For a moment, a dark thought crossed my mind—


    Had this place been intentionally designed to confuse outsiders?


    The idea seemed absurd at first, but I couldn’t shake it off.


    And it stung.


    I had just argued with Azrael about these people being unfairly treated, and now… I was beginning to doubt my own words.


    I had blamed the government for their suffering, but was I any different from those who just point fingers without understanding the full picture?


    I shook my head. Focus.


    I had already wasted too much time searching for an exit, only to find myself wandering in circles.


    This place really was a maze.


    Then—


    Weep.


    A sound.


    Faint, muffled. Yet unnervingly close.


    Someone was crying.


    It was no ordinary sobbing—it was a strangled, desperate kind of weeping.


    I tensed and followed the sound, weaving through a narrow alleyway.


    There—a trapdoor.


    It was well hidden, tucked beneath a carcass of some mortal-rank creature. A clever disguise, likely meant to keep it unnoticed.


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    I knelt and pushed the carcass aside. The trapdoor was rough, wooden, with marks of repeated use.


    Without hesitation, I pried it open.


    A bone ladder led downward.


    I descended, my grip firm as I moved deeper. The air grew thick with an unbearable stench—a mix of decay and burnt flesh.


    It was enough to make the strongest person vomit.


    I forced myself to ignore it and pressed forward.


    At the bottom, a dimly lit cellar stretched before me.


    Rusty chains hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly, casting eerie shadows against the stone walls.


    Torches flickered along the walls, their light weak and inconsistent.


    Weep.


    There it was again.


    This time, I moved with stealth, careful not to alert anyone.


    Deeper inside, I saw a gathering.


    A large group of people, standing in a tight circle, their backs forming a wall around something—or someone.


    I pressed myself behind a stack of barrels, watching.


    Then, I saw her.


    A woman. Writhing in pain.


    Her face contorted in agony, sweat dripping from her brow. Her mouth was gagged with cloth, muffling her screams.


    She was in labor.


    But what disturbed me most—


    No one was helping her.


    The people just stood there, watching her suffer, their expressions twisted in something that looked too much like excitement.


    Why?


    Why weren’t they doing anything?


    I clenched my fists, but forced myself to stay put. I needed to understand before I acted.


    Minutes passed, her cries growing weaker.


    Then—


    A baby’s piercing wail filled the air.


    The moment the child was born, the crowd moved.


    Not to help the mother.


    But to take the baby.


    One of them snatched the newborn from her arms, and without hesitation, they began walking away with it.


    My breath hitched.


    What are they—


    Then it happened.


    The mother, still weak and bleeding, was discarded like trash.


    Two of them lifted her limp body onto a crude stretcher—then threw her through one of the small connected doors.


    I had to force myself not to move.


    My blood boiled.


    Even if there was a cushion behind that door, a woman who just gave birth should never be thrown like that.


    It was inhumane.


    And yet—none of the other women in the room reacted.


    I noticed their bellies—swollen with pregnancy—and still, they showed no concern.


    Why?


    Were they so used to this that it no longer mattered?


    I wanted to believe the woman was thrown in there for a health checkup or some kind of rest, but… deep down, I knew better.


    I forced myself to stay hidden.


    The people carrying the baby moved deeper into the cellar.


    I followed, my body rigid with tension.


    Something wasn’t right.


    The path they took was too convenient—straight, with no guards, no obstacles.


    A thought surfaced—was this a trap?


    Did they want someone to follow them?


    People from the upper levels rarely came here, but when they did, it was usually out of sentiment—to visit an old home or a grave.


    Did they think I was one of those? Someone with a stronger family member who could be used as leverage?


    If that was their plan… they miscalculated.


    I was the strong one.


    Not my family.


    Still, I had to be careful.


    I kept my distance, trailing them silently, suppressing the urge to act.


    Then, we reached another room.


    My breath caught.


    It was filled with hundreds of cradles.


    And inside them—


    Newborn babies.


    Dozens. Maybe hundreds.


    And that’s when I realized—


    This wasn’t just a strange ritual.


    This was something far worse.