King of the Underworld

The Earth Escape secret technique unsettled the woman to the core. Crushed beneath the mounting pressure, she confessed practically everything. She had never intended to betray her husband—nor the mayor, the bishop, the dentist, the firefighter, the deliveryman, or several male colleagues in her office. Wayne: (눈_눈) Plain-looking, yet she kept that many lovers. She was clearly a silver-tongued smooth talker, no doubt an absolute pro on the clock. "Who asked you about any of that? Answer me—where are you keeping the intruder?" Wayne demanded coldly. "At the Holy Gate! There's an underground prison there. The bishop locked up the intruders and plans to sacrifice those blasphemers to the great King of the Underworld tonight!" the woman blurted out in a rush. "What is the King of the Underworld?" "I—I don't know! It's... it's gigantic..." A look of raw terror flickered across her face. Whatever memory surfaced set her trembling uncontrollably, her words trailing off into incoherent babble. The Holy Gate was the tunnel leading into the subterranean realm. Its entrance was located in Enrold Town; the two detectives' investigation report had pinpointed the exact location. It sat remarkably close to the Church of the Earth's Core headquarters, a mere fifteen-minute walk on foot from the administration hall. Originally, the site had been an empty lot. The Church of the Earth's Core bought the land to build a chicken farm, but halfway through construction, a bishop stumbled upon a massive fissure descending into the inner earth. Everyone took it as a manifestation of the Lord of the Void answering the pious prayers of the faithful, guiding their lost flock. Only then was Vincent, the renowned geology professor, invited along with his expert team to conduct a field survey in Enrold Town. The tunnel entrance, the headquarters of the Church of the Earth's Core, and the administration hall aligned in a straight line. Such an arrangement was no coincidence; it was very likely some sort of specialized magic circle. This was critical intelligence. Wayne committed it to memory, intending to rescue Isabella first and then pass the information along to her. A single failure could be forgiven—even a mighty dragon struggled to crush a local snake. Wayne was willing to grant Isabella another chance. A powerful mage recommended by his glamorous teacher couldn't possibly stumble into the same pitfall twice. As for the lady embedded in the wall... She was truly a woman devoted to love, giving up everything just to protect her virtue. Wayne was so moved by her modesty that he knocked her out cold with a chop to the neck. He dismissed the earthen wall, dragged the woman into the adjoining office, and locked her inside a filing cabinet. As for the starfish-like tentacle monster in the hallway, Wayne had been at a loss, but when he attempted to burn it with fire magic, the results proved surprisingly effective. The eight-legged starfish's skin was slimy, resembling a sea creature that looked dripping and succulent, yet it proved far more flammable than willow catkins. The instant fire touched it, it burned to ash, leaving only a dark, greasy puddle on the wall. It looked somewhat like crude oil! "Count your blessings there are no bald eagles in this world, or every last one of you would have been stamped with a terrorist label." Wayne tidied up the scene as best he could. Erasing every trace was out of the question, but it would do. Before the Church of the Earth's Core noticed the disappearance of the two female cultists, he had to hurry to the chicken farm and rescue Isabella. Tugging down the brim of his hat, Wayne hastened out of the administration hall. He had a sneaking suspicion that the bald elder had seen through the dove, kept his composure at the time, and dispatched the two female cultists to confirm the situation. Preparing for the worst, Wayne assumed his cover was blown. Time was running out, and he had to move fast. *** The chicken farm. Generally, farms raising broilers or laying hens were built out in the suburbs, as far from town as possible. But the Church of the Earth's Core had their people in the town administration hall, and even the mayor had been reduced to an obedient lapdog, so erecting it within town limits came as no surprise. Members of the Church of the Earth's Core guarded the front gates. They wore matching white hooded robes made of coarse cloth with frayed threads at the cuffs and hemp ropes tied around their waists—a style remarkably similar to that of ascetic monks. Wayne did not charge in blindly. Instead, he flagged down one of the church's cargo trucks around a street corner. The robed driver poked his head out and snapped irritably, "Hey pal, I'm busy hauling cargo. You'd