Chapter 102

Woojin silently observed the city in the wasteland. Frankly, this situation was unexpected in many ways.

It was a given that the city of the Dark-side priests existed somewhere within the Demon Realm. But this was the deep interior—a place so dangerous that even the Naga tribe could not tread lightly.

For that city to be maintained here made no sense.

Securing water and food alone would be difficult, and defending the city from powerful demonic beast hordes would be an immense challenge.

There don’t even seem to be any defensive facilities…

There were no watchtowers or tactical weapons in sight.

At most, a simple wooden palisade surrounded the city. Such flimsy fortifications were practically meaningless. If a large demonic beast charged at it a few times with intent, it would shatter like straw.

Exposed to so many disadvantages, yet the city somehow endured without collapsing.

How is this possible?

As always… to find the answer, he would have to throw himself in directly.

He waited until nightfall.

A nearby volcano constantly spewed ash, so day and night were equally dim—but infiltrating after the citizens fell into deep sleep would be easier.

Chewing on jerky made from wild boar meat, he watched the city from afar.

Then, the palisade gate suddenly opened, and a group of people walked out. They looked haggard and thin, their clothes worn and stained with grime.

Flanking them on either side were two men wearing iron masks, as if overseeing them. The masks were all too familiar.

The Dark-side priests’ masks.

Holding whips in their hands, the two priests herded the people toward the mountain range. Three massive bull-type demonic beasts followed behind, pulling carts.

Woojin paid close attention to the cargo. Torches, water and food supplies, long wooden beams, and several pickaxes.

Judging by the equipment… they were likely heading to a mine.

Are they mining slaves?

That seemed highly probable. They didn’t look like they were going voluntarily.

Whenever the weary figures hesitated, the priests lashed them without hesitation, forcing them forward.

After the group disappeared into the mountains—

Some time later, the two priests returned. This time, the carts carried large chunks of stone instead of supplies.

Clatter—!

Suddenly, the cart jolted, and a small stone tumbled off unnoticed. The priests didn’t look back as they entered the city.

Once they were inside, Woojin moved to inspect where the stone had fallen.

A faint glimmer caught his eye.

He picked it up. Heavier than it looked. Pale metallic crystals protruded from its rough, uneven surface.

The appearance of the metal crystals was striking—patterned like Damascus steel.

Frost steel.

Far harder than ordinary metal. Once, Woojin had been gifted a two-handed hammer forged from this very material.

He had heard it was produced only rarely in northern mountain ranges, yet the Dark-side priests were still mining it.

What are they planning to use it for?

That was one more thing to confirm within the city.

After patiently waiting for full nightfall, when silence settled over the entire settlement, Woojin quietly leapt over the palisade.

Infiltration was simple.

The first thing he noticed was the stench—an acrid, nauseating odor. The smell of blood and rotting corpses. His brow furrowed slightly.

Not exactly a pleasant place to live.

He surveyed the surroundings.

Buildings constructed of reddish-brown bricks. Most were old, but they had been maintained with planks reinforcing weakened areas. It felt like a once-abandoned city that had been rebuilt.

A few figures still wandered about—Dark-side priests wearing iron masks, carrying torches as they patrolled the streets.

Night patrols, huh.

Surprisingly strict security.

He had expected disorder within such flimsy wooden walls, yet discipline was evident.

The priests’ strides and pace were unnervingly uniform, as if produced by a machine. Behind the eyeholes of their iron masks, ominous glows burned. They were no weaklings.

How would he avoid their notice?

Fortunately, they patrolled alone rather than in groups, likely spreading their forces thin to cover more ground.

Woojin concealed himself in an alleyway… then suddenly shoved over a trash bin.

Thud, crash!

The noise shattered the silence. A nearby priest reflexively turned his head.

“Who’s there?”

No answer came. To investigate the disturbance, the priest had to enter the alley himself.

He cautiously scanned his surroundings. Nothing unusual—just trash scattered across the ground.

…Did some giant rat knock it over?

In the Demon Realm, rats were larger than cats. It wouldn’t be the first time they rummaged through garbage.

Thinking so, the priest turned to leave—

—and found himself face-to-face with a man standing before him. A figure wearing the pelt of a black lion over his head.

“Ah—”

The startled priest tried to scream.

But Woojin was faster.

Thwack!!

His thumb jabbed sharply into the priest’s Adam’s apple. The scream turned into a choking cough. The priest clutched his throat and bent forward.

Woojin forced him to his knees, grabbed his head from behind, and twisted.

Crack—!

The cervical vertebrae snapped cleanly. The priest’s body went limp.

