Faith, to the gods, is merely optional.
He had once encountered a few abandoned priests of Fennar—the Five-Tusked Boar who ruled over summer. At the time, although the black runes covering their bodies hadn't yet faded, they had already become no different from slaves discarded by their master.
The only certainty was that—long before the Empire was ever founded—this labyrinth had already been tread by many of the undying.
Sassel furrowed his brow, staring at the doll before him.
"Then let me ask a different question," he said, locking eyes with her expressionless gaze. "Miss Doll—or rather, honored one blessed by the Moon God. I heard from Plain that the wanderers in Zobeth City are drawn there in pursuit of you, constantly rebuilding that city. So where exactly is this place we're in now?"
"Hmm... perhaps... my memory?" she tilted her head slightly, as if puzzled.
Talking to her was truly exhausting.
Not like talking to Jeanne—the Inquisitor could at least understand what he was saying. But the doll lacked normal cognition. She acted perfectly normal, yes, but her thought process was entirely different from a human's. From all he could observe, she had indeed read countless memories, perhaps knowing everything that had ever happened outside—yet that didn't mean she understood those memories.
She was merely performing—striving to present herself in a way humans could comprehend.
"Can I step outside for a bit?"
"If you wish, Mr. Warlock."
Sassel walked down a moss-covered stone stair, bathed in moonlight, emerging into the garden outside the cabin. The surrounding vines and foliage were a foggy gray-green, like ashes. Scattered white lilies clustered beside the black spruce, resembling fireflies on a lake—only paler, dimmer, as if the flowers had withered and lost their color. The garden was completely deserted and eerily silent. The air carried the cold, abandoned stillness of a place long untouched.
A thin layer of mist clung to the ground, ghostly and faint.
Beyond the garden's fence lay a starlit night sky and a bottomless black lake. The lake was as smooth as a mirror, fused seamlessly with the sky, a hint of deep blue flickering faintly. The moon and the garden were reflected perfectly in the water, so much so that one could hardly tell sky from lake.
The doll showed no inclination to lead the way, nor did she speak unprompted—she merely followed silently behind him.
Sassel extended a hand and tossed a white, snake-like flame into the lake. Gentle ripples spread across the surface, the moon's reflection warping into a golden serpent, slithering and curling across the shining waves.
"Does this place have any physical connection to that city, Zobeth? Or—regarding this world—can you offer me any answers?" He tried phrasing the question more ambiguously this time.
"All I understand is that in dreams, the concept of absolute distance doesn't truly exist. In this world, places may be separated by thousands of miles yet overlap one another. People often travel through this world via sleep, and sometimes, ancient gods walk here as well, casually stirring the lost souls of wanderers.
I am undying, and time itself holds no meaning. Only the memories of guests can influence my soul. Also, for reasons unknown, your soul seems strangely unaffected by the gods."
So in other words, there's no physical connection at all, Sassel thought.
If that's the case, then those wanderers in the city may be doomed to roam until the end of time.
"That's the reward of long-term study of the Outer Gods," Sassel said, bowing politely. "You speak very much like those prophets. I personally respect them, though I rarely understand what they're saying."
A bow from a dark red demon isn't exactly the most charming sight.
Yet the doll clapped her hands kindly, though her intentions remained unreadable.
"May I continue asking questions?" he said.
"Of course."
"Do all beings who enter this labyrinth come to you?"
"Usually only humans. Occasionally, some similar species. But not all."
"You mean, like the Insect People?" He didn't press for specifics.
"Hmm, I've seen memories from a few guests. They don't seem like very lovely creatures. Also... followers of the gods rarely venture into the Misty Forest."
Sassel chose not to comment on her aesthetic taste—but clearly, she knew more than he had assumed.
He stared at her for a moment. "How many people's memories have you read so far?"
"Five hundred years after the fall of your First Empire, I followed my god and left the hunters' dream. Since then, every ten decades or so, I witness at least ten outsiders arriving here through the dungeons."
So this doll was a living chronicle of history—like the undying, perhaps knowing even more than they did. But apparently, many divine pacts bound her, making this book of history rather hard to read. Sassel frowned. Forcing it open might have consequences he didn't want to face.
She had lived through most of human history—from the First Empire to now—and likely would continue to live on forever. According to her, he wasn't the only one to arrive here. Even among the gods, Hood was far from the only one to have set foot in this place.
Sassel decided to show a little more respect.
That thing he did a few days ago—grinding up a nightmare's tentacles and horns to brew potions, after forcing Jeanne to kill it—probably wouldn't be appropriate here.
Then he paused, as if something important had just occurred to him.
"Then, Miss Doll—in your recollection, is it common for someone to be dropped into this place without warning? I just don't want Jeanne to drown the next time I fall into the sea, dragging me down with her."
"Hmm... Generally, only the first visit is a divine summons. After that, it's just me wanting to chat—like with you now, Mr. Warlock."
"So this is your own initiative?"
"Yes. But aside from talking to different guests, I don't really do anything else. That is, after all, the purpose I was created for."
"What about being loved?"
"I don't think I was made with that function. But if being loved feels fulfilling—then yes, I suppose I do feel fulfilled."
"Let's hope so," Sassel shrugged indifferently. "More importantly, are you able to judge the right moment to summon someone? Do you know when it's appropriate and when it isn't?"
"I don't fully understand your thoughts. Even reading your memories doesn't change that," the doll said, watching him carefully. "But if there's ever a moment when your beloved is in danger—I will send you to her, Mr. Warlock. I can always see what happens in this dream world."
"Oh, thank y—wait, what do you mean 'beloved'!? Which part of you sees her as my lover!?"
The doll tilted her head in confusion, as if puzzled by this discrepancy between them.
After a brief silence:
"Amantium irae amoris integratio est" (Lovers' quarrels renew their love) — she recited in Latin, her pronunciation eerily similar to Sassel's own.
"That's a quote you pulled from my memory! Do you even understand what it means?"
"Credo ut intellegam." (I believe so that I may understand.)
"My memories aren't your library—don't just pull random quotes to argue with me!"
The doll's expression remained as calm as ever, but her gaze grew even more confused.