Round 34: A Nest in Disarray

Even though the filthy Parkerman had returned to the private bedroom in the secret church, his legs continued to tremble uncontrollably. He couldn’t even force himself to take off the boots on his feet, which had turned into miniature mud pits—now he resembled a torn sock pulled out of a cesspool.

This secret church of the Hierarchy Church was located in the northeast part of the port district. Of course, it was nearly impossible for outsiders to find a path to this church amid the chaotic and intricate maze of buildings. One would even have to destroy some walls to discover the entrance to the hidden passages. As one of the earliest secret churches established by the Hierarchy Church in Deepflow City, it had evolved over time into a labyrinthine complex. The surrounding residents and inns served as perfect cover; most of them had nothing to do with the Hierarchy Church and would never know that hidden passages or secret rooms might exist behind their cracked walls or beneath their simple floors, forming a spiderweb-like nest seamlessly woven into the port district’s crude buildings.

So, despite hiding around all night to evade pursuit, Parkerman still felt relieved only by returning here. He climbed out of a secret well leading to the underground tunnels—a route designed not only to throw off trackers but also protected by numerous intricate traps. This exit was rarely used as an emergency route, and it was fortunate it wasn’t sealed off. After all, the vast and deep underground world of Deepflow City harbored monsters and other unknown dangers far more formidable than the surface-based holy warriors and guards. But Parkerman had no choice. He even thought that even descending into the bottomless abyss might not bring a more dangerous situation than what he’d faced that night.

Anger at the red-robed mage who had swindled him out of a large sum of money accounted for only a small part of Parkerman’s thoughts. What dominated him was sheer fear. Morriel’s overwhelming magical attacks in the Cat’s Paw Tavern, along with her grotesque, blade-like construct that slaughtered people like grass, were one thing, but it was the invisible sniper in the underground tunnels that made his body shake uncontrollably. He had killed people before and been in life-or-death situations, but he would never forget the feeling of last night—the unbearable proximity of death, so close it seemed to be dancing beside him.

His last memory was of Morriel’s guard knights chasing after him, fighting fiercely against the invisible death. He didn’t know who would win. He ran desperately, not daring to look back. It would be best if those two bastards perished together! Otherwise, with such a terrifying opponent in the Hierarchy Church, his years of operations in Deepflow City might be ruined in an instant.

He struggled to unbutton his collar. His hands, once skillful enough to snatch ten pearls from boiling water unharmed, now trembled as if paralyzed. Exhaustion and stress made him want nothing more than to force himself to tidy up and fall into a deep sleep, no matter what happened.

The copper bells on the wall rang. This was an effect triggered only by correctly stepping on the hidden mechanism in the corridor, proving that it was indeed one of their own outside.
Parkerman opened the door irritably, then his eyes narrowed—standing outside wasn’t his trusted subordinates but a burly, tall priest in black robes with a rather eerie expression. A magically charged chain whip hung from his wide leather belt, and on his chest was a pendant the size of a breastplate, glowing with the symbol of the god Xeric.
He looked at the filthy Parkerman with a smirk, his tone dripping with schadenfreude: “It seems you suffered quite a bit last night.”
“Lord Blackhorn, be careful with your words. Did you come here early in the morning just to mock me?” Parkerman’s voice turned grim.
Though this priest was a fierce opponent, he wasn’t strong enough to make Parkerman bow his head. In the Xeric Church, where even those with slight strength refused to acknowledge each other, Parkerman had enough power to confront any provocation from within the church—at least in Deepflow City.
“Hehehe… No need to get angry.” Blackhorn rubbed his hairless chin, which had a deep groove in the middle like an ass, letting out a strange laugh that seemed only fitting for a castrated man. Both his voice and actions made Parkerman feel nauseous. “Actually, I’m here to inform you that that young man wants to see you… in the central hall. I suppose it’s related to the magic drug trade you’re in charge of. I suggest you change into cleaner clothes—newcomers really care about looking presentable!”
Damn it! Parkerman slammed the door shut and paced furiously in the room like a wild beast trapped in a cage. Since when could some kid who’d joined the church just a few days ago give him orders? Had he sold out to that perverted Blackhorn? If it weren’t for provoking the female robed mage, his business wouldn’t have gone sideways!
Parkerman roughly tried to tear off his shirt but stopped halfway. So what if he met that kid like this! He had risked his life for the Xeric Church and ended up like this! He would go see that kid in these clothes just to show him how much he had sacrificed for the church! You naive brat, don’t think you can crush me with this! Without Parkerman, the church’s network of connections and intelligence in Deepflow City would be paralyzed by at least half!
With a dark expression, Parkerman wandered through the corridors, ignoring the astonished looks of the lower-ranking clergy along the way.
He drew the skeleton symbol of Xeric on the rune stone and entered the central hall of the church through the slowly opening stone door. A few people were already there, all high-ranking members of the Xeric Church in Deepflow City, including Priest Blackhorn.
The looks they gave him filled Parkerman with rage—wanted to see me suffer? Just wait and see!

