Chapter 265

"Hey, take a look at this." Kraft brought the lantern close to the water's surface, illuminating the pool's bottom.

The carving's hexagonal backshell occupied nearly three-quarters of the area, its irregularly sized and shaped hexagons fitted together in a rigid yet inexplicably orderly and harmonious pattern.

The straight edges between the gaps revealed these to be the bases of countless prisms, as if a sunken island of cooled lava had awakened, stretching its basalt body composed of columnar joints.

And what supported it was not geological movement, but something with biological traits.

【Hexagonal Prism】

This geometric form had appeared repeatedly in various contexts, either as the core of anomalies or as a direct symbol.

Habitual thinking treated it as something rare, mostly scattered across the vast, silent depths of the world, reshaping mysterious biological tissue into shells under its command.

But what if it wasn't like that? They could just as easily concentrate like mineral veins in a region, coalescing into something capable of qualitative transformation.

"I think… I've seen this before?" Confusion surfaced on Greene's face.

The carving on the pool's bottom brought an inexplicable sense of satisfaction, like an ancient, incomplete scripture that had long haunted him suddenly being restored—its logic now clear, its scattered insights linked together.

Strangely, he could not recall any image in his memory corresponding to it, nor could he say where he had seen it.

Yet the impression was undeniable, burning in his mind like a scalding scar.

He patted his body, searching for paper or pen to aid his memory, attempting to sketch with his sword on the ground, carving harsh white grooves. "Let me think… where exactly did I see this?"

A hand reached out and seized his right arm, halting his motion. "The hall?"

"Oh, yes…" Greene froze, staring in disbelief at the lines his blade had carved—six sides, six angles, drawn entirely by subconscious guidance, identical to the vast patterns in the corridor. "How is this possible?"

"Nothing's impossible—but stop looking. It won't do you any good." Kraft stepped between Greene and the pool, blocking his view.

The priest pressed his forehead, breaking free from the sudden revelation. For an instant, the small stone chamber felt vast, as if countless figures stood on tiered, recessed steps, overlooking the convergence of water.

Something was moving beneath the water.

【He had felt that thing before】

Just like those who had embedded its image into the stone walls, desperately sketching it before death—except they had felt more, gained more, and lost more.

This epiphany felt like divine revelation. The priest felt uneasy that he had never received such insight from the holy scriptures. At nearly the same moment, he realized how he differed from those people—he lacked a deeper connection to that entity.

【Like a part of it】

He could draw closer to that entity, understand how it split massive stones apart, just as the ancestors of the Pendrake family had been "chosen" to draw forth that invincible sword—perhaps their essences were identical.

"The devil's promises are as easy to obtain as fallen apples, as tempting as gold left unguarded—know this: it is an invitation to hell."

The priest murmured softly, shifting his gaze away from Kraft's personal pack, scanning the others' expressions for any sign of insight.

Fortunately, none of the fellow monks showed similar reactions. He cast one final glance at the carved figures, his expression complex, then walked toward the exit.

The staircase out of the stone chamber was narrow, offering almost no room to dodge. It turned right three times within a short vertical distance, resembling the design of the castle's tower—clearly advantageous for defense from above.

Those who occupied this place had never exploited this feature. They never imagined a threat could emerge from the sewers, bypassing traps and sentries—or they had been lulled into false security.

The party safely passed this highly threatening staircase and entered… another, larger hall?

The place they entered had once been sealed by heavy objects, still bearing grooves and locking mechanisms for their movement.

It was a two-meter-tall stone statue, toppled and shattered into three pieces, its head severed from its body. Its finely carved hands, gripping a sword, had been smashed apart along with the hilt.

Similar fates had befallen other statues nearby—pushed over and destroyed in search of hidden objects.

The space large enough to hold so many statues could certainly be called a "hall." From the traces on the floor, the debris now piled in the corners had once been arranged in the center.

These wooden objects, thoroughly soaked by dampness, were shelves and the weapons placed upon them. The handles had rotted into mush like boiled bone marrow; the metal parts were unusable.

They were worthless—or rather, anything of value had long been taken away and would not remain.

This place likely served as a main hall or armory, with two side doors leading to antechambers, each of which opened into asymmetrical passageways leading elsewhere—suggesting chaotic planning, or perhaps the end and entrance of a labyrinth.

