Chapter 271

The cultivator who had been restrained had just regained his breath, dazed as if he'd woken from a strange dream in which he'd done absurd yet logically coherent things, only to find it all real—his wrists bound by his comrades, being dragged along passively, a Green's holy symbol now hanging around his neck to ward off evil.

"I think we don't necessarily have to go in right now," Green said, feeling pressure pressing against him—perhaps the psychological effect of knowing thousands of tons of water hung directly above them.

Like the feeling before exam results are announced after a poor performance: countless subtle hints had already given a vague sense of the outcome, a foreboding whisper.

The specific form might differ, but it would certainly be something they didn't want to see—combined with the acrid smell now in the air, one could imagine the scene inside would be anything but pleasant.

"Otherwise what? Turn back the way we came, before we know where that thing came from?" Kraft reviewed his memories, confirming he had filed the wall map into a storage compartment in his mind for later use.

He observed the massive door before him: a heavy stone slab opening inward toward the corridor, its surface clean and unadorned, with no locking mechanism or grip points. The fit was nearly perfect; along the edges, he found a clay-like sealing material, hardened by heat, identical to that used between coffin seams.

It was clearly designed to prevent entry from this side—rarely opened, or perhaps never intended to be opened again, like sealing a coffin shut to lock away something never meant to see the light again.

But the coffin had been opened. And so had this door.

A funnel-shaped bore entered from the center, a series of chisel marks piercing through a stone slab roughly a palm's width thick, forcing open the blocking stone behind with some tool.

"Shall I go first?" Kraft volunteered, sensing Green's hesitation.

Though the smell was foul, he sensed nothing strange—only that this peculiar odor felt familiar, as if he'd encountered it before.

He thought for a moment, recalling it was outside the dome fire at Dunling University, where the scent of charred carbon had lingered long after the flames died.

Kraft thrust his torch forward and stepped through the doorway, stepping over fallen stone slabs, standing still for several seconds—nothing happened. He turned, raised the torch high, and signaled to the others.

Behind the door, the craftsmanship was far more refined: two towering guardian statues stood on either side—one holding a sword level with his gaze, the other cradling a sphere in both hands, its waist bound by a gem-encrusted band, with winged ornaments on either side.

Above the statues, layered arches contained nested figures: the outermost layer depicted ordinary people in varied attire led by holy figures; the next layer showed cherubs scattering petals in blessing; the inner ring held celestial guardians armed with weapons; the center had been smashed, crudely broken apart.

Green's face darkened as he entered and saw the arrangement, ignoring the strange glances exchanged among the cultivators.

"What's that?" Kraft pointed to the sphere in the statue's hands—something replacing a weapon must carry significant meaning.

"An apple."

"An apple?"

It sounded like some insider term—he couldn't possibly link it to the tart, sweet fruit one could bite into.

"That's the common name. The formal term is 'Treasure Sphere,' or you could call it..." The priest paused, as if the evidence was overwhelming and no other possibility remained worth considering. "The King's Apple."

The long-hidden truth had finally been revealed. They had spent long months verifying evidence and cross-referencing records—by now, the novelty was gone, replaced only by the weary resignation of confirming the most absurd outcome.

"You rarely see it, because it almost always appears alongside two other objects—the scepter and the crown."

"The crown and scepter symbolize the monarch's authority. The Treasure Sphere... is typically bestowed upon the king by the Church." He deliberately avoided explaining its symbolic meaning, unwilling to elaborate.

"More precisely, it is always granted by the one person in the entire kingdom who most embodies authority."

More precisely, it has always been granted by the one person in the entire kingdom who most embodies authority.

Though they had long been estranged, it was undeniable that the history of royal and divine authority on this land was one and the same—they had risen together in wonder, sharing Nos's spirit and body, and sharing the same secret.

They appeared in each other's memories: the kingdom recorded in Church murals, the clergy carved into these reliefs—including the most authoritative among them.

If the royal house had already sunk deep into the river of chaos, the Church was far more than just wet shoes.

Looking back, the Church's upper echelons—especially the Archbishop—had shown suspicious hesitation toward proposals to further explore the sewers for heretics. Even if they hadn't directly participated, they must have known at least part of the truth.

"Listen," Green's commanding gaze swept across every cultivator's face, locking eyes with each one, "I don't want to hear any of you mention this anywhere. No matter what you think, believe me—it will only bring disaster."

But the cultivators' minds were already muddled by what they'd seen; they nodded instinctively.

As they spread out, the chamber was partially illuminated: a roughly circular space, about the size of a small chapel hall, supported by a hemispherical dome.

It should have been empty, reflecting the tomb's occupant's status—but the intruders clearly had no regard for cleanliness, leaving the space in utter disarray.

Numerous wooden tables had once been assembled here; after losing their use, they were smashed on-site and burned as fuel, becoming part of the charred carbon piles—the source of most of the odor they'd smelled outside.

The ash heaps consisted of charcoal, vast quantities of unidentifiable blackened carbonized matter, and a few calcium components, layered repeatedly by multiple burnings, growing larger as if the objects within the fire had crawled outward under extreme heat.

A few remaining long tables were saturated with oxidized grease, their cut edges revealing a decayed reddish-brown hue.

Those people had fled in haste—or perhaps no longer cared whether they cleaned up—and simply left some tools on the tables.

Kraft found a bone saw, two orthopedic clamps, and several blackened retractors—all large, slightly deformed from improper use or overuse.

Several surgical scalpels had chipped blades; in this era, there was no blade replacement—these were utterly ruined.

A simple yet solemn coffin stood at the center of the stone chamber; beside it leaned a humanoid figure draped in a black, hooded full-length robe, its body thin and tall beneath the fabric, chest utterly still.

Green dared not risk it—he first ordered a cultivator to fire a crossbow bolt, and only after confirming no reaction did he cautiously approach.

Kraft stopped him, pointing to the humanoid's limbs resting on the ground: the folds of its sleeves showed subtle, rhythmic, suspicious movements—not something muscle groups could produce.

Kraft blocked him and pointed to the humanoid's upper limbs lying on the ground; the folds in the sleeves showed suspicious, slight rhythmic fluctuations, yet they weren't the kind of movement produced by muscle groups.