Chapter 426 - 403: Gray Rat Messenger

Chapter 426: Chapter 403: Gray Rat Messenger

The wheels ground against the gravel, emitting a cringe-inducing screech.

Thomas sat in the jolting carriage, a hand tucked inside his well-worn clerical robes, his fingers stroking a silver emblem.

Its surface was pockmarked and bore no inlaid Gemstones; its edges were polished to a shine by the passage of time. Compared to the modern Holy Emblems of the Church—gilded, jewel-studded monstrosities that all but screamed ’I’m rich’—this thing was as humble as a piece of scrap from a blacksmith’s forge.

This, however, was an emblem truer to the Lord—or rather, truer to the True Origin.

It was a treasure of the True Origin Sect, passed down for a century, and it was his only solace at this moment.

The scenery receded past the carriage window.

The gates to "Mining Area No. 7" appeared in the distance.

At first glance, the place remained heavily fortified. Black military banners snapped in the cold wind. Heavy crossbows atop the watchtowers glinted menacingly. Anti-cavalry barricades were arranged before the gate with meticulous precision. Two squads of fully armed guards patrolled in a crisscross pattern, the clang of their metal armor sharp and resonant.

Ostensibly, the defenses hadn’t been diminished in the slightest.

But Thomas, with his knack for reconnaissance and intelligence, needed only a single glance through the carriage window to spot the countless flaws beneath this facade.

It was mealtime. If the Black Iron Guard were stationed here at full strength, the chimneys in the logistics area should be billowing enough thick smoke to block the sky, and the air should be thick with the hearty scent of grease and roasted meat. But in reality, the chimneys only lazily exhaled a few wisps of pale smoke—such a pitiful fire probably couldn’t even bring a soup pot for five hundred men to a boil.

More ironically, the patrol by the gate was marching with an exaggerated zeal. Their brand-new boot soles and sagging greaves betrayed them—this group was merely a collection of militiamen or kitchen hands, temporarily stuffed into armor and clumsily impersonating the fearsome elite unit.

The muddy ground before the gate confirmed his suspicions. There were only a few scattered, shallow footprints, lacking the deep, compacted hollows formed by the constant tread of heavy infantry, or the deep ruts carved by heavy supply wagons.

Clearly, the Marquis of Black Flame was putting on a false front. To compensate for the rout on the front lines, he had already pulled his household’s guard dogs, desperately trying to hide this secret base deep in the mountains and beneath hundreds of meters of rock, hoping to evade the scrutiny of the "White Reapers" in the sky.

"Priest, we’ve arrived."

The carriage jolted to a halt, and the driver’s coarse voice called out.

Thomas took a breath, composing his features into the mask of a piously compassionate clergyman.

He pushed the door open and stepped down. The moment his boots touched the ground, a nauseating odor washed over him. It was neither coal dust nor sweat, but the sickeningly sweet, bitter stench of rot.

"Lord of Eternal Radiance," the driver gagged, hastily covering his nose and mouth with his sleeve. "This damned smell... Do these coal miners ever bathe?"

Thomas remained silent. The holy blood in his veins thrummed with an instinctual revulsion for the cursed power in the air.

At last, he was here.

’A thrill, like a hunter catching the scent of his prey, shot up my spine. The organization has a dozen pairs of "eyes" scattered throughout the Marquis of Black Flame’s Domain, and it seems I’m the lucky one.’

Hector had certainly hidden this place well. If not for the heavy casualties at the front creating an urgent need for clergy to process the mountains of corpses and quell the fears of the living, these gates would never have opened to an outsider. His deployment orders were flawless; every seal would withstand the most rigorous inspection, and the official reason was perfectly plausible: "To alleviate medical strain at Mining Area No. 7."

He took a silent, deep breath, suppressing the small ripple of triumph from his successful infiltration and sinking back into the role of a solemn, compassionate, and slightly slow-witted priest.

"Oh, praise the Lord of Eternal Radiance, you’re finally here!"

A portly man in a black leather apron, his face a mask of fleshy aggression, rushed out from a work shed. His bulging gut threatened to snap the belt at his waist. He clutched a soot-stained towel, wiping greasy sweat from his brow as he hollered.

"You must be Priest Thomas, right? I’m Barros. The higher-ups said they were sending a Priest to handle the... uh, wounded. I didn’t think you’d be here until tomorrow."

Barros’s small, beady eyes swept up and down, scrutinizing Thomas.

"The mercy of the Lord of Eternal Radiance knows no night or day." Thomas made a perfect circle over his chest—an impeccable gesture of the Church. "Hearing there were many injured in the mining accident, the Bishop specifically ordered me to bring some herbs."

"A mining accident? Ah, right, right. A mining accident."

Barros gave a hollow laugh, the fat on his face quivering. He clearly didn’t care how flimsy the excuse was, so long as someone was here to deal with the stinking, rotten flesh.

"This way, please. It’s all down below. Our luck has been rotten these past few days. A few tunnels collapsed, leaving more dead than living. We’ll need you to say a few extra prayers, too. Can’t have the... unclean things getting restless."

Barros turned and led the way, guiding Thomas toward the mouth of the lift shaft, which gaped open like the gullet of a great beast.

With the groan of the winch, the massive iron cage slowly descended into darkness.

The light was swiftly devoured, yet the surrounding temperature began to rise unnaturally. That sickly sweet smell of decay intensified, becoming so thick it felt like a suffocating, viscous fluid.

The cage hit the bottom with a loud CLANG.

"This way, please."

Barros led the way, holding a Magic Lamp.