Lin Yu does not have to wait long.
Within a few hours, hundreds of police officers and adventurers descend into the core region of the swamp.
They move in formation, cautious yet determined, pushing through the dense and oppressive environment until they reach the cavern.
The moment they step inside, their expressions change.
The cavern is vast.
Strange.
Alive.
Shrubs and long grass spread across the ground, growing wildly as if untouched for years, yet nourished by something unnatural.
Above, the ceiling is cracked open in several places, and through those jagged openings, sunlight pours in thin beams, illuminating the cavern in scattered patches of gold.
At the centre stands a massive tree.
Its bark resembles overlapping snake scales, dark and glistening faintly.
Its branches twist and coil like serpents, extending outward in unnatural curves.
From those branches hang shapes,
Eggs.
Large.
Pale.
Swaying gently like fruit in the air.
Inside them,
Children.
Unconscious.
Still.
A heavy silence falls over the group.
The density of dream energy here is suffocating.
Everyone present understands.
They have entered the core of the core.
Among the cultists, a man steps forward.
Handsome.
Calm.
But his skin betrays him.
Scattered across it are scale-like patterns, faint yet unmistakable.
He smiles.
A hiss slips from his lips.
"Welcome," he says. "Everyone… thank you for coming."
His eyes sweep across the crowd.
"I was in a dilemma… but now that you are all here, my problem is solved."
Captain Marilyn steps forward from the front of the group.
Her presence is steady.
Controlled.
"Who are you?" she asks.
The man pauses.
Then smiles wider.
"Oh… how rude of me," he says.
He tilts his head slightly.
"I am Bashil. A loyal servant of my Lord."
Marilyn's eyes remain fixed on him.
"Which Lord do you serve?"
Bashil's lips curl.
A sneer forms.
"There is only one Lord in this world," he says. "The Great Snake Mother."
A murmur spreads faintly among the crowd.
Marilyn nods slightly.
"So," she continues, "what does this Snake Mother want with the children?"
Bashil's expression turns reverent.
"They are offerings," he says. "Sacrifices to welcome the coming of Mother."
Marilyn tilts her head slightly.
"According to you, the Great Snake Mother is the mother of all creatures in the world."
Bashil's voice rises with conviction.
"Yes. She is the creator. From her, the world and all life are born."
Hidden within the cavern, Lin Yu listens.
A faint trace of amusement flickers within him.
A third-stage creature… claiming to be the creator of all life.
The ambition is absurd.
Yet interesting.
He considers it briefly.
Perhaps, before devouring this so-called Mother, he should let it understand the true height of existence.
His attention returns to the scene.
Marilyn speaks again.
"If she is the mother of all life, then how can a mother sacrifice her own children?"
Bashil's eyes gleam.
"They are not dying," he says. "They are returning to her embrace… to be reborn as more perfect beings."
Marilyn smiles faintly.
Then her gaze shifts.
"Senior Tom," she says, "let us end this farce."
Lin Yu's eyes follow her line of sight.
The old man steps forward.
His aura, previously hidden, begins to reveal itself.
Greg, standing among the crowd, stares in shock.
He had always thought Old Tom was an ordinary worker at the Adventure Union.
But now,
The air around him shifts.
Power leaks out.
Heavy.
Deep.
Whispers spread.
"Level Four Magician…"
"A Level Eleven creature…"
Old Tom walks forward calmly.
"Young man," he says, looking at Bashil, "surrender, become my experiment subject, and you may live."
Bashil's expression changes.
His eyes widen slightly.
This was not expected.
He had prepared for the Great Knights.
Not this.
He is only Level Eight.
This opponent,
Is far beyond him.
But he cannot retreat.
He cannot fail the Mother.
Resolve hardens in his eyes.
He makes his choice.
Even if it means losing his place in the human world.
Even if it means never spreading her faith again.
He roars.
An eerie breath spreads outward from his body.
The atmosphere shifts instantly.
Old Tom's expression turns serious.
"He is calling his God…" he mutters.
Without hesitation, Old Tom raises his hand.
"Dream Fireball."
A massive sphere of flame forms, composed entirely of condensed dream energy.
It roars forward.
Straight toward Bashil.
At the same moment,
Green energy bursts from Bashil's body.
It collides with the fireball.
The impact explodes violently.
Flames scatter.
Energy ripples outward.
Then,
A dome forms around Bashil.
Translucent.
Green.
Protecting him.
Inside the dome, Bashil's body begins to change.
Bones shift beneath his skin.
A faint cracking sound echoes as his frame twists unnaturally.
