"Morel and Kanzai have encountered enemies," Mizaistom said, holding the communication orb as he spoke to everyone around him.
He added, "He suggests we change our current route."
The tall and sturdy Ginta lowered his head, his thick lips moving as he asked, "Aren't we going to support them? It's just two of them — is that really enough?"
"They said they can handle the enemies," Mizaistom briefly repeated his conversation with Morel. "But it's going to take a lot of time and energy."
Boom—boom—boom—
From ahead came a series of loud crashes, like rolling thunder rumbling through the ground, shaking it slightly.
Mizaistom instinctively pressed the brim of his cow-spotted hat.
"Their fight has started."
Chairman Netero cracked his neck with a series of sharp clicks, then looked in another direction.
"If that's what they say, then we'll follow their advice."
Everyone was momentarily stunned but quickly understood Chairman Netero's decision. They weren't the type to hesitate or be indecisive and nodded in agreement.
As Hunters, they could never afford to stop moving because of a choice. Even if they made the wrong decision, it was better than doing nothing and letting things get worse.
Mizaistom nodded and picked up the orb again to reply to Morel.
"All right, understood. Good luck to you."
After a moment, Morel's voice came through the orb.
"Good luck to you too. I have to end the communication now... static…"
The signal was clearly being disrupted by some force, making everyone frown with unease. Still, none dared overturn the previous decision.
At times like this, just trust Morel's judgment and the strength of him and Kanzai.
The group changed their route, making a large detour.
They listened to the distant noises while worry quietly settled in their hearts.
They feared the sounds wouldn't stop, meaning Morel and Kanzai were locked in a fierce battle.
But if the sounds suddenly ceased, it meant the fight was over—and one side had suffered losses.
Although Morel said they were confident, that didn't mean victory would come easily.
Maybe the battle was split six to four, or something close.
As they drew nearer to the eerie castle, all their wild thoughts faded away.
Chills ran down their spines, forcing them to focus on their own safety.
The enemies they would soon face were likely even more terrifying than those Morel and the others had met.
Before long, black clouds pressed over the city.
Twisted stone pillars and walls stretched out before them, with only a wide staircase leading up.
No matter how they looked at it, the gap between the walls seemed like the gaping maw of a giant beast.
The staircase ahead was its throat and gullet.
They had no choice but to walk right into its mouth.
"I'll go first," Germain said, stepping forward without waiting for anyone's reaction.
He was the first to set foot on the stone stairs.
At that moment, fragmented knowledge flooded his mind.
"A city born from sacrifices and resentment, a ritual to bring back a demigod is halfway complete... Now, it's time to reclaim the primal power..."
No one objected to Germain leading the way.
The group followed tightly behind the figure in the black robe, climbing the long staircase toward the end.
But after a few steps upward, they couldn't help but glance to the sides—and what they saw horrified them.
On both sides of the staircase, deep pits yawned open.
Inside, the hollows were filled with naked, bloodied bodies piled up tightly.
From their high vantage point, it was almost impossible to tell if those figures below were alive or dead.
All they could see were them biting each other's throats with mutated sharp teeth, drinking deeply of fresh blood, and tearing open each other's bellies with twisted claws, feasting on entrails.
The entire cave and its stone walls were stained a deep crimson.
The air was filled with piercing, agonized screams that echoed endlessly.
From the sticky, foul-smelling ground rose thin trails of black smoke.
They drifted like ominous ribbons into the sky, gathering into dark clouds, then transforming into wicked raindrops that fell at the foot of the stone steps.
Germain only glanced once before shifting his gaze back to the staircase.
He kept his eyes fixed on the bottom of the steps, alert for any possible attack.
"Thousands upon thousands of people slaughtering each other here," Bisky said, her face turning pale as nausea struck, her brows furrowed.
"Is this... part of the Seed Urn Ceremony too?"
Mizaistom pressed his lips together.
"I think ever since BW1 crashed, every living thing on this island has become part of the Seed Urn Ceremony."
"Whether they want to or not, a full two hundred thousand souls, plus the island's 'natives,' can never escape this 'octagonal cage.'"
He cast a glance at Chairman Netero, who said nothing, and then at Germain walking at the front.
"To end this, you must uproot the flower of evil itself. I believe both Chairman Netero and Germain think the same way."
Bisky nodded gloomily.
She had to admit, she couldn't be as unwavering as Germain and Chairman Netero when it came to their paths and goals.
Even Ging and Shizuku, and the other members of the Twelve Zodiacs like Mizaistom and Botobai, sometimes had moments of doubt.
But Germain and Chairman Netero never let the chaotic appearances fool them; they kept moving forward. They always clung tightly to their most important objectives.
Mizaistom was right. If we want to truly end the suffering of those in the underground cave, we must eliminate the root cause. Otherwise, everything is pointless.
The group avoided looking at the pitiful scenes or listening to the wails. They silently stepped up the stone stairs.
Finally, they reached the top of the staircase.
"It's coming," Germain, who was leading, suddenly stopped walking. "Something's coming."
At the warning, everyone raised their guard to full alertness, controlled their breathing, and watched the surroundings carefully.
At the end of the stairs, on a pitch-black throne of thorns, sat a delicate figure.
Her skin was pierced by the sharp thorns of the throne, blood spreading around her like the hem of her skirt. She hung her head low, hands holding a Seed Urn tightly.
A tiny fairy girl with golden wings fluttered out of the Seed Urn and flew to the woman's shoulder, perching there.
The girl, with two buns on her head, rested her chin on her hand, watching the group with interest. Her small legs swung back and forth.
Around the throne, thick black mist twisted and shifted into human faces, as if trying to break free, pushing forward but being pulled back by the fog.
Suddenly, four thicker black mists separated from the mass.
They circled once in the air, then roared and charged toward the group.
Puff puff puff puff—
They landed on the four corners of the wide stone steps, perfectly surrounding the group in the center.
Then, huge monsters stepped out from the black mist.
*******
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