Chapter 222: Outpost

"This doesn't look like what we're looking for."

After a long time, like water smoothing the edges of bricks, someone in the team spoke, their voice scattered by the echoing sound of water.

Before departure, everyone had seen the rubbings on display—six-sided shapes no wider than a palm, clustered in groups and flatly clamped between old book pages, bearing strange, undatable patterns.

Only the most sensitive and paranoid might link them to undiscovered heresies or activities within the medical college.

Green was such a person; sometimes he possessed a startling intuition, able to find the key amid a blinding flood of information, like a heron's beak striking a fish merged with the ripples and glints of water.

It turned out that most of the time, this was not the delusional reasoning of obsessives, compulsives, or those eager for promotion, but a divine gift.

Precisely because of this, a man with no background had carved out a place for himself within the Church's important institutions.

The monks were willing to follow his orders—after all, even sailors knew to board the boat that caught the most fish. Just by doing the physical labor, one could likely share in the guaranteed harvest.

Following past patterns, they had a chance of finding a set of underground heretical symbols and, by extension, locating the gathering site.

But what they found far exceeded expectations; no one could have imagined that beneath Dunling lay a space rivaling the main hall of a cathedral, with numerous tunnels channeling water into cascading waterfalls that plunged into a roaring, six-sided deep well.

The man who, guided by the heron's instinct, had hoped to scoop up a small fish in the murky shallows, pulled out scales too large to hold between ten fingers.

"I'll ask again—is this a sewer?"

"Whether it was built for that or not, it is one now."Green fell silent for a moment, then quickly regained his composure. "A massive ruin—except this time, it's intact."

His attitude brought great comfort to the team. Whoever built these things had long since vanished into the vast river of time, leaving no name.

"What we should worry about most is which way to go."

The passage that led them here was just one of many openings into this space. Green, however sharp, was no spider weaving a web, able to sense precisely which thread held the prey.

"Did you see any signs of activity when you circled around?"

"No—or rather, no traces obvious enough to draw attention," Kraft replied honestly. His focus was more on the underground structure itself and the jagged grooves radiating from the central hexagonal well.

Only the rock here was constant; all silt, moss, or traces of former presence were washed away by the water.

Even the rock itself was not unchanging—some groove edges appeared dull and blunt, with wider cracks thick with moss; others had sharp, clear lines, giving the impression of being… new?

Their random distribution also clashed with the symmetrical, concentric overall layout, as if added later, not part of the original design.

"Then there's only one way."

"What?" Kraft remained lost in skeptical thought. Everything here defied logic, and he could make no sense of it.

"Search them all."

"That's… excessive." Even the most determined couldn't make such a decisive call. "Let's search again more carefully—if they come often, they'll leave traces."

"We can't turn over every passage."

"No, we can. Provided we confirm we have no clear direction."Green's tone was not sarcastic—it was genuine contemplation of the possibility.

"The passages are spacious enough. If we retreat a bit and set up a relay camp, it'll be much easier."

"A sewer camp?"

"Some of those hiding in sewers use a stretch as a base—so why can't we?" Based on past search experience, these underground spaces weren't sealed environments; long-term stays were entirely feasible.

Personnel could save vast amounts of round-trip time, returning to the relay station to rest and replenish lighting before continuing exploration.

With dozens of passages opening into this purpose-unknown underground space, they would spend considerable time here, and the possibility of deeper exploration could not be ruled out—it was clearly impossible to start from the surface each time.

After a brief pause to estimate, he became more certain of the idea. "We'll likely need another thirty people, and considerable time—safely, at least several days. If we're lucky, we won't have to search them all."

"That sounds bad. Have you considered rain? This isn't near the surface—no one knows how much water might converge here. The current would be fierce." Beyond the water issue, for various reasons, Kraft strongly resisted staying in this environment.

Especially since they were inside a ruin of unknown function, scale, and age—its size beyond human capability, yet leaving no trace in any record.

This made him feel that the deeper they walked into darkness, the farther they drifted from the familiar world, drifting with the water into a branch of history erased from memory, repeating the fate of the lost.

Their distinct, regular hexagonal creations remained, yet their creators were nowhere to be found.

Even after centuries, even millennia of use as a sewer, the hollow still pulsed with an eerie atmosphere—as if the ghosts of those who built it still wandered the endless dark corridors, silently observing the living.