There were no long conference tables indicating hierarchical status, no comfortable armchairs, not even the most basic decorations. The ceiling, floor, and walls were all painted black, creating a suffocating atmosphere that made one’s heart race. In the center of the hall was a large circular pool, within which purple Shrike symbols burned eerily, symbolizing that this was a sacred place of the Dark Sun while also providing a gloomy illumination for the entire room.

Those who could stand here had no regard for one another’s status; they were all those with sufficient strength to stand out in the chaotic Shrike Church. From then on, it came down to who could tell the most cunning lies and commit the fastest murders—only the living could retain their place here, while the dead naturally had no status at all. Of course, it all ultimately belonged to Shrike; if their capricious god favored or angered someone, their own efforts would mean nothing.

Seeing Parkerman in his filthy and disheveled state, everyone’s expression turned to mocking ridicule. It seemed the news of Parkerman’s failed deal with the Red-Clothed Mage had spread, and everyone was waiting to see a farce. Unity and friendship were not traditional virtues among Shrike followers. But Parkerman didn’t care about them; he understood that if he were in their shoes, he would act just the same. He strode straight toward a man in black standing by the pool, who was standing with his hands behind his back, gazing at the glowing Dark Sun skull symbol on the water’s surface, seemingly merged with the purple light of the Shrike symbols.

“Lord O’Sullivan, I’ve just returned from outside… As you can see, I had a by no means easy night.” Parkerman’s expression was indifferent: “If you want to inquire about that damned magic drug deal, I’ll have a complete report for you and everyone else later.”

O’Sullivan turned around. He pulled out a white handkerchief from his sleeve to cover his nose and mouth, openly showing his disgust at Parkerman’s filthy appearance, looking at him as if a noble were looking at a beggar: “Oh, I don’t think we need to wait. Tell me now, so you won’t forget too many details, and it’ll also give me and the others a clear understanding.”

“Hmph.” Parkerman let out a contemptuous snort: “Forget? The losses from last night nearly ruined me! That damned Red-Clothed Mage not only stole my money but also turned me into this state!”

“Mr. Parkerman,” said a follower with a mask on his face and a somewhat plump build. Whether it was because of the mask or something else, his voice sounded muffled: “That wasn’t all your money. Besides… as far as I know, though the Red-Clothed Mages are cold and cunning, they’re usually reliable merchants. Why would they do this?”

“Why?” Parkerman gave him a cold glance before turning his attention back to O’Sullivan.

“Because the person who came for the deal is named Moriel!” Parkman emphasized, determined not to be manipulated by O’Sullivan and his men today—he must seize the upper hand at all costs. “Sir O’Sullivan, I don’t know what grudges you might have with her from your time in the Southern Empire of Agus… but last night, she asked to meet with you. If not for that, I don’t think things would have turned out so badly.”

A flash of electricity lit up O’Sullivan’s dark eyes. He still covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, the white silk fluttering slightly with his words. “I’ve warned everyone to be extremely wary of this woman—she, especially the steel warriors around her, are extremely dangerous. Mr. Parkman, I think I’ve made myself clear.”

