Roger spent a bit more time thoroughly cleaning the blood from the floor, making sure nothing would look amiss to anyone peering in from the doorway. Then, he slid the bolt back and pushed the door open.
Standing outside was a man of a similar age to Hunter, wearing an equally tattered homespun shirt. His face was sallow, his eyes sunken, and several faint purple scars were visible on the inside of his wrist.
Upon seeing Roger, the man showed no sign of suspicion, merely knitting his brows in impatience.
“What took you so long?”
“Drank too much last night. Just woke up,” Roger muttered in a slurred voice, rubbing his eyes to mimic a hangover.
“Cut the crap, let's go. The intermediary said there's important business today. Anyone who's late gets punished.” With that, the man turned and walked away.
Roger followed close behind, and the two wound their way through the narrow alleys of the slums.
After walking for a while, the man led Roger to a half-collapsed old building on the edge of the outer city.
The two waited at the entrance for a moment until a man carrying a sack and dressed like a hired laborer approached from the other side of the street.
“Password,” the "laborer" whispered as he approached them.
The man stepped forward and muttered a string of garbled words. Roger couldn't make out the exact details, but judging by the rhythm and pauses, it seemed to be a fixed passphrase memorized through repetition.
The "laborer" fell silent for a moment, then set down his sack and pushed open the building's door.
Roger followed the man inside, passing through a short, pitch-black corridor that ended at a wooden trapdoor set into the floor.
Lifting the trapdoor revealed a flight of stone steps leading downward.
Stepping off the last stone step, the space suddenly opened up.
It was an underground space converted into a ritual site, seemingly large enough to hold dozens of people. The walls were draped with banners painted with twisted patterns.
Rows of candles burned beneath the banners. The candlelight filtered through the fabric, casting shadows on the walls that made the twisted patterns look as though they were slowly squirming.
A thick scent of incense filled the air, inducing a mild sense of dizziness when inhaled.
Roger quickly scanned the basement. There were about twenty cultists present, most of them wearing tattered clothes similar to Hunter's, with dark purple scars on their wrists. They ranged from teenagers to middle-aged people in their forties or fifties, about half of them male and half female.
They stood in a loose ring around a magic circle in the center, their faces filled with awe and anticipation.
“Everyone is here,” the leader, who stood beside the magic circle, spoke slowly. “Today is a special day. Three of you have recruited ten new believers and are qualified to undergo the advancement ceremony.”
Hearing this, Roger wondered if he had accidentally stumbled into a multi-level marketing seminar.
Three people stepped out from the crowd and stood in the center of the magic circle.
One of them was the man who had brought Roger here, his face filled with irrepressible anticipation and nervousness. The other two were middle-aged men, their expressions equally devout and reserved.
“You have made contributions to the cult, and the cult will not forget.” The leader extended his hand from his robe, holding a vial of purple liquid and presenting it to the three in turn.
“This is the reward you will receive tonight. You shall become the cult's sharpest blades, the witnesses of our Lord's descent, and the first citizens of the new world.”
The man gently tapped the vial with his fingertip, and the liquid inside glowed with a faint, dark purple light in response.
A wave of hushed whispers rippled through the basement, and the empty eyes of the newcomers burned with a sudden, desperate longing.
Roger was all too familiar with that look. The enhanced goblins had worn that exact expression right before they charged.
Immediately after, the leader announced the start of the ritual. He walked up to the three men one by one and dripped the liquid onto the scars on their wrists.
When the liquid touched their skin, the scars glowed with a dark purple light that spread up their arms along their veins.
Each person who received the enhancer reacted differently. One trembled slightly, while another bent double, gritting his teeth as blue veins bulged on his forehead.
The leader cast only a brief glance at their reactions before stepping out of the magic circle and pulling a staff from his robes.
“Remember how you feel tonight. Remember the sensation of this power surging through your bodies. When the cult summons you next, you shall no longer be the mere ants of the slums!”
The leader waved his staff, and the lines of the magic circle lit up simultaneously, draping the entire basement in a dark purple hue.
The three in the center of the magic circle fell to their knees, their bodies trembling violently as dark purple veins webbed beneath their skin. The surrounding cultists raised their hands and began chanting, their low whispers gradually merging into a unified chorus.
Like a student slacking off during morning study, Roger raised his hands and mimicked them, muttering gibberish under his breath.
The light lasted for several minutes before slowly fading. The three men in the center rose from the ground. Some were still panting heavily, while others stretched their joints, as if feeling the power that had been forcibly pumped into their bodies.
The scars on their hands were now darker and more intricate than before.
The leader wiped the sweat from his forehead and spoke, “Aside from these three, the rest of you present shall also receive rewards. The cult does not mistreat any of its loyal believers.”
Over the next few minutes, several other cultists wearing dark cloaks emerged from a side room of the basement, each carrying a woven wicker basket.
They walked up to the believers one by one, handing them a palm-sized paper packet from the baskets.
As they accepted the packets, excited expressions appeared on everyone's faces.
Roger took the packet handed to him, untied the hemp string, and peeled back the corner of the paper. Inside was a small pinch of dark purple powder. He frowned and used Appraisal:
【Name: Hallucinogenic Powder
Description: Inhalation stimulates the brain and body into an excited state, inducing hallucinations. Highly addictive. Long-term use causes strong dependence, and excessive use can lead to acute poisoning and mental disorders.
Recycle Value: 20 points】
Holy crap, it's meth!
Roger expressionlessly refolded the paper packet, tucked it inside his shirt, and recycled it to the system.
“Points +20. Total: 4,470.”
“The ritual is concluded,” the leader continued. “Return to your assigned sectors and continue serving the cult. You will be notified of the time and location for the next gathering.”
The cultists climbed back up the stairs, their steps much lighter than when they had arrived. Some chatted in hushed, excited tones as they walked.
Roger blended into the crowd and followed them out of the building's back door. Slipping away at a corner, he ducked into a narrow alley.
Once the footsteps of the last cultist had faded into the distant streets, Roger stepped out of the alley. He returned to the vicinity of the building, finding a concealed spot that gave him a clear view of both the front and back entrances.
Before long, the back door pushed open from the inside. The leader glanced left and right down the street before heading straight toward the inner city.
Roger followed him from a distance.
The leader was clearly extremely familiar with the layout of the streets in this area. He deliberately chose quiet back alleys, avoiding the busiest main streets of the outer city.
After confirming no one was around, Roger drew his Fine Steel Sword and channeled Life Energy into his legs.
Just as the leader turned into the next narrow alley, he activated 【Flash Step】.
Rate on N.U.
