Chapter 604 - 521: The Collapse of Order Before the Exit

Chapter 604: Chapter 521: The Collapse of Order Before the Exit

The mine tunnel stretched out behind them.

Hasty footsteps, heavy panting, and the faint, distant sounds of exploding Magic and shrill, short-lived screams mixed together, echoing through the narrow, upward-sloping passage.

Holland took the lead, Shield forward, relentlessly crashing through any obstacle in his path.

Roland followed close behind, carrying Ogre on one shoulder and pulling Ellis with his other hand, his steps still steady and powerful.

Ellis struggled to keep up, his face pale, but his eyes had refocused. He bit his lip, fighting the residual ringing in his head and the discomfort in his body.

The passage snaked upward. It wasn’t the gentle slope they had taken on their way in, but a more hidden, steep emergency route. Holland had clearly chosen the fork most likely to lead to an exit amidst the Chaos.

The air grew thick with the smell of dust and the faint, almost imperceptible scent of blood.

Having temporarily escaped the most direct range of the Spiritual Energy pressure, Holland slowed his pace slightly. He listened warily for any sounds from behind, unable to resist glancing back.

His face was still etched with fear, but his brown eyes glinted with intense curiosity.

"Rudolph, those... uh, those ’octopus heads’ just now, they were Mind Flayers, right?"

He asked in a hushed voice, then, as if just realizing something, he smacked his own forehead with a sharp sound.

"Ow! Look at my memory. Sorry, sorry. I forgot your head is completely empty right now. You probably don’t even remember what those damn things are."

As he spoke, he naturally shifted his inquisitive gaze to Ellis, who was walking silently beside them, his breathing still a bit unsteady.

The meaning in his eyes couldn’t be clearer.

’Don’t we have a genuine, academy-trained "know-it-all" right here with us?’

Noticing Holland’s stare, Ellis took a deep breath, using it to settle his churning stomach and the last of the mental tremors.

A bit of calm returned to his gray-blue eyes, though his complexion was still ghastly.

He glanced at Roland, and seeing no objection, began to speak in a tone marked by clear logic and a slight sense of detachment.

"They are Mind Flayers. Academically, they’re more often called ’Heartstealers.’ They are a Race of aberrations that primarily inhabit the depths of the Dark Nether Realm, with a highly centralized social structure centered around powerful Spiritual Energy and Mind Control."

His voice wasn’t loud, but he spoke quickly, as if reciting some kind of encyclopedia entry.

"Their physiology is vastly different from humanoids. They rely on Spiritual Sensing to perceive their environment and to communicate, viewing the physical senses of ordinary creatures as inefficient and easily deceived."

"The core of their society is a giant, collective consciousness called a ’Main Brain.’ Individuals are like its extended tentacles."

"They prey on intelligent creatures, not only for physical sustenance but also to devour memories, emotions, and knowledge. They are adept at converting their victims into slaves controlled by their minds, known as ’Spiritual Servants.’"

He paused, his gaze subconsciously drifting back toward the pitch-black passage behind them. His voice dropped even lower, tinged with a barely perceptible trace of lingering fear.

"The ones that appeared just now... especially their leader, judging by its Spiritual Energy intensity, carapace features, and equipment, was likely a High Tier individual in Heartstealer society. They are usually responsible for external hunts, reconnaissance, or special missions, making them far more dangerous than common ones. Their appearance here... their target is obviously that ship."

Having finished his explanation, Ellis said no more, focusing his attention back on the path under his feet and the unknown Darkness ahead.

But his tightly pressed lips and slightly clenched fists revealed that his inner state was far from the calm he projected.

Hearing this explanation, Holland clicked his tongue. His pace didn’t falter as he kept a vigilant watch on the Darkness ahead and muttered under his breath.

"’Their target is the ship?’ Tsk, tsk. It seems our ’Dark Moon’ hosts aren’t as all-powerful as they seem... To think they could hold an auction and have the original owners show up to crash the party. This is really something else..."

He changed the subject, looking back at Roland, who was right behind him. His brown eyes held undisguised curiosity and scrutiny.

"But speaking of which, Rudolph, with your skills, if we had fought back there, could you have handled those... uh, Heartstealers?"

Roland adjusted Ogre’s sturdy body, which had slipped slightly on his shoulder from the bumpy trek, then fell silent for a moment before giving a slight nod.

It was true that the Spiritual Energy intensity and combat efficiency displayed by those five Heartstealers, especially their leader, far surpassed the one he had encountered in Wailing Gorge. They could be considered elites.

But he was also no longer the traveler who had just entered the Otherworld, still fumbling to understand the nature of Power.

Regarding the Spiritual Shock and Mind Control that were the Heartstealers’ claim to fame, the fundamental protection granted by his [Sanctuary of Indomitable] and [Master of Shadows] made such attacks almost completely useless against him.

’As for their other methods of attack...’

A Race that built its entire civilization around Spiritual Energy as its absolute core was unlikely to invest equal effort in honing other forms of Combat Skills, he thought.

At the very least, the close-quarters combat ability of the Heartstealer from Wailing Gorge had been merely "passable" in his eyes.

If he were truly drawn into a close-quarters brawl, with his mastery of [Body as Martial] and his current body, which had been tempered to an unbelievable degree, Roland was confident he could tear it apart in a matter of breaths using pure Power and technique.

But...

’This is, after all, only a theoretical deduction.’

His current level of strength had long since surpassed that of a "Transcendent" in the conventional sense by an immeasurable gap.

He had even, with the help of his companions, faced and slain the "World Serpent," Yemiga.

