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Allen let out a dry cough, acknowledging Isolte's words.
Blasphemy?
Absolutely.
It was like being a devout follower of the Roxy Religion and having someone shove their way into your face to tell you that the Goddess Roxy was just some unwanted nobody—someone who could only secretly cast water magic without chanting.
Anyone would lose their temper over that.
Our Roxy is plenty popular, damn it! The idea that no one pursued her was purely because the Mushoku Tensei world's standards of beauty were completely messed up.
The stall owner watched as Allen's expression shifted through several emotions in an instant before suddenly breaking into a smile. He then pointed to the side.
The group instinctively followed his finger.
Not far from the docking area, beside the overpass, stood a dome-shaped structure resembling an upside-down bowl, seamlessly connected to the bridge's foundation. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than an oversized water cellar with a lid—so unremarkable that one might mistake it for part of the Blegi Continental Bridge's infrastructure.
The moss-scraped bluestone bricks of the "cellar lid" were covered in dense, mottled water-flow patterns, all bearing the marks of time. At the end of the paved shore where they stood, a vaulted entrance stood at the edge of their vision.
But the "water cellar" was an illusion.
Its footprint was massive, spanning the rippling waterway and wedged between two land-bound streets—the other side led to the opposite district.
Even as they watched, small groups of people were already entering the archway, while others emerged from the opposite street.
Some of the faces looked familiar.
They were passengers from the earlier sailboat.
Without realizing it, the lively crowd from before had already dispersed while Allen and the others were talking.
Allen turned back to the stall owner, who met his gaze with sharp eyes.
"You have doubts about the Stellan Sect—thinking that the Divine Attendant is just a sea creature, or that the sect itself is a scam. I understand. After all, the sect was originally upheld by fishermen, and nowadays, Rapan isn't as reliant on fishing as it was a century ago when it first established itself in Asura."
"The sect has naturally declined. Its followers are few, its lineage of popes long extinct, its doctrines lost to time. Even its founding anniversary has been reduced to a mere festival, a tool for Rapan to attract tourists."
"But one thing is undeniable—the Stellan Sect once existed, and it once thrived."
"And that—" He pointed. "—is the proof."
"The sacred site of the Stellan Sect—the Well of Stellan."
"Also known as the Wishing Well."
"It has stood here for over three hundred years."
Silence lingered between Allen and the stall owner before the former finally chuckled and asked,
"Are you a follower of the Stellan Sect? 'Wishing Well'—sounds nice, but that doesn't look much like a well."
The stall owner's expression turned solemn.
"I am indeed a believer. As for why it's called the Wishing Well… you'll understand once you see it for yourself."
He gestured to the various "Divine Attendants" on display.
"And as for why every stall here sells them? It's connected to the Wishing Well. The Divine Attendants aren't just collectibles—they're 'mediums' for wishes. You must toss one into the well to establish a 'connection' with the deity. Only then will you gain the right to make a wish."
"And only then will the god respond to your desires."
Allen listened to this all-too-familiar religious spiel and let out an awkward "Uh…" before glancing at Isolte beside him.
She, too, seemed lost in thought, a look of recollection crossing her face before she blinked and said,
"Now that you mention it, I think I've heard about the Stellan Sect's sacred well before. But I always imagined it would be in a more formal setting—like a temple. I didn't expect it to just be… here."
The stall owner smiled bitterly and shook his head.
"The Wishing Well is our temple. A century ago, there were even devout guards stationed here. But now? Faith has long since faded."
He stroked one of the Divine Attendants in his hand, his expression melancholic.
"There's no 'divine' left in this temple."
Allen paused.
"Then those people earlier—they weren't followers?"
The stall owner's face twisted further into resignation.
"What does being a follower have to do with wanting to make a wish?"
Allen suddenly understood. It was like the "flexible believers" from his past life—whether they truly believed or not didn't matter. When it came to wishes, everyone was suddenly devout.
Who cares about doctrine? I just want my wish granted.
Hell, some famous mountains and temples even outsourced their "wish-granting" services to companies—pure marketing gimmicks.
In his past life, Allen had never fallen for that kind of scam.
As his thoughts wandered, his gaze remained locked with the stall owner's.
Within moments, the latter's sales pitch reached its conclusion.
Allen's lips twitched.
To his side—Isolte crouched quietly in front of the stall, knees hugged to her chest. Her dark eyes flickered toward the Divine Attendant in Allen's hand (clearly meant for someone) with poorly concealed anticipation. When she noticed him looking, she quickly averted her gaze, pretending to study the air instead.
Behind him—three heads (red, white, and brown) leaned in from above. Eris, Sylphie, and Rudeus each toyed with their own Divine Attendants, their expressions brimming with childlike excitement.
There was a first time for everything.
"...Four Divine Attendants. Besides the red and pink-white ones from before, I'll take this black-blue one and a brown one." Allen tossed ten large copper coins to the stall owner.
"Right away!" The man's previously solemn face lit up with delight, all traces of sorrow vanishing the moment money touched his palm—as if it had never existed. He eagerly added, "Wouldn't you like one for yourself?"
Allen handed the brown-scaled attendant to Rudeus, dusted off his knees, and stood.
The setting sun bathed him in golden light, flames of twilight cascading over his form as he rose.
He pointed at his own face with a smirk.
"Me? I'm an atheist."
"I don't pray for divine protection."
The scenery shifted as they moved.
Up close, the bluestone walls of the Well of Stellan looked even more weathered.
The arched entrance now loomed before them.
Allen's gaze swept forward, taking in the descending stone steps inside. The dim interior was faintly illuminated by a soft glow. His senses stretched out—no heartbeats within ten meters, no fluctuations of mana.
Frowning at the odd structure, he glanced back.
In the distance, the stall owner cheerfully waved at him, coins clutched in his hand.
Closer by, the four behind him stared at him expectantly.
Shrugging, Allen stepped through the archway.
One step.
Two steps.
He reached the stairs—
And halted.
Gasps of awe rose from the group behind him.
The shift from light to dark did nothing to impede Allen's vision. His brows lifted slightly as he studied the ceiling of the Well of Stellan.
The soft glow from earlier came from a skylight in the "roof."
In his eyes, sunlight spilled from the "sky,"
Piercing the darkness like a pillar of radiance,
Falling straight onto the center of the circular structure.
Down, down,
Until it stopped at the bottom—where the stairs ended.
There was no path forward. At the very base of the dome-like building, where light met shadow,
A shimmering, blue-tinged "well" rippled atop the water's surface.
An optical illusion.
This was a structure built over the waterway.
Though enclosed, with no obvious inlets in the walls, the river outside had still been diverted inside.
And yet—
The water in the illuminated "well" seemed clearer, more pristine than the river beyond.
But that wasn't what gave Allen pause.
It was the feeling of being watched.
His eyelids lowered as he examined the steps ahead.
Lining both sides of the staircase, like macabre railings, were rows upon rows of humanoid figures—
Faceless dolls, standing in silent welcome.
Their blank gazes fixed on the five of them.
In Allen's senses—
No heartbeat.
No life.
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