Chapter 856: Prism City
“This is —” Roland looked at Garcia.
“A lift.” She said it with unmistakable satisfaction. “Wait. You’ll see.”
The light outside the windows shifted from red to green, and the curtains rose on their own.
The bus sat on a broad iron plate, hemmed in by concrete walls painted with black-and-yellow caution stripes. Five or six metal track channels were embedded in the walls, all of them turning, grinding softly. They were descending a shaft, and the levels scrolled past marked by floodlights and enormous numeral signs, each one bright enough to read from the bus. Within minutes they had dropped more than a hundred meters. The numbers kept climbing.
Orange safety lights rotated along the outer edge of the iron plate. It looked, he thought, like something from a science-fiction film — the kind of scene where the protagonist realizes for the first time how large the organization actually is.
He thought of Third Border City: hemp ropes, steam engines, the long and temperamental process of getting anyone in or out. Against this, that seemed archaeological.
His estimate of the Martialist Association revised itself upward.
No group of martial artists, however talented, could build this without serious money and serious political cover behind them. This much was certain.
He understood Garcia’s pride. It was the pride of someone showing you that the thing you thought was a niche club was, in fact, something else entirely.
Even the wilder awakened ones — the ones who had come onto the bus with studied indifference — were talking now, leaning to the windows, pointing, arguing in low voices about how deep the shaft went.
That was probably intentional too, Roland thought. The closed curtains on the approach had served their purpose: no one would know the specific location. But once inside the shaft, there was nothing to hide anymore — so they opened the curtains and let the scale make its argument. Power demonstrated is more persuasive than power claimed.
He wondered if Ling had found a way in.
The counter reached 235. The plate stopped. Holes appeared in the shaft wall, and the bus rolled forward into one of them.
Short ride. Then they stopped.
Roland followed Garcia out into an underground square so lit by overhead floodlights that it resembled open sky. If not for the descent, he would not have believed they were this deep. At the square’s center: a sculpture — a broad hand supporting an irregular polyhedron, each facet catching the light at a different angle. Other buses were already parked nearby. More people ringed the statue.
“Other cities?” he said.
Garcia nodded. “The Association has many branches, but only two Headquarters. Anyone who wants direct contact with the Erosion has to come to one of these.”
“The Erosion can actually be seen from here? Directly?”
“Seen and touched — though you’d never want to.” She gave him a flat look. “Did you think we were a cult that tells people to fight evil on faith? The point of the visit is to show new members what the world is actually facing. Some things have to be experienced to be believed. The disaster is not abstract.”
The lights above them dropped, and darkness fell from every direction at once, focusing every eye on the center of the square. Two beams dropped from the dome — one on the sculpture, one on a figure standing on a raised platform across the square.
The woman looked about thirty. She wore a dark martial arts uniform with her long black hair pinned up. One eye was covered by a patch. She was not especially tall, but she held the platform as though the platform had been built to her specification. The Force of Nature in this world did not alter physical appearance the way magic did — she looked like an ordinary person. She was not presenting as anything else.
She raised a hand. “Dear Awakened ones, good afternoon. I am Lan, Chief Disciple of the Rock’s Defender. Welcome to Prism City.”
Murmurs from the edges of the crowd — the more independently-minded arrivals registering displeasure at being welcomed by anyone.
Before Roland could ask Garcia about the polyhedron’s name, Lan continued: “Normally, welcoming new students is the Defenders’ responsibility. But Sky City encountered complications two days ago and my master and the other three Defenders had to leave. To avoid wasting your time, I’ll be the one to introduce you today.”
She let that settle. Then: “I know that some of you awakened years ago and don’t see yourselves as newcomers. That’s understandable. But the situation has changed, and if you’re standing here, you’ve already acknowledged that the Association has something you need. Set aside your past status for now. Fighting the Fallen Evils takes priority. The Association doesn’t care who you were — only what you do from here. If you don’t accept our practice, you are free to leave.”
She made the gesture.
No one moved. The noise died.
Roland noted it. She had framed it as a choice. It was not a choice — with the Fallen Evils multiplying, the unaffiliated awakened were increasingly exposed, and everyone in this square knew it. She knew they knew it. She’d given them the shape of agency without the substance, and they’d walked into it anyway, because the shape was enough for pride, and they all had pride.
Effective. Economical. He could appreciate the technique even while recognizing the mechanism.
Garcia was watching him. Her expression was odd.
“She’s my master,” she said, quietly.
He stared. “Your master.”
“The senior I mentioned.” She exhaled. “Try not to be around her too much unless you have to. She dislikes irresponsible people and people who aren’t punctual.”
He filed that away without comment.
“Since you’ve made your choice,” Lan said from the platform, looking across the square with measured satisfaction, “the Association welcomes new blood. I won’t say more. Nothing is more powerful than experience. Come with me — see for yourselves the crisis that is coming. The Battle of Divine Will is not far away from any of us.”
Chapter 856: Prism City
Translator: TransN Editor: Meh
“This is…” Roland looked at Garcia.
“It’s a lift,” she proudly responded. “Wait a moment, soon you’ll be able to see.”
No long after she had finished talking, the light outside of the window turned from red to green and then the curtains were automatically lifted, revealing the view outside.
