I can see experience bars after being transported to another world.

As they entered the boundary between the inner and outer city, old Morgan's brow furrowed even more.

If the outer city is chaos, then the inner city is hell right now.

All the lights were off; not a single one was lit.

In the darkness, only torches and holy light flickered, illuminating the surrounding scenery in an alternating light and shadow.

The bodies were scattered on the street.

Some were wearing dark blue uniforms; they were the Viscount's private guards.

Some of the corpses were even wearing golden armor.

"Even the Holy Armor Army has been wiped out?"

Old Morgan looked grim.

Corpses, blood, and entrails were scattered all around, and some people could even be seen convulsing and twisting, undergoing a process of mutation.

A soldier lay by the roadside, clutching his throat with both hands, making indistinct whimpering sounds.

His neck was split open with numerous cuts, from which bright red blood gushed out, as if gills had grown out.

"It's hopeless."

Valentine walked over to the suffering soldier and ended his life with a single sword stroke.

"This scale is definitely not a spur-of-the-moment attack!" Valentine sheathed his longsword, his green eyes scanning the surroundings. "They must have been operating in the inner city for a long time."

Old Morgan remained silent.

His gaze fell on a wall not far away, where a distorted symbol, drawn in blood, had been destroyed, signifying a sacrifice.

The inner city is the safest area in Grimport, home to the private armies of viscounts and various powerful factions, the Holy Armor Army, and a small garrison of the Empire.

How could the Deep Sea Church have infiltrated so deeply here?

unless……

Morgan's gaze darkened.

"The Viscount is suspicious," he said in a low voice.

Valentine nodded. "That's what I think too."

They didn't continue the discussion because a deafening roar was already coming from ahead.

The team quickened their pace and headed towards the city hall.

Along the way, they encountered several more wandering mutants, which Valentine quickly dispatched without even stopping.

The closer they got to the city hall, the stronger the pollution became. The nauseating stench mixed with an indescribable sense of oppression, as if some enormous creature was waiting for them ahead.

Finally, the City Hall Square came into view.

Morgan had seen a lot in his life.

Mutated monsters, fanatical cultists, out-of-control superhumans... He thought very few things could move him anymore.

But when he saw the view above the city hall square, he couldn't help but show a look of astonishment.

It was a pitch-black rift, suspended in the air above the center of the square, with a diameter of more than ten meters.

The edges of the crack looked like a wound torn open by something, jagged and uneven, with black liquid constantly dripping from it.

The liquid fell to the ground, and the bluestone slabs immediately emitted white smoke and were corroded into charred pits.

Around the rift, a huge dark shadow was spreading.

The shadowy figure had no fixed shape; it was like thick ink flowing in the air, constantly twisting and changing.

In the shadows, old Morgan vaguely saw countless eyes moving in the depths of the darkness, watching everyone in the square.

Accompanying the shadowy figure were tentacles extending from the cracks—countless jet-black tentacles of varying thicknesses.

It frantically reached out to grab the people in the square, but was quickly forced back by the holy light, retreated, and then stretched out again.

A low murmur came from the crack, as if something was chanting deep within.

The sound drilled into old Morgan's ears, making him feel dizzy.

He squinted, forcing his attention away from the crack.

In the square, the Holy Armor Army soldiers who remained in the inner city were putting up a desperate resistance.

The runes on the golden armor lit up, the soldiers solidified into a tight formation, and holy light gathered into a golden barrier, constantly repelling the tentacles that stretched out from the cracks.

On the east side of the square, old Morgan spotted a familiar figure.

archbishop.

He stood among a group of clergy, his purple robes fluttering in the holy light.

He held a golden scripture in his hands and chanted ancient prayers aloud. Golden holy light emanated from him, coalescing above his head into a blurry angelic phantom with six outstretched wings, overlooking the entire battlefield.

The divine aura emanating from that phantom was desperately suppressing the expansion of the rift.

The archbishop was pale and his forehead was covered in sweat, clearly indicating that he had exhausted himself.

But he did not back down.

Beneath the barrier, several clergymen in white robes worked with him, gathering holy light together to temporarily block the tentacles' attack.

At the front lines, the Viscount is wielding a burning longsword, battling against the tentacles.

With each swing of his sword, he severed a tentacle, and flames swirled around him, dispelling the approaching darkness.

But old Morgan noticed that the Viscount's movements were somewhat stiff, and the flame was not very stable, sometimes bright and sometimes dim, like an oil lamp that was about to run out of fuel.

It was clear that the viscount had suffered a very serious injury.

A soldier was caught off guard and was wrapped around the waist by a tentacle. With a scream, he disappeared into the crevice.

Old Morgan took a deep breath, his face extremely grim.

How could such a large crack appear in the inner city! With the inner city's defensive measures, even if the gates were left wide open, it would be impossible for an enemy to tear open space here!

Unless... that idiot viscount willingly invited the thief in.

But now is not the time to dwell on that. His gaze swept across the battlefield, knowing that this rift must be closed at its source.

Without delay, old Morgan squatted down and placed his palm on the bluestone slab of the square.

The ability to perceive structural features spreads from the fingertips.

Beneath the ground, something is resonating with the fissure.

It's in the direction of the City Hall.

"Valentine," old Morgan began.

"I know."

Valentine patted his clothes, took out a bottle of blood potion from his pocket, and swallowed it.

"What a waste of the clothes I just changed into."

The next moment, Valentine's body began to swell violently, a gray keratin layer covered his entire body, the pair of deformed wings on his back that were usually concealed were fully extended, his green eyes turned blood red, and fangs protruded from the corners of his mouth.

An extremely strong bloodthirsty aura erupted from his body. With a flap of his wings, Valentine leaped up and charged into the battlefield.

Old Morgan then turned to the squad: "Assist in sealing off the breach; don't let anything escape through the crack."

The team members immediately nodded, took out their psychic potions, swallowed them, and then dispersed to join the battle.

Old Morgan stood up and strode quickly toward the steps of the city hall.

The city hall doors were wide open, and the interior was a mess.

Old Morgan didn't linger; he walked straight through the empty hall and found the entrance to the underground.

Beneath the city hall lies a vast underground vault that has existed since the very beginning of Grimport's founding.

This place was originally used to store supplies and as a refuge for citizens to escape the tsunami. The network of passageways connects more than a dozen stone chambers of varying sizes.

But now, this place has become a breeding ground for fissures.

Following his structural senses, old Morgan continued deeper into the largest dome, where he stopped.

The sight before him made him frown.

The walls were covered with twisted runes, which glowed with a dark red light, as if they were drawn with blood.

A huge magic circle was drawn on the ground, with intricate patterns intertwined to form a dizzying design.

In the center of the magic circle, there was an object.

That's a spine.

To be precise, it was a black, spine-shaped object.