Chapter Twenty-Four: The Whispers of Yogg-Saron

In truth, Link did not expect Lothar to become his follower after a single prayer. Lothar was no ordinary man; he was an old fox who had held sway over the Red Moon Province for decades, surviving storms of bloodshed and intrigue. To put it kindly, his will and convictions were unyielding as iron; to put it bluntly, he was stubborn to the core. Most importantly, he had no faith in gods. To make such a man a believer was no easy feat—small tricks like confession rituals would certainly be useless.

The reason Link had Lothar participate in the prayer was merely to let him experience the atmosphere and plant subtle psychological hints, paving the way for further persuasion. Who would have expected that Brand would carry a powerful curse? Upon learning the nature of this curse, Link became confident he could win over both Lothar and his son as devoted followers before the day was out.

With this in mind, when the prayer ended, Link led the two into a room behind the cathedral and got straight to the point, asking, “Gentlemen, did you gain anything from this prayer?”

Lothar shook his head without hesitation, “No, I gained nothing at all.”

Link only smiled and turned to Brand. After a slight hesitation, Brand said, “I think I did gain something.”

At these words, Lothar looked at his son in surprise.

Brand continued, “Father, after the prayer, I felt my body suddenly grow lighter. Old wounds I’d suffered before have also healed. Look, there was once a scar here, but it’s vanished.”

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing unblemished skin where a scar had obviously once been. Lothar couldn’t help but look astonished. “That scar from your childhood—how can it be gone?”

Lowering his arm, Brand spoke with some excitement, “Father, just as Archbishop Neil said, the Holy Light Cathedral is truly miraculous. After I prayed to the Father with all my heart, all my old ailments simply disappeared. I believe the great Father sensed my devout prayers and thus answered me!”

Lothar frowned. He was displeased with his son’s lack of composure but said nothing, for he realized that his son had likely become a believer in the Father.

As for the so-called blessing, Lothar remained skeptical, attributing everything to the mysterious master hiding in the shadows.

“It seems this Church of the Father relies on that hidden master to deceive the masses,” Lothar thought, inwardly despising both the church and its mysterious patron.

Though he concealed his thoughts well, Link still picked up on them. Without revealing anything, Link smoothly changed the subject, “By the grace of the Father—gentlemen, just now during your prayers, the great Father revealed something to me. He said that both of you are afflicted with a most wicked curse. Are you aware of this?”

“A wicked curse upon us?” Both father and son were startled. Lothar scowled, “No, we’ve never heard of any curse. And even if I were cursed, why would my son also be afflicted? Does he look like someone who’s been cursed?”

Brand was equally skeptical. He felt perfectly healthy; any issues he had were old injuries or trivial ailments.

Link spoke gravely, “Please, gentlemen, don’t be alarmed—let me explain. The curse upon you is most unusual. The Father told me that its effects last for many years, and once triggered, it manifests much like an illness—yes, very much like your current condition, Count. It seems like a disease, yet no physician can diagnose it. Am I right?”

At this, both father and son grew somber, privately wondering if they truly were cursed, given Lothar’s well-known symptoms.

Seeing his words had struck home, Link pressed on, “Forgive my boldness, Count, but has any male in your family ever lived past the age of forty-five? And have any women in your family lived beyond thirty?”

They both shuddered. After a brief moment of reflection, their eyes filled with shock. Brand glanced at his father and said, “Archbishop Neil, to tell you the truth, no one in the Bass family has lived past forty-five for a long time. My mother and grandmother both died of illness before thirty; my grandfather only made it to forty-four. All of them succumbed to incurable diseases. You know how common fatal maladies are nowadays—we grieved, but never questioned the cause…”

By the end, Brand’s voice was trembling.

Lothar picked up the thread, his tone grim, “Now that I think about it, it’s too much of a coincidence. Strange diseases exist, but for three generations to succumb—that’s bizarre. There’s talk of hereditary illness, but I’ve never heard of my grandfather and grandmother suffering in the same way.” His expression turned icy. “Damn it, who would lay such a cruel curse upon my family? If I ever find out, I’ll make them pay!”

The room fell silent, the atmosphere growing heavy. Just as Link was about to offer comfort, Brand spoke up, his face dark, his voice quavering with a bitter smile, “Father, perhaps we won’t have the chance for revenge. I just remembered—I know this curse. It’s called ‘The Whispers of Yogg-Saron’—men in the family never live past forty-five, women never past thirty, and it comes with undetectable symptoms, just like falling ill. Isn’t that exactly like the legend of the Whispers of Yogg-Saron?”

