CHAPTER 160: RAID ON THE CULT OF THE ABYSS

In the capital's shadow, on Black Street, which lay near the outskirts of the underground city, the uneven and haphazardly crisscrossing roads seemed ready to collapse at any moment.

These "roads"—walkways, really—were constructed from all sorts of questionable materials. They twined around each other with the complexity of scaffolding at a construction site, and were a staple of the capital's shadow.

With no official funding for standardized infrastructure, these roads had been built by the city's residents out of sheer necessity.

Those who walked these precarious paths were accustomed to the narrow walkways that came without railings.

There was always inherent risk: if the alchemical piping attached to some workshop or another that supported a certain section of the walkway were to rupture, anyone walking above it might plummet several stories below, doused in whatever hazardous substance sprayed out.

A group of hooded figures, their faces obscured, were currently moving across these suspended walkways. Their long robes that covered most of their bodies bore the insignia of a massive, abyssal pit, marking them as followers of the Cult of the Abyss. They pushed open the rusted and patched-up metal door of a bar, a structure precariously affixed to the rocky wall of the underground city. Before stepping inside, they scanned their surroundings to confirm that they weren't being followed.

The interior of the bar was nothing special—it was nothing more than another cheap, grimy dive that hadn't spent much on cleaning or decor. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, stale alcohol, and the acrid smoke exhaled by the patrons. Those walking in would feel their breath catch from its suffocating atmosphere.

"Five mugs of Skinworm Ale. May the Abyss embrace your soul." One of the hooded figures stepped forward and spoke in an almost ceremonial tone to the middle-aged bartender, who was absently wiping a glass.

The bartender's expression darkened. It was clear he harbored a strong distaste for these cultists. Still, he turned to an old, moldy wooden barrel, twisted the tap, and filled five mugs with the murky ale before setting them on the counter.

"Free of charge. But go drink in the back."His tone was grim as he gestured toward the rear of the bar, making it clear he didn't want them around.

"Heh, we appreciate your generosity. The Abyss will surely bless you."

The cultist who had ordered the drinks thanked the bartender once more. Judging by the bartender's scowl, however, he wasn't thrilled about receiving such a "blessing."

The cultists grabbed their drinks and made their way deeper into the bar. The other patrons instinctively distanced themselves, though a few drunkards weren't as subtle.

"Disgusting. Damn lunatics—why don't you all just jump into the Abyss already? Stay the hell away from me! I don't wanna wake up one day and find myself throwing myself into the pit!" A drunken man sprawled across a table cursed loudly, showing no restraint in his disgust.

"Damn it, of all places to run into these freaks..."

"Stay away from them. All they do is drive people insane."

Though most of the bar's patrons weren't bold enough to provoke the cultists outright, many still muttered curses under their breath.

"The Abyss is generous—it welcomes all. May you find solace in its embrace sooner rather than later."

Despite the censure, the lead cultist didn't seem angry at all. Instead, he leaned in close and whispered into the drunken man's ear before calmly walking away.

The drunken man shuddered violently. Much of his intoxication seemed to evaporate in an instant. He cursed as he scurried away from his seat.

No one in the capital's shadow wanted to be involved with the Cult of the Abyss.

These lunatics referred to leaping into the endless darkness beneath the underground city as "the Abyss's blessing." Those who got too close to them—or worse, opposed them—often went mad and threw themselves into the pit.

The cultists who entered the back room didn't drink the free ale. Instead, they disdainfully tossed the mugs out a window, making no effort to hide their disgust.

One of them knocked on a wooden section of the wall in a precise rhythm. A hidden passage opened in response.

This passage carved into the rocky wall of the bar had clearly been widened over time. Though it twisted and turned, it was by no means cramped. After a short walk, the cultists reached a thick iron door embedded in the stone wall.

A narrow viewing slit on the door slid open. After whoever was within confirmed their identities, the door slid ajar and the cultists stepped inside. They immediately pulled off their hoods and robes, eager to be rid of the stifling garments that marked their allegiance.

"How's the Lancer family's order coming along? Haven't heard a damn thing from those duergars. If the job's not done, we'll be in serious trouble."

The underground base was far better maintained than the dilapidated bar above. It resembled one of the strongholds used by the Nightblades, fully equipped with various tools and facilities.

