Chapter 321: Trigger

Certain things possess inherent sanctity, just as the embodiment of the Supreme Will did, dividing its own body into bread and its blood into wine, forever driving thirst and hunger from those who received this grace. Supernatural power thus entered mortal flesh and blood along with matter.

And they stood upon such a body, whether the Church was willing to acknowledge its sanctity or not.

It was as if walking into the ruins of an extremely grand and magnificent banquet, taking seats reserved long ago, with food and drink on the long table looking brand new, barely touched, covered in dust and cobwebs, while the host and other guests had dispersed long ago.

The deity once divided its own body and power among the masses here.

"This..." The cultivators were all dumbfounded; the sudden shock halted their brains, making it difficult to accept this fact.

Those things, which with merely a small amount could create a batch of heretics or a kingdom, were not even charity or malice, but merely the trivial peeling of the surface stripped here, a few crumbs falling from the plate.

Solidified blackness wandered across the ground, like spilled soup on a tablecloth, flowing wildly before drying up.

The two combined tightly, as if born as one.

It was hard to distinguish them from dangerous cracks, after all, both were composed of bottomless darkness; light entered and never returned.

They also noticed some artificial traces, seemingly an enlarged version of the niches on the peripheral rock clusters, hollowing out the ground in one piece, deeply burrowing into the pale white wrapped in black textures, easily evoking thoughts of unburied tombs.

When bypassing these things, someone curiously lowered a torch to shine into the pit.

These regularly shaped depressions were generally two to three people tall, a depth absolutely impossible to climb out of after falling in; even the bottom was slightly larger than the opening, with smooth walls offering no footholds, as if preventing something from climbing out, or perhaps expecting something to brew and be born.

Light barely managed to pass through the clear water filling them, bringing some view of the bottom.

Semi-petrified bone-like substances merged with the rock, similar to things occasionally excavated when mining limestone, called "molds used by the deity to create living beings," but far less ancient than those rock layers where only the outlines of creatures could barely be identified.

Parts with identifiable prototypes could be seen, spliced together in a bizarre yet reasonable manner. Having seen what they had seen before, they would never again think these were a mixture of several different skeletons.

Traces of soft tissue remained, with a texture similar to certain overly severe pathological calcification foci, where organic components were gradually replaced by inorganic matter, shrinking and hardening into living sculptures possessing life characteristics.

The pale stone had completely permeated these bones, permeating the swollen skulls, the new spines, the chain-connected long bones, and the complex withered tissues attached to them, freezing the human body in the process of transforming into a new form as a fossil specimen.

They had almost been reborn, but the black salt surrounding them, bearing traces of secondary melting, explained why they had failed—deep power activity would induce the black salt to temporarily transform into a liquid with strong inhibitory effects.

These things greedily absorbed more Moon-Corpse components until most of themselves were replaced by stone, yet they still could not overcome the constraints of that extremely strong inhibitory force, finally losing all vitality and becoming reliefs on the rock.

Or was this the purpose? Did they attempt to gradually melt and separate the two entangled substances through this method?

If so, then the ritualistic nature of this act far outweighed its practical significance; even "a cup of water to stop a cart of fire" could not describe it.

But this did not stop them from tirelessly bringing the dead here, generation after generation; the deeper the tombs, the larger the scale, with petrified bones accumulated and stacked at the bottom merging into massive individuals never seen before, with tentacles climbing the edges of the pits, and unshed toes gripping the ground like centipedes.

Melted and re-solidified blackness wrapped around them; the larger the individual, the more obvious this phenomenon was around it.

What was unsettling was that the re-condensed black substance seemed insufficient to fill the emptying cracks.

One day, this huge celestial fragment will wash away alien impurities and break free from its shackles; it is just that day will come very late.

It did not care about early or late; time was on its side. Those who tried to gain something from here would, after experiencing lives insignificant to it, offer up their spirits and bodies, becoming another stone in the casting of the temple.

Kraft somewhat realized the reason why the sewer leading here was almost completely sealed; someone had tried to slow down the speed at which the underground lake obtained nutrients from the surface through the waterway system.

But it was never the water flow that brought new Offerings here, but endless inquisitive gazes, piercing through mythological stories deliberately confused and erased, peeping into the secrets here.

When one group failed, another would always arrive.

"I don't understand what the point is." Even the most optimistic cultivator felt a hint of despair; the thing supporting the remaining group to continue forward seemed to be nothing but the obsession of reaching a destination whose existence was unknown.

Learning more was of no benefit; it was merely another reminder of the inevitable victory of this power.

"At least we might have a chance to delay the terrible ending a bit." Taking advantage of a mid-journey rest, Kraft quietly pried off another fragment of petrified tissue.

His actions no longer provoked opposition; this behavior actually served a soothing function, giving the implication that they still had a chance to return here with the secrets and small souvenirs.

"Doesn't that make sense? On what basis did this group of heretics come down, and the entire Dunling underground turn upside down?"

"Including that guy just now; although his methods were indeed unexpected, he shouldn't have had the face to make the entire lakebed, which had lain quietly for hundreds of years, become active—the scale alone makes no sense."

"So there must be a key point, just like..."

The professor thought for a moment, searching for terms that were easier to understand, "Just like the trigger mechanism of a ballista. The archer did not have the strength to shoot a giant arrow heavier than a spear over the city wall; he simply knew how to use that large tool to release the power already accumulated within it."

"So you think we will find a 'trigger'?" This thought was exhilarating; although its authenticity was uncertain and how to use it was unknown, at least what they were doing now was not meaningless.

"Perhaps the thing large enough to affect the entire lake is right beneath our feet; I think there should be such a trigger to let it take effect temporarily, perhaps some kind of amplified 'spell' or something." Kraft explained; he could think of no other explanation.

"That trigger had better really exist, and not be some damn one-time use item, or have a mechanism that is too complex."

"What if it's not as you think?"

"Then we row and head back, praying that with our diligent hands and the Father's blessing, we can row back to the starting point, and then run as far as possible before this city is completely ruined."

No one asked another question; perhaps they were silently praying.

The prayer received results soon after; it seemed the Father finally found a crack and reached a hand into this forgotten corner.

They stopped before a structure that was exceptionally familiar; the ground stepped down underground, and relief-like petrified tissue decorated every geometric plane.

Although they had seen enough of such twisted things, witnessing the scene before them still inevitably caused a sense of indescribable discomfort.

These "reliefs" did not seem completely dead; they twitched and contracted with slight amplitude, squeezing out deep black liquid that showed no reflection.

"Oh, there is good news and bad news."

"I guess the good news is, you were right." Green shifted his gaze from the liquid; he knew what potential attraction that flowing darkness held for the mind.

"The bad news is, that trigger is down below."