Chapter 415: Descending into the Well

Agatha carefully held the delicate green flame, providing a barely noticeable warmth in her hands. Resolute, she resumed her relentless journey, going ever deeper into the damp, echoing labyrinth known as the Second Waterway.

Time became meaningless in her monotonous trudge through the murky tunnels. Her grasp on her surroundings had gradually become more nebulous as the dark, moldy walls of the sewer started to blend together. The length of her journey through the wet and cold environment was indistinguishable from days, weeks, or even months. The number of monstrous creatures she had faced and defeated blurred into one, as did the multiple wounds she had sustained in those fights. At times, her own identity, the very purpose of her being in this grimy underground labyrinth, would slip away from her.

However, sanity would return every time the green flame sparked to life in her palm. Her mind would clear, and her ultimate mission would be etched firmly back into her memory—transport the flame, this beacon of hope, into the heart of the heretic’s lair.

A chilling gust swept through the tunnel from the foreboding corridor up ahead. This wind was filled with a symphony of eerie whispers and primal roars, causing Agatha to waver slightly. Feeling the hostile aura carried by the wind, she instinctively hid the flame inside her worn-out black robe.Discover new chapters at novelhall.com

She had to keep it hidden to avoid arousing the attention of the heretics lurking in the shadows.

Raising her eyes to the obsidian blackness, Agatha made out the unsettling shadows moving like a dark sea stirred by the wind. The gas lamps adorning the corridor walls had been reduced to a feeble light comparable to the luminescence of glow worms. A disgusting black sludge began to ooze out from the cracked roofs and rusted grate pipes, squirming and congealing into grotesque shapes, whispering in a nauseating chorus.

Agatha brandished her staff, battle-scarred just like her, feeling a surprising surge of renewed vigor coursing through her veins, pushing the nagging fatigue to the back of her mind.

She stared at the vile muck churning in the darkness, thumping her staff against the dank stone floor and sending a reverberating bell-like chime.

“Boom~”

The lift creaked in protest, its car swaying rhythmically as it began its descent into the stygian depths of the mine. A guardian soldier standing on the edge of the lift suddenly jerked his head up, his voice tinged with bewilderment as he questioned his comrade, “Did you hear something just now?”

“It was like a boom,” the other guardian replied, uncertainty marring his features. He instinctively turned his gaze towards the gatekeeper in the center of the car, hesitating before adding, “Like... like...”

What he intended to say, but couldn’t muster the courage to, was that the sound was reminiscent of the gatekeeper’s staff ringing the ‘death bell’ before their purging campaigns against the heretics.

The gatekeeper was present, serenely meditating with her eyes shut.

Seemingly overhearing her subordinates’ conversation, Agatha slowly opened her eyes. She took in her surroundings and wordlessly strolled to the edge of the car, encased by a protective railing, peering into the abyss below.

“Gatekeeper,” the previously speaking guardian soldier approached hesitantly, a slight furrow in his brow. “We heard a peculiar sound echoing from the depths of the mine. Could there possibly be others operating down there alongside us?”

“Only we are here,” replied Agatha without diverting her gaze from the inky abyss below. “Pay no heed to the noises from before.”

With that, the subordinate retreated, leaving Agatha alone with her thoughts, her gaze still fixed on the nebulous darkness below.

They were in a massive metal mine, which served as the primary vertical passage to the lower excavation areas. Even in this spot, buried deep within the bowels of the mountain, the fog was omnipresent.

Under normal circumstances, fog would not permeate such an environment, but this ethereal mist was no ordinary natural phenomenon. It was as if some unseen supernatural force had set it into motion, seeping into every nook and cranny of the mine. In places where the light dimmed, and the earth swallowed the surroundings, the fog seemed to materialize from thin air, enveloping everything in sight.

Her subordinates sprang into action at her command. The guardians set about examining the safety of all transit points while the priests and nuns began conducting rudimentary purification rituals around the elevator, setting up altars and religious relics.

Meanwhile, Agatha roamed around the cavern seemingly without purpose.

Her stroll brought her to an overturned transportation box left behind in a rush.

The box was constructed from iron with a tin lining on the inside. The lid was not properly secured, revealing its contents at a mere nudge—small chunks of precious ore.

The ore emitted a dull metallic luster, its dark exterior crisscrossed by pale golden veins, which starkly resembled a network of blood vessels.

“These likely were samples intended to be carried to the surface by the shift workers,” speculated a middle-aged guardian, employing his years of experience.

As part of their current mission involved investigating the mine, Agatha had brought along a cadre of guardians who had spent long durations stationed in the metal mining area. Although they weren’t professional miners, they were fairly familiar with the environment and working conditions here.

“Gold ores...”

Agatha wore a thoughtful expression, using her staff to nudge a few ore pieces scattered on the ground. She then bent down, scooping up a piece, and scrutinized it closely.

After a moment, she extended the ore to the middle-aged guardian: “Take a look at this.”

“This is a high-grade ore. It seems like it just needs to be crushed and sifted before it can be smelted. As for the output, I couldn’t say... we’d need an expert for that.”

Agatha’s brow furrowed: “So, it’s just as it appears? No complications?”

“I can’t find any issue. It’s just plain gold ore,” replied the guardian candidly, then appeared slightly puzzled, “Do you suspect something?”

In response, Agatha silently picked up another piece of gold ore, studying it for a while before softly declaring, “What I am about to suggest is purely speculative, but it is also strictly confidential. Only those involved in this operation should be aware, and it should only be shared after we descend further into the mine.”

The guardian facing her looked surprised for a moment, but his expression quickly shifted to grave seriousness.

Each cleric deemed fit to accompany the gatekeeper on a mission—whether they were guardians, nuns, or priests—had been carefully vetted by the church. They all had taken a solemn oath and signed a binding contract under the watchful eye of Bartok.

Everyone involved knew the unique nature of their mission and was aware of the complexity and peculiarity of the incidents requiring the gatekeeper’s personal intervention. In such operations that ventured into the unknown, anything could become a secret. The mundane could transform into the forbidden, isolated from the world at a moment’s notice. Even the participants in the operation could become a part of the “secret” at any time.

After all, some truths, merely by being “known,” could create corrosive fractures in the fabric of reality. Even if they only left an “impression” in the minds of those involved, they could pave the way for uncontrollable future crises.

“Everyone, assemble here. I have important information to share.”