793 Morora
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793 Morora
Hearing the sounds from behind the door, the faces of all the serious offenders changed, except for Lumian.
Guei blurted out, “What’s behind the door?”
Could exile actually mean being sent to some monster to be its food?
“Behind the door is a path leading to your place of exile,” the beautiful woman with the oval face answered simply. “There are no monsters waiting to eat you, but it is indeed dangerous. I don’t know the specifics, but there’s definitely a chance for you to survive. It’s much better than being hanged or shot.”
Guei, Lez, and the others exchanged glances, then looked at the clergy in white robes trimmed with bra.s.s. They were tempted but eventually suppressed their urge.
They believed they were no match for the clergy of the Church of Knowledge, especially the beautiful woman who clearly held a higher status.
Guei glanced at Lumian and saw that the wanted criminal, who claimed to have committed various serious crimes, looked calm and unafraid.
“I will open the door in a moment. You will enter on your own. Anyone who stays behind will have an additional charge tagged on, and be sentenced to death on the spot,” the beautiful woman said, raising her hands. In her light blue eyes, countless illusory lights seemed to float.
Dark, dim rain fell silently from a height of about four meters, drenching Lumian and the others.
Lumian immediately felt irritated, a wave of violent emotions surging within him.
It seemed like the blood of Omebella was stirring.
“What did you do to us?” Guei asked, unsure and alarmed.
The beautiful woman in the beige coat with bra.s.s trim explained in a teaching tone,
“This is a mystic technique called ‘Harps’ Rain of Sterility.’ It renders you infertile but can be reversed with the corresponding mystic technique or by a professional doctor.
“We don’t want babies born in the place of exile. They are innocent.”
Rain of Sterility… No wonder Omebella’s blood reacted so strongly… I wonder if this secret technique will affect me or if the special properties of Omebella’s bloodline will neutralize it… If it works, would it prevent embryos from implanting if I were influenced by the Great Mother in the future? It probably depends on the rank of the influence… Lumian thought that the Rain of Sterility might not be a bad thing.
The other serious offenders didn’t see it as a problem either. Some already had children, while others were too cold-blooded or twisted to think much about offspring.
The beautiful woman stepped back a few paces, faced the bra.s.s doors, and pressed her hands in the air.
The doors emitted a heavy, metallic creaking sound and slowly opened.
For some reason, Guei and the others felt an urge to go through the doors, stepping into the dim pa.s.sage beyond.
They didn’t notice that, except for the beautiful woman, the clergy of the Church of Knowledge had retreated to the edge of the corridor, standing on the steps when the doors opened.
Lumian felt the same urge, sensing something familiar yet unknown calling to him from deep within the pa.s.sage.
He walked in the middle of the group, hearing the clang of the closing doors behind them.
The pa.s.sage dimmed significantly, illuminated only by glowing gems embedded in the walls.
How extravagant… Lumian instinctively thought.
Guei glanced around and whispered, “Should we stay here and wait until there are fewer guards outside, then find a way to escape?”
“Do you think the exiled people before us didn’t think of that?” Vijepan sneered. “And we’re still shackled. How do we escape?”
Lumian watched coldly, noticing that Guei could somewhat resist the urge to flee while the other serious offenders were finding excuses to reject his suggestion.
After they argued for two or three minutes, Lumian casually asked, “Do we have any food? What if the guards only have a lapse every few days?”
Without waiting for Guei to answer, Lumian continued, “Actually, there is food. Each one of you is food.”
He turned to Lez, the human chef, and asked with a smile, “How would you prepare us?”
“Suitable for stewing and pickling. You need the right spices to prevent the taste from turning sour,” Lez replied, his face lighting up.
Guei fell silent for a few seconds, then, handcuffed and shackled, began to walk slowly down the pa.s.sage. Lumian followed at the same pace.
They walked for what felt like seven or eight hours, though Lumian suspected his sense of time was distorted.
During this time, no one chose to stop. It seemed like they were heading not for a City of Exiles but a Land of Hope.
