Chapter 221: The City

"It's honey." A thin layer remained, nearly dried and stuck to the pottery shard, leaving a gritty, sandy texture from crystallized sugar. It had been there a long time, but no more than half a year.

"A marker? Who left it?"

"I think so. Probably no one comes here to brew honey tea."

An exhilarating discovery. Though different from what was initially suggested, it strongly confirmed their suspicions. They could feel the shift in everyone's mood—like a progress bar that had finally reached halfway after a long wait, proving their efforts weren't in vain and that a goal now waited ahead.

Greene's reaction was less obvious, but his short, erratic breaths betrayed his inner turmoil; finally, he exhaled deeply.

After months of unresolved mystery, there was finally tangible progress—the elusive shadow had revealed a corner, one that could now be traced. He felt considerably better, his attitude shifting. He waited until Kraft had carefully examined the shard, then stepped closer to ask:

"Was it your professor?"

"Uncertain, but very likely." Conversely, Kraft did not feel things were becoming clearer.

Vague clues, a shattered honey jar, and this—this fissure. It was a jagged, lightning-like crack; in its unlit depths lay uneven, square shadows that made one think of tooth rows embedded in walls, their jaws misaligned, like those carved into neatly cut quarry caves.

This made one realize, upon recognizing it as artificial, that it was something as ancient and dead as bone, buried at depths normally never seen again.

The quarry's expansion had reached this underground space. It seemed the discoverers had no intention of exploring it, even abandoning excavation in this direction.

Piles of rock fragments beside the unfinished stone chamber's entrance showed they had once sealed off this area, but later reopened it out of necessity to bury the dead.

The buriers hastily placed the bodies and grave goods on the ground, as if terrified by the fissure's gaze, afraid the sound of chiseling might carry into the dark, boundless space beyond.

"I'll go first, Vatin, you follow right after. The rest wait for my signal." Greene hung his lantern back on his belt, drew his sword, measured the fissure's width, then sheathed it again and chose his backup short sword.

"Aren't you going to prepare more? How long have we been going down?" As the priest already stepped onto the fissure, inhaling and drawing in his stomach to squeeze inside, Kraft thought caution was wiser.

"This is quite far from the surface. If something goes wrong, it'll be hard to handle. Shouldn't we first map the route and prepare properly before entering?"

Greene's hand paused for a moment on the protruding rock, then resumed its motion, rejecting the suggestion. "No, we must hurry. If the heretics are active nearby, they may have noticed we've been here. Miss this chance, and we may never get another."

"Besides, are you really worried we can't handle cockroaches in a corner?" He gestured to the professor's weapons. Few could possibly withstand a two-man assault in darkness.

"Be careful." Kraft poured a small amount of water from his canteen to clean his fingers, slipped on gloves, and followed behind Vatin, waiting for Greene's report from the other side.

The lantern advanced through the fissure, illuminating its uneven inner walls. After one jolt and bump, it steadied, lifted to reveal the end—brick and stone, their smooth surfaces reflecting a dark, greasy sheen.

The light swiveled once. After a moment of silence, Greene's voice came from the other side: "Come through. No problem."

Kraft followed Vatin through the fissure, nearly stumbling over the half-man-high drop, his foot slipping, catching himself against the wall—he felt the same damp, slick moisture coating it.

Standing firm, he surveyed the surroundings. The lantern's glow was enough to make out their environment: a tunnel wide enough for two to walk side by side.

Blackish square bricks rose from tightly fitted floors, closing overhead into a rounded arch. A thin, shallow current flowed slowly beneath their feet, soaking the accumulated sand and dirt in the stone seams.

Kraft had already suspected, but he still wanted confirmation: "Where are we?"

"The sewer." Greene lowered his arm, bringing the light closer to the water, revealing its murky, discolored flow. "We're in a sewer. Fortunately, there's been no heavy rain lately."

"Was it built this deep to drain into hell?" The scale and craftsmanship could be explained, but such depth couldn't reasonably be accounted for by soil accumulation or burial of ruins.

Brother Vatin shrugged. "If I could, I'd be happy to add a little something extra to those who deserve hell."

"Now the question is: down, up, or... split up?"

Greene said nothing, but looked to Kraft, hoping he could offer further clues to guide their search.

