Our Family Has Fallen

The first layer is the area untouched by flesh, filled with thick blood mist. On the second layer, part of it has started to corrode, and the spread of flesh consuming the blood mist makes the fog much thinner.

In the second layer, although Lance had reaped quite a bit of flesh before, as time passed, it gradually healed, truly a living entity.

However, it was significantly weakened, and the remaining flesh was something Lance couldn’t be bothered to cut. He headed to the nearest Iron Crown altar instead.

Alhazred stepped forward to observe the activated altar, observing the intense aura of evil that seemed almost tangible.

"Should we destroy it directly?"

Lance didn’t understand the principles of mysticism, but he had a strong fist.

"It’s hard to understand in a short amount of time, I think we better not act rashly."

The scholar could only offer advice, as he wasn’t confident either.

Since that was the case, there was nothing more to say, and they passed through the altar, through the completely covered flesh channel.

Entering a place even more terrifying than the previous two levels.

While the second layer was occupied by flesh, walls and floors could still be seen, along with bizarre sculptures and large ruined rocks.

But the distinction was that this was the most severely corrupted area of the dungeon by flesh. All that could be seen around was flesh, with walls and floor fused with it, resulting in a slick feeling underfoot.

Uniquely, this flesh differed from the irregular and abundant mixture of organs before, appearing smooth like intestines.

Then, a large number of synovial ties made of flesh connected them, and dense alveolus-like protrusions grew at the ends of the connections.

Looking out from the gaps in the channel, without the red mist covering, one could see the flesh was alive, pulsating like intestines, thumping like a heart, akin to a vast organic fusion.

The team seemed to have suddenly intruded into the insides of a behemoth!

Lance now understood the commotion when the Iron Crown altar activated, but it wasn’t as simple as leaving it be. Raising his hand, he released various items, even a cart.

The plan was set on the road, so the Honor Guard donned leather gloves and masks; some picked up blades to cut, some picked up rakes to tear, working together to rip the ubiquitous flesh off from the whole.

Indeed, the task of these trusted aides was not to fight but to drain the ancestor of blood.

Sharp blades sliced through the flesh, and they cooperated to butcher large chunks of flesh like butchers, disregarding the gushing blood and violently twitching flesh.

The efficiency of fifty people stacked a human-high meat mountain in mere minutes, with blood flowing messily, looking quite sinister.

Lance sacrificed carelessly, the piled meat mountains quickly dissolved, gaining spiritual essence rewards and blessing the aides, making them seem like perpetual motion machines, tireless.

Compared to the dungeon, they were as insignificant as bacteria; a bite or two might not affect the beast, but continuous erosion would eventually render it to bones.

After a simple test, Lance formally started the action, pushing the cart forward, the accompanying Honor Guard trimming and exchanging chunks of flesh for blessings.

The legion, along with Alhazred and Beggby, proceeded, soon encountering an attack from the flesh monsters.

It was a slender stem rooted in flesh, with a swollen head on top.

Rare to this place, mouths and black eyes appeared randomly and densely on its body, displaying a menacing spectacle.

As a natural defense mechanism, the antibody tried to expel invaders that the evil cult couldn’t repel.

Beside the antibody, two hydrae hovered nearby, flapping their fleshy wings like drone escorts.

Upon contact, the mouths on those three creatures indiscriminately spewed unspeakable sticky secretions at the team.

The legion raised shields and advanced, blocking those substances, providing a safe output space to teammates behind.

To this, Alhazred raised the Skull Candleholder, several scarlet energy tentacles appeared within the ritual patterns, whipping those two hydrae, tearing them to pieces.

Simultaneously, Beggby swung the chains in hand, striking the antibody’s large head, knowing the power used by Church Judges to suppress transcendent beings, exerting forceful suppression.

At this moment, the legion had already advanced, chopping down the stem of the antibody with a single sword, inserting longswords into the heads of the hydrae with two more strikes, killing all struggling monsters with chaotic swordplay.

The battle ended as soon as it started, due to the team’s powerful configuration.

With the Lord present, Alhazred could exert full power.

Though Beggby was originally a scholarly researcher, the entity cohabiting within had ample combat experience.

This peculiar state endowed him with a strong physique, maxed out resistances, and remarkable combat instinct, as if born with it.

The legion was especially robust; otherwise, the Lich wouldn’t have fled rather than engage.

More importantly, their unique physical state resisted flesh corruption, the true reason Lance had persuaded them over.

These enemies barely hindered their advance, Lance didn’t need to worry about much.

Alhazred and Beggby only needed to handle control; even the nimble and swift Flesh Hounds found themselves constrained by shadow tentacles that emerged from the ground, with Beggby picking them off one by one.

Alhazred had previously taught Beggby meditation, now using this opportunity to teach him self-control and state adjustment.

The legion was responsible for defense and output; they were tireless war machines, fearless of injury, for if wounded, they could swiftly recover by driving their blades into the flesh nearby.

Lance merely needed to collect bodies behind, occasionally refreshing blessings on the scholar and Beggby, suppressing their inward turmoil.

Like a tunnel-boring machine going through a mountain, they rampaged through the behemoth’s body, grinding any hard rock blocking their path.

Whether intestine-like channels or chamber-like rooms, they gashed their way through rivers of blood, with wailing and spasms ceaseless since their entry on the third layer.

The progress was so rapid that the aides couldn’t keep up with the reaping.

Frankly, Lance knew it wasn’t feasible to harvest everything in such a short time: the mountain- and sea-like flesh mostly lay in unreachable spots.

Thus, he aimed to cut the easily accessible parts, weaken the ancestor, and cultivate the aides using these gifts, which was truly pivotal.

When they entered, there were but a few Masters; exiting the dungeon, every one was a champion, and if a few more Legends emerged, Hamlet would swiftly complete the accumulation that other organizations took hundreds or thousands of years to achieve.

In the empire, aside from the Church, what power could muster so many Legends?

One could only say the "paper airplane" thrown by the ancestor flew back to his heir.

The operation was proceeding smoothly, with the aides increasingly vigorous, thankfully having endless flesh to vent their fervor.

In the process, they encountered formidable foes: a creature resembling the protector of the Iron Crown altar on the second layer appeared.

Scorpion-bodied, covered in a chitinous shell, wielding large pincers and a dark green scorpion tail.

Upon encounter, Lance quickly ordered the aides to retreat, then handed the Inflaming Talisman to the three heroes, one for the legion as a whole.

The Holy Hall creature responded instantly, charging with swinging limbs, its pincers eager to tear flesh, the stinger swiftly thrusting from behind.

The few had heard of this beast’s ferocity from the Lord, and dared not hesitate to attack...