Roland immediately understood the reason for her pride. The bus was parked on a huge iron plate, surrounded by yellow and black warning signs painted on concrete walls with five or six metal orbits embedded in, which continuously issued a gear grinding sound.
They were traveling down a tunnel with each descending level marked by dazzling spotlights and huge number signs. Within a few minutes, they had descended more than 100 meters, but the numbers were still growing.
Seeing the continuously rotating orange alert lights in the outer edge of the iron plate, which was like a scene from a sci-fi movie, he suddenly felt that as compared to this sophisticated way of entering, his way to get into Third Border City was way too backward, which was still reliant on hemp ropes and steam engines.
His respect for an organization that could construct something like that was instantly increased by a few levels.
Without substantial economic and political power in the background, a bunch of martialists would never be able to construct something like that.
No wonder Garcia was so proud of it.
Even those strange tempered wild Awakened were stunned by the scene. They started discussing in the bus while looking out of the window, as if they wanted to explore how deep the place was actually hidden.
“This was actually a good move,” Roland thought. The closed curtains before were probably meant to keep new people from knowing the specific location of the headquarters, but after entering the ground there was no such need anymore, so they could let everyone admire this spectacular project, which could also pose as proof of the association’s power.
He was curious to see if Ling who was following them could find a chance to infiltrate.
When the number became 235, the iron plate finally stopped descending and many holes appeared on the wall. Then, the bus moved again and headed into one of them.
The trip was very short this time as they soon reached their destination.
Roland followed Garcia out of the bus and discovered that there was a wide underground square in front of him, being illuminated with dense headlights, almost as bright as daylight. If not for the previous part of the trip, it would have been hard to believe that he was deep underground. A sculpture was erected in the center of the square. At first glance, it looked like a big hand holding an irregular polyhedron. There were also several buses parked next to the statue. It seemed that they were not the only newcomers.
“Are these people from other cities?” Roland pointed at the crowd around the sculpture.
Garcia nodded in agreement, “the association owns many divisions, but it’s only two Headquarters. In order to get into contact with the Erosion, one must come to these two places.”
He was briefly stunned, “The erosion from the outside world… Can it be seen directly from here?”
Not only it can be seen, but you can also touch it—though you would never want to do that.” Garcia rolled her eyes. “Did you think that we’re just a cult which asks people to fight the evil? The purpose of visiting the headquarters is to show newcomers the real danger that the world is facing. Some things, unless seen by your own eyes, are impossible to believe them—disaster is close at hand.”
Just then, the lights above them suddenly dimmed down and darkness suddenly came from all directions, making everyone’s vision to focus on a small area in the center of the square. As though a curtain was opened on stage, two bright beams of light fell from the dome, one shining on the sculpture and the other shining on a black dressed lady.
She was standing on a platform at one side of the square, looked around thirty years old, wearing a classic Martial Arts garment with her long black hair tied up on her head. One of her eyes seemed to have been damaged and was covered by an eye patch. The Force of Nature in the Dream World was not limited to gender, and it did not have the kind of effect that the magic power had in affecting the appearance. She looked no different than an ordinary person, not too tall, but with more of an imposing manner.
The woman waved at everyone and then said loudly, “Dear Awakened ones, good afternoon. I am Lan, Chief Disciple of the Rock’s defender. Welcome to Prism City!”
“Prism… did she mean the polyhedron on the sculpture? ” Roland thought and heard whispers coming from the wild martialists, who appeared to be quite dissatisfied with her words.
Before he could ask Garcia, Lan continued, “Of course, welcoming the new students was the responsibility of Defenders, but unfortunately, Sky City encountered some problems so my master and the other three defenders all left two days ago. In order to avoid wasting time, I’ll be the one to welcome you all.”
“I know that some of you awoke many years ago and can’t be treated as real newcomers. However, the situation has changed drastically. Since you’re willing to come here, it means you’ve approved the ability of the association
and you should naturally put all the past temporarily behind you. Combating the Fallen Evil should be your priority now. The association doesn’t care about your past identity and status, but only your future performance—the more critical the crisis is, the more the awakened should be united. If you don’t accept the practice of the association you’re still free to leave right now! ”
While she was talking, the black dressed woman made a waving gesture, but no one in the square moved, and even the noisy discussions quieted down.
“This Chief Disciple is quite adept,” Roland smirked. With the increase of the Fallen Evil, the endangered wild Awakened had no choice but to apply to join the Association. No matter who they were before, they could only follow this option now. The woman was aware of that, so deliberately acted as if giving them a choice, but in reality, gave them no choice at all.
Strength was an important criterion when persuading an opponent. Being the Martialist Association that could protect others, demonstrating their own strength would be the most effective way in this case.
Garcia looked at Roland with a perplexed expression for a while and said softly, “She’s my master.”
“What?” He was stunned. “Your master?”
“She’s the senior that I mentioned the other day,” Garcia sighed. “Unless you have to, try not to be around her too much. My master doesn’t like irresponsible and not punctual people.”
“Oh, so that was the case,” Roland thought.
“Since you’ve all made your choice, then the association welcomes any new blood.” Lan gazed upon the square and nodded with satisfaction. “I’m not going to say much. Nothing is more impressive than personally experiencing it. Now, please come with me and see for yourselves the imminent crisis of the world—you’ll soon realize that the Battle of Divine Will isn’t far away from us! “