What do you mean by saying that the corpses I sew are all ominous creatures?

The edges of the pit also have a glassy luster, as if they were melted by the high temperature and then solidified again. Stepping on them will make a slight "crackling" sound.

Several of the bronze chains that were originally used to seal the stone coffin broke after the aftershocks of the gunpowder explosion and the recent thunderbolt.

Thick iron chains lay scattered along the edge of the deep pit, their broken ends charred black.

I carefully jumped down along the edge of the pit and reached the bottom.

To my surprise, the huge stone coffin, located at the core of both the explosion and the lightning strike, was actually quite intact, except for its surface being blackened by smoke.

I walked to the stone coffin and leaned in to look inside.

The interior of the sarcophagus was very large, enough for three adults to lie down.

There was none of the foul-smelling preservative liquid I had imagined, nor any burial objects such as gold, silver, or jade.

The inside was empty, with only some dark brown powder residue at the bottom, the nature of which was unknown.

However, when my gaze swept over the inner wall of the stone coffin, my eyes involuntarily paused for a moment.

In the dim light of the underground space, I could vaguely see that there seemed to be something carved on the four inner walls of the stone coffin.

I took out the flashlight I'd swiped from the gunpowder depot from my pocket, turned it on, and shone a beam of white light onto the inner wall of the stone coffin.

Under the strong light, the traces hidden in the years and shadows were finally revealed.

It was a vast expanse of strange, densely packed runes.

The runes were deeply engraved, with twisted and eerie lines.

It is neither like the cloud-script talismans of Taoism that emphasize a single, continuous stroke to communicate with heaven and earth, nor like the square and solemn Sanskrit script of Buddhism.

They look more like human bodies writhing in pain, or perhaps abstract totems used in sacrificial rituals in some primitive tribe.

I frowned slightly and brought the flashlight closer, trying to discern the pattern in the runes.

But after looking at it for a long time, I still had no clue.

This thing is completely beyond the scope of my folk knowledge as a corpse sewer.

Perhaps only experts who specialize in studying the ancient scripts of ethnic minorities in Southwest China can discern some clues.

Just to be on the safe side, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly released the mysterious, cool sensation between my brows.

Using his mental energy, he covered the inside of the stone coffin.

A cool breeze, like invisible tentacles, carefully swept across the stone walls carved with runes.

A few minutes later, I opened my eyes and withdrew my senses.

There was no magical fluctuation.

These runes are clean and clear, with no trace of yin energy, evil energy, or any other mysterious power flowing through them.

That makes sense. Under the powerful thunderous strike just now, even if there were any malicious formations originally set up on this stone coffin, they would have been reduced to ashes long ago.

All that remains now are some lifeless carving marks.

Although I was certain there was no direct danger, I remained vigilant.

This ancient tomb exudes an eerie atmosphere, and this stone coffin, which has contained an evil corpse for who knows how many years, is definitely not an ordinary object.

With that thought in mind, I put the flashlight in my mouth and took out my phone from my pocket.

I unlocked the screen, opened the camera app, and turned on the flash.

"Snap! Snap! Snap!"

I circled the stone coffin, changing angles, and took more than twenty high-resolution photos of the strange runes on the inner wall.

Only after making sure that every corner and every distorted symbol was clearly recorded in the photo album did I put my phone away with satisfaction.

It's better to leave behind visual records and give them to the administrative staff at the Folklore Bureau who specialize in document research to solve the problem than to be completely clueless.

After doing all this and confirming that there were no other clues left in the stone platform and the deep pit, I pushed off with my feet and jumped out of the pit.

We returned to the flat sacrificial plaza.

By this time, the atmosphere at the edge of the square had eased considerably.

Ling Shu was squatting next to the gunpowder, opening the battlefield first aid kit he carried with him.

She deftly cleaned the deep, bone-revealing incision on Gunpowder's left arm with saline solution, then skillfully threaded a needle and began on-site suturing.

Gunpowder was a tough guy; he had a bandage in his mouth, veins bulging on his forehead, but he didn't utter a sound.

The hunting dog stood to one side, holding the machete, and vigilantly watched its surroundings.

Not far from them, Shan Yan was dealing with the three masked prisoners whose jaws I had dislocated.

Shan Yan's methods were very simple and brutal.

He walked over, grabbed one of the prisoners by the chin with one hand, and shoved him hard.

With a "crack," the man's chin was forcefully put back in place.

The prisoner convulsed in pain, and before he could even catch his breath, Shan Yan's blood-stained military knife was already pressed against his carotid artery.

"Speak! Who are you? Who sent you? How did you find this place?"

Shan Yan's voice was deep and filled with murderous intent, his eyes fierce.

Although the prisoner was pale and covered in sweat, his eyes held a stubborn madness.

He stared intently at the rocky cliffs, a mocking sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth, then pressed his lips tightly together, remaining silent.

Shan Yan snorted coldly and, without the slightest hesitation, flipped his wrist.

The hilt of the knife slammed into the man's shoulder, breaking his collarbone.

Then he reached out again, grabbed the man's chin, and with another "snap," removed the chin from his jaw again.

Next, Shan Yan walked toward the second prisoner and repeated the same action.

Set the bone, interrogate, break the bone, and then dislocate the jaw.

The whole process was swift and efficient, without a single unnecessary word.

But when they tried three prisoners in a row, the result was exactly the same.

These people were like emotionless machines; even when they were writhing in pain on the ground, not one of them uttered a single word.

"Damn it, they're all suicide squads, they're tough as nails."

Shan Yan stood up, kicked the prisoner on the ground like a lump of mud with his toe, turned his head to look at me as I walked over, and spat out a bit of helpless spit.

"We won't get anything out of this investigation."

These guys have received professional training in resisting torture; ordinary methods are useless against them.

I nodded, my tone calm: "As expected."

Those who are sent to carry out such missions of silencing witnesses and robbing cannot be spineless.

"Don't waste your energy. We've already caught them. Once we're back at the station, we can hand them over to the interrogation experts. They'll find a way to get them to talk."

Shan Yan nodded in agreement, then pulled a black satellite communicator from the inside pocket of his tactical vest.

The battle is over. The evil corpse has been eliminated. Although a group of mysterious assassins have emerged, they have been suppressed by us.

The immediate priority is to call for logistical support, manage the situation on-site, and safely evacuate the wounded and prisoners.

We had just gone through a fierce battle, and almost all of us were injured or exhausted.

It's really unrealistic to expect us to carry three grown men back over mountains and valleys again.