Only once we stood up did we realize the water hadn't submerged the entire passage; our heads could still break the surface.

This meant we didn't have to worry about drowning, and following the current's push, we began to move forward.

As we walked, Da Xiong grumbled from behind, "Damn it, what were you thinking? If this tunnel had been completely flooded, let's see how you'd get out!"

I admitted my action had been impulsive, but as long as the water continued to flow in, it meant the space inside hadn't been completely filled. The river had been pouring in for so long without filling the cavern, indicating the interior space was vast.

But I didn't have time to explain this to Da Xiong; instead, I hurried forward. I noticed the water level was still rising, and if we didn't move faster, we truly would be drowned.

Fortunately, after walking forward for only a short while longer, the gentle slope of the tunnel began to ascend sharply. As we entered the uphill climb, the water grew shallower, and soon we were out of it.

It was then I realized why the passage hadn't filled: when they originally dug the tunnel, the builders had left numerous drainage holes, about the size of a thumb, in the cavern walls. Apparently, they had anticipated digging into the riverbed.

Following the rising passage upwards, we discovered this time we might not have to go underground after all, as we were already very close to ground level.

Indeed, after another short walk, we emerged into a wide, open clearing.

But when we saw what lay within this clearing, all three of us froze instantly.

Don't assume we were only surprised when facing yokai or enemies; this time, we were confronted only by countless suits of armor.

However, these were no ordinary suits. Each piece was an armor once worn by a famous Japanese general—at least, they were all of the same style. Japan is a martial nation. In China, only a few renowned military leaders had unique armor, like Ma Chao or Zhao Yun. But in Japan, not only did formidable warriors possess their own armor, but even high-ranking Shoguns and Daimyo who rarely saw battle had theirs. Famous examples include Date Masamune's crescent moon helmet and Tokugawa Ieyasu's rice-stalk armor.

And now, before us, were the armors of nearly every famous warrior from the Sengoku period.

To verify their authenticity, we cautiously approached the nearest suit to examine it. This one appeared to be the Deer Antler Helmet worn by the legendary warrior Sanada Yukimura. It was displayed seated upon a wooden chair.

We circled it for a long time, inspecting every angle, and found that in terms of material, age, and structural integrity, it did not seem fake. However, I had seen pictures of Sanada Yukimura's armor online; it should have been in a museum or a memorial hall—certainly not here. Was this perhaps a contemporary replica? But what would be the point of replicating such a suit? I couldn't fathom it.

Looking around the vast space, I noticed the oppressive silence; it was like a tomb for armor, charged with an inexplicable, eerie atmosphere.

At that moment, Da Xiong muttered beside me, "What is this place? Why can't we see any stars?"

Hearing him, I looked up. Indeed, there wasn't a single star visible overhead. Even on a cloudy night, there should be some ambient light, but here, there was nothing—it felt like being deep underground. Yet, despite feeling like a cavern, a faint breeze brushed past us, making the sensation deeply strange.

We swept our professional Wolf Eye flashlights around, but despite their maximum focus range extending over two hundred meters, they seemed useless. No matter how we adjusted the direction or focus, the light beam never seemed to project onto any surface.

Faced with this bizarre situation, we walked forward in silence, heads down. To be honest, we were all feeling helpless. We were supposed to be meeting up with Xie Yuting, but my impulse had brought us to yet another inexplicable location. Evidently, the other two didn't blame me, as they were equally mesmerized by the strange sights.

Lost in thought, I continued walking. Then, not far ahead, a flicker of movement caught my eye—a figure darted past. The three of us were startled and quickened our pace to follow. But whether we were too slow or the figure had hidden itself, our beams swept the area fruitlessly; the shadow was gone.

"You saw that too?" Nie Chuan slapped my shoulder, frowning as he asked.

I nodded. "Looked like a man."

Da Xiong grumbled nearby, "Damn it, another sneaky bastard. If you have guts, show yourself for a proper fight."

I gestured for silence, as I had just detected a strange sound. Da Xiong immediately quieted, as he heard it too.

Screeech... screeech...

The sound was intermittent but piercingly sharp, like an animal using its claws to rake across stone. Yet, despite the scraping, the thing didn't seem to be moving; the noise originated from one fixed point.

We hurried around two rows of armor and suddenly saw a dark mass hunched on the ground. When we illuminated it with our flashlights, we saw it was an insect resembling a spider, but elongated, entirely black, with scythe-like, razor-sharp claws constantly tearing at the ground, leaving deep gouges.

This creature wasn't digging; it was pinned down by a sword emitting a dark sheen. That blade was all too familiar—it was the Muramasa, the cursed sword capable of driving men mad.

"Looks like that kid in the hood was here earlier," Nie Chuan said to me.

I nodded. "But why didn't he take the sword? Why pin the bug here?"

We paused, unable to find an answer. Da Xiong started to move to retrieve the sword from the creature, but I stopped him. I didn't know if the insect would revive once the blade was removed. Being pinned suggested it was difficult to kill and inherently dangerous, which is likely why the hooded youth resorted to such a drastic measure. Of course, there was another possibility...

Before I could voice my thought, a sharp CLANG echoed in our ears, like a heavy security door slamming shut violently at home.

"What was that...?" The other two were stunned, swinging their flashlights around. After a moment, they found nothing.

But then, a sound seemed to descend from above us—a multitude of voices whispering, so faint it made the hair on my scalp prickle. I felt as if some kind of door had just been opened.

Before I could process it, a large, soft, pale mass dropped nearby with a muffled thud. We focused our lights and realized it was a man, emaciated to the point of being skin and bone, writhing painfully on the ground. All three of us felt a chill—we couldn't tell what this thing was.

Then, more of these objects began dropping from above. They writhed incessantly, their faces twisted in agony, yet they emitted absolutely no sound. Soon, we were surrounded by these struggling forms. Fortunately, they showed no intention of attacking us, preoccupied instead with their own silent torment.

Just as a sliver of relief settled in my mind, the skin and flesh of these things suddenly split open like blossoming pods, revealing immense gaps. Inside their bodies, there was no blood, no muscle—only a mass of dark, writhing things. These substances erupted from the frail men as if a drilling rig had struck crude oil.

Once the black mass had fully separated from the decaying flesh, I realized they were not worms, but rather creatures akin to soft-bodied mollusks.