"It doesn't look like rain is coming soon. But you're right—we should station someone above to monitor the weather. There's no secure spot here; a flash flood would sweep anyone away."

"I think we should retreat further—to the entrance. Better yet, back to the tomb chamber behind that rock fissure," Kraft suggested. "If we're too close to the hall—call it the 'hall,' I suppose—anyone passing by will spot the sounds and firelight in the passages."

Pushing the temporary camp further back meant longer round-trips and extended search times, but he felt it was necessary.

Green nodded in agreement. The torches and lamp oil they'd brought had already been half consumed during prior searches; the team turned back along the same route. They realized this wouldn't be resolved quickly—likely, they'd be working for a long time in a place where the sun never reached.

Fortunately, the priest's authority and reputation were sufficient to command respect, or perhaps the monks truly were willing to sacrifice personal comfort to eradicate heresy and punish lawbreakers, thereby demonstrating their devotion to the Lord—this literal dirty, grueling work could proceed.

The team withdrew from the sewer and spent the remaining time preparing for the advance.

First, Father Green assembled more personnel, adding a trustworthy "colleague" beside the tombkeeper.

Though Kraft deeply doubted how secure the secrecy truly was, the Inquisition still took some measures to conceal it—logistics were stored inside coffins and brought into the cemetery in batches.

The corridors were cleared and marked with guide signs; scattered bones were gathered to one side.

Then they emptied the tomb chamber connected to the sewer, relocating all the remains and funerary items elsewhere, selecting fragments of pottery stained with honey to search for any carved symbols or hidden clues—though ultimately they found nothing.

After discovering that the small tomb chamber, converted from half a stone room, had become too cramped, someone proposed clearing the adjacent stone chamber to store flammable materials and discard waste—this was quickly implemented.

The monks drew a simplified map of the doorways around the hexagonal hall, based on Kraft's description, and began assigning exploration zones and estimating return-and-report times.

In this regard, they displayed rare professionalism. Kraft, though slightly uncomfortable, felt somewhat reassured.

"My people are good, and they have the experience,"Green extinguished an extra oil lamp and walked over to Kraft. "Now, just hand the task over to them, and leave fortune to the Lord's design."

Brother Wading gave them a church salute, leading a group through the fissure; the sound of boots splashing water echoed from the other side, the bright flames vanishing into the damp darkness.

"Aren't you coming too?" This was the first time the search could proceed as planned with sufficient manpower—something to celebrate—but as Kraft found himself with idle moments, he quickly felt aimless.

Studying the map, Green, like a wolf observing prey tracks, unconsciously licked his dry lips. Since entering the tomb, he had not once thought to reach for the water pouch beside him.

"Someone needs to be here to make decisions, to go to the right place at the right time."

It was clear this dedicated priest had fully entered his work state—his earnest devotion to faith and duty surged beneath calm, rational restraint.

"As I said before, all we need now is time. You may return to the clinic—I'll send word immediately if anything arises."

Kraft clearly sensed something off. "No. I don't want to hear news next time that you've already made decisions I wasn't told about."

This sounded like abandoning the partnership to act alone—he believed Green was capable of such a thing. If he held thirty-odd men and had logistics behind him, he'd move first himself.

"This matter won't be resolved so easily—I have a feeling. Don't forget the pattern on that rubbing; we haven't found any engraved traces yet." Kraft felt it necessary to remind him.

Following the clues led to what seemed like rich gains, but too much remained unverified. And the details within that hall contained numerous obvious—or yet unrecognized—irregularities.

"I have a suggestion I hope you'll take seriously."

"Understood."

"No, I want a guarantee—something with sufficient credibility." Kraft emphasized his stance.

Green's eyes left the schematic; he had never heard that tone from the professor before.

He grew serious, considering that, given the other's style, he wouldn't propose something impossible or burdensome to both sides. After a brief hesitation, he agreed:

"In the name of the Heavenly Father—as long as what you say is reasonable."

"Good. Tell your people not to treat this like a police sweep against street gangs—prepare for a fight against devils... and preferably, resolve it from a distance with crossbows."

"We'll prepare accordingly." Green didn't understand why this needed special mention, but it couldn't hurt.

"Good. I'll come tomorrow." Kraft stared into Green's eyes, confirming his meaning had been conveyed.

Before leaving, he thought again of that hall—a small doubt became clear.

"By the way, since you often go to the sewers, I have a question: Can moss grow in places without light?"

"Sure? Isn't moss supposed to grow in dark places?"