142: Third sacrifice

The door opened with a creak. The Evil Sheep Priest walked out, leaning on a bone staff with slow steps. The sound of the staff tapping the ground was slightly lighter than before.

He stood by the stone platform, his eyes white as he looked at Shen Xiaochuan. "You waited for three days."

“Yes.” Shen Xiaochuan looked up. “I've thought of the answer.”

“Speak.”

“Why do I want to become stronger?” Shen Xiaochuan stood up and brushed the dust off his pants. “Because the people behind me cannot be weak.”

The priest did not move.

The wind grew stronger, blowing up stones from the ground that clattered against the stone platform.

A few seconds later, the priest spoke: “The existence inside... has heard you.”

Shen Xiaochuan's breath hitched.

“It approves of your answer.” The priest turned and pointed to the staircase entrance behind the stone platform. “But to obtain the Legacy, you must do one more thing.”

“Go on.”

“Enter the memory world of the Evil God Aminos,” the priest said in a low voice. “Find out why He fell. It wasn't because of betrayal, nor was it a rebellion by Believers. It was the root cause—what made a god who created rules destroy his own rules with his own hands?”

Shen Xiaochuan frowned.

“Mission Rank: S-Rank,” the priest continued. “Success grants a portion of the Evil God's Origin power and ten purple crystal cores. Failure... means your Soul shatters, and you can never undergo Rebirth.”

Shen Xiaochuan remained silent.

A System prompt rang in his ear:

【Accept mission: Determine the cause of the Evil God's fall?】

【Restrictions: Favorability must reach 60 points; a maximum of three thousand followers can be brought in】

Shen Xiaochuan frowned and asked, “How is favorability calculated?”

The priest raised his bone staff, pointing to the grooves on the stone platform, his voice raspy. “Sacrificing items can increase it. Exotic beast corpses, Believers' Souls, or faith crystals will all work. For rare-grade corpses and above, each adds 6 points; perfect grade ones add 10 points. You are currently at 20 points.”

Shen Xiaochuan nodded.

He took out eight exotic beast corpses from his storage space. They were all rare-grade Early Stage, specifically hunted over the past few days. These beasts were large, their fur glinting like metal under the light, with knife wounds on their necks.

“I want to sacrifice these eight,” he said.

The priest was silent for two seconds before saying, “Only one can be sacrificed at a time. You must wait for the runes to fade before sacrificing the next one.”

“Fine.”

Shen Xiaochuan stepped forward, shouldered the first corpse, and threw it into the groove.

Boom—

Purple-black runes lit up, the ground vibrated, and a dark red liquid like blood seeped from the edges of the groove. A few seconds later, the light faded and the liquid disappeared.

【Sacrifice complete. Favorability +6. Current favorability: 26】

He immediately threw in the second one.

The process was the same. With each sacrifice, the vibrations grew stronger. By the third, a nearby rock exploded. By the fourth, a crack appeared in the groove.

【32】

During the fifth sacrifice, the wind suddenly stopped, and the air felt as if it had frozen.

【38】

At the sixth, the entire stone platform shook, and the priest took half a step back.

【44】

Just as the seventh was placed in, black energy emerged from below, entangling the corpse and sucking it into a mummified state in three seconds.

【50】

As he was about to place the eighth, the priest raised his hand. “Enough.”

Shen Xiaochuan stopped.

“50 points,” the priest said. “You're one sacrifice away from 60. You were right to keep two back.”

Shen Xiaochuan withdrew his hand.

He knew the final sacrifice had to be precise; it couldn't be wasted.

“The mission eligibility isn't fully open yet.” The priest leaned on his bone staff. “Raise your favorability to 60 within three days. After that, the altar will open a teleportation channel, and you can bring people in.”

Shen Xiaochuan narrowed his eyes and asked, “A maximum of three thousand followers?”

The priest nodded. “Yes.”

Shen Xiaochuan asked again, “Can we bring weapons?”

