Mushroom Lord in the Underground City

Chapter 532 - 522: The Devout and the Depraved

From the valley, from within a simple dungeon, came waves of pained screams.

"Ah—! You beasts! I’ll... ah—!"

A man bound to a stone pillar trembled violently, his right arm twisted at an odd angle, clearly just broken with brute force.

His body was covered with countless small wounds, bleeding profusely.

Aurora stood in front of him, her fingertips playing with a knife as thin as a willow leaf.

She wore an expression of near-ecstasy as if appreciating a work of art in progress.

"Louder," she whispered, pressing the blade lightly against the man’s cheek, drawing it slowly, "Weren’t you quite capable at that time? Not only did the poison not take you down, but you counterattacked me, and that really hurt."

Aurora touched the new scar on her neck, her hands now more delicately slicing the skin and flesh, afraid that she might accidentally kill the man before her.

In the next room, several other sacrifices were bound, shivering in fear at the wails emanating from this side.

This part was also a source of Aurora’s enjoyment.

"Aurora." A disapproving voice came from behind, and Aurora’s delighted expression collapsed immediately.

"The Lord says to grant souls peace, not fear. What are you doing?"

Charon, the priest of the Hand of Death, stood before the tortured man, separating him from Aurora.

He took a healing potion from his bosom, pouring it over the man’s dense wounds.

Aurora clicked her tongue: "Wasting a potion on someone about to die? We are indeed affluent!"

In fact, they were not affluent; they were rather impoverished.

The reason these dozen or so people were still alive was that the materials for the sacrificial array had run out, and they were trying to gather the last batch of materials for the sacrifice ritual.

After using the healing potion, Charon turned around, warning Aurora while staring at her: "You’d better restrain your disgusting interests, this is the Hand of Death, not the bandit group you were part of!"

Aurora didn’t speak, but from her flippant smile, it was clear she hadn’t taken these words to heart.

After Charon left the basement, he found Seral, who was assigning gathering tasks and collecting several types of materials, at the temporary camp.

He was tall, his armor a mix of tarnished metal and dull leather, with a helmet under which nothing could be seen.

"Lord Seral." Charon’s voice was steady, but if listened carefully, had a hint of resentment, "That bandit... Aurora, she is not truly practicing the goddess’s teachings! She enjoys torture, taking pleasure in pain! This goes completely against the words, ’Grant the dying peace, guide the lost to their home!’ The goddess’s temple requires pure sacrifices, a peaceful return, not this blasphemous torment!"

Seral first waved a hand, letting the followers act according to his assigned tasks.

Then he turned to Charon: "Charon, pious guide of the goddess, you see very clearly. Her actions indeed contradict the goddess’s ideals. The goddess cherishes the essence of the soul, not its pointless screams before detachment."

"Then why allow her existence? Why let her defile the sacred ritual?" Charon stepped forward, his voice increasingly agitated.

"Because the scales need a counterbalance, Charon. The goddess’s last oracle requires us to perform more sacrifices, and the current chaotic situation is our best opportunity. But after years of dormancy, our manpower is insufficient. The ritual needs construction, sacrifices need to be acquired, guardianship requires power." His voice was cold, with a sense of pragmatism, "Aurora, and those like her attracted by power or greed, can make our operations smoother, achieving the goal quickly."

"But this is exploitation! Exploiting blasphemous acts to achieve a sacred end!" Charon retorted, unable to accept such a compromise.

"It is a ’temporary tool,’" Seral corrected, "The goddess sees everything; she knows the lamb’s purity and the wolf’s greed. On the long road to final purification, sometimes we must use the wolf’s teeth to cut through thorns, but that doesn’t mean we accept the wolf’s nature."

"Maintain your purity, Charon, your steadfastness is the foundation for the church’s survival. As for Aurora and others like her... When the sacrifices reach the required number, tools that deviate from the teachings will naturally be purified."

Yet Charon was unconvinced; facing his superior’s explanation, he unhesitatingly pointed out the fallacy: "Seral, great recipient. Have you considered that your compromises also deviate from the teachings?"

Seral remained silent for a moment: "Now even the High Priest has begun to act; we must do our utmost to fulfill the oracle, not become a drag."

Charon wanted to say more but suddenly turned his head: "Someone is approaching... No, this fluctuation is...?"

Seral stepped forward, two eerie blue flames flickering underneath his helmet, spotting the newcomer observing from atop a treetop in the distance.

The longsword swung, an invisible wave instantly crossing over half the valley to reach the newcomer.

The newcomer dodged desperately, avoiding being cut in half but losing two tentacles.

At this, several nearby followers noticed the newcomer and converged.

"Is that... Puki?" From a distance, Charon was uncertain.

"What’s going on?" Seral asked a follower who had just hurried to him.

This was the scout the newcomer had been following the entire way, finally aware of being tracked, he quickly explained the situation:

"A kingdom’s regular team just crossed Scarecrow Abyss, led by someone with pink hair and pink eyes, possibly the kingdom’s war hero now, Duke Alama’s daughter Inanna."

Soon after, another follower came rushing over: "Lord Seral... I failed... That Puki killed two of us and broke through. "

Seral didn’t criticize the follower before him; after a brief weighing, he made a decision: "Abandon this camp, retreat to the rocky ridge outpost."

Currently, every ounce of power held by the church was precious; Seral didn’t want to waste it on trivial matters.

Even if they were stronger, they would never proactively provoke someone like Inanna Saint Claire.

To the goddess, Inanna’s soul was no more important than that of a rural villager.

And provoking Inanna would mean trouble with the Mushroom Race, Duke Alama, and the kingdom... essentially inviting endless problems.

Avoiding her sharpness was naturally the best choice.

"What about the remaining sacrifices?" Charon asked.

"The materials aren’t complete; no time for a formal ritual." Seral turned to him, the armor creaking faintly with his movement, "Leave them in place, let them be rescued or escape on their own."

"What a pity." But Charon had no better choice either.

The camp, being a temporary setup, didn’t have many important items.

Under Seral’s concise and effective orders, over a hundred cloaked followers swiftly and orderly gathered the essentials and retreated into the forest along a pre-planned secret path.

However, one figure quietly broke away from the group, moving against the flow of people.

Aurora looked towards where the group was retreating, then turned and ran back to the basement.

Her enjoyment always demanded completion.

Since the man was no longer needed as a sacrifice for the ritual, she would send him off in her own way.

Unfortunately, time was short; she couldn’t leisurely savor his dying shrieks and struggles as usual.

In the dim light of the basement, the man saw Aurora returning and seemed to understand his fate.

He didn’t cry but spat a bloodied spittle straight at Aurora’s face.

Aurora easily tilted her head to evade, not pausing her steps.

The thin willowy knife reappeared at her fingertips, glinting coldly. She approached the man, the blade casually resting against his neck’s pulse, feeling the faint tremors of life below the skin.

"Nothing left to say in the end?" she asked with interest, expecting curses of despair or laughable pleading.

The man raised his bloodstained face, eyes burning with pure hatred: "You damn bastards! Isn’t there talk of an afterlife? Fine! In my next life, I’ll hunt you bastards down, one by one!"

Aurora shrugged noncommittally, clearly knowing he was unaware she didn’t believe in the Death God.

She swung the knife down.

However, the anticipated dull sound of the blade cutting through flesh didn’t occur.

Instead, there was a clear "ding"!

She felt her hand lighten, and looked down to see only the bare handle remaining in her grip.

Puki—

A strange sound came from behind Aurora...