Chapter 98

Stinking water trickled slowly through brick channels, its surface floating with unidentifiable oils and rot. The vaulted ceiling soared high enough for gnolls to stand upright, with narrow side walkways flanking both sides for maintenance access.

Deeper within lay the roaring main channel and a tangled network of pipes. The air reeked of swamp gas, mold, and the cloying stench of the Abyss—enough to dizzy any outsider.

Ye Kemu’s claws stepped silently over the slick bricks. His troops spread through the artificial cavern like the dark water itself.

Gnolls held the center of the passage and key junctions. Their formation appeared unnaturally cramped in the sewer, like moving boulders. Iron-reinforced armor glistened with droplets, weapons hanging low.

Yet every pair of glowing eyes in the dimness watched intently—the dark archways ahead, the bottomless sewage ditches on either side, and the pipe seams dripping slime above. Here, attack could come from any direction.

Goblin guerrillas had fully merged with the environment. Their slender bodies clung to recesses in the brick walls, like lizards clinging to rusted iron ladders and pipes, some even hanging from rough ropes suspended in the shadows of the vaulted ceiling.

They were Ye Kemu’s eyes and ears, and the architects of deadly traps. Poisoned blow darts targeted every drain, while beneath seemingly ordinary puddles or bricks lay bear traps or fragile poison-gas capsules.

Goblin fireteams were stationed on relatively dry, slightly better-visibility platforms or sturdy walkways. They fidgeted nervously, for the sewer’s damp air threatened gunpowder.

The crude pipe guns they clutched were loaded with “explosive rounds”—even more dangerous in this enclosed space, capable of killing enemies, dislodging rubble, or triggering unpredictable swamp gas backfires.

In a vast circular convergence chamber—once a hydraulic hub, now a breeding ground for the Abyss—lay the target of this purge. A pulsing, crimson fungal mat covered most walls and the pool floor, countless demon eggs clinging to it like clusters of foully glowing cysts.

The sewage here had thickened, glowing unnaturally with phosphorescence. The demons guarding it were no ordinary swamp variety, but variants fully adapted to this damp, dark, decaying environment.

A nauseating Drowning-Gut creature surfaced silently from the sewage—a half-melted amalgam of amphibian and worm, eyeless, its only feature a massive mouth lined with spiral fangs. It glided soundlessly, spewing corrosive digestive fluid.

Plague-Spore Sprites, born from fungal clusters on the vault, floated like rotting jellyfish. Their translucent bodies swirled with pus-yellow spores, drifting slowly and leaving behind toxic mists that rotted skin and fibrosed lungs.

A rusted pipe, disguised as a dormant survivor, suddenly attacked a nearby gnoll, disrupting Ye Kemu’s deployment. These were sewer-born horrors—gigantic, twisted hybrids of steel centipedes and crustaceans, their shells rust-red.

They excelled at bursting from side or foot-level maintenance openings, striking with sharp hooked claws and mouthparts secreting rust-enzymes—posing a grave threat to gnoll metal weapons and plated armor.

“Hold formation! Hold your positions!” Ye Kemu growled, his voice echoing through the arches.

The gnoll force instantly contracted, giant shields thrust forward, long weapons spearing through gaps—a spiked dam blocking the Drowning-Guts’ charges and corrosive sprays. The fluid splashed onto shields and bricks, hissing, white smoke rising.

“Guerrillas—snipe the Spore Sprites, clear the ambush points!”

The goblins on vault and walls moved. Blow darts and shortbows targeted the fragile spore sacs of the Plague-Spore Sprites, trying to down them before they released vast clouds of toxin. Others used long poles or grappling hooks to riskily probe suspicious pipe openings and shadows, attempting to startle or mark the Rust-Shadowers early.

“Fireteam…” Ye Kemu watched the demons writhing through the fungal mat, and the deeper shadows in the chamber’s heart, then gave his order decisively: “Volley fire! Target the egg clusters and fungal nodes! Watch for echoes overhead!”

“Hee-hee-hah—!” The goblin gunners laughed maniacally, igniting fuses.

“Boom! Boom-boom-boom—!”

Explosions ripped through the sealed sewer with terrifying thunder and reverberations, shaking loose bricks and stones. The explosive rounds bloomed across the fungal mat, shredding demon eggs in sheets, splattering thick sludge everywhere.

Flames ignited the fungal mat itself and any accumulated swamp gas, triggering a brief conflagration in the convergence chamber. Brilliant light flashed, illuminating the entire filthy hall—and more grotesque shadows surging from the depths.

But the shockwaves and falling debris threatened their own. Some goblins clinging high were shaken loose, tumbling into the sewage below. A dislodged vault stone crushed an entire gnoll squad.