It was ironic that the Cult of the Abyss, long reviled by the people of the capital's shadow as madmen, would have such a well-organized base—though if one knew that they were nothing more than lackeys for the nobility, it would all make sense.

A liaison between the cult and their noble patrons stepped forward and questioned the group.

The nobles issued orders, and the cultists who played the part of devout lunatics carried them out in exchange for payment.

"It's done. The duergars got greedy and opened the damn box. That Destroyer-class automaton inside incinerated them all. We delivered the goods, but the Nightblades came after us hard. We lost a lot of people. The payment better be worth it this time."

The lead cultist, Morak, was clearly displeased with what had happened. The Lancer family had tasked them with transporting a sealed iron crate to the edge of the Abyss. They had outsourced the job to the duergars, skilled tunnelers who could transport it unnoticed.

But those dwarves had been foolish enough to open the crate. The automaton stored inside activated immediately and went berserk, attracting the Nightblades' attention.

To cover their tracks and ensure the Lancer family could gather enough information, Morak had been forced to sacrifice a number of his own men, who had stalled the Nightblades at great cost.

"That's your problem. Your job is to complete the mission, not complain about payment. You lot chose to survive in the capital's shadow using Abyssal corruption as a crutch. If the nobles won't give you souls to suppress its effects, that's your own fault. You wouldn't want to end up like the lunatics you ‘bless' with insanity, would you?"

The liaison's tone was indifferent. The cultists needed the nobles far more than the nobles needed them.

Without the soul essence provided by their benefactors, the so-called "Abyss's blessing" would consume them as well.

"Damn miserly bastards..." Morak gritted his teeth in frustration. But he had no choice. The nobles had them tightly leashed.

"Take it or leave it." The liaison retrieved a small pouch of coins and a significantly reduced number of soul vials.

"That's it?" Morak clenched his fists. The payment was far less than expected.

"The Nightblades have tightened their grip after that academy incident. Even the city guards who survived the war aren't easy to fool. This was all we could spare. Take it or leave it."

The reasoning was sound, but Morak knew the truth—the nobles simply didn't want to pay up.

Morak's clenched fist finally loosened. If he were alone, he could throw caution to the wind, throw a punch, and try to rob everything here before making a quick escape, gambling on success and a carefree future.

But after reaping the benefits of leveraging the Cult of the Abyss's infamy and after acquiring a gang of subordinates, Morak had lost the courage to act so recklessly.

He had become reluctant to give up the privileges that came with his identity. His subordinates, who were anything but loyal, wouldn't hesitate to tear him apart and replace him with a new leader if he endangered their profits.

"Fine. I'll take the loss this time—but I expect you to make up the difference in the future. Without these essential supplies, we'll have a hard time completing tasks for those nobles."

In the end, Morak suppressed his outburst. He pocketed the bottles and threatened the liaison, his tone forceful but lacking real confidence.

The man in charge sniffed indifferently, brushing off Morak's harsh words as if they were of no consequence. This made Morak grit his teeth in annoyance, but he had no choice but to keep his anger in check.

"Let's go!" Turning to his subordinates, Morak headed toward the iron door that led outside. He grasped the door handle—but the moment his fingers touched it, a scorching sensation shot from his fingertips to his forehead. The sudden heat instantly doused the lingering anger from earlier, replaced by a chill that spread rapidly through his body.

His sense of touch didn't detect anything amiss with the door. In that case, the burning sensation had to be a warning from his latent ability...

His eyes widened. Years of surviving life-and-death situations had honed his combat instincts. He immediately reacted to the warning from his latent ability, Dangersense. In an instant, fighting spirit enveloped his body as he launched himself into a backward roll.

"Boom!" The iron door, which had been reinforced with magical engravings to enhance its defense, was nevertheless torn from the rock wall by a powerful external force.

An explosion erupted from the center of the door as it caved inward. The metal surface melted, and the entire door flew into the room at alarming speed.

The door barely missed Morak's back as it shot past him. Behind him, there was a sickening splat—something had been crushed by the heavy impact. The arrogant man who had just dismissed Morak's threats was now nothing more than a bloodied smear on the wall, his neck obliterated by the flying door.

If not for the warning from his latent ability, Morak would have been caught in the shockwave and crushed head-on by the incoming iron door. The molten scars left on the door's surface made it abundantly clear how terrifying the explosion had been.

