Chapter 85: Faith! Loyalty!

Thick, pitch-black wastewater spread through the pipes, occasionally bubbling up with a foul stench.

The old boatman used his pole to guide his swaying ferry boat toward the Bottom Nest.

He’d recently heard the Bottom Nest was in chaos.

Supposedly, mutants had led a horde of undead into the First District, occupied by the Four-Armed Divine Emperor Cult.

In the end, both mutant leaders died inside, and the cult’s patriarch died too.

The entire Bottom Nest plunged into disorder.

The mutants, leaderless, descended into total pandemonium; rumors said many had died for no apparent reason.

Yet the Four-Armed Divine Emperor Cult’s followers quickly regrouped; it was said a new leader had emerged among them.

Of course, none of this concerned the old boatman.

His duty was merely to ferry people between the Bottom Nest and the Lower Nest—transporting Lower Nest residents to the Bottom Nest, and picking up those seeking to sneak from the Bottom Nest into the Lower Nest.

Few knew the paths between the Lower Nest and the Bottom Nest well enough to traverse them safely.

Anyone who dared kill the old boatman risked getting lost in the labyrinthine pipes.

Within these pipes lurked countless terrifying things accumulated over ten thousand years—extremely dangerous.

The old boatman rocked his boat slowly toward an entrance to the Bottom Nest.

As agreed, he would come once daily for the next few days to pick up two people.

It was the request of the Lower Nest’s One-Eyed Old Man; the people he was to pick up were the same two he’d delivered last time.

This puzzled the old boatman—how long had that man and woman even been in the Bottom Nest? Why leave so soon?

As he pondered, he spotted a hooded figure standing on the bank of the wastewater river ahead.

The figure was tall and thin, hidden in the shadows between pipes, as if waiting for him.

The old boatman placed his hand on the automatic pistol beneath his robe.

It was top-tier Upper Nest gear—he’d paid dearly through One-Eyed Old Man’s connections to get it.

The tall, thin figure stepped forward, emerging from behind the pipes.

Without hesitation, the old boatman drew his pistol and fired a volley.

Yet the figure moved with unnatural speed, dodging every bullet.

In the old boatman’s stunned gaze, the figure leapt straight onto the bow of the boat.

The small boat rocked gently on the wastewater river.

The old boatman Kanqingle the figure’s face beneath the hood.

Its face bore strange protrusions; mechanical devices had been implanted where its eyes should be.

In its bony hands, it held no firearm—only a peculiar dagger.

The dagger glowed an eerie Molvse , as if alive, gently writhing.

The old boatman raised his automatic rifle and pulled the trigger again.

But—

The man swung his dagger with unimaginable speed, precisely blocking every bullet.

More accurately, the writhing living dagger bit into each bullet.

Bullets fell one by one from the dagger, clattering onto the deck like radiation raindrops from the Nest’s outskirts.

“Tell me.”

The man opened his mouth beneath the hood; a low, chilling voice sent shivers down the old boatman’s spine.

“Tell me—who else has come here with you recently?”

“Who introduced them to you?”

The man’s voice seemed to rise from the deepest darkness of the Bottom Nest.

But the old boatman sensed something odd.

It wasn’t the man speaking—it was as if someone else was using his mouth.

The old boatman gave a dry, hollow laugh; his voice echoed through the empty pipes:

“If I revealed my passengers’ identities, I wouldn’t have lasted this long as a boatman.”

“If you want revenge, find another way.”

The old boatman subtly edged toward the boat’s edge.

If the other so much as moved to strike, he’d leap into the wastewater and flee into the labyrinthine pipe system.

He was confident he could outpace this unknown black-clad man—

“Yahhh.”

The old boatman heard a low, bestial growl.

He shuddered, unable to control himself, and looked upward.

A monstrous creature, six meters long, with four sharp claws and a massive triangular head, crouched above the pipes, staring at him.

“Hellworm.”

The old boatman whispered.

Then he felt his skull forcibly torn open—every memory laid bare before the creature’s eyes.

Zhou Yun slipped through the severed seven-barred gate and silently entered the murky wastewater pipe.

He carried the still-sleeping Jeanne on one shoulder.