Woojin quickly stripped him of his attire—full-body robe, iron mask, gloves covering the wrists, and boots. He layered the garments over his own hunting clothes.

“…A bit hot.”

Wearing multiple layers was warm, but the robe was loose enough not to hinder movement.

With the iron mask tilted over his head, Woojin rummaged through the robe’s pockets to check the priest’s belongings.

He found a brass key.

The number engraved in its center read:

“308.”

What did that number signify?

What is this, a bathhouse locker key? Why bother engraving a number?

After a moment’s thought, he dismissed the question. Dwelling on it would lead nowhere.

First, the body had to be dealt with.

After extracting the priest’s inner core, he stuffed the corpse deep into the trash bin. It was a crude disposal method—sooner or later someone would notice—but there was no better option.

He piled the scattered trash back on top of the body.

Thus, one unlucky Dark-side priest vanished from the world.

And Woojin would take his place.

After tucking the Dark-side priest’s inner core deep into his robes, Woojin stepped out onto the street. He walked calmly, as though simply continuing his patrol.

Wearing the same attire, none of the other priests regarded him with suspicion.

Simple enough.

Easier than expected.

He strolled through the city at leisure. From time to time, he approached buildings and peered through windows to inspect their interiors.

“…They’re all forges.”

Most of the structures were blacksmith workshops equipped with smelting facilities. The entire city seemed devoted to producing metal and crafting weapons.

Preparing for war?

As he pondered this and continued walking… the stench of rot grew stronger. Before long, he spotted piles of demonic beast corpses stacked near the outskirts of the city.

Rotten blood had pooled thickly beneath them. On top of the blackened puddles lay the carcasses—and strangely, grain resembling barley stalks sprouted abundantly from the flesh.

Crimson crops growing with roots embedded in decaying meat. It almost looked like farming.

Are they supplementing food with those grains?

They didn’t appear appetizing, but if the yield was high, they could help sustain the city considerably.

Nearby stood a well. Woojin casually lifted its lid and peered inside.

“…The water’s surprisingly clean.”

He happened to be thirsty. Without hesitation, he drew up a bucket.

Lifting his mask slightly, he drank as though splashing water onto his face. The water was warm and carried a sulfuric scent—like scooping up water from a hot spring.

Though not perfect, it was remarkably clean for something found in the Demon Realm.

At this level, their water supply problem is mostly solved.

The city was more stable than he had expected.

In truth, that wasn’t surprising. The Dark-side priests had made their home in the Demon Realm since ancient times. One could not ignore the resilience born of such history.

Still, several unanswered questions remained. Woojin continued his nocturnal walk, surveying the area.

…Yet he gained little.

Even after circling the entire city once, nothing particularly unusual stood out. It felt no different from frontier cities he had seen before.

Perhaps that’s enough for tonight.

Just as he quietly prepared to slip out of the city—

The patrolling Dark-side priests suddenly began gathering toward the city center. As if prearranged, they lined up in ranks of five.

The problem was that Woojin happened to be standing in the plaza at that very moment. Leaving alone now would draw attention.

…I’ll blend in for now.

With little choice, he joined them.

After a brief wait, a man wearing a brass mask counted the assembled priests with his eyes. Satisfied that everyone had gathered, he nodded.

Step, step, step…

The priests marched in unison. Woojin followed suit.

Feels like I’ve re-enlisted.

They eventually arrived at a large building. The priests filed inside in formation, and Woojin was swept along with them like fish strung together.

Inside were countless small rooms, each marked with a number.

The priests reached into their robes and produced keys—each engraved with a number. Using them, they unlocked doors and disappeared into their respective rooms.

Seeing this, Woojin took out his own key. As he had seen earlier, the number engraved on it was 308.

So it’s a lodging key.

Providing private quarters—better welfare than some armies he had known.

With that thought, he discreetly located Room 308. It was nothing like a hotel room.

“…Incredibly cramped.”

Narrow in width, with a ceiling so low he could barely stand upright. A single bed occupied most of the space. The walls were so thin he could hear repeated coughing from the next room.

More like a chicken coop than a barracks.

Still, having a safe place to lie down was something. Woojin stretched out on the bed and considered his next move.

How should I proceed?

Killing them all and leaving would be the simplest option. But now that he was here, it might be worthwhile to stay for a while and observe.

Imitating a Dark-side priest wouldn’t be difficult. The memories were right there in his possession.

Woojin retrieved the inner core from his robe. The inner core of an unknown priest. By consuming it, he should inherit the man’s memories.

Crunch, crack—

He chewed and swallowed the core. As he closed his eyes, a familiar darkness crept in.