As an advanced knight, Morak quickly regained his balance after his evasive roll. He shouted at the other cultists in the hideout, ordering them to prepare for battle while he vaulted over the bar counter.

"Fast reflexes... must be a latent ability. Gilbert, I'll handle the advanced knight with you. The rest of you Nightblades, eliminate every single cultist here!"

The smoke at the entrance cleared to reveal Wang Yu, who stepped forward with his revolver, the Fury of the Forge. Its barrel glowed red-hot from the shot he had just taken. His voice rang through the hideout as he issued a decisive command.

"The Nightblades? When the hell did these guys find this place? Damn it, aren't they afraid of mental contamination?!"

Morak cursed inwardly. The Cult of the Abyss was feared by most because of its infamy—no one wanted to provoke a cult that operated like a pack of lunatics. Even the Nightblades had always avoided them. Why were they attacking now? Were they no longer afraid of the Abyss's mental corruption?

"You heretics will be cursed by the Abyss! The Abyss will devour your very souls!"

Morak knew that fighting the Nightblades head-on would be a losing battle. He had to try and intimidate them into retreating.

"Don't listen to his nonsense. Kill them all. And—lights out."

Wang Yu's order shattered Morak's last hope. He had no interest in debating with cultists who masqueraded as madmen to serve the whims of the nobles, using their deranged reputation as a shield for their dirty work.

With his final command, darkness swallowed the entire hideout, which had previously been well-lit. Morak's vision winked out. Terrified screams and agonized wails filled the air. The sound of blades slicing into flesh echoed. The Nightblades weren't playing around—they had come to exterminate everyone.

When stripped of their facade, the cultists were nothing more than cowards, weeping in terror at the prospect of death.

For profit, they might have sacrificed themselves without hesitation, as when they had obstructed the Nightblades trying to draw near the Destroyer-class automaton, but the Nightblades' surprise attack gave them no time to prepare. They crumbled in an instant.

"What the hell is this darkness?! Since when did the Nightblades have this kind of ability—ugh!"

Morak was on edge. His thoughts raced wildly. The oppressive darkness suffocated him. He had no idea how the Nightblades could create such a vast field of absolute blackness—or why they remained unaffected by it.

Unable to see even his own hand in front of his face, he relied on his sharpened senses as an advanced knight. But before he could make sense of his surroundings, a sharp sting in his left shoulder and a splitting pain in his forehead triggered his latent ability once more.

He instinctively ducked and rolled. Something shot past his scalp at high speed, punching through the wall behind him. At the same time, a blade slashed across his shoulder, slicing into his flesh and drawing blood.

"I can't hold back—I need to survive!" The danger hadn't passed. The pain in his neck and the trajectory of the missed blade made it clear that two opponents of similar strength were trying to kill him.

In the darkness, even with his latent ability's predictive warnings, it was a matter of time before he succumbed. The relentless screams and bodies hitting the floor made it clear what fate awaited him.

Just before Wang Yu's bullet could pierce his skull and Gilbert's blade could split his shoulder, Morak crushed a gemstone hidden at his chest. Space rippled as his body vanished.

"A short-range teleportation gem. He couldn't have gone far..." Wang Yu holstered his revolver and scanned the area with Gilbert.

Using the Lady of the Night's power, Wang Yu and his team could see perfectly in the darkness, rendering this battle utterly one-sided. The Nightblades slaughtered the blinded cultists without resistance.

It was a complete massacre. The Cult of the Abyss had never expected a direct assault from the Nightblades, given the danger of mental contamination.

"There—!"

Wang Yu's ripples, supercharged in the void environment of the capital's shadow, quickly swept through the entire cavern. He easily pinpointed Morak's new location.

He immediately activated Bloodburn Drive and charged toward Morak, signaling Gilbert to follow him.

"If I'm going down, I'm taking you all with me!" Morak was desperate. He knew that unless he went completely insane, he wouldn't survive this attack.

His eyes landed on the soul vials he had just acquired, artifacts meant to resist mental contamination. If the Nightblades dared to defy the Abyss, then he would drown them in its madness!

He yanked a lever. A hidden mechanism activated, opening a passage that led deep into the abyssal chasm below. Instantly, an overwhelming surge of mental corruption flooded the hideout.