Parkman waved his hand sharply, ignoring whether the stains on his sleeve might fly onto O’Sullivan. “How am I supposed to know? I’ve never even met her! Sir O’Sullivan, if it’s a personal grudge between you and her, I think it’s best for you to resolve it privately. When you were in Agus, you weren’t yet inspired by the glory of the Eternal Dark Days, were you? In that case…”

“Mr. Parkman, that red-robed female mage named Moriel isn’t targeting Sir O’Sullivan out of personal grudges,” Blackhorn interjected. “She’s trying to undermine the will of the Eternal Dark Days! I suppose you haven’t heard that we spent the whole night in the sewers, have you? Last night, the holy warriors’ lackeys of Ammonra and the guards of Deepflow City joined forces to launch a massive attack on us in the port area, causing heavy losses among the Dark Day followers there… And yet that Moriel obediently followed the holy warriors—what does that say?”

“Attacking us?” Parkman was truly surprised. He hadn’t expected the authorities of Deepflow City to be so determined to carry out such a large-scale operation. This wasn’t good news, especially since his own followers and forces, who relied on expanding their drug network to quickly take control of the port area’s underground society, were already quite exposed. It was obvious who would suffer the most from this strike.

“I told you from the start we shouldn’t be so hasty!” Parkman glared fiercely at everyone. “All these troubles today are purely the result of seeking quick success!”

He pointed directly at O’Sullivan. “Talking about controlling every thug in Deepflow City and having our spies everywhere—this is completely unrealistic! Such overt actions will only bring trouble to the church! Gradual progress is the only wise strategy. Why rush? With our strength, as long as that girl is in Deepflow City, she’ll eventually fall into our hands!”

O’Sullivan’s eyes resembled two black holes—showing no emotion at all.

“Mr. Parkman. Are you saying that we can delay fulfilling the prophecies of my lord, without needing to act urgently?”

Those words struck Parkman like a heavy hammer, leaving him momentarily stunned. He unconsciously stepped back two steps, raising his hands in shock. “How dare you speak like that, Sir O’Sullivan? I’ve served the Eternal Dark Days in Deepflow City for over a decade… No one can doubt my loyalty to Shirek!”

To be accused by O’Sullivan of failing to serve Hyrick wholeheartedly is tantamount to pushing Packman to the edge of a cliff—taking one step back means certain death.
He gestured wildly, emotionally agitated: “By my lord’s sacred emblem, tell me—haven’t I spared no effort to attract followers in Deepflow City all these years? Haven’t I made the church’s voice louder and louder in the underground society of the port district? Haven’t I contributed substantial wealth to the church every year as an offering?!”
“I’m just suggesting we proceed with caution! Deepflow City is the largest port city in the North—we must be careful in everything we do here! The current situation is the result of recklessness and haste! If things continue like this, it will be difficult enough for us to establish a foothold in Deepflow City, let alone carry out my lord Hyrick’s will!”
“Mr. Packman, I think we can discuss your differences with Lord O’Sullivan regarding our methods later.” The masked man placed his hands folded on his slightly protruding belly. His tone and posture revealed his usual luxurious lifestyle: “The problem now is that your mistake yesterday has caused us severe losses. To prepare for this magic drug deal, the Deepflow City Church has almost exhausted all its liquid assets… How do you plan to make amends?”
Packman let out a harsh sneer.
“Make amends?” he glared fiercely at the masked man. “Why should I be the one to make amends? It wasn’t my idea to use drugs to quickly control the underground society! Now that things have gone wrong, you’re shoving all the blame on me? Fine, you can go run for lord of Deepflow City! Post notices all over the city to find that girl!”
Suddenly remembering something, Packman reached into his bosom and pulled out a beautiful gold coin glowing with white light between his thumb and index finger: “This is what’s left from yesterday! Want it? Here—it’s worth a thousand copper coins!”
He threw the platinum coin at the masked man—just as it flew, O’Sullivan intercepted it mid-air. Packman was an exceptionally skilled assassin, but he couldn’t even see how O’Sullivan moved.
“Heh, seems it’s going to be confiscated,” Packman said dryly.
O’Sullivan examined the beautiful platinum coin carefully. Lying on a white handkerchief, it seemed to enhance its beauty even further. His eyes grew darker; the shiny coin didn’t reflect his image at all.
“Mr. Packman,” O’Sullivan sighed finally.
“You nearly exposed us all under the open sky. A humiliating failure is still forgivable… but acting as the enemy’s pawn and bait is simply too foolish.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Packman was furious and shocked.
“There’s tracking magic on this coin.” The slight stains on the platinum coin had been wiped away by the handkerchief, leaving it flawless: “I can’t believe it… Morriel’s magical skills have improved again.”

