I Forged the Myth of the Ancient Overlords
Chapter 183 - 183 Altar Front_1

Chapter 183: Altar Front_1 Chapter 183: Altar Front_1 “Behind you…”

Lu Ban immediately patted Shia’s shoulder.

Shia whipped around, adopting a defensive stance, but her expression quickly fell into confusion.

“What is it?”

Shia asked, seemingly unable to see the person and very puzzled, her eyes unable to focus on the other party.

“You didn’t see?”

Lu Ban asked, carefully watching in the direction of the person, the long-haired individual in a pitch-black gaze and white robe appeared just as perplexed as Shia.

Shia sensed something was amiss and immediately snapped her fingers.

The ripples of the Detection Spell spread out, but the magical feedback indicated nothing out of the ordinary.

“What did you see? My Detection Spell hasn’t told me anything.”

Shia began to feel uneasy.

If Lu Ban wasn’t lying, then it meant that there really was something in front of her.

Yet, her Detection Spell elicited no response.

Generally, there are two possibilities when a Detection Spell yields no response: either there truly is nothing, or the other possesses power far surpassing that of a spellcaster, making them undetectable.

“Just there…?”

Lu Ban was about to point out the other’s presence when he saw the figure disappear once again.

“Was that the…Remains of the Sage?”

Shia inquired.

Lu Ban’s strange behavior just now seemed related to the individual he had mentioned appearing in the ruins before. If it really was the Remains of the Sage, it could explain their ability to evade Shia’s Detection Spell.

After all, they were the existence at the pinnacle of Extraordinary Powers in this world, while Shia was merely a prospective Proxy lacking the qualifications to walk alone.

“I believe it should be.”

Lu Ban nodded.

Not understanding why he alone could see that thing, Lu Ban was in the Wasteland for the first time; in theory, he should have no involvement with anything here. Could it then be an effect of True Sight, now that Lu Ban had a deeper understanding of the Wasteland, allowing him to see things he wasn’t supposed to?

“I feel something isn’t quite right; we should consult with others.”

He looked towards the center of the city.

…

In the city center, at the circular plaza, before the altar.

“Iron Fist” stood there, gazing at the altar weathered and mottled by time, its inscriptions rendered illegible.

“This is the Nameless City, then?”

He reached out with a hand gleaming with crystals, already deformed beyond semblance to anything human, more like the limb of some insect, as he muttered to himself.

By his side, a man with half his face covered in crystal cores stepped forward and began to speak.

“According to the guidance of the map, it should be here. As long as we can find the treasure of this place, establishing a new City-state should not be a problem, and by then, you could become a Saint and rule over this Wasteland.”

“I don’t have such extravagant hopes; I only wish to find a way to save my City-state here.”

Iron Fist took out the map, checking it thoroughly.

If Giant Arm were here at this moment, he would quickly realize that Iron Fist’s map was far more detailed than his own. It had not only the precise coordinates of the stars and the sun but also some ancient Wasteland script.

These ancient writings were neither from the pre-crystal disease civilization nor modern scripts but remnants of a civilization that had briefly emerged upon the Wasteland, situated between the two eras.

After the spread of the crystal disease and the world began to enter its demise, the land was not as desolate as it is now, the remnants of humanity had once established a civilization, and later, for reasons unknown, that civilization annihilated, and only then did the land become the Wasteland as it is seen today.

In the eyes of many people, this was nothing but a legend, a nonsensical tale to deceive rookie Wasteland Hunters, but Iron Fist knew, after so many years of searching, he was certain that the civilization had existed.

It was the remains of that civilization that brought forth the Saints, the initial thirteen Saints were humanity’s hope to survive and conquer the crystal disease, and searching for the Remains of the Original Saints was the path to redemption that Iron Fist firmly believed in.

“This place was once a bustling City-state, with a scale and splendor that far surpassed Athens, only to fall into destruction due to unknown reasons…”

Iron Fist read the words on the map, looking towards the altar.

“The Remains of the Sage from this place are nowhere to be found, perhaps they’re down here.”

Iron Fist had seen altars like this in other ruins, one of the distinct features of that civilization, massive circular city plazas and altars, as if tens of thousands would gather here to witness some grand sacrificial ceremony, and just imagining it, one could see it was an extremely magnificent scene.

Beneath the altar lay an extremely complex mechanisms and passageways, no one knew what these mechanisms and passageways were constructed for, however, Iron Fist could vaguely guess from their shape and structure that they perhaps were designed to incarcerate or imprison something.

“Activate it.”

Iron Fist said.

Immediately, the people by his side took out two leather water bags, unwrapped the caps, and poured out the fluid within.

It was warm blood, from humans.

The blood flowed onto the altar, over its uneven surface, and surprisingly formed a complex pattern.

The pattern resembled a constellation, like the universe, like the sky and the earth.

The blood continued to flow downward, toward the end of the altar, seeping into its interior.

Rumble—

One could hear a roaring sound rising from below the ground, the earth under Iron Fist began to tremble, like a minor earthquake was occurring.

In an instant, under the night sky, those dormant creatures began to stir, drawn to this activity, peering into the city center.

Iron Fist and his companions watched the whole plaza begin to shake.

At this moment, the destroyed buildings seemed as if they had come to life; in the middle of the wide plaza, the altar slowly sank, revealing a passage leading to the underground.

A gust of decayed air blew in, causing Iron Fist to frown slightly.

“It looks quite deep below, give me a torch.”

Taking the torch handed to him by a person nearby, Iron Fist threw it down.

Clang—

After a time of falling, the torch hit the ground, illuminating the surroundings; it seemed to be a hall.

Iron Fist looked at the people beside him.

“Scouts go forward and explore, come back immediately if there’s any problem,” he commanded.

He called two agile Scouts, whose faces were half-crystallized, they grabbed ropes and slid down, picking up the torch to light the way.

At that moment, Iron Fist suddenly felt someone was watching him.

He stood up and turned around, only to see a figure in white standing at the highest point of the plaza’s stands, gazing from afar towards here.

Before he could send someone to check, Iron Fist blinked and noticed the figure had disappeared.

“There’s a door here, Boss, a door,” came the Scouts’ voice from below.

*

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