Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Lyle was wedged into a narrow, sloping nook high in the underground passage, not far from the first wolfman sentry's position, but it was well-hidden.

Above her head was an increasingly narrow, long pit that extended all the way to the surface.

These wolfmen had extensive underground experience. They even knew that underground spaces lacked breathable air, and burning torches would make it worse, so they had dug many ventilation pits.

The way they were dug meant these pits were wide at the bottom and narrow at the top. Usually, they were blocked by rubble from the ruins. Even if an enemy accidentally stepped on one, they wouldn't suspect such a narrow little hole.

Lyle had discovered this hiding spot by chance in a moment of urgency. She had just infiltrated when a rapid *patter* of footsteps immediately sounded from the corridor ahead, and the voices of Dalton and the sentry wolfman followed closely from behind.

The vampire pressed against the wall instinctively looked up for a place to hide and then discovered the crude "ventilation shaft."

Now, this place had become Lyle's hiding spot.

It wasn't that she didn't want to go out and find the source of the potion factory as soon as possible; she simply couldn't.

She had underestimated the true hidden intentions of the Wolf King.

What was hidden underground wasn't an ordinary potion smuggling factory at all, but a true wolfman stronghold.

The corridor crudely paved with stone bricks had several branching paths, each marked with a wooden sign.

[Food], [Sleeping Pit], [Clothes], [Fire Oil!! Absolutely No Entry!], [Weapons], [No Entry]...

Pairs of wolfmen moved through the corridors, key corners were guarded by dedicated sentries, and every few steps, two torches burned silently, illuminating the corridor brightly.

Although the number of wolfmen underground wasn't as high as above ground, it was still a dangerous number.

At least very dangerous for a lone vampire.

Once discovered by even one, she would be like a holy dove trapped under a bowl.

Not to mention Dalton, who had just walked past her a few breaths ago.

The Wolf King in human form was unusually quiet. His face wasn't cold and cruel or sinister. On the contrary, if dressed more splendidly, he could pass for a count's elegant son.

He seemed to sense something amiss, barking orders to his subordinates as he walked to strengthen patrols and completely seal the entrances and exits.

"Don't worry, boss, we'll guard every fork tightly," Finn said. "Forget some shadowy figure; not even a swarm of hornets would dream of getting past!"

Dalton pinched the bridge of his nose, wanting to say hornets weren't as fast as the shadowy figure even with a broken leg, but felt it was useless to mention. He let it go and asked another question, "Any word from outside?"

"No," Finn shook his head. "They say that shadowy figure most likely left with those white-haired donkeys. Boss, what about that Paladin Commander? He seems to have already realized there's something wrong here."

"He must leave after tonight." The Wolf King said, idly rubbing his fingers. "Those people ensconced on their holy thrones wouldn't let him stay in Central City any longer. So, we don't need to worry about him. What we need to worry about is the presence hiding in the shadows. Tell the people outside to keep watch constantly. Don't get too close to the entrance, or they might pinpoint our location. But don't stay too far either; they must keep this place under close watch."

Lyle stared at the dark earthen wall, narrowing her eyes in thought.

People sitting on holy thrones, not allowing Vig to stay in Central City? What did that mean?

Vig was one of the few people of noble character. He didn't even have his own house in the city; he had been sleeping in the monastery since his return. Even his clothes were always the robes issued by the Holy Court.

He seemed more trustworthy to the Holy Court than the parasite Barbavin—and indeed that was the case. Lyle knew firsthand how useful the title of Paladin Commander was. The only problem was that Vig was constantly on the front lines.

...Huh? Wait. Lyle suddenly realized that the twelve Paladin Commanders, the Holy Court's pride and joy, were all stationed on the front lines? It seemed even the extermination of the last Vampire Clan was handled personally by the Cardinal and the Archbishop.

That was too strange. From what Dalton was implying, was the Holy Court training Paladins just to push them out of Central City?

Why?

In the corridor outside the pit, Finn relaxed. "As long as the Paladin Commander isn't here, things will be much easier. We can completely expand the search perimeter and catch those who disrupted our plans tonight sooner!"

"No, don't expand," Dalton shook his head. "White Hat Street just experienced an explosion. Even if the Holy Court doesn't care about civilians, they still have to put on a show. Tell everyone they are forbidden to leave the Ash Yard. Transport from Barbavin's side is also temporarily suspended."

"Suspended?" Finn was shocked, gesticulating urgently, "But boss, our weapon production has entered a critical phase. The process requires a large number of Cursed Objects. If we suspend it now..."

"It must be suspended." The several sudden events tonight gave Dalton a very bad premonition. If it were just Vig, Dalton wouldn't care at all.

But the Clergy who killed Jones and Gluck was still lurking in the shadows, and the mysterious presence that suddenly appeared to guide Vig was still hiding in the darkness.

