Chapter 70 - 26: [Lord of Kana, King of the Blood-Rust Crows]

Chapter 70: Chapter 26: [Lord of Kana, King of the Blood-Rust Crows]

Intricate reliefs adorned the walls and railings of the underground world, swathed in crawling vines and moss. Bright, luminescent fungi and glowing flora and fauna clinging to the dome illuminated the space like a starry night. Its splendor far surpassed the courts of any human monarch.

The Demon Race were often natural-born artists, architects, and outstanding craftsmen. They poured a near-pathological passion into every detail of their work, demonstrating a particular fondness for blending ecology with architecture. Under their direction, the entire underground world would ultimately be transformed into a breathtaking work of art. Even a single sculpture, painting, or small trinket brought to the human world on the surface could fetch exorbitant prices at auction. Countless noble collectors would eagerly outbid one another to acquire exquisite masterpieces hand-crafted by the Demon Race.

The third ring served as the living quarters for the Demonized human followers. Driven by a thirst for power, a hunger for knowledge, a desire to extend their lifespans, or various other motives, they had betrayed humanity. They had defected to the Demon Monarch, pledging their absolute loyalty in exchange for the gift of Demonization.

Within a recently conquered Black Stone Fortress in the third ring, nearly a hundred massive tents had been erected. This was the adventurers’ frontline camp.

Strange scaffolds loomed over the tents, draped with a layer of incredibly resilient netting. This was the silk of the arachnid Magical Beast known as the Hanging Demon, strung up to defend against boulders hurled from the sky by the Demon Monarch’s beast hordes.

The perimeter of the camp was fortified with rudimentary ballistae and cannons. These weapons had been seized from the armory of the Burrower Legion in the fourth ring, and subsequently reinforced and modified by several Dwarf Hammer Wielders within the expedition’s ranks.

Countless Demonized materials were stockpiled throughout the camp. White Shell Flowers, which would easily fetch dozens of Gold Coins each on the surface, were hastily bundled together and tossed carelessly into corners. Expensive organ pipe mushrooms were carried in large iron basins by a dozen Alchemists and dumped into the boiling Magic Potion within the Alchemy Cauldron. The corpses of powerful and terrifying Magical Beasts were actively being butchered; the smooth, shark-like hide of an Earth Sea Ambusher and the bladed carapace of a Sword Master Insect were casually piled atop small pushcarts.

Advanced Adventurers of the Seventh Level and above bustled about, excitedly harvesting handful after handful of Demonized materials. Chanting work songs, they hoisted the massive corpses of recently hunted monsters onto their shoulders, resembling an army of marching ants transporting their hard-won prey.

Because of his short stature, one Dwarf carrying a monster corpse alongside his team ended up dangling in mid-air. Refusing to let go, he kicked his stubby legs furiously in a valiant attempt to contribute to the effort.

Inside the central tent, an adventurer stood quietly with his hand resting on a long spear. He stared blankly at a surveyed map of the third ring and its surrounding areas, which was pinned to the wall.

He wore a suit of armor covered in complex magical runes, draped with a crimson surcoat. A heavy helmet concealed his face, revealing only a rugged jawline and a pair of gloomy eyes.

The head of his spear was carved from a single, jagged piece of flint, faintly smoldering with a strange, coal-like fire.

"Augusta," called a voice from behind him. It belonged to that Seventh Level Demon Swordsman who was infamous for achieving nothing but ruining everything.

Augusta thought, "What was his name again? Norman Passat? The fool who volunteered to transport our grain, but then threw a fit demanding twenty adventurers above the Seventh Level to escort his squad?"

He gave no reply, continuing to scrutinize the map in silence.

"Augusta," Norman Passat repeated. "We’re out of food. Even if we ration it by mixing antidotes into the rice, we won’t last more than a few days.

"Luojie City and the Empire’s border towns have been sucked dry by this unprecedented, large-scale expedition. They won’t be able to gather enough provisions anytime soon."

"And? What is your point, you imbecile who can’t even manage to transport two carts of grain?" Augusta turned around. His crimson surcoat billowed around him like a raging flame.

"I told you before we set out," Norman replied softly. "I needed at least twenty adventurers above the Seventh Level to ensure the transport went off without a hitch. But you refused. I tried to recruit volunteers, but no one was willing to temporarily forfeit the chance to scavenge expensive Demonized materials just to escort a grain convoy. The ghost of greed has possessed everyone in this camp."

"So you’re telling me," Augusta repeated, his tone mocking, "that escorting a few carts of grain across the Kana Plain—a wasteland inhabited only by wild dogs and low-level skeletal trash—requires twenty adventurers above the Seventh Level?"

"Yes," Norman answered.

Silence.

"Are you suffering from persecution paranoia, you fool?" Augusta asked, his voice deceptively mild. "Or perhaps, despite bearing the empty title of a Seventh Level Demon Swordsman, you can no longer even defeat wild dogs and skeletal trash?"

"They employed complex and cunning tactics! We had to simultaneously protect the transport commander and guard the grain carts. Our squad only had five people. We were severely short-handed..." Norman defended himself reflexively.

SMASH! The table was shattered to splinters by the flint spear in Augusta’s hand. The broken wood immediately began to smoke and smolder.

"Get out," Augusta said.

"All of us need to evacuate," Norman said quietly. "Hunger is spreading through the camp, and the physical stamina of most of our people is already beginning to fail. You are an eleventh-level adventurer. Perhaps you can hold out a bit longer, but the others..."

"Get out. You piece of trash." Augusta didn’t even bother to look at him again. "It has been twenty years. Both of my parents were adventurers, and they both died in Valak’s Underground City. Valak murdered them. I’ve fought tooth and nail for twenty years to finally make it here. My chance for revenge is right in front of me."

"You can’t lead everyone to their deaths just for your personal revenge," Norman pleaded. "Our gains from this expedition are already more than enough. This run has far exceeded all of our expectations. Every person here has a net income of several hundred thousand Gold Coins. It’s time to retreat.

"Furthermore, if we actually destroy Valak’s Underground City, there will be no reason for any adventurers on the Kana Plain to even exist. Without the nourishment provided by the Demon Race Dungeon, the thriving, highly-concentrated Demonized ecosystem will quickly collapse. The explorations, expeditions, and material harvesting of every adventurer across the Kana Plain will become entirely unsustainable. This is ’overfishing’—a term from my hometown. It means if you dredge up all the fry this year, there will be no fish left to catch the next..."