Chapter 178 Beast Eyes

The Feast of the Moon was fast approaching.

Every household in Nym City was preparing to welcome the festival.

Candlesticks, lanterns, and altar incense were readied. Special pendants had even been hung from the sycamore trees lining Eagle Emblem Avenue in the wealthy district, waiting for the night to deepen and the moonlight to cast a starry, shimmering glow across them.

Though the Iron Bucket Toad was no high-end establishment, business was always booming at the famous adventurer gathering spot for the nearby districts.

They had both the funds and the inclination to decorate for the occasion.

Right now, the tavern's interior was dotted with decorations for the Feast of the Moon.

It naturally couldn't match the extravagance of the wealthy streets, but a few plush tapestries woven with silver moon patterns, the gentle lute music of a specially hired bard, and two or three discounted holiday drinks were enough for the patrons to feel the festive spirit.

"You've absolutely never seen so many gray-skinned rats!"

"Good heavens, it was worse than flies on a garbage dump! You've all been to the sewers, right? Imagine a place even wider than the streets in the Lower District, completely packed to the brim with them!"

The liquor sloshed, spilling a few drops over the rim of the cup.

Ironhead gripped his glass tightly, his cheeks flushed red. He was clearly already a little tipsy.

His expression grew more animated. Spit flew from his mouth as his raised voice drew frequent glances from the neighboring tables.

Sitting across from him, naturally, were his lackeys from the Gray Shrub Gang.

"And those weren't the typical palm-sized mice you see at home, either."

"Every single one was as big as a calf! They could bite off your toes in one chomp!"

"An ordinary person wouldn't last two seconds in there before being gnawed down to a skeleton!"

Hearing this, his underlings tactfully feigned worried expressions and asked, "Boss Ironhead, since it was so dangerous, how did our Gray Gang brothers survive down there?"

"Did Boss Eight-Fingers step in?"

A smug smile surfaced on Ironhead's face. He tossed his head back, took a huge gulp of liquor, and then shook his head with feigned modesty.

"Of course not," he said.

"Boss Eight-Fingers had to divide his attention to protect the rest of the gang, after all. He couldn't easily deal with that many rats."

"Then who—"

"Did you forget the two gentlemen who came to the tavern looking for me yesterday?"

"You mean the black-haired one we ran into at the tailor shop?"

"Exactly!" Ironhead's smugness practically overflowed. "I told you, right? One look and you can tell someone like him is a ruthless character you don't want to cross."

"Tsk, tsk. You guys weren't there, so you don't know how ridiculous the scene was."

"Those giant rats? Forget cutting them down one by one—just the fierce wind that guy kicked up when he dashed past was enough to shred a whole swath of them!"

Ironhead put on a show of glancing left and right before leaning in and lowering his voice. "I even suspect he isn't a regular Class Holder anymore."

"You mean..."

"Heh heh." Ironhead offered a cryptic smile. His underlings' reactions left him feeling incredibly satisfied, and he happily downed another gulp of liquor.

Since he made little effort to hide it, his bragging naturally reached the ears of the surrounding patrons.

Though most would forget it as soon as they heard it, a small fraction of them now knew of the powerful Class Holder mentioned by the Gray Shrub Gang's petty boss—a man with short black hair who wielded an Iron-Gray Greatsword.

"Your boss isn't just blowing hot air. I even helped the gentleman out with a little task this morning."

"Otherwise, I'd probably still be down in the sewers right now, helping the brothers clean up the mess."

"Hearing you say that, Boss... does that Class Holder have some kind of relationship with you?" an underling asked at the perfect moment.

"A relationship? There's definitely a bit of one." The flush on Ironhead's cheeks grew even more obvious as he continued his boasting. "If Boss Eight-Fingers hadn't seen my loyalty and convinced me to stay back then, maybe I'd have made a name for myself among the adventurers by now."

"After spending these past two days together, I think that gentleman appreciates me quite a bit. Who knows, maybe—"

"He's a Class Holder!" one of the lackeys said eagerly. "If he just passes down a move or two, you could walk completely unopposed through the Lower District, Boss!"

The flattery made Ironhead so comfortable he nearly narrowed his eyes in bliss. He didn't speak, simply enjoying the compliments from the people around him. But for some reason—he wasn't sure exactly when it started—the atmosphere in the tavern suddenly grew cold.