“Advance! Don’t let them breathe!” Ye Kemu ignored the cost, his claw slashing forward. The regulars began pushing steadily through filth. The fireteam, during reloading, hurled specialized smoke grenades downward, trying to disperse toxins and disrupt the demons’ senses.

The battle became a bloody stalemate in narrow, damp, perilous pipes. Drowning-Guts slithered through sewage to ambush, Plague-Spore Sprites continuously spawned from new fungal clusters, Rust-Shadowers launched deadly strikes from the environment.

Ye Kemu’s force advanced step by step, paying in blood and lives—with claws, blades, poison, and explosions—painfully purging this vast underground tomb transformed by the Abyss.

The polluted water slowly turned dark red and purple-black. Roars, explosions, and corrosive hisses echoed through the labyrinthine pipes, as if the sewer itself groaned in its death throes. Ye Kemu stood in ankle-deep blood, his yellow eyes coldly assessing the battlefield.

Clearing this nest was but one chapter in this underground war—and the Abyss’s corruption had already seeped deeper into the sewer network, carried by the flow.

Amid the smoke and blood in the sewer, Ye Kemu’s grating laugh echoed off the brick arches. He held a crude pipe gun still smoking, turned to the silent harpy standing in the shadows beside him, and tapped the barrel with his filthy claw, splattering a few flecks of mud.

“Hahahaha! Lady Tali, look at these gunners—they’re something else!” He grinned wide, his yellow eyes gleaming with rare delight. “When I first tinkered with these things, I doubted it—goblins? Guns? But now? They blow the bastards to hell! Your idea—true hawk-eyed wisdom, shining into this hellhole!”

“Oh?” Tali emitted a low, slow cry from her throat—half-laugh, half-scrutiny. She folded her soiled wings, her gaze shifting from Ye Kemu’s excited face to the distant chaos still exploding.

“If even a grizzled veteran like you, clawed from the dead, says it’s good, then it must be.” Her voice was sharp and calm, like a blade slicing through stagnant air. “These little nuisances, once good for nothing but chaos, have finally put their destructive talent to proper use.”

“Lady Tali, you know this sewer’s a meat grinder.” Ye Kemu lowered his voice, his claw unconsciously rubbing the rough barrel. “The main gnoll force was pulled away. My men here? We’re throwing our lives away daily. This fireteam… they’ve truly held the line.”

“Want them?” Tali tilted her head, a faint metallic scrape sounding from her throat—almost a laugh. “Just pay the price.”

She raised a feathered claw, lightly pointing at the noisy battlefield below. “This unit didn’t grow from the soil. These guns were modified by dwarf masters from the Star City—specifically so those green-skinned little madmen could grip them steady and fire loud. The men? Not the issue…”

Her gaze sharpened on Ye Kemu, her tone slowing, each word clear: “But the real cost is the alchemical ammunition. We can’t produce these here. Each round is solid gold flowing in from outside.”

“Uh… this…” Ye Kemu’s claw tightened unconsciously on the rough barrel, his voice dropping, thick with reluctance. “Lady Tali, aren’t we all serving Lord Sakavi? If I had to pay this out of my own pocket, I’d grind my bones to dust and still not make enough.”

He lifted his eyes, yellow pupils gleaming with embarrassment and caution, his voice rough with the pragmatism of a battle-hardened veteran: “How about this—I’ll file a report right away. I’ll detail every victory of the fireteam, every casualty in the sewers. This cost… the higher-ups have to acknowledge it, right?”

“Whether your Marshal Sharut acknowledges this expense, I can’t say.” Tali leisurely preened the black tips of her wings, her movements calm, her voice edged with metallic chill.

“When I formed this unit, I drained my own savings. The Neizheng Force’s budget? Not a peep.” She lifted her gaze, sharp as a blade. “I had no choice. I paid out of pocket.”

Ye Kemu’s jaw clenched hard, his canine teeth grinding with a clear “click-click.” He stared at Tali, his cloudy yellow eyes churning with struggle—until crushed beneath a near-fierce resolve.

“…Fine.” The word was forced from deep in his throat, gritty as gravel. “Name your price.” He stepped half a pace forward, his foul breath nearly brushing her face. “My men can’t keep being fed into this bottomless pit.”

“Easy.” Tali’s throat emitted a nearly pleased hum, her wings folding elegantly. “I’ll give you these goblin guerrillas as a bonus. As for payment…”

She tilted her head slightly, her sharp gaze like a hook pinning Ye Kemu.

“I’ll handle it with your Marshal Sharut myself. Taking private possession of military arms, issuing unauthorized pay—those are responsibilities you can’t bear.”