre," Vana mumbled, for the first time a hint of true confusion in her voice. "How the hell could a human control a dungeon? Isn't the core supposed to be the brain? It makes no sense."

"I don't know," Joric said, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the hunt. "And I don't care how it works. The only thing I care. Free gold, my lovely wife. Gold for doing jobs, instead of risking my neck against some brainless beast. Can you imagine? It's like being paid for breathing!"

Vana rolled her eyes dramatically. "Fine. But if anything happens to me, my father will have your head. You know exactly what kind of man he is."s

"I know exactly what kind of woman his daughter is," Joric replied with a roguish wink. "Stubborn. Now, come on, our fortune awaits." He struck out toward the path leading east, deeper into the Whispering Woods.