Pirate Phantom
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Chapter 105: High-Quality Life
🕑 Added 2025-09-14 21:58:21 +0000 UTCDeep within the dense forest, at the forbidden seal—
Here lay entombed the exiled sacred being from Lordran, the forbidden Lord of Cinder. His name had long been forgotten, and his past glory unknown.
Those who disturbed the Lord of Cinder’s slumber came one after another, including the trio who had finished resting and were now setting out.
Passing through the seal’s protective barrier, Maria felt as though she were moving through a thick water curtain. The air carried a sharp sense of separation. What greeted her eyes was an overwhelming sight—a massive stone coffin stood upright, bound by four enormous chains sunk deep into the ground.
By Maria’s estimate, the coffin stretched nearly ten meters long. Its surface, covered in patches of yellow and green moss weathered by centuries, radiated an indescribable sense of age and desolation.
Around the coffin, dozens of clergy were scattered, keeping their posts.
As she observed the scene, Maria suddenly felt a weight press against her back. Then came that pair of astonishing softness, along with a sultry, teasing breath at her ear.
“So tired~~” Liline sighed, leaning against Maria’s back due to her shorter height.
Discovering by chance that Maria’s body carried a faint coolness, Liline treated it like treasure, constantly leaning close with her full curves whenever she could. It wasn’t that she had ulterior motives—she simply found joy in expressing herself this way.
“… ”
A fleeting blur passed by, and Pastor Arthur stepped through the barrier as well. For him, this place was all too familiar—it was his assigned post.
Guarding the forbidden Lord of Cinder.
“There’s the stench of Chaos!” Maria’s delicate brows suddenly knitted together. She sensed a faint ripple of power within the barrier—something she both despised from her soul and, faintly, found herself drawn to. It was weak, so subtle that had she not carried Chaos within her, she might have overlooked it.
Arthur’s face, already as hard as steel, grew colder. He didn’t share Maria’s sensitivity, but he had handled Chaos pollution cases here before. He knew the corruption hadn’t been entirely purged.
And that an unresolved source lingered—inside the coffin.
“Pastor Arthur! You’ve come, over here!” From below the rise, a young clergyman waved, beckoning the three to hurry down.
The speaker was a shy, timid-looking priest. He greeted the two ladies politely before launching into a stream of chatter with the silent Arthur, filling him in on the situation.
Maria, meanwhile, found herself a shady, quiet spot and promptly prepared to slack off.
“Heave-ho~”
Duang! Duang! Duang!
Even without looking, just from those obscene sound effects, Maria knew exactly who had followed.
“You…” Maria stared as Liline bustled about like she was on a picnic. From her storage bracelet she pulled out teaware, a pastry stand, a small kettle, a table, chairs, and finally a long luxurious rug to spread on the ground. For a moment, Maria found herself speechless.
“There, perfect!” Liline clapped her hands, then tugged Maria down to sit beside her.
Arthur glanced their way, then calmly looked back as if he hadn’t seen anything. Priestesses of the Fairy Cult were always like this—no matter how harsh the environment, they pursued comfort and quality of life. One grew used to it.
In fact, Liline was even better at slacking off than Maria herself.
Maria couldn’t help but sigh inwardly—truly, worthy of a follower of the Lady of the Lake. Even amidst the carnage of battle, they could optimistically savor the pleasures of life. Unfortunately, such a disposition made Fairy Cult clergy especially vulnerable to the temptations of Slaanesh, the Lord of Excess.
Tsk, tsk… Maria, who had seen firsthand those indecent scenes, mentally censored the memory with mosaic blocks.
……
“What the hell? We lost them? That makes no sense!”
In the forest, a squad of black-robed players was attempting to track Arthur’s trail. After circling for a long while, they realized they’d come back to their starting point. A player from Military Intelligence who had learned scouting skills cursed loudly.
“You’re talking science in a fantasy world?” another black-robed player sneered.
“Science my ass, what, you want me to call this ‘not magic’? F*** you—” The humiliated player snapped, his pride stung.
“Pathetic, you can’t even curse properly. Idiot.”
“I’m eating lemons here.”
“Enough! Quiet, all of you… shh, news from the She-Devil.”
The leader’s wrist, marked with the sigil of the Weavebinders, began to glow faintly. The moment the others heard the words “She-Devil,” they fell silent at once.
The Inquisitor from Military Intelligence was a real, terrifying She-Devil.
“Y-yes, understood.”
The player handling the contact instinctively straightened to attention, unable to resist her oppressive aura even through magical communication. Hedda, the She-Devil, was beyond fear itself.
The Weavebinder mark flickered twice, signaling the end of transmission. With that, the air around them seemed to lighten.
“Change of plans. Forget kidnapping the mute—just shadow him. The She-Devil said the Church’s people will handle the target. When the time comes, we’ll probe the Lord of Cinder directly.” That way, they could avoid an early confrontation with the Church. And with Southwind Province already a powder keg, it was the smarter play.
“Damn, that’s sweet.”
“Sweet my ass. Those Church bastards have it easy, huh?” one player gritted his teeth in jealousy.
“Easy? Don’t forget the unlucky ones who got struck by lightning mid-prayer, or all those taboos to avoid. That’s nothing like the carefree life of a noble.” Another player sneered, his tone tinged with sourness, but his words rang true.
After all, the Church served real gods. To rise within its ranks, one had to show genuine devotion—a demand impossible for many self-absorbed players. Lip service was one thing, but actually believing in NPC gods? Out of the question.
Meanwhile, outside the forest—
What had once been a small gathering point was now reduced to rubble. Those who resisted or fled were mercilessly executed, their bodies littering the ground. To reduce potential witnesses and hinder future reconstruction of the events, the NPCs of Military Intelligence, aided by certain players, erased the survivors without hesitation.
After all, this concerned the Steam Church’s development of a war machine capable of reshaping the continent’s balance. No precaution was too extreme.