Her body bore only burns; the winged figure in Bai Guang had assured him she was unharmed.

Even during her brief, fragmented awakenings, she claimed she was fine—just needed sleep.

Even in sleep, Jeanne seemed not to need food at all.

Zhou Yun had brought her here while secretly hunting Gene Thieves.

Yet there was no sign of the ferry boat.

“Not here yet?” Zhou Yun thought, hiding in the pipe’s shadows.

“Look to the right bank of the wastewater river—near those broken stones,” the winged figure in Bai Guang suddenly spoke.

Zhou Yun calmly turned his gaze to the spot indicated.

His eyes flickered; his psychic hat instantly pointed toward it.

He dragged a corpse from the wastewater.

Zhou Yun sucked in a sharp breath—it was the old boatman’s body.

It was bloated, swollen from who-knew-how-long submerged in the wastewater.

Yet his eyes remained wide open, filled with terror.

“His brain retains psychic residue—someone psychic-searched his memories.”

The winged figure in Bai Guang whispered.

Zhou Yun’s brow furrowed.

The old boatman didn’t know his identity—but he was connected to One-Eyed Old Man.

If it was the Gene Thieves Cult… no, it had to be them—they’d searched the boatman’s memories.

They’d surely discovered One-Eyed Old Man’s existence and traced the trail upward.

Their target could only be Zhou Yun—they wanted to extract his identity from One-Eyed Old Man.

Even if they couldn’t get it from speech, they could psychic-search One-Eyed Old Man’s mind directly.

No wonder… no wonder they hadn’t stationed anyone to watch Zhou Yun in the Bottom Nest or the pipes.

In these places, they couldn’t handle Zhou Yun if he was prepared.

The Gene Thief patriarch had already seen Zhou Yun’s abilities.

He knew small-scale attacks were useless, and large-scale blockades would just let Zhou Yun escape.

Unless he acted himself, he posed little threat—and he was far too cautious to take such risks.

They wanted to uncover Zhou Yun’s identity and eliminate him with endless assassinations.

Zhou Yun couldn’t stay vigilant forever—he couldn’t afford to fend off assassinations constantly.

Zhou Yun stared at the deep, winding pipe ahead.

He had to return quickly and stop the Gene Thieves from capturing One-Eyed Old Man.

But now a very awkward problem stood before him:

That is—

“Which damn path do I take?”

Zhou Yun’s eye twitched as he stared at the complex wastewater pipes.

These pipes were the chaotic, unregulated growth of the Nest over ten thousand years—utterly tangled.

Only a few—like the dead boatman—knew how to navigate them. If Jeanne were awake, Zhou Yun could use her precognition to find the way.

Zhou Yun turned his gaze to the fourth-dimensional pocket on his belly.

Guess he’d have to rely on gear again.

The Seeker Staff? Cheap, but only gives a rough direction—70% accuracy. With so many turns here, using it twice would drop success to 49%.

The Pathfinder Angel? Theoretically, it selects the “correct path”—but it has its own idea of what’s “correct,” won’t let you remove it, and hits you if you disagree.

Zhou Yun scrolled endlessly through the Future Department Store’s catalog.

Then he saw one item.

“That’s the one!”

The lights of the Lower Nest were nearly extinguished, signaling that night had arrived.

Now, the workers of the Hive City either went to rest or reported for night shifts.

The Lonely Eye’s Spear Tavern had grown quiet as well.

He stood behind the counter, wiping the glasses used by today’s patrons.

Most taverns in the Lower Nest never cleaned their glasses daily—after all, the workers there didn’t care much for such things.

But the Lonely Eye had come down from the Viceroy’s palace in the Upper Nest; even after living so long in the Lower Nest, some old habits remained.

Maintaining hygiene had meaning—it could at least prevent the spread of disease.

And while wiping glasses, the Lonely Eye could momentarily forget the fears that had long haunted him.

He cherished the quiet of wiping glasses.

“Lonely Eye, another round!”

If not for this bastard slumped over the counter.

The Lonely Eye’s eye twitched as he stared at Lag, sprawled across the counter.

!. Read

“I heard from Zhou Yun you were sent off to hard labor by the Ark Sect’s Patriarch.”