The priest said, “You can. But once inside, you will mainly rely on your own will; external objects can only help a little.”

Shen Xiaochuan took note of this.

“I'm going back to the city,” he said. “To prepare people and supplies.”

The priest nodded. “Three days. When the time is up, the channel will only open once. If you miss it, come back in ten years.”

“I know.”

He shouldered his bag and took one last look at the stairs leading underground. Black energy was still drifting upward, as if something below was breathing.

He turned and left.

The storm chariot was still where he left it. Its treads pressed against the rubble, making muffled thuds. He sat in the cockpit, started the engine, and the vehicle slowly turned around.

In the rearview mirror, the altar grew smaller and smaller until it was finally covered by mist.

He stepped on the gas.

The landscape of the wasteland had changed. Cracks were becoming more frequent, and some places were smoking as if the ground were on fire. The navigation was still broken, but he knew the way, driving forward according to the markings on the parchment.

After driving for two hours, the view suddenly opened up.

Ahead was no longer barren land.

A city was being built up.

In the West District of Skydome City, newly built smelting furnaces were lined up in three rows, their mouths spitting fire and billowing thick smoke. Railcars ran directly from the mining area into the city, operating automatically with a rhythmic clanging. In the distance, steam towers began to vent, sending white pillars into the sky.

He slowed down and pulled over to the side.

He pulled out his phone and took a look.

faith points were increasing at a rate of +1 per second. The curve was flat, without fluctuations.

He smiled, restarted the war chariot, and headed straight for the military base.

The base's main gate had been replaced with an alloy steel door, imprinted with a gear logo—one he had drawn casually, which had now become the official insignia. The guards were newly recruited Believers, wearing uniform grey cloth combat fatigues with short swords at their waists.

“Leader!” Someone saluted upon seeing the war chariot.

Shen Xiaochuan nodded. Without getting out, he drove directly into the parking apron.

The warehouse was on the east side. He walked into the Zone B storehouse, entered the password, and opened the high-level materials room.

He took out four rare-grade weapons from his storage space and registered them into the inventory one by one.

The first: a long-handled battle axe with a serrated blade, engraved with the word "Armor-Piercing."

The second: a double-edged short spear, entirely black with a non-slip grip.

The third: a flail, the mace head covered in barbs and the chain retractable.

The fourth: a greatsword with a thick spine, suitable for hacking.

He put a seal on each weapon, labeling them as "S-Rank Combat Readiness Materials," with the requirement for retrieval being S-Rank military merit.

Having done this, he went to the command room and turned on the broadcast.

“Attention everyone.” His voice spread throughout the base. “Starting today, the 'Military Merit Evaluation Regulations' will be implemented.”

The area below fell silent.

“Combat kills, patrols, resource collection, and building repairs all count toward military merit,” he said. “Settlements will occur once a month. The top ten will have priority in exchanging for equipment, and the top three can enter the Elite Training Camp.”

He paused. “The first batch of rewards will come from these new weapons. Whoever contributes the most gets them.”

Having finished, he turned off the broadcast.

Outside immediately became lively. People were discussing, some were running, and others were shouting, “Hurry, go mine!” “I'll take the wall repair job!”

He stood by the window, watching the people coming and going on the drill grounds.

This was what he really wanted.

Not relying on his own strength alone, but letting everyone become stronger together.

He knew that many of these people were slaves he had rescued from the black market. Previously, they had no names and no dignity, only able to endure beatings and suffering. Now they had names, jobs, could eat their fill, and sleep well. They no longer walked with their heads bowed.

He touched the copper gear pendant at his cuff and walked toward the armory's monitoring terminal.

He pulled up the inventory list and confirmed the status of the four weapons as normal and sealed.

Then he opened the Believer files and filtered for elites with a combat power of over 1200, totaling three thousand one hundred and twenty-seven people.

He deleted the extras, leaving exactly three thousand.

Remark: Eligible for the S-Rank mission follower list.

