Chapter 296: Chapter 293: Three Groups of Visitors

Human supremacism is a signature dish of the Old Empire and the Order Church.

Freddy wanted to ask more, but the Black Cultivator clammed up, just repeating tired old lines like "I’m not telling you for your own good," and "Knowing too much never ends well."

Seeing this, Rorschach decided not to press the issue of the past. He was more interested in matters concerning Caroline and the Underground Sect.

"Do you know of the Marquis and his Court Mage, sir?"

"I’ve heard of them, of course. In fact, I’ve always found the matter rather strange." He frowned. "You must understand, within the Shadow Land—his domain, the entire Shadow City—the Marquis’s power is on par with a Great Mage’s."

’That didn’t particularly surprise Rorschach. To hold the title of Lord in this bizarre place, you’d have to be powerful. The slacker, Count Elgin, is the exception.’

’Of course, the Semi-submerged Area was nothing more than a Newbie Village cordoned off by a few subway stations.’

The Cultivator continued sharing information with Rorschach. "Therefore, to become his Court Mage, her power would have to at least match his. However, I haven’t sensed any ’big shots’ arriving in the Shadow Land. That Mage is a woman, but I don’t know any further details."

Rorschach wanted to know more about the Marquis, and the Cultivator answered every question. "He came to the Shadow Land a century ago and established his rule. For a ruler, the Shadow City is an ideal paradise. Once his edicts are acknowledged by the Shadow Land, they manifest as unbreakable rules."

"But there are always exceptions." As he spoke, the Black Cultivator stared intently at Rorschach. "The incursion of the Earth Sect changed the stable state of affairs. The Marquis is an iron-fisted ruler; he will absolutely not permit followers to appear in his domain. At least in the Core Area, no one is allowed to believe in the ’Earth’."

"His philosophy on punishment is straightforward, simple, and effective. He believes deterrence is the primary means of maintaining order. I trust you’ve all ’admired’ this ’Terror Duke’s’ masterpiece at the crossroads."

’Forceful? Does that mean skewering lawbreakers and hanging them like decorations on a signpost?’ Rorschach figured the Marquis was a man who excelled at terrorizing his people, but with the Underground Sect on the rise, at least he was better than the slacker Count.

"If you get caught by the Marquis, don’t you dare mention my name. Even though the Marquis is a noble who understands respect, and I have some small amount of sway with him."

’Got it. So if I get into trouble, I should come to you for protection.’ Rorschach made a mental note.

Besides the Marquis, the Black Cultivator also shared what he knew about the Shadow Land.

The Shadow Land is a place of remnants and boundaries. It is not only an intersection of the real and the illusory but also an amalgamation formed from the lingering traces of many different powers.

"It’s a symbolic puddle, a place where ’rainwater’ that should have evaporated in the real world instead gathers and intermingles."

The emphasis on rules here seems to be in the style of the Lord of Order, yet you’d never find anything righteous or pure here. Instead, the place is filled with the bizarre.

The Church and the Black Cultivator are legacies of Is’s power. Beyond that, the line between life and death here seems blurred, and there are even wondrous microorganisms that can utilize Magic Power—things never seen in the outside world.

It truly was a "Great Muddy Water," and the Underground Sect was trying to fish in it.

The Black Cultivator provided the group with fresh water and hard, dry, but clean bread. It wasn’t tasty, but at least it wasn’t as "complicated" as the suspicious food from the market.

When the "hospitality" was over, the Black Cultivator saw his four rather impolite guests off.

"Don’t we need to climb up to the tower?" Outside the main hall window, it was pitch-black. Even with [Dark Vision], Rorschach could only make out a jagged mess of stalactites and stalagmites, unable to tell if the Church was still inverted.

"You can just leave from the main hall."

They left through the main entrance. To their surprise, the "Inverted Church" had completely righted itself. Stepping outside, they found themselves on what used to be Harold Avenue.

"I advise you not to return the way you came. If you’re looking for the Marquis, turn right as you exit. If you run into a Shepherd, be extremely careful. Don’t resort to violence at the slightest disagreement like you did before. Even though this is the underground, it’s not a lawless land. Outsiders should be cautious."

After his lecture, the Black Cultivator watched Rorschach’s group leave. The moment they vanished into the mist, and the Church was out of their sight, the sound of grinding stone echoed. The stalactites, stalagmites, and the entire building seemed to come alive, reassembling themselves. When silence fell, the "Inverted Church" was once again true to its name.

"Time to rearrange everything again." The Cultivator sighed. The blackness of his body had largely regenerated, and the tentacles beneath his robe had multiplied. Several of them snaked out and began gathering the scattered wooden planks.

He walked slowly toward another room. Behind and to the side of the main hall’s lectern, a small room’s floor was littered with a map, a small doll, extinguished candles, and other items.

Anyone with even a little occult knowledge would realize it was the scene of a disrupted ritual.

The map was far more detailed than the one Count Elgin had given Rorschach. Even the intricate network of pipes between the Semi-submerged Area and the Core Area was marked with crystal clarity. Amazingly, an observer would first see the surface layers of the Core Area and other regions, but staring at a specific spot would reveal deeper structures beneath.

And on this surface, at the spot marked as the "Harold Avenue" crossroads, was a small dot of wax. It corresponded to the exact location of the sewer manhole from which Rorschach and his party had emerged.

After tidying everything up, the old man returned to his painting. With reverence and humility, he spoke to the "Golden Figure" in the artwork. "All is according to Your will."

The "Golden Figure" shimmered once.

An expression of joy appeared on the old man’s face, but it was quickly interrupted by the toll of a broken bell.

Another guest had arrived. This time, the Cultivator didn’t wait in the main hall but went directly to the bell tower.

"Where’d the rope ladder go?" A grappling hook now hung from the bell tower. The newcomer wore a wide-brimmed hat with a feather pinned to it, a feather so bare it was little more than a quill. He was the Marquis’s messenger and envoy, and when needed, could also double as an executioner.

"There was an incident."

"Right, whatever. I’m here to deliver the new wanted posters."

"Oh? And which extraordinary individuals have managed to escape the Lord Marquis’s laws this time? I simply can’t wait to hear."

"Watch your attitude and your dangerous words, Cultivator!" He pulled out a stack of wanted posters; some had portraits, others did not.

"Strange." The messenger had just encountered something bizarre, the likes of which he’d rarely seen in his career—tucked among the wanted posters were two blank sheets of paper. "This is impossible! I checked them before I left!"

"Oh?" the Black Cultivator said, discreetly retracting his tentacles.

"Fine, it must have been my mistake..." The man tried to count them again, but the Black Cultivator politely ushered him out. "Sir, I have no suspicious individuals here. As you can see, I am quite alone."

The messenger made what he thought was a funny joke. "You’re the most suspicious person here." There had indeed been many misunderstandings and conflicts between the Marquis and the Cultivator in the past, but relations between the two had since eased considerably, and they were no longer openly antagonistic.

"I am pleased the Lord Marquis still maintains his keen intuition."

After that guest left, another visitor arrived.

"Quite the lively day..." The Black Cultivator was taken aback. The visitor was tall and thin with a mangled ear. He was an Elf, and most likely, a former slave.

"I’m here on behalf of the Marquis’s Court Mage... E-excuse me, have you seen a young man? He’s a Mage, his hair is..." The Court Mage’s messenger stammered, his voice fraught with nerves.

The Cultivator cut him off bluntly. "Tell your master that a young upstart is on his way to see her."

"I don’t have a master!" The Elf’s face flushed red. Annoyed, he pulled up his hood and departed.