better have business, or I'll give you business!" "I do have business, actually." Wayne held out a fist, fingers clenched tightly as if clutching something, his expression deadpan and solemn. "I heard the voice of the Master of the Void. He bestowed a sacred relic upon me and bade me present it to the bishop at once. We cannot afford to miss this holy day." Why didn't you say so earlier? One of our own! Sharing a common faith, the driver's demeanor softened at once. Leaning closer toward Wayne's fist, he held his breath and whispered, "What kind of relic is it? Can I see? Please, just a peek!" "Of course..." Whack! Wayne climbed into the driver's seat. After a brief rustle of fabric, he slipped into the driver's white robe, started the engine, and drove straight toward the chicken farm gates. Demand for free eggs outstripped supply, and the townsfolk were in a frenzy of excitement, with plenty pretending to have just arrived so they could queue up multiple times. This was the truck driver's fifth round trip between the rally and the chicken farm. Suspecting nothing amiss, the guards opened the gates and let Wayne slip inside without a hitch. Once the truck came to a stop, cultists waiting nearby began loading crate after crate of eggs onto the flatbed. Wayne locked the cab doors and proactively joined the loading line. "Hurry it up, everyone! They're rushing us on the other end!" An unfamiliar face, but a hard worker—no one questioned his identity. Before long, Wayne clutched his stomach, his face turning pale. "Dammit, where's the restroom? Bad stomach... I can barely hold it in!" "Holy shit, get away from me..." A man on the verge of explosive diarrhea was best observed from afar, never approached. The cultists hastily pointed the way, urging Wayne to make it quick—if the egg shipments were delayed and the higher-ups laid blame, nobody would get off easy. Yelling that it was about to burst, Wayne sprinted off with keys in pocket. His comical display drew a round of laughter, filling the air with cheerful amusement. The cultists rather liked this newcomer. He was quite the character, even if none of them knew his name. With a few swift strides, Wayne slipped behind a corner wall. He scooped up a handful of air and sniffed, finding no trace of Isabella's scent. Understandable enough. For one, too much time had elapsed, so any scent would have dissipated long ago; for another, Isabella was a mage and undoubtedly possessed methods to mask her presence. Lately, Wayne had been strengthening his mind through meditation, elevating his control over both his sense of smell and his supernatural perception. The former, in particular, had reached a point where he could switch it on and off at will. A fine development—now he could keep deceiving himself that magical girls' farts smelled like flowers. Wayne slipped through a side door into the main farm building. To his surprise, the number of laying hens was remarkably sparse. It wasn't that there were none, but compared to the ceaseless torrent of free eggs handed out by the Church of the Earth's Core, the hens were laughably few. Unless this facility had received an update where every hen was a round-the-clock combat bird. Wayne couldn't make sense of it. Spotting a cultist hauling crates of eggs out of a warehouse on a handcart, he quickly played along, grabbing an empty handcart nearby and walking inside. It was a cavernous warehouse with high concrete walls and only a few windows set near the very top. Lights hung suspended from the rafters, and two assembly lines rumbled loudly as eggs traveled down conveyor belts. Dozens of cultists were packing them into boxes with glazed, vacant eyes, moving mechanically like tireless marionettes. Wayne couldn't see the far end of the conveyor belts—a black curtain hanging over the machinery blocked his view—but he caught a familiar odor. The scent of the eight-legged starfish. Thick and overpowering! The source of the smell was right at the end of the line! Wayne's eyes narrowed sharply. He dashed toward the machinery, pulled back the black curtain, and saw two massive tentacles. Slimy. Wriggling. The tips of the tentacles parted, dropping translucent eggs one after another. Exposed to the light, their surfaces hardened rapidly, rendering them indistinguishable from ordinary chicken eggs. The sheer speed and efficiency would have made any real hen question the meaning of life. Boom! A chill seized Wayne from head to toe. His scalp felt ready to explode, and his stomach churned violently, threatening to heave on the spot. "You absolute bastards... Are you trying to turn the whole town into monsters?" "Wait, didn't the maid bring back a basket of eggs? The fried eggs this morning... could they have been..." "Blargh!!"