O’Sullivan casually threw the gold coin into the pool. It splashed slightly before sinking quietly to the bottom, looking like a mole on a skull’s face. “Gentlemen, let’s leave here as soon as possible. I believe the red-robed mage and her army will arrive at any moment. And you, Mr. Parkman… I don’t know what else Morriel has done. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to take any risks.”

“Shut up! You’re not a mage—how do you know—” Parkman kept arguing, but he already started retreating—only to freeze mid-step.

He stared straight at O’Sullivan, a blood hole the thickness of a small finger appearing between his brows. Then Parkman staggered and fell backward into the pool behind him, splashing water everywhere, even causing Shirek’s talismans to sway slightly.

“Unfortunately, I know at least as much as you do.” An intricate crossbow appeared in O’Sullivan’s hand somehow. After shooting Parkman, the bowstring slowly retracted on its own, and a small arrow appeared in the barrel out of nowhere.

The hall fell dead silent—could Parkman, who once held great power in the Dark Sun Church of Deepflow City, really be dead this easily?

“Hehehe… Everyone heard that, right? Please evacuate quickly. The new headquarters will inform you soon!” The Black-Horned one laughed and waved his hand. No matter who someone was in life, death meant nothing.

The Shirek believers took action—while O’Sullivan simply watched Parkman in the pool. After a moment of silence, he threw his handkerchief into the water. Once soaked, the handkerchief unfolded and covered Parkman’s face, distorted by anger and fear.

By evening, a large group indeed arrived in the district hiding Shirek’s secret church.

Morriel, who had just finished the hearing, was fully armored, looking as if she were back on the battlefield of the Sleeping Forest. Magical runes flowed across her red protective cloak, offering considerable resistance to blades, axes, and arrows. A sharp dagger sheathed in a scabbard was strapped tightly to her slender thigh with a belt—useless for combat, but still there. On her enchanted belt hung three or four wands of different purposes: some could shoot deadly rays, some could summon undead, and some could charm and control enemies…

It had nothing to do with the situation ahead—it was merely a display of power.

Milia stood behind her. If the lord’s hearing had resulted in any decision unfavorable to the red-robed mage, it was only this one: “In the short term, the red-robed mage of Deepflow City will carry out large-scale commercial and other activities. Two to three observers will be assigned to monitor them, depending on the circumstances. The observers must not interfere or disclose any activities within the red-robed mage’s internal affairs or those permitted by law.”

“Don’t touch that string! Can’t you see it’s connected to some magical trap? Get back, you’re slower than your feet!” Chloe kicked the thief crouched in front, trying to disarm the trap, mercilessly. The red-haired sword saint never had patience for foolish men—she, a wandering swordsman who had just arrived in Deepflow City, had been appointed as an observer at the hearing, much to Morriel’s surprise.

Draw the sword, sheath it—fast as a flash of light.