Save.

Power off.

He walked out of the command room; it was already dark.

The base's lights were all on, looking like a patch of stars on the ground. The glow from the distant smelting furnaces illuminated the bottom of the clouds in shades of red and yellow.

He stood on the steps and took a deep breath.

The wind blew from the west of the city, carrying the smell of molten iron and steam.

Three days.

He had three days of preparation time left.

The weapons were there, the System was established, and the people were chosen.

All that remained was to wait.

He returned to his room and closed the door behind him.

On the desk was a document, a design drawing for steam-powered exoskeletons submitted by the Engineering Department. He flipped through a couple of pages and set it down.

He didn't want to look at that right now.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his mood somewhat complex. He took out the Northern Territory coordinates parchment from his backpack and carefully spread it out. There were several red dots on it, marking the locations of the altar, the rift valley, and the underground passage. With a determined look, he picked up a pen, drew a circle around the entrance area, and wrote the words "Rendezvous Point."

He rolled up the parchment and tucked it under his pillow.

He stood up, walked to the wall, and pulled the circuit breaker.

The lights went out.

Outside, the city was still running. Railcars went back and forth, cranes rose and fell, and the faint sound of voices could be heard.

He knew that many of these people were slaves he had rescued from the black market.

They now had names, jobs, ate their fill, and could sleep soundly.

They no longer walked with their heads bowed.

He lay down and closed his eyes.

That sentence was still echoing in his mind:

“Why do you want to be strong?”

Because the people behind him could not be weak.

Early the next morning, he went to the smelting plant.

The furnace fires were burning brightly, and workers were doing their shifts. He stood on the observation platform and watched for a while without speaking, then turned and went to the training grounds.

Three hundred recruits were practicing parrying. The instructor was a veteran with a loud voice and fierce movements.

Shen Xiaochuan looked around, picked out twenty with standard movements, and noted down their identification numbers.

At noon, he returned to the base for lunch, eating compressed rations with a pack of braised meat. After eating, he went to the warehouse to check the newly arrived protective armor; the quantity was correct.

In the afternoon, he summoned the logistics supervisor to arrange the supplies for three days later: five hundred sets of water purification devices, three tons of emergency food, and two thousand medical kits, all packed and ready for transport.

In the evening, he went up onto the city wall.

The wind was very strong.

The refugee camp below was brightly lit. Children were running in the open space, their laughter drifting up.

He watched for a while, then went down for a walk.

A youth was squatting at the entrance of a tent repairing a radio, the welding torch flashing blue light.

He stopped.

“Can it be fixed?”

The youth looked up. “Ch... Chief. Yes, it's just missing a capacitor.”

“I'll have one sent to you tomorrow.”

“Thank you!”

He nodded and continued walking.

Passing the kitchen, he smelled meat soup. A group of people were lining up for food in an orderly fashion.

He turned into an alley and saw two women washing clothes, chatting as they scrubbed.

“I heard the Leader is taking people on a mission?”

“Yeah, three thousand elites, the best in the city.”

“He goes personally every time.”

“Of course. Last time at the black market, all thirty-five thousand people were bought by him.”

He didn't stay, silently walking away.

Returning to the base, he washed his face, sat at his desk, and opened his notebook.

He wrote a line of text:

“The third sacrifice is complete, favorability 50/60. Remaining preparation time: 48 hours.”

Below, he listed three items:

Final sacrifice—scheduled for two hours before departure to ensure the channel opens on time.

Follower list confirmation—three thousand people, combat power 1200+, no major injuries or illnesses.

Supply distribution—each person issued a basic equipment pack, including weapons, food, and a communicator.

Finishing, he closed the notebook.

He stood up and walked to the window.

The city was still running.

The smelting furnace fires hadn't gone out, the railcars were still running, and the training ground lights stayed on late into the night.

He knew this trip wouldn't be easy.

Ninety-nine percent of the people who went in would die.

But he had to go.