The young Wolf King's intuition told him: the current situation was more unclear than a hazy rainy day, so laying low was necessary.

Even if it caused some losses.

"You got it, boss!" Finn sensed the Wolf King's gravity and also felt worried about the impending crisis. He couldn't help but sigh. "If only we could raid a few Vampire Clans like the Holy Court does. Even catching a lone vampire would be good. Then we wouldn't need Barbavin anymore."

"The Holy Court's vampire eradication plan is in full swing. There are definitely no vampires in Central City," Dalton said, walking slowly forward. "Rather than hoping for good things that won't come, it's better to focus on the present—have the goods brought back tonight been processed?"

"They've all been placed in the manufacturing room," Finn answered, even though this wasn't originally his job. "Barbavin was honest; he picked top-quality goods. I think we can complete all the orders for Del City by tomorrow night."

Their conversation faded as they walked away. Lyle only barely managed to hear their last few sentences.

Her back pressed against the earthen wall behind her, her knees jammed against the opposite side. She had to control her strength precisely to keep any clods of dirt from falling due to her exertion.

The Wolf King's few short sentences contained an immense amount of information.

First, they needed Cursed Objects not just to make potions for money, but also to manufacture weapons.

Cursed Objects could indeed be used to forge weapons. On the first day of her transmigration, at the stall outside Black Pigeon Street, the vendor hawking the Lizardmen heads had said something similar while pitching them.

However, using Cursed Objects to make weapons didn't seem easy; the quantity required was enormous.

But why did the wolfmen also want weapons made from Cursed Objects? How were they different from regular weapons? Why were they stockpiling large quantities of weapons?

No, not just weapons. They were also stockpiling large amounts of fire oil.

Some kind of explosive that could make an entire street explode and burn.

Dalton's orders implied that the wolfmen weren't just stockpiling fire oil on White Hat Street; they must have other stockpiles elsewhere (including here). Why were the wolfmen stockpiling these?

Holy Potion smuggling brought huge profits, Cursed Objects were used to make weapons, fire oil was stored in separate locations, and a hidden stronghold was built underground in an area the Holy Court refused to touch.

Putting it all together, a very bad guess gradually surfaced in Lyle's mind.

Were the wolfmen preparing to declare war on the Holy Court?

A blue-purple screen materialized before her eyes. The system's task was clear: investigate the source of the potion smuggling case.

This "source" could refer to the original manufacturing site of the potion smuggling case, or it could represent the true reason behind the birth of the smuggling case.

At the very least, Lyle had already reached here, but there was still no change on the task panel.

That meant the task issued by the system wasn't just about letting her understand the wolfmen's potion factory assembly line.

Secondly, and most importantly.

Vampires could create Cursed Objects. Although Lyle hadn't discovered she possessed such a skill so far, the wolfmen indeed believed so. And according to the wolfmen's words, Cursed Objects could not reproduce on their own.

They are on friendly terms with Barbavin, so the information was likely leaked by him.

Barbavin belongs to the Holy Court.

Another inconsistency arises: if the Holy Court places such immense value on the Holy Potion—and if vampires truly *can* create Cursed Objects—then why would the Holy Court seek their total extermination?

It was utter annihilation. Under the sunlight, the last Vampire Clan left behind nothing but ashes.

The system had also confirmed she was the last vampire in this world.

Could it be that the Holy Court seized a sufficient stockpile of Cursed Objects during the eradication of the vampire clans?

Yet even a vast supply would eventually run out—so why did the Holy Court leave *not a single vampire* alive?

Could it be that those Bishops are secret sadists—finding no thrill in captives already subdued, yet deriving perverse satisfaction from hunting down the last hidden vampire?

A cascade of questions flooded her mind, leaving Lyle utterly bewildered.

The Holy Court’s actions were wholly illogical. If this world weren’t so starkly, undeniably real, she might even suspect a glitch in the system’s narrative framework.

Yet now, she was beginning to grasp that the Holy Court must harbor its own unspeakable secrets—secrets capable of explaining *all* their actions and motivations.

Outside, the sounds of werewolves moving about mingled with the distant clatter of guards changing shifts.

The vampire stared into the darkness before her. Dalton was indeed sharp and clever—but he was no omniscient, omnipotent god. Nothing was. His ears couldn’t catch every sound; his eyes couldn’t perceive every detail.

That was precisely why she could infiltrate this place—hide within the blind spots of his vision—and, like a leech clinging to the Wolf King, gradually undermine his plans and arrangements to serve her own ends.

“But for now,” the vampire murmured to herself, “I can only begin my work once they’re asleep.”

Werewolves are hot-blooded creatures. Their elevated body temperature dictates that, like humans, they require sleep to restore their strength.

