Chapter 267: The Root

Those chaotic substances seemed to churn within the mind, their voices pursuing footsteps and thoughts like a spell.

Stamina was rapidly consumed by the irregular movement; soreness and side effects from intense exercise began to surface, with many already tasting a faint metallic sweetness in their breath, along with things that should not exist.

A strange taste, slightly sour with a hint of spiciness, felt like a wound healing while being burned; it scorched the tongue, attempting to sever the frenulum so the organ could twist without restriction, expressing the sensations it tasted.

That thing made the eyes recall staring directly at the midday sun, made the skin remember the barbs on wooden objects, and made the throat remember accidentally swallowing boiling water.

A kind of pain overflowed from the thing pursuing them, seeping into every autonomous thought through an inescapable path.

This seepage could no longer trace its beginning; perhaps it had never ceased since the chaotic things arrived, becoming more obvious as distance closed and time passed, resonating with the physical and mental pain of their own bodies.

A ship sailing in a storm does not notice when it begins to take on water; the wavering consciousness of humans cannot notice when it begins to understand the thing pursuing it.

No one bothered to question where Kraft had received his guidance; the reappearance of a living path made them ecstatic, and they ran wildly toward the direction indicated by the pattern, not even thinking about what lay at the end of the road.

In Kraft's perception, it was the suffocating pain of falling from an extreme height, scattering, with every conscious fragment sealed in a box too small to stretch hands or feet, further ground to powder by endless time.

Under the mental senses, that resonance was even more obvious; every advance of the tide was accompanied by surging "highlighted" geometric shard-like things within it, which acted like joints or neurons for these amorphous substances, linking together a centerless consciousness of chaotic pain.

This consciousness was vast and boundless, yet not clear enough; apart from pain, only an unmasked desire for expansion could be felt, as if that were the only way to escape the pain.

He was forced to withdraw from the mental senses prematurely, stopping his resonance with them.

The constrained and compressed pain stood out more than ever before, reaching a level that interfered with bodily function for the first time in a long while.

The steps nearly tripped him; a priest paying attention to Kraft's change caught his shoulder, dragging him into a jog for a stretch until he regained his running rhythm.

"Keep going, faster. I can't tell how big this thing is; it's everywhere."

Can't see it? Kraft's actions and statements were full of problems, but Green had no spare mental energy to pursue them; compared to the thing chasing them from behind, very few things could be considered strange.

Even if the devil were now walking among the group, they could cooperate temporarily.

Relying on rich experience and the time Green had bought, Kraft barely recovered.

Vision was capturing as much information as possible for him, helping his consciousness adapt to the claustrophobic sensation of falling from a higher perspective; details others had no time to notice stood out exceptionally prominently in his eyes, which craved information.

Unlike the chaotic lower tomb, the integrity of the stone chambers passed through was gradually improving. It was as if walking along the long axis of history, evil legends were moving from ancient decay toward the time point where they stood.

More coffins appeared; most were smaller in form, tending toward human size, with improved carving quality on the surface. The decorations leaned toward images they were accustomed to, approaching styles that fit aesthetic cognition.

Ivy, laurel, and other floral patterns symbolizing blessings for the deceased decorated the borders, dividing the coffin bodies into different sections. These were filled with relief carvings or painted scenes; the latter, due to humidity, remained only as eroded patches of color, while the former depicted scenes related not only to daily life but mostly to war, tournaments, and the like.

The figures wore no plate armor except for helmets, draped only in a layer of what looked like coarse, thick fiber cloth—that was full chainmail, which had been gradually replaced by plate armor since the early days of the kingdom.

In a glance at the stone chamber adjacent to the one they passed, Kraft saw a lead coffin adorned with two pairs of angel decorations at the head and tail; the gilded foil was oxidized and mottled, as if undergoing some abominable transformation.

Using this as a node, familiar religious elements were added: childlike angels, saints in prayer poses, and the most direct symbol, the winged halo.

These were common tomb symbols, but their appearance here was somewhat incredible.

Rich church elements appeared with high density, blatantly reflected on coffins that had been pried open or lifted from within.

Even the monks noticed these obvious features; they could even find relief figures wearing Shenpi Sect robes, wearing tall, pointed, ornate mitres, situated in ritual scenes, presenting some object to the kneeling protagonist of the scene.

Limited by carving technique and angle, it was hard to identify what they were giving or receiving, but the identities of the figures could not be mistaken, nor could it be explained as personal behavior.

The mouth shape of a monk had already formed a certain definite word, blocked in the throat, turning into a bout of choking cough.

Expressions of disbelief appeared on their faces as if printed, including Green's; they could not help but turn back again to look at the holy sites one by one.

But no matter how many times they turned back, these lead-cast stone-carved things would not vanish as illusions.

Bursting out of the last stone chamber, a long, endless corridor appeared ahead; judging by Kraft's sense of space, its direction pointed to the center of the maze.

This chase had finally reached the point where it should be brought to a close, but he had not yet found where the thing capable of stopping what pursued them was located.

If the builders had understood enough about what would form here, there should have been corresponding control mechanisms; otherwise, they could not have repeatedly entered and moved large numbers of coffins spanning vast eras into the tomb chambers one by one.

The group continued to run desperately toward the only correct direction. Torches illuminated intricate, radiating line diagrams on the walls on both sides, resembling some kind of intertwined, growing roots dug out from the deep, dark earth and mounted as hanging art, overlapping with patterns resembling topographical maps.

The living torrent also surged into this corridor; the straight space left its movement unobstructed, and the moment the sound of weapons and armor clashing was heard, the murmuring drew much closer.

Pain, needing no explanation, bombarded eardrums, taste buds, and skin; every exposed receptor resonated with it, evoking the most unacceptable negative effects from memory.

The resonance of pain transformed into an instinctive will—to summon tortured souls to join its infinite expansion and growth until it gained the ability to achieve some kind of return, completely ending all pain.

When pain reached its peak, the will to return forced out its inherent talent, naturally shaping itself into a concentrated, sharp form of expression.

It was an intangible, formless rift, cutting through the barrier between the present world and another world, as well as any matter passing through.

The changing footsteps around made Kraft feel very uneasy; the monks at the rear of the group shifted from running to walking, seemingly under some call, stopping as if having found their way back from being lost, gazing at the unfolding chaos.

However, the amorphous things filling the space inexplicably slowed down; the surging waves turned into a viscous, sluggish swamp, quickly solidifying into a rubber-like substance, stopping more than ten feet away.

The monk turned stiffly; the torch in his hand split into two, and the head end fell and extinguished.

【Water?】

Kraft did not remember when they had once again stepped into waters capable of extinguishing torches in an instant; although the tomb floor was damp, drainage was good, with basically no large pools of standing water.

He lowered his head; liquid formed from the melting ground submerged the soles of his shoes, the rippling black surface reflecting almost no light at all.

"Don't look down!"