Aside from decorative or misleading statues, the walls featured colonnades, tall windows, and ornamental reliefs mimicking above-ground architecture, saturated with non-utilitarian ritualism.

The narrative reliefs depicted clichéd scenes—military campaigns, banquets, knighthoods—suitable for the parlor of any nobleman who fancied himself descended from heroic bloodlines, where they held power transitions, oaths of investiture, and paid homage to the past.

The layout had briefly made the party feel as if they had crawled into someone's ancestral tomb. In Dunling, that wasn't entirely implausible.

But this place was far too large—even if vastly smaller than the hexagonal hall deep in the sewers—to be a typical burial chamber. Moreover, its dampness made it unsuitable for preserving anything requiring preservation, and its spatial structure was overly complex.

Yet further discoveries reinforced the notion that this was indeed a family mausoleum.

In one antechamber, several exquisitely crafted stone coffins were neatly arranged. Their lids, pried open, still fit tightly against the coffins' bodies. On the front, life-sized carvings depicted figures holding swords—likely modeled after their living appearances.

Residue of a clay-like sealing substance remained at the joints, presumably used to enhance airtightness during burial—a rarity in burial customs but common in food preservation techniques.

The interior space was larger than expected. If estimated by coffin size, the deceased would have been taller than the typical Nord standard. The blackened walls indicated the bodies had undergone complete incineration, with intensity matching what they had seen in the waterways.

Charred fragments littered the bottom, as if crushed and disturbed. Yet the precious metal grave goods had not been taken.

"Desecrators of the dead," one monk muttered upon seeing the mess.

He then saw the accompanying professor pull out a new pair of tweezers and begin rummaging inside.

"Professor Kraft, this is not the time."

"No, I just want to see this." In the pile of ash, Kraft precisely pinched out an object with a distinctly different style—it was clearly not a grave good.

It was a tool shaped like a clamp, minimally deformed, but the finger-grip rings and toothed long beak revealed its identity—a surgical vascular clamp, only enlarged.

"That's odd. You know, we use this to clamp vessels or hold tissue." A corpse requiring a vascular clamp—and then being completely burned?

"Once we deal with all the heretics here, we'll have time to figure it out." Greene felt they needed to speed up their search. Easily dispatching two guards hadn't made him complacent—it made him uneasy.

In such a dangerously insecure environment, the enemy's guard presence was far too sparse.

Fortunately, the dampness here wasn't entirely bad. The unknown dust and mud on the ground had mixed with water into a slightly sticky paste, making recent footprints easy to distinguish.

As they followed the footprints, their suspicion that the place had been designed for defense grew stronger.

Small and large burial chambers were connected by similar corridors and staircases, ascending and descending, shifting left and right, even existing on different planes, disorienting travelers. After five turns, Kraft began wondering how the heretics could navigate without markers.

The overall logic closely resembled that of Westminster, even surpassing it—complex routes ensured outsiders could not escape quickly, and likely would become hopelessly lost.

His sharp sensitivity to patterns quickly revealed a rule: each doorway's decoration differed from the others. The guardian reliefs at the doors they passed all held swords upright; those on other doorways had sword tips pointing upward.

This greatly undermined the labyrinth's purpose—it was effectively useless to anyone with even slight attention to detail.

The winding paths greatly extended the distance traveled, but Kraft sensed the party remained within a confined horizontal area, generally spiraling upward.

In a metaphor few Nors would understand, they were walking through an unknown high-level Rubik's Cube, blindly entering one cube after another, discovering more coffins.

Their craftsmanship varied, but every one opened had been subjected to incineration.

The smooth progress did not last long—a faint glow soon appeared ahead along their inevitable path.

Greene raised a hand to his mouth, signaling silence. He halted the others and advanced with the crossbowman at a normal pace.

The tactic worked well. The first half of their approach drew no reaction—apparently, the enemy had mistaken them for two sewer guards.

Just as Kraft thought the priest would once again effortlessly clear this outpost, a hesitant voice called out: "Larry?"

It was a name.

Greene hesitated, regretting he hadn't captured a live captive.

As he struggled to formulate a response, the light source before them shook violently, then rose higher, accompanied by hurried footsteps retreating.

"Damn it, chase him!"