Chapter 220

A hive-like pagan pattern may be on the walls, ceiling, floor, or any hollowed-out tunnel or sewer—anywhere those rat-like blasphemers could crawl through. I need you to find it.

Before the partially buried arched entrance, Green made one final clarification of the search objective, ensuring the intent was clearly conveyed.

"Move in pairs, just like when entering the sewers. Remember your return route—if you can't recall it, make marks or tie ropes. I don't want to waste time searching for people who get lost."

More than ten people had been assembled here, carrying lanterns, torches, and their respective weapons.

They raised no objections to the order to enter the tomb and search for an unknown pagan symbol; no extra words were exchanged—they simply accepted the command and filed one by one into the spiral staircase descending downward, leaving two men to guard the entrance.

The largest blasphemer present cast an envious glance as Green's team vanished into the spiral steps, recalling his own meager academy. In terms of discipline alone, this group of Church Inquisition personnel outperformed the elite investigative team cobbled together in Westminster.

"Will this really work?"

"As long as your theory is correct, there's no need to worry. We've done this before." Green held a lantern in one hand and hung another at his waist, then handed both torches to Vadin to carry. "It's inevitable—but it will take time, and I won't stand idle while my people work."

"I thought it was already cramped enough down here." Even as he spoke, Kraft was already shrugging off his cumbersome outer robe and lighting the lantern flame.

"The Lord says laziness is a mortal sin; those who indulge in comfort cannot ascend to heaven." Green moved forward first, stepping into the tomb's shadow.

With more people, tasks were indeed easier than with fewer. Not only did efficiency improve, but the atmosphere itself became markedly better.

The flickering torchlight and footsteps filled the tomb's corridors, pushing the coldness into corners, squeezing it into gaps between bones, so that when sidestepping past those ahead, one even felt a stifling warmth.

The Church's monks skillfully tapped suspicious spots with the weights of their weapons, including the holy emblem stone slab embedded at the end of the stairs.

After entering the tomb carved from the quarry, they scattered, holding lanterns up to niches, sifting through remains showing signs of human disturbance, illuminating every stone chamber's walls, and peering through crevices to see what lay behind the bone walls.

"Father Green, come look here!"

Not long after, a series of echoing calls led Green and Kraft into a stone chamber.

One monk had driven his sword into the wall of stacked long bones, up to the crossguard. He did not proceed immediately but looked questioningly toward the priest.

"Break it open." Green nodded.

As the sword was withdrawn, a gap appeared in the neatly stacked bones. The Inquisition professionals easily widened it, stepping back just before the collapse, avoiding the cascade of scattered skeletal fragments.

A narrow door revealed itself—but when Green saw it, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face.

"No, this one looks impossible." He thrust his lantern inside, illuminating the cramped, stooping space, then bent low and crawled through. Kraft peered curiously from outside, seeing only a stone coffin placed dead center.

Green pushed open the coffin lid, shielding his face from the dust, gave a quick glance, then quickly resealed it and crawled out. "I knew it—just an ordinary burial chamber."

"Some valuable grave goods, so they hid it well. All it did was waste our time. Keep searching."

Progress was poor. The deeper they went, the more obvious it became that this repurposed quarry had never been well planned—it grew underground like an uprooted tree, branching chaotically from main corridors into side chambers of varying sizes, shifting direction when the stone proved unsuitable, or digging downward.

The corridors alternated between narrow and wide; cut lines jutted at abrupt, awkward angles around corners; the uneven surfaces left by removed stone created disorienting optical illusions during moments of visual fatigue.

Stone niches expanded, filled with astonishing quantities of bones, their depth impossible to gauge. One monk tried his old trick—probing the wall with his blade—and found a hollow behind, but after breaking through the outer layer, discovered it was merely an inner chamber packed with fragile, tiny bones. Once freed, they poured like sand and gravel into the corridor, rising past their ankles.

This made identification difficult—the ancient bones obscured the tunnels' true form, endlessly appearing in their field of view.

Voices of companions grew increasingly muffled in the sprawling subterranean labyrinth. Occasionally, they found another space that seemed hidden—only to confirm it was meaningless. They could only vaguely sense the team moving gradually forward and downward—or perhaps they had long since lost all sense of direction among the winding turns.

Green noticed the accumulating mental fatigue, called the team to rest in a stone chamber, ordered that all downward progress must be marked, and pulled out a coil of rope he had prepared.

When they split up again, the distant monk tied a knot around a sturdy femur and squeezed sideways into a narrow side passage, carrying the rope coil. Kraft and Green continued probing along what seemed the main corridor.

Perhaps they were the first people to descend this far since the tomb's formation, Kraft thought—though in truth, he could no longer distinguish one corridor from another; only when they hit a dead end would he realize they'd wandered too deep into a side branch.

Conversation dwindled. Green's breathing grew deeper and slower—the rhythm that comes when confined space presses in.

They could still walk normally, yet still felt as if the woven long bones had become the tunnel's mucosal lining, shifting and contracting like intestines pushing digesta.

"Stop, Green, stop!" Kraft called out. Fatigue made his voice sound muffled, as if underwater—it took several heavy seconds to reach them.

"What is it?"

"I heard a sound."

Green steadied his breath, listened intently to the sound Kraft described. It traveled through rock fissures and multiple corridor turns, struggling to reach them—seemingly the cry of a monk.

"Also, you should rest more. We need to maintain peak mental condition throughout."

Several followed the sound back and found the two monks, breathless, standing in half a stone chamber. As Green arrived, they gasped and pointed toward the unfinished Lingyiban.

At first glance, it looked like an extension of a rock fissure, slanting through the wall—workers had abandoned this chamber during excavation due to structural instability.

But on the opposite side of the black fissure, careful inspection revealed neatly stacked, regular bricks—clear signs of human construction. A damp, decaying odor seeped out.

"We also found this." One monk picked up a fragment from a pile of shattered grave goods mixed with bone fragments and handed it over.

It appeared to be part of a small ceramic jar, slightly newer than the rest. Green held it to his nose, sniffed lightly, then frowned and passed it to Kraft, gesturing for him to examine it.

His fingertip brushed a thick, sticky residue on one surface. Kraft nearly dropped it—before memory supplied its identity.

【Honey】

A shattered jar of honey.