Chapter 165: Shift of Perspective
Muherr used his high-spec recording equipment to capture every inch of the metal
gate, while the other mercenaries documented the murals with tactical cameras.
Once the data was secured, Golem extended a massive, hydraulic arm and pressed
it against the center of the door.
With a groan of protesting metal that echoed through the hollow sub-levels, the
gate yielded. Dust cascaded from the ceiling as a thin sliver of darkness
appeared. The gap widened slowly, revealing the secret buried behind the steel.
A colossal, withered tree.
A question immediately surfaced in Ronin's mind: Can the Alchemical Plant,
Metallion, truly grow this large?
The scale was monolithic.
Even in its visibly desiccated state, the plant was gargantuan. Its roots were
at least thirty meters thick, anchoring into the bedrock like the fingers of a
dead god. Looking up, Ronin could see leathery, shriveled pods hanging from the
grey branches.
The sight bore a haunting resemblance to the Great Tree the Chimera Ants would
eventually plant in the palace of East Gorteau years later.
As the gate swung fully open, a cloud of stagnant, centuries-old dust billowed
out.
Ronin's En swept into the chamber. He sensed no movement, no heartbeat. It
seemed the raptors he had incinerated earlier were the final harvest this tree
had produced. The biological factory was empty.
The unit entered the room with practiced caution. Once the perimeter was
verified as clear, and several gunmen had taken up oversight positions at the
entrance, the group gathered at the base of the trunk.
"This... doesn't look like it has much liquid value," Ronin noted. He scanned
the alcoves for storage bins or archives, but time is a cruel thief; very few
records can survive a millennium of subterranean rot.
As for identifying the species? Ronin hit a wall. To know if this was truly the
legendary Metallion required a depth of Gourmet and Ruins Hunter knowledge he
simply didn't possess. He was a master of combat, not a botanist of the
Forbidden Continent.
"I wonder," Muherr mused, inspecting a series of rusted conduits nearby. "Does
every skyscraper in this city house one of these?"
He circled to the rear of the trunk and stopped. A conveyor belt system emerged
from a trench in the floor, leading directly into a hollow orifice in the tree's
base. The entrance was narrow—barely three meters wide.
As they cleared the grime from the belt's rollers, they found dark, caked
residue beneath the dust. The deep brown stains were unmistakable.
The same word flashed through every mind in the room: Sacrifice.
Whether the fuel was human or animal was unknown, but the tree had been fed
blood to produce its soldiers.
The next steps were routine. They scavenged anything of apparent value—strange
metallic jars and reinforced vials—and then prepared to reseal the gate.
Given the weight of the doors, which required Golem's full hydraulic output to
move, no amateur group would be able to breach this sector even if they found
it. The secret remained safe under the Rock Mercenaries' seal.
"Shall we sweep the neighboring towers?" Ronin asked.
Muherr nodded. A single data point was just a curiosity. To map the city's true
function, they needed a broader sample size.
If every building sat atop a biological forge, this ruin would become the
highest-priority site for the Hunter Association and the V5's Permitted Species
Isolation Agency.
"Don't look so down," Mashur said, patting Ronin's shoulder. "Even with just
this find, our bonus is already enough to retire on."
He assumed Ronin was disappointed by the lack of "loot."
In reality, Ronin was having an epiphany.
Before this mission, he had viewed himself as a spiritual successor to Chairman
Netero. He planned to grind his stats, seek out the strong, and fight until he
stood at the absolute peak of the martial world.
With the Sharingan and the Mangekyō, he never doubted he would reach that
summit.
But what happens after the peak?
Did he want to end up like Netero? Watching his body slowly decay while the
world grew smaller and more predictable?
Maybe the Dark Continent is the real goal.
The ruins offered a glimpse of a world that didn't follow the rules of Lake
Mobius. It offered a landscape of the "Unknown"—a place where his growth
wouldn't be capped by human limits.
"Ronin?"
The unit had already moved back into the corridor. Vanessa had stopped, looking
back at him.
"Coming," Ronin said, offering a small smile as he fell back into formation.
If he truly intended to cross the horizon, he needed to be thorough. He needed
to secure the remaining Scarlet Eyes, finish his business with the Phantom
Troupe, and build a team capable of surviving a world of Calamities.
He wouldn't follow the Kakin Empire's route. Their "Succession Contest" was a
meat grinder he had no interest in. He wanted to go as Netero once had—as a
rogue, an explorer, a ghost in the system.
But to do that, he needed knowledge.
As the unit began a new sweep, the dynamic shifted. With Golem acting as the
heavy vanguard, Ronin settled into a support role.
Monsters that shrugged off Gatling fire were reduced to ash by the Golem's new
flamethrowers. Ronin's job became the "Coolant." Every time a sector was
cleared, he used Water Style to drop the temperature, allowing the unit to
advance without waiting for the heat to dissipate.
The synergy was perfect. Their clearing speed was now triple what it had been
when he was solo.
The deeper they went, the closer Ronin felt to the truth of his ancestors.
☆☆☆
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