Chapter 102
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 102
Chapter Title: Re-enlistment
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I stared quietly at the city in the wasteland. Honestly, this situation was unexpected in many ways.
It was common knowledge that the Dark Cultists' city existed somewhere in the Demonic Realm, but this was deep in its heart. Even the Naga clan hesitated to venture here lightly—it was that dangerous.
A city like that shouldn't be able to hold up.
Securing water and food was tough enough, and defending against hordes of powerful beasts was next to impossible.
'And... it doesn't even look like they have any defenses.'
No watchtowers or siege weapons in sight.
Just a simple wooden palisade around the perimeter. That flimsy wall was meaningless against real threats. Any large beast charging it a few times would shatter it like dry reeds.
Despite all these harsh conditions, the city stubbornly endured without collapsing.
'How is this even possible?'
As always... the only way to find out was to dive in headfirst.
I waited until nightfall.
A nearby volcano was belching ash nonstop, so it was dim day or night, but slipping in after the citizens fell into deep sleep would be easiest.
Chewing on jerky made from wild boar meat, I watched the city from afar.
And then... the palisade gate creaked open, and a group of people shuffled out. Gaunt, exhausted folks. Their clothes were ragged and caked in grime, making them look utterly wretched.
Two men in iron masks flanked them like escorts, herding them along. I was getting used to the sight of those masks by now.
'Dark Cultist masks.'
The two Dark Cultists, whips in hand, led the group toward the mountains. Three massive bull beasts lumbered behind, pulling carts.
I eyed the carts. Torches, water, food, long wooden logs, and several pickaxes.
Judging by their gear... they were headed to some mine to dig.
'Slaves for the mines, huh.'
That seemed likely. No way they were going willingly.
Whenever one of the weary slaves hesitated, the Cultists cracked their whips without mercy, forcing them onward.
Once the group vanished into the mountains...
I waited a bit, and soon the two Cultists returned. The carts now groaned under loads of hefty rocks instead of supplies.
Clunk—!
Suddenly, one of the carts jolted, and a small stone tumbled off. The Cultists didn't notice, not even glancing back.
They marched back into the city. After confirming they'd gone, I checked where the stone had fallen.
A glinting pebble caught my eye.
I picked it up. Heavier than it looked, its rough surface studded with pale metallic crystals.
The crystals stood out—patterned like Damascus steel.
'Frost steel.'
Steel far tougher than ordinary metal. I'd once been gifted a two-handed hammer forged from it.
Rumor had it this rare steel came only from northern mountains, yet here the Dark Cultists were mining it.
'What do they need it for?'
One more thing to investigate in the city.
Patiently waiting for sunset, I leaped silently over the palisade once the whole place fell silent.
Just like that, I was inside.
The first thing that hit me was the stench assaulting my nose. Fishy rot mixed with decaying corpses. I wrinkled my brow without thinking.
'Not exactly a nice neighborhood.'
Surveying my surroundings, I took it in.
Buildings of weathered red brick. Most were dilapidated but patched with fresh planks—signs of ongoing repairs. It felt like an ancient ruined city they'd rebuilt.
A few people still roamed, not yet asleep. Dark Cultists in iron masks, torches in hand, patrolling the streets.
'...Night watch, huh.'
Surprisingly tight security.
I'd figured the shoddy palisade meant lax insides, but they were disciplined.
The patrolling Cultists moved with machine-like precision—uniform strides and pace. Fiery glares burned from their mask slits. These were no pushovers.
How to slip past those eyes.
Luckily, they patrolled solo, spreading thin to cover the city.
I melted into an alley, then deliberately knocked over a trash bin.
Clang, crash!
The noise shattered the silence. A nearby Cultist whipped his head around.
"Who's there?"
No answer, of course. To check the source, he stepped into the alley.
He scanned cautiously. Nothing but spilled trash.
'...Rats again?'
Demonic Realm rats were cat-sized. Looked like they'd rummaged as usual.
Shrugging it off, he turned—and came face-to-face with me. A freak in black lion pelt draped over his head.
"Guh..."
He jolted, mouth opening for a scream. But my thumb struck his throat first.
Thwack!!
His cry turned to a choked cough. Clutching his neck, he bowed forward.
I forced him to his knees and twisted his head from behind.
Crack—!
Neck vertebrae snapped. He went limp. I stripped him quick: full-body robe, iron mask, gloves to the elbows, boots. Layered it over my hunting gear.
'...Kinda hot.'
Double layers were stuffy, but the loose robe fit fine.
Tilting the iron mask on my head, I rummaged his pockets.
A brass key tumbled out, engraved with "308" in the center.
'308.'
What was this for?
'Not a bathhouse key... why bother numbering it?'
I pondered briefly, then gave up. No end to wasting time like this.
Body disposal first.
Ripped out his inner core, then crammed the corpse deep into the bin. Sloppy, sure—it'd be found eventually—but no better spot.
Piled the spilled trash on top. One unlucky Cultist vanished from the world.
Now I filled his shoes.
Tucking the core away, I stepped into the street, strolling casually like I belonged.
Same getup, so the others ignored me.
'Easy.'
Smoother than expected.
I took my time sightseeing. Peered through windows, checking interiors.
'...Forges everywhere.'
Most buildings were smithies with smelters. The whole city obsessed with iron and weapons.
Prepping for war?
Musing as I walked, the rot grew stronger. Soon, beast corpses piled on the outskirts came into view.
Puddles of putrid blood everywhere. Black pools cradling the bodies. Strangely, barley-like grains sprouted from the rotting flesh.
Blood-red stalks rooted in decay, like a bizarre farm.
'They harvest those for food?'
Not appetizing, but efficient yields could sustain the city.
A well nearby. I cracked the lid, peeked in.
'...Water's surprisingly clean.'
Thirsty anyway. Hauled up the bucket without hesitation.
Lifted the mask, gulped it down like a half-face wash. Warm, sulfurous—like hot spring water.
Flaws aside, incredibly pure for the Demonic Realm.
'Guess drinking water's sorted.'
The city was more stable than I'd thought.
Made sense, really. Dark Cultists had roots here for ages. Couldn't underestimate that history.
Still, plenty of mysteries unsolved, so I kept wandering.
...No breakthroughs.
Full lap around, nothing special. Felt like any pioneer town I'd seen.
'Call it a night?'
As I slipped toward the edge...
Suddenly, patrolling Cultists converged on the central plaza. Forming perfect five-column ranks like clockwork.
Problem: I was loitering there. Bailing solo would've stood out.
'...Blend in for now.'
No choice—I joined the lineup.
A brass-masked man counted heads, nodded approval.
Step, step, step...
We marched in sync. I followed suit.
'Feels like re-enlisting.'
Our path led to a massive building. Cultists filed in ranks. I trailed like a sardine in a can.
Inside: endless doors, each numbered.
They pulled keys from pockets—matching numbers—unlocked, and vanished into rooms.
I did the same. Key read 308.
'Barracks key, huh.'
Private rooms? Better perks than any army I'd known.
Found 308 by scanning numbers. No luxury suite.
'...Cramped as hell.'
Narrow, low ceiling—could barely stand. Just a bed. Walls paper-thin; coughs echoed from next door.
Chicken coop vibes.
Better than nowhere safe to crash. I sprawled on the bed, pondering.
'How to play this.'
Slaughter and bail was simplest. But sticking around, observing? Tempting.
Impersonating one was easy. His memories were right here.
Pulled out the inner core. Unknown Cultist's. Swallowing it would grant his recollections.
Crunch, munch—
Down the hatch. Eyes closed, familiar darkness washed over me.