The fawning voices of his lackeys vanished in an instant.

Taking their place were stares directed right behind his back, along with the frozen, stiff expressions of his men.

Seemingly guessing what it was, Ironhead slowly turned around, his body moving like rusted machinery.

What met his eyes was metallic chainmail reflecting a cold gleam under the lights, two faintly trembling sword hilts, and a pair of emotionless, pitch-black eyes that mirrored his own figure.

Looking at the imposing figure quietly watching him, Ironhead revealed a stiff, awkward smile.

"Mr. Xia Nan... wh-why are you here?"

The Nym Sewers.

Even though this was his second time coming down here with Ironhead, his overly acute senses still made it difficult for Xia Nan to adapt to the heavy moisture and filthy, foul-smelling environment.

He climbed down the iron ladder and landed lightly.

Gathering gravitational force at his fingertips, he formed an invisible, miniature vortex.

The Iron Moss growing in the crevices of the wall subsequently shattered. It crumbled into tiny, dark-red crystalline particles that swirled through the air and landed on the pad of his finger.

He rubbed it lightly. The metal-glossed crystal was crushed into a fine powder that drifted away with the airflow in the corridor, sinking into the muck.

Feeling the faint prickling sensation left on his fingertip by the Iron Moss particles, Xia Nan grew thoughtful.

His mind recalled the dark-red crystals that had stained Ironhead's body after his head-on collision with the attacker that morning.

He was once again certain.

It was a plant unique to the Nym Sewers:

—Iron-Hernia Moss!

"Mr. Xia Nan, hearing you put it that way, this Buck might really be hiding in the sewers," Ironhead said without turning his head as he earnestly led the way.

"After all, if humans infected with Lycanthropy lack the willpower to endure it, even the slightest provocation can cause them to go mad and transform into mindless, bloodthirsty beasts."

"And with the Feast of the Moon approaching, the moonlight at night is at its most intense for the entire year. The chances of going berserk increase dramatically."

"Even though I don't know if he cares about the residents in the Slums, hiding down in the empty sewers really is much safer than being outside."

"Even if he transforms, he'll kill a few rats at most. He won't be hunted down by the patrols for attacking the city's residents."

Xia Nan followed behind him, his calm gaze staring into the deep, quiet darkness ahead.

He didn't reply.

Nym had stood for an unknown number of years. With the endless rise and fall of countless factions, there was no telling just how many things were hidden within this massive, complex underground sewer network.

Not even the city officials and their armies, nor the earthly proxies of the gods, could completely purge it.

If not for the limited concentration of magical energy in the air, the sewers could easily have become a monster gathering ground just as dangerous as the Misty Forest.

If he ever committed a crime in the future and was hunted by others, this place might serve as a decent hideout.

By ducking down into the sewers, he might get lost and be unable to find his way out, but at the same time, it would be just as difficult for anyone else to find him in this labyrinth of pipes and tunnels.

As he pondered this, Ironhead seemed to realize something. "So that's why! No wonder those giant rats were acting so agitated, chasing after people and biting them," he said.

"If there really is a Lycanthrope hiding in the sewers, it would be just like wild beasts marking their territory. Sensing the aura of a Lycanthrope, those rats naturally wouldn't dare stick around. It makes perfect sense that they'd brave the torches and scatter everywhere."

Hearing this, Xia Nan caught the hidden implication in the man's words. He raised a brow. "Are you saying he's hiding inside the gray-skinned rat nest?"

"It's highly likely. Even if he isn't right inside the nest, he has to be somewhere nearby, or those gray-skinned rats wouldn't have reacted like that," the burly man said, nodding repeatedly.

"Don't worry. As massive as the Nym Sewers are, and even though our Gray Gang has lived down here for years, we're only truly familiar with a small section of them."

"But coincidentally, the gray-skinned rat nest happens to be right inside that zone."

"If the Lycanthrope really is hiding nearby, we will definitely help you dig him out!"

"I'll leave it to you, then," Xia Nan said with a slight nod. He didn't act superior or arrogant just because he was a Class Holder.

However, he didn't want to owe the man a favor either. He planned to help him with a small matter once the task was complete, provided it was within his capabilities and didn't cross his own moral boundaries.