“The Whispers of Yogg-Saron?” Link and Lothar were both taken aback. Yogg-Saron was a fabled ancient evil god, but obviously the curse had no real connection to him—it was merely a metaphor.

A few seconds later, Lothar, who seemed to know something of the curse, turned pale and spoke with a trembling voice, “How can this be? The curse of Yogg-Saron? Even saints are said to be powerless against it!”

“Saints can’t resist it?” Link was stunned. In Sora’s world, there were beings known as saints, whose power was said to surpass the ninth rank and reach another realm. Link didn’t know exactly what level that was, but he knew they were terrifyingly strong—walking catastrophes in human form.

For existences of that magnitude, poisons or curses should have no effect. Yet Lothar claimed this curse was beyond even their power. This was nothing short of miraculous—truly, fortune smiled upon him!

Link laughed wildly inside. Judging by the looks on the faces of Lothar and his son, it was as though they had been handed a death sentence. They clearly thought the curse was unbreakable, so much so that he wouldn’t even have to use the elaborate speeches he’d prepared.

Putting on a solemn air, Link said, “So it’s the Whispers of Yogg-Saron—no wonder it’s so fiendish.” He glanced unobtrusively at the father and son.

They responded perfectly, their faces shrouded in despair. Brand managed a bitter smile, “The Whispers of Yogg-Saron is a curse from ancient times. It requires six hundred and sixty-six lives and the caster’s own soul as sacrifice. There is no cure. A thousand years ago, even a powerful saint who fell victim to this curse could not be saved despite the help of five other saints. In the end, that saint perished within months. Afterwards, the other saints joined forces to slaughter everyone who knew how to cast the curse. Who could have imagined that someone in this age would still know it, and would use it against the Bass family?”

By the time he finished, Brand’s eyes were dull, shrouded in despair. Lothar, though faring slightly better, was also deeply shaken, undoubtedly believing he had little time left.

After a long silence, Lothar sighed, forcing a bitter smile, “Such a curse…perhaps only a true god could dispel it.”

Link was elated. If he could, he would have embraced Lothar and shouted, “You’re absolutely right! Only a god can lift this curse—so hurry and put your faith in me!”

He silently reminded himself to remain composed, then donned the lofty smile of a prophet and said, “Why such doomsday faces, gentlemen? Do you think a mere curse could thwart the great Father?”

Both men were stunned, staring at Link in astonishment. Lothar, his disbelief tinged with hope, asked, “Archbishop Neil, do you mean you have a way to banish the Whispers of Yogg-Saron?”

Link shook his head, his expression devout. “Not I, but the exalted Father.” He paused, turning to Brand. “Young Master Brand, earlier you prayed with a sincere heart and confessed your sins. The Father has already answered you. This means the curse on you has been completely lifted. Have you not sensed it?”

The two were once more stunned. Brand blurted, “My curse has been lifted? How…how is that possible?”

“In the presence of the exalted Father, nothing is impossible,” Link replied solemnly, looking every inch the devoted servant of a god.

Hearing this, Brand—by now a true believer—was overjoyed. He turned to Lothar, exclaiming, “Father, did you hear? The great Father truly exists! He can free us from a curse that even saints cannot withstand!”

Lothar hesitated. For all his skepticism, even he was half-convinced by now. After a long pause, he asked, “Archbishop Neil, is this true? Can the Father really dispel the Whispers of Yogg-Saron?”

Link answered with heartfelt sincerity, “By the Father’s grace, as his messenger, I do not lie. If you doubt, Count, you may return to the Holy Light Cathedral and offer a sincere prayer. Remember, the Father bestows his blessings only on those who pray with true hearts and are willing to repent. Your son was answered because he opened his heart to the Father.”

Lothar looked to his son, who nodded decisively, “Father, Archbishop Neil speaks the truth. Only when you open your heart to the Father in prayer will you receive his grace.”

Seeing his son’s conviction, Lothar fell silent for a long while, then finally nodded in agreement. In his current state, he was a desperate man grasping at the faintest hope. No matter how tenuous, no matter how much it conflicted with his values and worldview, he could not bring himself to let it go.