My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 832 - 833: Prison City

Yari, a sprawling metropolis, housed a massive populace, most of whom were effectively incarcerated within this realm.

By its fundamental design, Yari functioned as a prison, with Seraph Null, the world's resident deity, serving as its stern warden.

Perhaps this inherent nature explained why the entire city found itself bound by colossal chains, as if to contain some immense, incomprehensible malevolence.

Damon surveyed the city's expanse, an expression of overt revulsion etched upon his face.

Grime coated the thoroughfares. Effluent collected in the ground's fissures. Gutters overflowed with a putrid liquid, reeking of decay. Beggars, emaciated to a horrifying degree, clung precariously to life along the roadways. From nearby, the coppery scent of blood hung heavy, accompanied by the wet, gurgling sound of someone expiring in a narrow alleyway.

Lyn walked alongside Damon, his voice hushed.

"Yari is segmented into various sections."

He swallowed before proceeding.

"Yari is constructed in layers, not merely districts. Each layer serves to isolate specific behaviors and enforce a strict hierarchy. It is engineered for absolute obedience. Those who default are eliminated."

Damon cast a cool glance his way.

"You possess a wealth of knowledge."

Sithara nodded from behind them, her expression tinged with sadness.

"Our father gathered intelligence on it. When... before he was tracked down and dispatched to Eidolon."

This information was new to Damon. He had previously assumed their father had always been imprisoned there. Instead, he had been apprehended and then cast into that inferno.

Lyn raised his hand, counting on his fingers.

"The Outer Ring, also known as the Grinding Gate, features immense walls. Always open, yet constantly monitored by innumerable eyes."

He paused, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"Entry necessitates branding. This brand is more than mere identification; it acts as a magical limiter. The majority of newcomers never depart from this ring."

He continued after taking a breath.

"It functions as marketplaces, slums, recruitment grounds for the gladiator arena, a mana core exchange, a site for public punishments, and more. I am not entirely certain of all its purposes."

"You mean prostitution," Damon stated, his gaze drifting towards a naked woman casually smoking a pipe in a second-story window.

Lyn’s face flushed subtly before he nodded in agreement.

Lazarak chuckled at the boy’s embarrassed reaction.

"It is an inevitability. In such an environment, prostitution was among the earliest systems mortals devised during times of hardship. It proved effective. One party provides a service, the other offers payment."

Damon closed his eyes as they continued their journey.

"That is repulsive."

Lazarak calmly surveyed his surroundings.

"This place teems with the impoverished and the desperate, all yearning for a miracle. It is an ideal breeding ground for religion."

"I presume the Grinding Gate isn't the sole area governed by rules," Damon remarked.

Sithara picked up where her brother had left off.

"The Lower City follows. Also designated the Chained Districts. It is divided by barrier walls that shift daily. Each district specializes in a particular function: Labor, Crafting, Training, and Extraction."

She stepped around a dark stain on the ground and moved through a drifting cloud of smoke that unmistakably carried the scent of a corpse.

"Inhabitants are not permitted to reside where they work. The barriers descend at fixed intervals to allow workers from the Grinding Gate to enter and exit. This is also where the Chained Knights undergo training, and where the gladiator arena is situated."

She raised her hand slightly.

"Movement necessitates chain clearance. This is achieved through branding."

Her fingers lightly touched the brand on her wrist.

"The chains here are heavier. Longer and invisible. People no longer question why. They have forgotten the taste of freedom. Generations have been born as prisoners, thus they conflate their bondage with life itself."

She gestured further into the city.

"That is the Middle Tier. The Branded Elite. This is the dwelling place of the original races, the natural denizens of this realm."

"Nobles, Officers, and Overseers," she continued. "They enjoy superior housing. Cleaner streets. Still chained, but adorned decoratively. They bear these chains with pride, viewing them as a symbol of their god, Seraph Null."

"Their chains are enchanted," Lazarak added, his expression darkening. "They augment strength, suppress rebellion, and enforce obedience."

Damon gave him a sidelong glance.

"What."

Lazarak shrugged casually.

"I happen to know Seraph Null on a personal level."

Lyn’s eyes gleamed with awe at that declaration.

"There are also outsiders present there," he quickly added. "Those possessing great power are invited to reside among the chained. This offers hope to the populace. They believe these outsiders are truly free."

He hesitated.

"They are the most loyal."

This, Damon mused, was precisely where his cult would subtly expand. Despair often flourished beneath a veneer of comfort. He already had strategies in place.

His gaze shifted towards the distant tower.

'Now that I consider it, Lysithara also possessed a towering structure at its core. Was that inspired by this locale?'

Sithara continued, oblivious to his internal musings.

"The High Bastions. The Wardens’ Domain. Completely restricted. Only chain bearers of high rank may enter. Seraph Null’s influence permeates most strongly there. The king of the natives resides within, and almost no outsiders are permitted."

Lazarak smiled faintly as she reached the final section.

"The Black Spire. No visible windows or doors. The very heart of Yari. Where chains are forged. Where brands are etched into souls. Where Seraph Null resides, or manifests."

He slowly raised his hand, pointing towards it.

"The spire is not merely a structure. It is an anchor. A divine nail pinning this world in place. The gateway to our escape lies there, as does the elixir you seek."

He turned to Damon.

"If we wish to depart, we must pass through that."

Damon crossed his arms, completely unfazed by the ominous threat of the tower.

"I shall depart if I desire. As long as a path exists to follow, I dare to tread it."

He abruptly paused.

His stomach rumbled.

Simultaneously, his mana plummeted sharply, siphoned away in a slow, continuous drain.

"Hmm."

He crouched, pressing his fingers to the ground.

"I understand. This is how the city maintains order."

He looked back towards the Black Spire.

"We are at the epicenter of a mana anomaly. The spire itself is the cause. It absorbs mana and induces hunger. Outsiders cannot absorb ambient mana here, forcing us to rely on mana cores for survival."

A thin smile spread across his face.

"How insidious."

He gazed at the tower.

"Hunger is a terrible affliction."

"And such a beautiful weapon for control."