The latter only sighed helplessly. Getting this far based on Karlman's instructions had been difficult enough; even the most capable professor couldn't possibly provide full navigation through a sewer.

"The decision's yours, Father. I have no understanding of these underground avenues called sewers."

After careful consideration, Greene decided to send two men back to the surface to report, while the rest descended.

"Any reason? I didn't see you flip a coin."

"I don't think we've gone very deep." He glanced back; the water flowed from behind them into a tunnel with no end, then vanished into an even deeper abyss below. "Probably less than four stories beneath the church."

"Many have been interested in these passages before—even within the Church. A few bishops even considered a full cleanup. But all related records ended up stacked on forgotten shelves."

"They didn't fail to reach this depth. Some even saw reservoirs, circular passages, and such—but never wrote about seeing these things. So I think... it's not deep enough. Unless that symbol exists only here, or it's hidden even deeper."

It made sense. To hunt heretics fleeing through sewers, Greene had indeed done his homework. At this point, he should heed a professional's opinion.

Kraft readily followed as they descended. Several Inquisitorial monks lit torches, brightening the space and helping them examine the brick surfaces for possible carved markings.

Yet the entire tunnel seemed truly built for pure functionality, bearing no inscriptions or carvings.

The water swirled among mounds of sediment, carrying the stench of surface decay, though not overpowering. Perhaps the Tem River and groundwater merged somewhere, diluting the odor.

Each step stirred faint splashes; their soles sank into soft, waterborne mud. This sludge was shallow, only able to accumulate when the current wasn't swift.

Even with the lingering foul odor, this stretch was far easier than a tomb. Frankly, it was better than over ninety percent of surface roads—solid pavement and natural water flow cleaning it.

Some shadowed hollows on the side walls caught Kraft's attention. At first he thought they might be troublesome side passages, but upon closer inspection, they were merely recessed niches, their corners filled with black, organic sediment.

"By the way, are there animals here? Rats, insects, that sort of thing?"

"What do they eat?"

"Whatever washes down from above. I see plenty of it."

"That's too harsh." Even large mushrooms seemed unwilling to grow in such an environment.

A faint, tinnitus-like hum gradually grew clearer as they descended, swelling into a rumbling noise ahead, drowning out the team's footsteps.

As the continuous, water-like sound swelled to the point where they had to raise their voices to speak, they finally realized what it was—it was water. A vast volume cascading from above, crashing against the surface below.

The slope steepened; the current grew swift, as if pulled forward, urging their steps to slide down the incline.

The brick tunnel ended ahead. The rushing water burst from its mouth, shattering into a suddenly vast, dark space. Beneath their feet, the ground descended in theater-like steps, leading toward the source of the thunderous roar.

On both sides, identical tunnel exits opened, while the water converged in sharp, jagged, wide grooves along the steps, forming a waterfall that plunged into an unseen chasm at the center.

The team halted, breath catching.

Kraft lit a torch and walked along the edge of the vast chamber. Kup hurried after him, noticing how unnaturally slippery the ground was—moss grew in the accumulated grime, prying open stone seams and spreading outward.

The grooves carved into the rock were irregularly distributed, their cross-sections triangular wedges—not like deliberate construction, yet their edges were unnaturally sharp, varying in size, sprawling wildly across the space like giant axes cleaving through grease.

Where wide, they rivaled canals, often blocking their path. They had to watch for slips and carefully leap over.

After walking dozens of steps past rows of openings, the wall turned at a familiar, obtuse angle, continuing into darkness. This triggered a troubling suspicion—he quickened his pace.

The torch's glow shrank to a small cluster, growing distant as he circled to the opposite side, returning to the waiting team.

Outlining the edge did not dispel their instinctive recoil from the looming unknown. On the contrary, every step the light took away made the atmosphere colder, more silent.

So when the torch returned, they instinctively widened their eyes to study the face, as if subconsciously believing the vast darkness would swallow the explorer and transform him into something else.

"Any findings?" Greene stepped forward, breaking the stiffness. He was increasingly certain Kraft had anticipated this.

Kraft said nothing. He raised his torch and hurled it toward the chamber's center. The flaming arc, for an instant, illuminated the roaring, water-swallowing maw—revealing its full form.

A hexagonal deep well, inverted like a tower, radiated countless gashes tearing through the surrounding stone steps.