Chapter 312: Lone Boat on the Dark Lake

In the end, the cultivators still did not wait for the priest's signal to act.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief; although they did not lack the courage to report directly to the Heavenly Father, ascending for an internal struggle that was purely unnecessary would make the ending of their report look rather unpleasant.

Moreover, in this ghostly place that touched neither sky nor earth, it was hard to say where one would be sent after death.

Everyone present had walked through sewer systems and royal tombs; the various signs seen along the way were nearly explicit, leading to some speculation, and speaking it aloud merely brought the matter into the open.

Furthermore, this indicated that that kind of unstoppable power had been utilized in the past and maintained relatively stably for a period of time.

Most importantly, Kraft's state proved this from the side. After a brief exchange of a few sentences, it was easy to judge that, compared to those mad and inexplicable heretics, he seemed to show no obvious changes in personality or values, nor any aggressive tendencies.

Not for the moment.

Realizing this, what they worried about instead was that Green would stubbornly cling to dogma and argue to the end against any behavior using unnatural power.

Fortunately, the priest was more rational and flexible than imagined. He did not do that; taking the lead, he put down the crossbow whose string was about to soak through, stepped forward, extended his hand, pulled the other from the water, and hoisted him up to sit at the high stern.

"How did you do it?"

"Something like inspiration?" Kraft pulled his soaked sleeve back to his wrist. "It's like that moment when you and your sword master are in perfect harmony, understanding exactly how he performed a certain move."

"I haven't seen him in some years, but I'm sure I didn't learn it like that back then."

"This is an analogy, provided only to aid understanding. You cannot make a congenitally blind person understand light, nor can I make anyone precisely understand an experience detached from conventional cognition."

Green tried to find the special experience described, but found nothing except the lingering pain of fear.

He pressed his knuckles against both sides of his skull, feeling water pour in through his ear holes, shaking and swelling. "It sounds like your mind is still quite clear; that is good. Please be sure to keep it that way."

The cultivators continued their unfinished work. The attack they had just suffered made them intentionally control their noise, but they were not too tense, relaxing a little instead.

The peaceful resolution of suspicion meant a brand new power had been added to the team; it must be admitted this brought a nice sense of security. Before the professor suddenly developed some mental problem, there should be no need to worry about how to deal with the scattered unique aquatic creatures in the lake.

They did the best work their strength allowed: re-pumping the boat's belly, emptying and reusing the water-logged wooden buckets, and inventorying current supplies, then reaching a gratifying conclusion: although most things were wet, there was still a considerable amount left.

Relying on flint, fuel oil, and a small amount of cloth and cushioning hay saved because they were wrapped particularly tightly, an open flame was lit in a basin temporarily made from a small metal shield.

Light and heat returned here, though not much.

The gradually warming and thawing brain began to think about the current situation.

They could for now set aside the native or invasive aquatic species here and face a more practical problem: which way to go?

Without effective reference points, the boat could not find its return direction at all, making it more troublesome than a sea vessel thrown off course by a storm. A sea vessel could still determine direction by the stars, but above their heads was only pitch blackness.

What lay before them seemed to leave only two choices: either pick a direction at random and entrust their fate to the Heavenly Father's invisible hand, or find a lake island to dock and wait for rescue.

If forced to choose, most people leaned toward the former.

In reason, expecting rescue to find them in the lake was unrealistic; in emotion, no one liked the other team's "Theodore" priest, even Green, who spoke of unity of heart and effort, harbored reservations.

Kraft made up his mind to stay far away from that "Theodore"; anyone Green could barely tolerate must have some serious moral or behavioral flaws, and more likely both.

So this was no longer a multiple-choice question.

By randomly deciding direction with thrown arrows, they began aimless rowing.

The boat was thrown too far; the time spent dazed in the giant waves equaled several tens of minutes of rowing.

The exact position could not be judged, but based on the impression before losing consciousness, they might now have entered deeper waters.

Changing the observation angle only made them confirm again that the previous reference points did not exist around them.

Since they could only rely on the silhouette of distant giant pillars as a reference, it took them a while of rowing to discover that the direction always differed from expectations. The lake was not as calm as it appeared on the surface; unseen currents surged beneath the water, constantly dragging the boat off course and making any attempt to correct it require double the effort.

This discovery made the team temporarily abandon futile attempts, choosing to conserve energy and hand control over to the lake itself.

Once they determined that current efforts were meaningless, their mindset became peaceful instead; team members gathered around the fire held in a round shield, roasting and sharing food.

These solid wheat flour baked goods were suspected to be the most waterproof material here; after drying the surface and breaking them open, the inside was still dry. Combined with salted dried meat protected by an oil film, this was nothing short of the pinnacle of food safety today.

The taste was not ideal, but in terms of satiety and energy replenishment, it could be given full marks.

It is not recommended to dwell on nitrite issues; that is at least far better than mold spots appearing inside the food.

Food was still sufficient; under conditions of saving, the time it could support could be counted in days. A palm-sized flatbread stuffed into the stomach, regardless of whether the calories were enough, meant the digestive tract would not want to accept any foreign matter for several hours. Some things taste bad for a reason.

The water flow took over control; perhaps what decided their destination was not the Heavenly Father, but the will of the lake.

Although it could not be accurately judged, the movement speed was actually no slower than when rowing actively; the boat was not spinning in place but was swept along drifting, as if hidden preset roads existed within the water.

Time in the Underground world could not be estimated; during the time they finished eating and resting, the speed in Kraft's perception seemed to have increased slightly again.

The direction was unclear, the path of travel being a changing arc; frequent slight shaking meant the operation was not smooth. The underwater scene in perception presented a chaotic and complex picture, where urgent speed and heavy slowness interlaced and collided, forming countless vortexes and turbulent flows, yet there existed guidance.

They passed by another giant pillar supporting the Underground world; at the foot of this magnificent spectacle lay the same kind of architectural complex seen before, even more vast and dense, like a wheat field harvested by a scythe, abruptly terminating in mid-air, with the break points connecting to form a smooth cross-section.

The cross-section extended toward the giant pillar, leaving a scar that could only be fully seen from head to tail after circling half the pillar; the stress of the rock layers was released here, cracking and squeezing to form fang-like shapes. The very unsettling misalignment made the entire structure visually no longer solid and reliable, giving a fragile feeling that it might collapse along with the dome above at any moment.

Compared to the traces here, the lakebed activity experienced not long ago was at most like changing breath during sleep. When fully awakened, the released pain was enough to cause irreversible damage to geological structures that seemed stable but were actually as precarious as a tower of eggs.

Before such power, it was truly impossible to imagine what role a few humans could play; even if some individuals had stolen a mere scrap of that great power, it held no meaning.

They were merely drifting with the water, gazing as the giant pillar once again faded into the mist behind them, becoming a silhouette lacking detail. The fear emitted by that terrifying scar, even after it disappeared from sight, still made their bodies tremble slightly.

This was absolutely not on the return path, but rather being swept toward the center by the whirlpool.

The emerging clustered prismatic reefs proved this; the undercurrents dropped the boat here, merging into the dangerous shoals ahead where the water conditions were unknown.

The water surface had a faint flicker, yet it did not flow with it, pinned between the rising and falling wave crests. Instinct drove Kraft to look up; the scattered starlight embedded in the high dome reflected into the deep lake and into his eyes.