Though Finn had sworn solemnly to his leader, he couldn’t control *when* most werewolves slept.

The vampire wasn’t reckless. She crouched silently in the pit, waiting—until the moon above vanished completely beneath thick, roiling clouds, until every bat had retreated into its pitch-black cave. Only then did the outside finally fall still.

It wasn’t absolute silence—Lyle could still hear the steady breathing of the guard werewolves stationed near the entrance—but the corridor itself appeared empty of any wandering creatures.

Lyle held her breath and slid down from the opening, hand over foot.

Pressing herself tightly against the cold stone wall, she moved swiftly through the shadows between torches, heading straight for the fork marked [No Entry].

The corridor here was wider than the others—nearly spacious enough for a three-horse carriage to pass through.

Likewise, the construction was superior. Lyle noticed the sodden, crumbling brick floor had given way to smooth, flat bluestone slabs—albeit emitting a foul stench.

The familiar reek grew steadily stronger, confirming she was on the right path.

But soon, she realized things weren’t so simple.

Three werewolves stood guard.

Three burly, energetic werewolves squatted at the entrance, playing a stone-tossing game. They’d drawn a small circle nearby—anyone who hit it earned the right to punch those who missed.

The sounds of brawling, raucous laughter, and coarse curses echoed constantly.

Lyle immediately discarded any notion of a frontal assault—or luring them out one by one. Attempting either inside the werewolves’ stronghold would be outright suicide. Besides, as Gluck had said, she wasn’t facing mindless fools.

Lyle pressed herself deeper into the corner, her brows faintly furrowed.

How could she get in? With three werewolves, a diversion was useless—and a direct attack no different from suicide.

She had no means to deploy water or fire-based attacks. Before the vampire could devise a viable plan, footsteps suddenly echoed from the far end of the corridor.

*Damn it—do these werewolves *love* prowling at night? Are they werewolves—or nocturnal owls?*

The vampire had no choice but to retreat and hide once more—this time squeezing into the nearest ventilation shaft.

The narrow walls compressed her body, casting a shadow over her heart as well.

She had come this far…

But just then, a strange sound erupted directly above Lyle—followed instantly by a steady shower of tiny gravel cascading downward.

She jerked her head up and, through layers of gloom, saw a plump figure desperately wriggling its way toward her.

“My… Lord!”

*Clang!* The large black bird finally overcame all obstacles—and, amid a torrent of falling dirt, nearly crashed into Lyle’s arms.

“My Lord!” The Deceitful Crow’s beady black eyes brimmed with tears of exhilaration. “I’ve finally found you—”

“Silence.” Before it could finish, its beak was clamped shut by pale, icy fingers. Lyle strained to listen to the commotion outside.

There was little noise beyond—the werewolf whose footsteps had been heard had turned away at the previous corner, utterly unaware that a suspicious crow had breached their layered defenses mere yards away.

Lyle glanced at the crow, then at the passage it had bored from above—her expression subtly shifting. “How did you find your way here?”

“Barbavin has fallen asleep!” The Deceitful Crow dared not speak loudly, so it could only hum and whisper in a breathy voice. “There was no point in me staying any longer—and I missed you terribly. So I kept tracking the feather’s location. Finally, I sensed a direction leading straight to your embrace. I—”

“We’re leaving.” Before it could finish, the vampire made a decisive call. The Deceitful Crow truly lived up to its reputation as a gift bestowed by the Progenitor.

Look—wasn’t the route she’d been racking her brain to find now laid bare before her eyes?

To breathe underground, the werewolves must have carved ventilation shafts into every cave.

Since she couldn’t enter from below—why not try from above?

The passage marked [No Entry] lay just ahead. The Deceitful Crow also possessed the ability to sense its kin. All that remained was to dig.

“Spread your wings,” the vampire ordered. “Clear away the gravel and dirt you brought down. We cannot leave a trace.”

Instantly, the young bloodline resumed her practiced excavation.

She caught falling debris in the hem of her skirt; when the pile grew too large, she directed the crow to carry it out with its wings.

Lyle had grown highly proficient at digging. Her expression remained blank, her movements astonishingly swift—like a full-grown mole. It wasn’t long before she poked her head out through a newly opened hole in the ground surface.

The moon overhead hung pale and wan. After confirming no werewolves were nearby, she leapt out—then, guided by the direction she’d determined and the crow’s innate perception of its kind, began searching inch by inch.

The location of the hole was clearly deliberate—not only shielded by a roof or piled boulders to prevent rainwater ingress, but also heavily camouflaged.

Even the vampires had spent some time finding this spot.

Fortunately, they seemed completely confident about the ventilation shafts, as there were no werewolf guards posted around them.

This time, Lyle dug even faster, nearly coming face-to-face with another group of guard werewolves.

