Chapter 309 Let her go.

He gestured toward the women scattered throughout the chamber.

The soldiers carried Ivy farther into the compound, and the deeper they went, the colder the air became.

Not only did the muffled cries of people fill the air, but the pungent smell of decay mixed with the earthy scent of damp soil. The atmosphere grew heavier with every step, making Ivy’s stomach churn despite her still-unconscious state.

Soon, Ivy was dropped onto the ground like a large sack of potatoes.

A bucket of cold water was immediately poured over her head, jolting her back to reality.

"What the actual fuck?" Anya cursed under her breath.

The moment Ivy’s eyes fluttered open, she swallowed hard and instinctively tried to sit up. Her head throbbed painfully, and for several seconds, her vision remained blurry.

"What is going on here?" Anya asked, her voice trembling with panic.

She looked around, her eyes widening as they adjusted to the dim surroundings.

"Are those human heads?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Fingers? Or am I hallucinating?"

Anya reached for Ivy’s hand and held it tightly, fear written all over her face.

Ivy followed her gaze.

So I was right.

A surge of anger rose within her chest as she took in the horrifying sight before her.

Inside the enormous underground chamber were dozens of women.

Some were sitting against the cold stone walls, their knees pulled tightly against their chests. Others were lying on thin, dirty blankets scattered across the floor. Their faces were pale and hollow, while their bodies were frighteningly thin, as though they had gone weeks without eating properly.

But what caught Ivy’s attention the most were the pieces of meat hanging from hooks along the walls.

Some were still dripping with fresh blood.

Others were being roasted over small fires.

Ivy stared at them for several seconds, unable to tear her eyes away.

"What... what’s that?" she finally asked.

Mr. Philip’s smile disappeared as he walked deeper into the underground chamber.

Before he could answer, one of the women who had just been beaten and thrown onto the ground suddenly raised her head.

"Food," she replied hoarsely.

Her voice was weak and dry, as though speaking itself required more strength than she possessed.

"We eat whatever we can find."

"Food?" Ivy thought inwardly, shock spreading across her face.

She could hardly believe what she was hearing.

Did this woman genuinely not know what she was pointing at?

Ivy’s gaze shifted toward the horrifying collection of human remains scattered throughout the chamber.

The sight was so nauseating that even Ivy, who had witnessed countless horrifying things since the apocalypse began, had to fight the urge to vomit.

Anya, however, couldn’t hold it in.

She suddenly bent forward and began vomiting violently.

Ivy’s expression darkened.

The survivors weren’t simply hiding underground but they were surviving through cannibalism and Mr. Philip was the one responsible.

He had trapped these people underground and turned their desperation into system of survival. Whenever their food supplies ran low, he forced them to choose one person among themselves to be killed and used as their next meal.

If they refused, they would starve.

It was a horrifying cycle designed to destroy whatever humanity they had left.

"So this is your secret."

Ivy’s voice was dangerously calm.

Mr. Philip’s expression changed immediately.

There was no longer a trace of the friendly smile he had worn earlier.

"There’s no need to make such a big deal out of this," Mr. Philip replied, his voice surprisingly calm. "The apocalypse has changed everything. Food is scarce, and people have to do whatever they can to survive."

He paused for a moment before suddenly throwing his head back and laughing.

An evil, unsettling laugh echoed throughout the underground chamber.

"You should have seen how happily these fools ate their own kind," he continued, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. "Every time they became hungry, they would choose someone to kill, and then they would feast together. Nobody forced them to enjoy it."

"Whatever they can?"

Ivy slowly turned toward him, her eyes cold.

"You’re keeping people imprisoned down here and feeding them human flesh."

"We don’t force everyone," Mr. Philip quickly defended himself. "Some of them willingly participate."

A cold laugh escaped Ivy’s lips.

"Is that supposed to make it acceptable?"

She took a step toward him despite the weakness still lingering in her body.

"And do you think I’m two years old?"

Her voice rose slightly as anger burned in her eyes.

"Hello? You drugged me and Anya and brought us here against our will. So don’t stand there and tell me people are participating willingly. You planned everything."

Mr. Philip’s face darkened and for several seconds, he said nothing.

Then the corners of his lips slowly lifted again.

"Alright. Now that you know about it, what do you want to do?" he asked, his tone becoming colder. "Instead of getting all worked up, why don’t you try to make friends with the other survivors?"