Chapter 108
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 108
Chapter Title: The Cultists of the Underground Sewer
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"Kyao-!!!!!"
At first, the bastard tried to do something with his dagger.
He swung it around wildly and let out fierce yells—it was a truly ferocious momentum.
"You fucking bitch! Let's crush him!"
But he was first blocked by Kobson simply shoving his shield forward and charging, getting slammed against the wall. Then Meria and I rushed in and started hacking at the guy's lower body, leaving him no choice but to scream for his mother as he collapsed.
—Thwack! Thud thud!
—Thwack thwack thwack!
After that, we just poured primal violence on him, uniting our friendship's power as one.
This was what a tidal wave of beatings looked like.
Even I was starting to get sick of it, but Meria and Kobson had become savage natives of this otherworld themselves, with no concept of mercy. They clearly distinguished between enemies and allies, stabbing with their blades and roaring—they were the true residents and adventurers surviving this harsh world.
"Haa... haa... that should be enough to kill him, right?"
"I'm worried he might suddenly come back to life."
He'd been beaten like a dog on the hottest day of summer, absolutely pummeled, and with that, he breathed his last.
Honestly, from midway through, when black smoke started pouring from the stab wounds instead of blood, I thought we were all fucked together. Luckily, nothing happened, and the guy just rolled his eyes back and died. The smoke seemed like a final spasm.
"Pathetic punk. Messing with us was your downfall."
For a mage who'd mastered Blink, it was a terribly anticlimactic end.
Like this, death is equal for all, so people can only live humbly in their respective places. No one stands against a group beating.
"I can praise you for casting Blink and Shield from memory and putting up a fight, but you still weren't a match for us. Good work, mage. Your dagger skills were decent."
I muttered that while stepping on the dead mage's corpse.
Evil cannot withstand the power of friendship.
"He's already dead. He can't hear you."
"Why talk to a corpse?"
About then, Cloudy called out to me.
"Katt, you done?"
"Yeah, Cloudy. You? Ah... no need to ask."
Behind the approaching Cloudy, I could see piles of gargoyle flesh. It was a gruesome scene that made me suspect half of them had been run through a blender.
She slumped into my arms. "I'm tired. Hug me?" "You're already hugging me." Unusually, her breathing was ragged after all the sword work. Even as a seasoned dark elf half-breed warrior, taking down that many monsters solo was tough. Even superhumans had physical limits.
"How many gargoyles was it?"
"Maybe twenty?"
"Fucking tons. Thanks. Good job."
As the battle excitement faded, her skin felt incredibly soft. I held her for a while, catching my breath.
Anyway, what a sight. Wings and limbs scattered everywhere, black blood flowing like rivers. No way to loot that mess—the damage was too severe, and there was way too much.
"...Enough lovey-dovey stuff. Time to prep for withdrawal. I wanna get back and rest."
"Jealous. So jealous."
Embarrassed by that, I let go of Cloudy.
"Alright, time to loot!"
"Ooh!"
With that cheer, we immediately searched the large room. First haul: four wands from the cultists and the dagger with strange symbols that the last one pulled out. Looked like it was used for some ritual. Nothing else worth taking.
"Poor bastards."
"That's why they fall into weird cults."
"Seems like it."
No possessions, harsh lives—they entrust themselves to this bullshit religion.
What are cultists? I heard they have no parents or siblings.
We looked around the room, but aside from the central altar, nothing special stood out. Naturally, we searched the altar. The flames were still burning, and I wondered if there might be offerings.
"Hey, Kobson! Anything up top?"
"Doesn't look like it!"
Kobson, who had climbed up to check where the fire rose, called out. Meria, Cloudy, and I circled the altar base, eyes wide for anything valuable.
After searching a while, I concluded.
"Fuck, this a bust?"
The party's faces darkened. Even Head-touch had poked around looking for loot but came up empty.
"Can't be. Places like this always have something..."
Getting anxious, we searched the room even more paranoid-like, but still found nothing extra. In rising anger, I kicked at the useless gargoyle chunks.
"Fucking shits! Worthless cunts!"
"Calm down. We still got the wands and dagger, right?"
Meria was right—I was pissed, but we'd snagged eight wands total. At two silver each, that's sixteen silver—four per person.
Plus quest completion reward of fifty copper, and selling the somewhat intact gargoyle parts we'd bagged earlier—could hit five silver max. Fucking huge sum, a fortune.
We could toss Head-touch twenty-five copper each to make up about one silver for him.
"But all the wands look identical."
"Hm?"
Looking closely, the wands were all the same: color, gem size—uniform. Standard issue? Using identical gear suggested these cultists were pretty organized.
"Pretty organized cultists, huh. This is report-worthy shit—total report material. Take these decapitated heads to the church, report it, and they might cough up a fat bounty."
"Oh, yeah!"