Dalton had actually set up multiple guard posts along a single corridor! Just how paranoid was this wolf king?!

Frustrated, Lyle bundled up the soil, silently climbed back to the surface, and went in search of the next pit.

After nearly one and a half Sacred Hours of digging, crawling, and hiding, Lyle finally caught an abnormally thick, strange smell from one of the openings.

It wasn't the stench of excrement. This smell wasn't foul, but rather... viscous.

Yes, cold and sticky, as if the air were thick with stringy blood. With every breath, that tangible sensation of rust flowed into the nasal passages, clinging to the tiny hairs inside.

Yet, this was not the scent of human blood.

Lyle sniffed the air, hanging upside down from the opening in the ground. After carefully listening to confirm no werewolves were nearby, she slowly descended, revealing a single, cautious eye.

This was a vast, square-shaped space, larger and more spacious than any corridor she had seen so far, so much so that the ventilation shafts had to be set into the side walls.

Numerous torches were fixed in stepped rows along the walls, but their illumination was severely limited, utterly incapable of lighting the entire area. They could only cast faint, flickering rings of dim yellow light, barely pushing back the patches of darkness.

However, the vampire's eyes were not bound by darkness. She turned her head, taking in the full view of the square space.

Immediately, shock surged through her.

Just how many... Cursed Objects were here?!

Before her, countless human-shaped pits were densely packed in rows and columns across all four walls, like holes poked by fingers, and also like a genuine, giant honeycomb. Lyle looked upward, trying to find their upper limit, but the sheer number of pits made the walls seem to press down upon her!

Each pit was stuffed with a Cursed Object curled into a ball! Lyle saw three Banshees, tightly bound together by strips of cloth inscribed with Sacred Utterances, lying motionless on the ground. They seemed even more shriveled than the one Lyle had seen in Barbavin's home, like jellyfish corpses drained of all moisture.

Four or five Lizardmen... perhaps more, as the angle made it impossible to discern the exact number of heads, were similarly chained together, like hot dogs bound with transparent tape.

In pits further away were strange, humanoid shapes tightly wrapped in burial shrouds, with thicker, longer white strips binding those shrouds into veritable mummies.

More pits contained bizarre creatures Lyle had never seen before: faceless, floating phantoms; humanoid monsters stitched together from various colored animal hides; an inverted woman with enormous feet, propping herself up on slender hands; a crawling creature with two large mouths growing from its abdomen...

As far as the eye could see, densely packed pits held densely packed Cursed Objects. The higher the pit's position, the more Cursed Objects were packed inside, resembling some sort of large-scale food storage chamber. However, all these Cursed Objects seemed to be dead already. Their skin clung tightly to their frames, as if simultaneously sucked dry by something, as lifeless as the Banshees Lyle had seen.

Of course, this wasn't what shocked the vampire the most. The most shocking sight was at the very bottom.

Each pit in the bottom two rows contained only a single Cursed Object. These grotesque beings lay flat, with only their heads protruding from the openings. Enormous Leeches, nearly the size of an adult human head, were wrapped around those heads, their bodies constantly writhing and contracting, as if sucking something out!

Those leeches were truly massive, perhaps because they were so incredibly engorged. Their bodies, marked with ringed stripes, were grotesquely swollen. Through their semi-transparent skin, one could see the dark red fluid flowing within.

When Lyle first glanced over, she almost mistook them for stones blocking the openings, as the leeches obscured most of the Cursed Objects they were sucking on.

There were at least twenty pits in a single row, and here there were four entire walls! Such a scene nearly made even the vampire gag.

She was inappropriately reminded of a film she had seen before crossing over, about an alien species that laid eggs in human mouths by latching onto their faces.

The sight before her was even more repulsive than that, because the giant leeches had completely engulfed the entire heads of the Cursed Objects.

What in the world was this? Could it be... the legendary potion factory?

Didn't Barbavin say the great Holy Potion came from a blessing bestowed by the gods?... The scene before her eyes was uniquely disgusting even by hell's standards, bearing absolutely no relation to the word "holy."

"My Progenitor..." the black bird, who had squeezed in with great effort, also widened its eyes. "They... they are treating the species created by the great vampires like this! Werewolves truly are nothing but earth-digging scum!"

"Shh." Lyle pressed down on the fat bird's head in her arms. "First, tell me, what are those leeches? And what are they doing?"

The raven trembled all over, struggling to speak. "Those leeches are called Tyrant Leeches. Like me, they belong to the Cursed Objects created by the vampires, a perfect fusion of the Ramos Clan's wisdom and the Brujah Clan's blood."

"And what they are doing now... is manufacturing potions. The vampires call it 'Hell's Brew.' The Holy Court gave it an even more disgusting name—the Holy Potion."