The Lonely Eye picked up the bottle, poured Lag another drink, and pushed it toward him.

“Did you sneak out?”

“Ah, you have no idea how exhausting hard labor is.”

Lag’s face twisted in Kuse , his voice heavy with bitterness.

“Moving all sorts of strange steel—no one even knows what they’re building.”

“My body can’t take it. I ran away because I was afraid I’d die inside.”

“Even if you don’t work yourself to death, you’ll eventually drink yourself to death.”

The Lonely Eye glanced at the crimson liquid Lag was gulping down.

“Learn from Zhou Yun—drink less.”

“He drinks less? He can’t drink at all—Zhou Yun’s got no tolerance.” Lag shook his glass.

He grinned. “Don’t worry, Lonely Eye—I won’t die until I’ve had a sip of Amasec.”

Hearing Lag’s words, the Lonely Eye shook his head.

Amasec was the Empire’s term for a broad category of spirits; each world’s Amasec had its own recipe, but all were distilled and fermented from local grains, and were popular among the Stormtroopers.

But for Asford, a planet incapable of producing its own food, a bottle of Amasec from an agricultural world was a luxury the Lower Nest folk dared not dream of—Lag would likely never taste even a drop in his lifetime.

Creak——————

At that moment, the glued wooden door of the tavern suddenly swung open.

A cold wind from the night swept in, chilling the entire tavern.

The glasses on the counter clattered as the wind passed over them.

The Lonely Eye set down his rag and glass, turning to face the newcomer.

The figure wore a long black robe, slender in build but with unnaturally dense muscle.

Her face appeared female, yet her eyes were replaced with bizarre mechanical implants.

Faintly, one could see strange bony protrusions on her forehead.

“We’re closed,” the Lonely Eye growled.

“Are you? I see customers still here.”

The woman spoke, her voice low as if rising from the darkest depths of the Hive City.

“That’s my grandson,” the Lonely Eye said calmly, pointing at Lag. “He’s eight years old.”

“Huh?” Lag stared blankly at his own wrinkled, aged face. “I’m eight?”

“Eight?” The woman seemed amused. “Uncle Radben, you still know how to joke.”

The Lonely Eye’s body stiffened slightly.

Radben was his real name—known only to the Viceroy and a handful of others, long forgotten by all.

No—there was still one person who knew.

“Lag, leave,” the Lonely Eye said, slapping the counter.

“Huh? But I haven’t finished my—” Lag raised his glass, turning to look behind him.

Then he shuddered involuntarily—he sensed the woman standing behind him was deadly.

Lag downed the rest of his drink in one gulp and hurried past the black-robed woman, slipping out of the tavern.

Outside, Lag glanced around, then sprinted toward the Ark Sect’s outpost.

“Uncle Radben.”

The woman sat calmly across from the Lonely Eye, one hand holding a biological dagger, the other propping up her chin, studying the tavern with interest.

“Is this what my good brother Augustus gave you—as payment for betraying me and killing my parents?”

“The Tiberius I remember wasn’t a woman.”

The Lonely Eye stared fixedly at the woman, his hand sliding slowly beneath the counter.

“You should be a repulsive, six-limbed insect—the Necrophage!”

The Lonely Eye had recognized her identity.

Tiberius Flax, brother of Viceroy Augustus Flax, the Necrophage.

The Gene-Thief patriarch—now controlling this woman’s body.

Hearing the Lonely Eye’s words, the woman laughed. “Is this really my timid Uncle Radben?”

“I still remember old ties—if you hadn’t been so afraid back then, I might have died in the Viceroy’s palace.”

“Now, tell me—who went down to the Bottom Nest? I’ll let you keep running this tavern.”

The Lonely Eye sighed, staring into the woman’s mechanical eyes—his gaze piercing through to the Gene-Thief patriarch behind them.

“The Emperor taught us many things, but the most precious were two.”

“The first is loyalty—to the Emperor, and to one’s friends.”

The Lonely Eye’s hand shot up from beneath the counter, gripping a Cattrell M36 laser rifle.

“The second is hatred—hatred for the xenos!!!”

Four-thousand-word chapter

(End of Chapter)