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 pressed 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 Academy.

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

The monks willingly followed his orders—after all, even sailors know to board the boat that catches the most fish. Just by doing the hard labor, they'd likely share in the guaranteed harvest.

Following past patterns, they might find a set of underground heretical symbols and trace them to a gathering place.

But what they found far exceeded expectations: no one could have imagined that beneath Dunling lay a space rivaling the nave of a cathedral, with numerous tunnels funneling water into cascading torrents that plunged into a roaring, hexagonal abyss.

The man who had waded through the murky shallows, guided by the heron's instinct, hoping to net a small fish, pulled up 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 demeanor brought great reassurance 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 merely 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?"

"No—or rather, no traces obvious enough to draw attention," Kraft replied honestly. His focus lay more on the underground structure itself and the jagged fissures 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 fissure edges appeared blunt and dull, with wider cracks thick with moss; others had sharp, clean lines, almost… new?

Their random distribution also clashed with the overall symmetrical, concentric 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, offered no clear direction.

"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 go through every tunnel."

"No, we can. Provided we confirm we have no clear direction." Green's tone held no mockery—it was genuine contemplation.

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

"A camp in the sewer?"

"Some who hide in sewers use sections as bases. If they can, so can we." Based on past raids, these underground spaces weren't sealed environments—long-term stays were entirely feasible.

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

With dozens of tunnels opening into this mysterious underground space, they'd spend considerable time here, and deeper exploration might be needed—it was clearly impossible to start from the surface each time.

After a brief pause to estimate, he grew more certain: "We'll need about thirty more 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 deadly." Beyond the water issue, Kraft strongly resisted staying in such an environment for long.

Especially when he thought of being inside a ruin whose function, scale, and age were unknown—its size beyond human capability, yet leaving no trace in any record.

It made him feel that the deeper they walked in darkness, the farther they drifted from the familiar world, carried by the water into a forgotten tributary of history, repeating the fate of the lost.

Their unmistakable regular hexagonal creations remained, yet their creators had vanished without a trace.

Even after centuries, even millennia of use as a sewer, the hollow still pulsed with an uncanny aura—as if the ghosts of its builders 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 anchor here; a flash flood would sweep anyone away."

"I think we should retreat further—to the entrance, preferably to the tomb chamber behind that crack." Kraft suggested. "If we're too close to the hall—call it the 'hall,' if you will—anyone passing by will spot the sound and firelight."

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

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

Fortunately, the priest's authority and reputation were enough to command respect—or perhaps the monks truly were willing to sacrifice personal comfort to eradicate heresy and punish lawbreakers, proving 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 trusted "colleague" beside the tombkeeper.

Though Kraft deeply doubted how secure the secrecy truly was, the Inquisition still took some measures: supplies were stored inside coffins and brought into the cemetery in batches.

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

Then they emptied the tomb chamber connected to the sewer, relocating all remains and grave goods elsewhere, selecting pottery shards stained with honey to search for carved symbols or hidden markings—though ultimately, they found nothing.

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

The monks drew a rough map of the hexagonal hall's surrounding doorways based on Kraft's description and began assigning search zones and estimating return and feedback times.

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

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

Vadin gave them a church salute and led a team through the fissure; on the other side came the sound of boots splashing water, the bright flames fading into the damp dark.

"Aren't you coming with us?" It should have been a cause for celebration—finally, the search could proceed as planned, with sufficient manpower—but as Kraft found himself idle, he quickly felt aimless.

Studying the map, Green, like a wolf tracking prey's footprints, unconsciously licked his dry lips. Since entering the tomb, he had not once thought to reach for the water bag beside him.

"Someone must stay here to make decisions, to go where the moment demands."

Clearly, 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, what we need now is only time. You may return to your clinic—I'll send word immediately if anything arises."

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

It sounded like he intended to abandon the partnership and act alone—he believed Green was capable of it. If he held thirty-odd men and had logistics at his back, he'd act immediately himself.

"This won't be solved so simply. I have a feeling. Don't forget the pattern on that rubbing—we haven't found a single engraved trace yet." Kraft felt it necessary to remind him.

Following the trail had seemed fruitful, yet too much remained unverified. And every detail within the hall contained obvious—or still unrecognized—problems.

"I have a suggestion. I hope it will be taken seriously."

"Understood."

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

Green's eyes lifted from the map. He had never heard such a tone from the professor before.

He grew serious, considering that, given the man's nature, he wouldn't propose something impossible or mutually unbearable. After a brief hesitation, he agreed:

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

"Good. Tell your people not to treat this like cleaning up street gangs. Prepare for a fight with devils… and if possible, use crossbows from a distance."

"We'll be prepared," Green said, not understanding why this needed special mention, but seeing no harm in it.

"Good. I'll be back tomorrow." Kraft stared into Green's eyes, ensuring his meaning had been fully conveyed.

Before leaving, he thought again of the hall—a small doubt sharpened clearly.

"By the way, if you often go to sewers, I have a question: Can moss grow in total darkness?"

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