They frequently heard the indescribable terrifying sounds, prompting the human chef, Lez, to comment, “It’s like we’re walking down a monster’s long esophagus, heading for its stomach. The sounds are its digestive movements.”
Lumian agreed, while the others felt their hair stand on end.
Finally, they saw stone steps leading upwards.
This seemed to signify that the end was near.
Climbing the steps and pushing open a heavy wooden door, Lumian and the others were momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight, causing them to instinctively close their eyes. The indescribable, chilling sounds ceased.
Almost simultaneously, a gentle voice said, “Welcome to the City of Exiles, Morora.”
Just as I thought… Lumian sighed silently, opened his eyes, and looked around.
They were in a grand prayer hall of a cathedral. Sunlight streamed through stained gla.s.s windows, creating a sacred and radiant scene.
The walls without windows were adorned with murals depicting mythical stories, while below stood bra.s.s bookshelves filled with various books and scrolls.
It felt more like a library than a church.
The speaker was an old man in a white robe trimmed with bra.s.s. He was in his sixties or seventies, with graying hair, gentle and clear amber eyes, and no trace of cloudiness. He held a thick book in his left hand, a standard scholar-clergyman of the Church of Knowledge.
Yet Lumian felt he wasn’t a real person, suspecting he was a specially crafted puppet.
“Morora? This place is called Morora?” Guei asked curiously, opening his eyes.
The old man nodded. “I am Heraberg, responsible for all theological affairs in Morora.”
As he spoke, he extended his right hand, pointing at Lumian and the others.
The shackles, handcuffs, and chains through their collarbones softened instantly, as if made of mud.
With a clatter, they fell from the bodies of the serious offenders, hitting the gray and white stone floor with metallic thuds.
The serious offenders’ hearts sank, abandoning any bad thoughts.
Heraberg handed out the thick book and a bra.s.s-cased pen.
“Register your names. This signifies your official status as residents of Morora.”
Lumian complied, taking the book and writing “Louis.”
Next was Guei. He took the book and pen and tentatively asked Heraberg, “How do you know we’re writing our real names?”
Heraberg replied calmly, “The past is not important. In Morora, the present and the future matter.”
Guei pondered for a while, unsure of the clergyman, Heraberg’s meaning.
Considering that the Church of Knowledge could exchange information via telegram, he didn’t use a fake name but wrote his real name honestly.
After all the serious offenders finished registering, Heraberg looked at them and said, “You must follow the rules here. Most laws are the same as in other cities in Lenburg, but dueling is legal if both parties agree. Non-violent protests are also allowed. We have a dedicated team to maintain order in Morora.”
The honest-looking, middle-aged Lez asked, “Can we join the enforcement team?”
“The enforcement team is made up entirely of experimental personnel,” Heraberg replied warmly.
Guei asked, “How do we become experimental personnel?”
Vijepan asked grimly, “What happens if we break the law here? Jail time or death penalty?”
Heraberg smiled.
“The worst punishment for breaking the law here is becoming an experimental personnel.”
“Wouldn’t that make us enforcers?” Guei was stunned.
Isn’t that encouraging us to break the law?
Lumian recalled the term “experimental personnel” frequently appearing in the 0-01 sealed information.
Just from that, he knew becoming experimental personnel was definitely not a good thing.
Heraberg’s expression remained unchanged.
“Yes, but remember, besides the church’s overseers, at least two experimental personnel are discarded daily.”
Discarded… Guei and the others found this term strangely terrifying.
“How many people are in Morora now?” Lumian asked a peculiar question.
Heraberg replied with a smile, “Nearly 200,000. The city has farms, mines, and factories around it, all part of Morora.”
“Nearly 200,000? Does Lenburg have that many serious offenders?”
Lumian was slightly surprised.
Heraberg professionally explained, “It’s acc.u.mulated over generations, and we also spend money to import serious offenders from abroad.”
Import… makes it sound like importing talent… Lumian pondered for a few seconds, not in a hurry to “commit a crime,” planning to apply to become experimental personnel, hoping to get close to the sealed 0-01.
He bade farewell to Heraberg and headed for the exit of the library-like cathedral, intending to first find the two parts of the Abscessed Hand.