Even if that "Artificial God’s" rank within the True God Sequence was unknown, this feat was enough to prove that his Power had already stepped into a Domain unattainable by mortals.

However, it was precisely for this reason that he was even more reluctant to act rashly when severely lacking information.

Killing those five Heartstealers offered no direct benefit to his current goals of finding his companions and investigating the temporal disturbance.

On the contrary, it could invite unknown risks.

What if these clearly High Tier, elite Heartstealers possessed some bizarre trump card he didn’t know about? Or if their so-called "Main Brain" could use them to locate him, or even launch some kind of long-range attack...

’If I were forced to use some of my more costly trump cards...’

He didn’t have Phaethon by his side right now to help him recover a body on the verge of collapse.

Therefore, after weighing the pros and cons, withdrawing and avoiding a pointless and unpredictable conflict was the most rational choice.

Seeing Roland’s calm yet confident nod, Holland seemed to receive a powerful reassurance. The tense line of his shoulders relaxed imperceptibly, and the anxiety in his eyes, born from encountering an unknown, terrifying creature, faded somewhat.

The group exchanged no more words, simply hurrying in silence up the increasingly steep passage.

Along the way, they were gradually joined by other participants who had also fled the Dark Moon Hall. They all maintained a cautious distance of several paces from each other, their gazes, when they met, filled with unconcealed vigilance and appraisal.

But no one spoke, and no one started any trouble. The sounds of hurried breathing, rustling clothes, and the occasional soft clink of a weapon against the rock wall composed the entire score of their grim procession.

Clearly, anyone able to attend the Dark Moon Gathering, whether by strength, wealth, or other means, was no fool.

The brief, bloody confrontation in the hall had clearly demonstrated how terrifying the Heartstealers were.

Even those among them who were confident in their own considerable abilities wisely chose to avoid a direct confrontation for now.

Fighting to the death with those terrifying aberrations, who were clearly after the ship, was both unnecessary and fraught with unpredictable risks.

An unspoken, temporary truce, born from the instinct for survival, was silently maintained among the stream of fugitives.

However, this fragile truce came to an abrupt end when the crowd reached a relatively open intersection in the passage.

Ahead, the passage suddenly widened. At the far end, an unnatural, grayish-white light was faintly visible—not an artificial light source from within the mine, but the daylight from outside.

A night breeze carrying the scent of grass and earth wafted in faintly but clearly from that direction, dispelling the damp, stuffy air of the underground.

The exit was close at hand.

But the final stretch of the passage leading to that light was firmly blocked by a squad of people.

About a dozen burly men in uniform dark Leather Armor, wearing armbands with a twisted symbol similar to the guards at the entrance, formed a tight defensive line with drawn swords and cocked Crossbows.

Their faces were expressionless, their eyes cold. They stood in the middle of the passage, forcibly halting the crowd that was trying to surge toward the exit.

Behind their line, near the exit, several figures in noticeably lavish attire, with distinguished bearings or surrounded by escorts, were being respectfully guided by the Guards. They quickly passed through the final threshold and disappeared into the night.

One of them, a short figure in a dark purple velvet tunic, seemed to glance back quickly at the chaotic crowd before vanishing.

"Get out of the way! Let us through!"

A portly human dressed as a Merchant, carrying a large pack on his back, shouted anxiously as he tried to push forward.

"Get back! Wait in line!"

Scarface, a burly man who appeared to be the Guard leader, barked harshly, shoving the Merchant back unceremoniously with his scabbard.

"Can’t you see the VIPs are passing through? All of you, wait patiently! If anyone dares to push forward again, don’t blame me for getting rough!"

"Line? What line?"

An Adventurer in a cloak demanded angrily, his voice hoarse.

"Those monsters could catch up at any moment! Are you trying to leave us here to die?"

"Shut up!"

The Guard leader’s eyes turned vicious.

"Dark Moon has its own rules! If you want to live, you follow the rules! Keep babbling, and I’ll ’school’ you on the rules right now!"

A commotion rippled through the crowd as anger and fear began to spread.

Several tough-looking Adventurers with powerful auras had already placed their hands on their weapons, glaring menacingly at the Guards blocking their way.

The Guards tensed as well, raising their Crossbows slightly to aim at the most restless figures at the front of the crowd.

Selfishness, class differences, and the instinct to survive, all temporarily suppressed by the common crisis, now fermented and swelled before this man-made checkpoint, about to erupt into chaotic infighting.

The light of the exit was within arm’s reach, yet it seemed to be separated by an invisible wall built of power and force.

The air in the passage was as taut as a fully drawn Bowstring. The last shred of restraint in the eyes of the opposing sides was rapidly being worn away by the will to survive and the brutal intimidation.

The crowded mass of people was like a muddy torrent blocked by a dam, surging restlessly. Every shove and every shout pushed the fragile balance closer to the edge.

Just as the Guard leader once again viciously jabbed his scabbard into the chest of a middle-aged Adventurer who was trying to reason with him, knocking the man staggering back into his companions...

THUMP!

A dull thud of something blunt hitting flesh abruptly exploded, drowning out all the other noise.

It was impossible to tell if it was an Adventurer, enraged by the shoving, who had thrown a punch, a taut Crossbow that had accidentally fired from being held too tightly, or a long-suppressed spell from within the crowd that had finally lost control...

In the next second, fiery sparks and the cold glint of Ice Cones flashed and crisscrossed in the narrow space.

The clang of metal, enraged roars of pain, panicked screams, and the Guards’ sharp cries of "Ambush!" were like drops of water in a pot of hot oil, instantly detonating all the pent-up Chaos.

The situation spiraled out of control.