That could balloon our profits.
No more loot to find. Quickly lopped off the cultists' tattooed heads. Their wide eyes were pitch black, and I half-expected the severed heads to lunge, but nah—corpses are corpses.
"Alright, let's head out."
With our spoils, we left everything else and retraced our steps.
Finding the way was no issue. Head-touch had mapped it coming in. He'd seen some gruesome shit, but one silver labor fee should satisfy him.
"Ah, grab this too."
"The ones we killed earlier."
On the way back, we found the other cultists we'd offed. Chopped their heads too, carried 'em. Bald heads were a pain to grip—midway, I ditched my cloak, bundled them up like laundry.
Thus escaped the fourth floor. Straight to where we'd stashed our bags and sack. All good. Grabbed 'em and climbed up. Spotted one zombie en route—smashed it and dumped it in the sewer.
Wonder what happened to that runner... Wandering the darkness?
Who knows.
"Pitch black. Time fly like that?"
It was already midnight. Or dawn, judging by the moons. Maze-like sewers ate up time.
Still, fresh surface air felt great.
The crisp night breeze was refreshing.
"Head-touch, here's your pay. One silver."
"Truly grateful. That's plenty for the trouble."
Handed Head-touch one silver. He grinned ear-to-ear, pocketed the coin, and started babbling.
"Quest's done. I'll report success, so collect your reward at the guild in the morning."
"Got it, Head-touch. You worked hard too. Ah, take the sack. It's kinda heavy—anyway, safe travels... Meria, Kobson. You two owe me twenty-five copper each. For Head-touch's fee—we'll split it."
"Sure."
"Got it."
Head-touch vanished into the dark with the money and sack of undead heads—proof of success. Of course, cultist heads and gargoyle drops were already transferred to Kobson's bag and my cloak-bundle.
"Here, barbarian."
Kobson and Meria handed me twenty-five copper each. As she did, Meria said,
"So now what? Getting late, right? Church still open?"
"Churches run twenty-four-seven, don't they?"
This late timing was a pain. Shops closed, hard to divvy up cash.
Eight wands—two each easy, but splitting heads felt off, same for dagger and gargoyle junk.
"No choice, huh? Church first."
Cloudy said. Yeah, no other option. Headed to the Brass Celestial Society church.
Brass Celestial Society—that place we hit endlessly during the festival.
They loved the flesh golem head so much; might reward these cult/heretic proofs decently.
Like turning in found cash to the cops back home for a nice payout.
Quick rundown on Brass Celestial doctrine: They worship Verdé of the Scales. Believe evil ones slaughter the good to tip the scales, so must mercilessly eradicate evil to balance it—radical religious thugs.
Evil here means heretics and cultists.
Broadly, back-alley thugs too, but they ignore that. Anyway, these folks would surely reward evil-looking heads.
Church main gate: locked tight.
"Here. Fuck, door's shut."
"Too late? Come back tomorrow?"
"Fine by me."
Grumbling and pacing, a priest emerged from a small side door by the gate. Night shift? Looked exhausted. He asked us,
"What do you want?"
"Ah."
I whispered conspiratorially,
"Got any interest in... heretic evidence?"
"Heretic proof! You adventurers?"
One word—"heretic"—and he perked up, eyeing us.
We nodded.
"Yes. Stumbled on some heretics today, brought proof. Thought the church might reward submission. Info too."
"Sh-show me the evidence first."
To the visibly flustered guy, I unwrapped the bundle, pulled out one cultist head.
Pale white skin, evil facial tattoos, pitch-black eyes sans whites. The priest gawked and yelled,
"Incredible! Those eyes! Proof of evil! Come in at once!"
"Said come in."
"Heh heh heh."
"Hee hee."
"Hm... hope it's quick."
Inside the church, guided to a windowless room with a round table and chairs for eight.
Priest lit lamps, demanded heads on the table.
Placed eight heads and gargoyle chunks. Gargoyles seemed cultist summons, so bonus. Wands already divvied two each—no need.
"Gargoyles!"
"You know 'em?"
"Minions of evil... How... Wait here. I'll wake the senior pastor."
He bolted out, stunned.
"Kinda getting hyped now..."
"Same. Heh, wonder what they'll give."
Meria and Kobson said.
"Suddenly fucking pumped. Didn't expect that reaction. Cloudy, once we get cash, let's buy something tasty."
"Yeah, but more than that, I wanna go home now."
"Hang on a bit. Heart pounding?"
"It is."
Cloudy grabbed and stroked my wrist. After today's grind, desires piled up, it seemed. Damn. No rest even after this?
—Creak.
Soon, a familiar senior pastor entered. He recognized my face.
"Oh, aren't you the one who brought the flesh golem parts before?"
"That's me. Our fates intertwined deep, huh? Shall we talk?"
"Excellent."
He sat across from us.