Pillar of Yita

The long-abandoned monastery stood lonely in the vast snowfield, within the forest.

Snow-covered pine needles encircled the towering gray stone walls, silent and quiet, with cracks weathered by the wind and rain, from which withered vines crazily grew, like ancient tree beards, densely hanging down to the ground, rooting under the snow, in the soil.

The three of them walked closer, their footsteps sinking, and paused to look up at this desolate scene, without exchanging words, and then continued forward, around the stone walls, passing through the large gate, entering the courtyard.

The monastery’s gate was once used to defend against bandits and beasts from the wilderness, but now only an empty stone arch remained, with half the gate fallen in the snow, the other half nowhere to be found. The courtyard was surrounded by shade, silent, passing through the silver-white square, a lack of repair, a tall Great Holy Cathedral came into their vision.

This ancient building had almost half-collapsed, overgrown with weeds, but the tall, thick wooden door still stood steadfastly in its frame, half-open, a push on it, and the door creaked open, emitting a long sigh. In the silent and silent environment, it seemed rather eerie.

Snow on the lintel fell in flurries, Fang Hong instinctively stepped back, stepping down the stairs, a musty odor rushed at him from within the dust-laden interior.

Within the door was a quiet hall, a north corner had collapsed, sunlight pouring through the breach, falling upon stones and the snow below. But that pale sunlight, instead of illuminating the interior, made the hall appear even more profound and dark.

This was once a place where monks contemplated and served the gods, appearing simple yet solemn, but they still laid a carpet on the slates, only the carpet had faded, the base color seemed as black as a dried blood, covered with a thick layer of dust.

The hall still bore the marks of a great fire, pillars and arch tops charred black, carpets burnt to segments, riddled with scorch marks and black spots, the utensils in the hall either toppled awkwardly or burnt to a piece of charcoal.

Fang Hong silently observed the scene inside, opened the system, and sent a text to Luo Hao, inquiring about the events several months ago here.

He had actually learned about the adventurers’ encounters here before coming, but comparing it with what he was seeing now, recreating the situation then might help uncover some details they hadn’t originally noticed.

Luo Hao sent him a video directly.

Fang Hong opened the video, which presented a combat scene, but the footage moved rapidly, shaking incessantly, with a void of darkness, nearly impossible to discern what was happening.

Only voices could be heard, roughly indicating the position of something, and the counterpart constantly moved swiftly. There seemed to be many people in the footage, occasionally a blurred human face flashed by, interspersed with murmurs of spells, and sounds of struggle.

It seemed someone shouted to the owner of the footage, who turned around, seeing a flashing light envelop the scene, and moments later, everything went dark.

Fang Hong only remembered that slightly mind-stirring bright purple light, like a spell, or a flickering bright flame. It seemed somewhat familiar, but as the scene reconstructed bit by bit in his mind, he gradually outlined the scene in the footage, then raised his head to look at the silent hall — the combat began to align with this place piece by piece.

’They were attacked by more than one shadow person, which was confirmed afterward.’

’So that was the shadow person?’

Fang Hong replayed that last part of the video many times, but only a blur of purple light, barely seeing the appearance of the shadow person.

He asked a seemingly redundant question: ’Did they resurrect afterward?’

’Of course.’

’Did they come back here again afterward?’

’Came back, but found nothing.’

After a pause, Luo Hao sent over another text: ’After that, others came to this place, because of rumors that it was haunted.’

’Haunted?’

Fang Hong was startled, in Eteliria, what did haunting imply, was it undead?

Now, dust had settled in the hall, he stepped forward, and at that moment, a murmur of voices suddenly rang in the dim hall. The voice varied in pitch, like many people conversing, or like a low sigh, sometimes escalating to an argument, or a loud shout.

”Who’s there?” Fang Hong exclaimed in surprise.

He instinctively looked towards the direction the sound was coming from, but the direction of the voice changed unpredictably, as if coming from all directions. He could distinguish at least two to three sources, if not more, the voices temporarily quieted down but soon rose intensely again.

After several such repetitions, Fang Hong gradually calmed down, only then did he record the sound and sent it over.

After a while, Luo Hao replied:

’That’s the reason this place is considered haunted.’

’Those voices?’

’Yes, the voices come from the hall, but no one can figure out why they occur.’

At this moment, Fang Hong noticed Miss Knight behind him raising her hand, softly chanting the holy name of the Lord of Light, a golden rune blinked in her small palm.

However, she soon frowned, a hint of puzzlement in her eyes.

”Did you discover anything?” Fang Hong asked.