“That’s it!” Seven or eight intersecting sword marks instantly appeared on the walls and floor of the dark alley, destroying all the hidden traps—Chloe turned to look at the two beauties: “We should be there if we go through here, right?”
Morrill nodded. But she wasn’t holding much hope. Aside from a faint, unsettling force that sounded like the laughter of a madman surrounding the platinum coin, there was no sign of life. As her mental tendrils reached out to explore every corner of this vast secret lair, she found little of value.
Chaos, evil. Milia frowned. After Morrill created a gap in the protective barrier surrounding the Shirek Church, she keenly sensed the overwhelming darkness emanating from the Altar of the Dark Days.
“Then let’s hurry through here.” Forty-Seven passed by the somewhat flustered scout-thief and strode forward: “Scrambling around underground all day… we’re not filming a mole story!”
He hadn’t gone far when a beam of black energy shot out from the depths of the alley like an arrow, hitting him right in the chest. Those behind him could see dark energy waves radiating from him, with icy, deadly negative energy tearing and shaking everything from the inside out, even making Morrill and the others feel as though a hellish wind capable of tearing apart souls was blowing at them.
The victim caught in the deadly beam turned his head and glared fiercely at Chloe: “Weren’t you the one who said ‘That’s it’?”
But by the time he saw the talisman burning with purple flames in the circular pool and Parkerman lying dead in it, Forty-Seven no longer cared about being used as a mine-clearing vehicle.
He walked half a circle around the pool, clearly curious about what kind of fuel and mechanism allowed the purple flames to burn so vividly in water.
“Magic mirror, magic mirror, tell me who killed Kennedy?” He turned and strode toward Morrill, whose eyes were growing vacant, in the style of Captain Jack.
“Don’t disturb her casting spells,” Chloe said, now acting as a protector.
Morrill was fully focused. Her spirit entered the twisted space-time through the magic network in some incredible way. The past, though faded, appeared before her—still recognizable: Parkerman, Black Horn, the masked man, other high-ranking worshippers… and O’Sullivan.
“At least one thing is clear—the high-ranking members of the Shirek Church in Deepstream City were still gathered here this morning, including O’Sullivan.” She ended her spell and looked around. “I can’t believe O’Sullivan managed to detect the magic on the platinum coin… We’re a step too late. They’ve already given up this place.”
Milia frowned deeply. “This place must have been established a long time ago… I never thought Shirek’s followers would have grown to such a scale. Thank you for bringing me here, Miss Morrill. I think… I think I should ask the church’s priest to purify this place.”
“Hmph.” Forty-Seven showed his teeth. “When I catch him, I’ll see if his urine is also glowing like this pool water.”
A small incident occurred as they left.

A few girls who seemed to be in their teens surrounded a warrior from the Dawn Knight Order, crying, biting, hitting, and cursing him—while the residents of the port area watching nearby fanned the flames and laughed heartily.

“What’s going on?” Moriel was displeased by this disruption of the security line.

“Prostitutes,” Nancy’s complexion had improved greatly. With the magical power injected into her by Xinbu removed, the other injuries seemed insignificant compared to the formidable tattooed warrior. So this time, Moriel brought her along as the commander of the military forces on the Red Robe Mage’s side.

Nancy watched coldly, clearly enjoying the sight of the holy warriors being mocked: “Those fools in their iron shells drove away their clients during the search, so naturally these kids didn’t get any money—how could they just give up?”

“Drive them away,” Moriel said coldly. “We still need to search the area.”

“Wait, I’ll go…” Milia tried to stop her, but one of the prostitutes noticed her and threw a stone at her. She hit accurately—the stone flew straight toward Milia’s forehead. Milia instinctively dodged, avoiding the attack, but didn’t stop walking toward her.

Nancy drew her crossbow and shot an arrow that pierced the ankle of the girl who had thrown the stone and was trying to flee into the crowd.

The remaining prostitutes and onlookers scattered quickly at the girl’s agonized screams—the tattooed warriors weren’t holy warriors; they had no code of conduct and killed as easily as slaughtering chickens.

“What are you doing!” Milia turned around and shouted angrily, rushing toward the girl who was crying and rolling on the ground, clutching her leg.

The female swordsman sighed and said to Nancy, “If you were a man, I’d beat you to pieces.”

Nancy stared at her disdainfully. “Miss Moriel ordered me to drive them away.”

“Is life always this painful, or is it only like this in childhood?”

Moriel, with a dark expression, looked at Si Qi Shi in surprise, not expecting him to ask such… such a question.

“Always,” Moriel replied.

Si Qi Shi also hadn’t expected Moriel to respond so readily; he was just reciting lines. So the construct touched his chin, watching as the girl was picked up by Milia, crying as she hugged her and smeared her blood on the holy warrior’s clothes—then he remembered another line: “He ruined my suit.”

……

PS: I remember a great novel about entering the palace titled *The Cardinal Li* on Qidian once used these two powerful lines from *Léon: The Professional*… And now, as I write to the end, I suddenly can’t resist the urge to include these two lines too… Though they’re rather crude…

Mathilda: Is life always this hard, or is it just when you’re a kid?
Léon: Always like this.