The intricate and highly repetitive environment of the sewers made time itself feel infected by the cold, damp darkness, seemingly slowing it down.

He didn't know how long had passed until the Gray Gang's graffiti gradually began to appear on the walls, and the traces of human habitation on either side of the path became far more pronounced.

Only then did Xia Nan finally feel a sense of familiarity, knowing they were nearing their destination. He shot a glance at the colorfully painted walls on either side and figured they should be arriving at any moment.

He remembered that the last time he came here with Wood, there had been two people standing guard.

Only, it seemed they had died during the rat swarm attack.

Now that the gray-skinned rats had been driven away, things should have returned to normal.

Perhaps he could ask the gang members guarding the entrance if they had heard any strange noises recently.

As Xia Nan considered this, his nostrils flared slightly.

With every breath, the rancid air he had slowly grown accustomed to during his long trek through the sewers suddenly seemed to carry a trace of a smell he found exceptionally familiar.

It was like water-stained rust—pungent, salty, and intense.

It was the stench of blood!

"Careful!" Xia Nan shouted a warning, his footsteps suddenly grinding to a halt. Ahead of him, the burly Ironhead shuddered violently and froze in place, completely at a loss.

At the same time, his gaze instinctively snapped toward the direction the stench of blood was coming from.

There lay two cold, stiff corpses that had completely lost all signs of life.

One of them still had its limbs mostly intact, save for a crudely forged iron sword that had pierced straight through the man's chest, pinning his entire body to the wall.

The other was a tragically gruesome sight. His left arm had been violently twisted and torn apart at the mid-forearm, the stump hanging on by only a few shreds of flesh and skin to reveal the pale splinters of bone within. His head was twisted nearly a hundred and eighty degrees backward; even though his body lay flat on its back, only the back of his head was visible.

As for their identities, there was no need for second guesses. The tattoos inked on their exposed skin were enough to identify them.

They were thugs from the Gray Shrub Gang!

Trembling, Ironhead stepped forward, forcing down his inner terror to identify the two bodies.

But he had only taken two steps before he abruptly froze, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

"Oh no! Boss Eight-Fingers and the others—!"

He spun around and sprinted frantically toward the Gray Shrub Gang's camp.

Xia Nan quickened his pace to follow.

The Snake-Scale Arm Shield refracted a gloomy, cold luster, and an iron-gray flash of sword light flickered through the air. The Decapitating Longsword was already drawn and gripped tightly in his hand.

His body tensed, his gaze focused, and his attention sharpened to its peak. He was fully prepared for combat.

Silence.

An eerie silence.

It was unlike the last time they had faced the siege of the rat swarm, when ear-piercing shrieks and the furious curses of men had echoed through the pipelines.

Right now, even though they were approaching the core stronghold of the Gray Shrub Gang, Xia Nan couldn't hear the slightest sound of battle.

And the increasingly dense stench of blood in the air seemed to foreshadow the outcome.

Finally, as they rounded the last corner, the already wide corridor suddenly opened up, revealing a massive, expansive cavern.

As well as countless dead bodies scattered across the floor.

The wooden platform, built over several years using crates of timber painstakingly transported from the surface, had largely collapsed.

Orange-red flames spread from the overturned braziers, churning and surging as they devoured the fragile wooden planks and thatched huts at a visible rate.

It looked exactly like a Goblin Lair that had been cleared out by adventurers.

The arrogant, overbearing thugs who had once run rampant through the streets were now nothing more than broken, mangled corpses lying motionless in pools of blood.

And their boss, the man known as Eight-Fingers...

At least for the first second after Xia Nan and Ironhead arrived, he still had a thread of life left in him.

His toes were off the ground, and his body thrashed as his veins bulged out. His cheeks were swollen purple-red, and his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

But in the very next second, the furry, massive hand clamping his neck like a pair of iron tongs suddenly exerted force.

"Crack."

The cold, crisp snap of a breaking spine rang out across the vast, dead silent space. A burly, cloaked figure casually tossed Eight-Fingers' corpse to the ground like trash.

The face hidden beneath the shadow of the hood was indistinct.

All they could see was the warm, billowing mist expelled with each breath:

And that pair of frenzied Beast Eyes glowing with a spectral green light in the darkness, dancing and flickering like will-o'-wisps—a chaotic mix of violent, bestial savagery and human reason.