Scales spread across his body, dark and glistening, replacing flesh in patches that grow wider with each passing moment.
His legs fuse together, stretching downward, elongating, transforming into a thick serpent tail that coils beneath him.
His spine bends.
His posture rises.
The transformation continues.
Outside, Old Tom does not wait.
"Dream Axe."
A massive axe forms in the air, condensed from dense dream energy, its blade shimmering with destructive force.
It swings down.
Like chopping a tree.
It strikes the dome.
The impact resounds through the cavern.
The dome trembles.
Cracks flicker across its surface,
But it does not break.
Tom raises his hand again.
The axe reforms.
Strikes again.
And again.
Each blow shakes the barrier, but it holds.
Nearby, Greg moves.
While everyone's attention is drawn to Bashil and Tom, he lowers his presence and begins sneaking toward the tree.
Step by step.
Careful.
Silent.
His eyes remain fixed on the hanging eggs.
On his brother.
At the same time,
Captain Marilyn observes the battlefield.
Her gaze sharpens.
Even Senior Tom cannot break the dome quickly.
There is no time to wait.
Her attention shifts.
To the cultists.
To the bandits.
To the children hanging from the tree.
Her voice cuts through the cavern.
"Attack!"
"Destroy the cultists and rescue the children!"
Her aura erupts.
The presence of a Senior Knight spreads outward, heavy and commanding.
She charges forward.
Behind her, the police and adventurers surge into motion.
Steel clashes.
Energy bursts.
The cavern erupts into battle.
Greg abandons stealth.
He draws his sword and joins the fight, intercepting a cultist rushing toward the tree.
Their blades meet.
Meanwhile,
Inside the dome,
The transformation is complete.
Bashil emerges.
No longer human.
A grotesque fusion.
His upper body remains humanoid, but covered in scales, his eyes slitted, his mouth stretched unnaturally.
Below, his body is entirely serpentine, coiling and shifting with unnatural strength.
His aura surges.
Rises.
Reaches Level Eleven.
The dome collapses.
Shattering outward.
Bashil launches forward immediately.
Straight toward Old Tom.
His mouth opens wide,
A thick stream of poisonous mist bursts out.
It spreads rapidly.
Corrosive.
Deadly.
Old Tom remains calm.
A traditional elemental magician.
Versatile.
Prepared.
He raises his hand.
"The Great Wind Spell."
A violent gust erupts.
Blades of wind surge forward, tearing through the air.
They collide with the poisonous mist.
The fog is blown apart instantly.
Scattered.
Dispersed.
The wind continues.
Strikes Bashil directly.
Cuts appear across his scaled body.
Blood seeps.
Bashil hisses in pain.
Then,
Energy gathers around him.
A coating forms over his body.
A protective layer.
Deflecting further damage.
Elsewhere,
Greg fights.
A cultist lunges at him.
Greg sidesteps.
Dodges cleanly.
Then counters.
His sword, coated in fighting energy, cuts forward.
The blade tears through the man's armour.
Slices into his chest.
The cultist's body jerks,
Then collapses.
Dead.
Greg glances around.
The cavern has turned into chaos.
Blades clash.
Spells explode.
Cries echo from every direction.
Police and adventurers fight fiercely against cultists and bandits, pushing toward the tree, trying to break through the resistance.
Greg sees it clearly.
Many need help.
Many are struggling.
But his eyes do not linger.
His focus sharpens.
One thought remains.
His brother.
Nothing else matters.
He turns.
Moves toward the tree.
Carefully.
Step by step.
Avoiding the main clashes.
He reaches the base.
The massive trunk rises before him, its bark layered like overlapping snake scales, cold and unnatural to the touch.
Above, the branches stretch outward, and from them hang the eggs.
Dozens.
Swaying slightly.
Greg looks up.
Then begins searching.
From below.
One by one.
His eyes scan each egg.
Trying to see through the pale shells.
Trying to find a familiar face.
But he cannot.
They are too high.
Too obscured.
His jaw tightens.
"I have to climb," he mutters.
He steps closer to the trunk.
Raises his hand.
Then,
A sound.
A hiss.
Sharp.
Close.
Greg reacts instantly.
He jumps back.
From within the canopy above, shapes drop.
Snakes.
Multiple.
Their bodies coil through the air, fangs bared, striking toward him.
Greg's sword moves.
Fast.
Precise.
One swing.
Then another.
Heads separate cleanly from bodies.
The snakes fall.
Lifeless.
Their bodies hit the ground with dull thuds.
Greg steadies himself.
His eyes lift again,
Toward the tree.