Ethan stretched lazily, returned to sit behind the kitchen counter, and as the boss signaled with his eyes, the staff dispersed. After the restaurant closed, the inn welcomed its last guests.

The man ate only a slice of pizza, then silently watched the young girl voraciously enjoying her meal from across the table.

A smile of happiness appeared on his face.

However, there was still much he needed to explain to her.

Ethan listened quietly.

This was a survival guide for the dungeon.

The inn in Lower City marked with the Lofic Consortium symbol is the final sanctuary. If extreme weather occurs, you can show the black mark on your wrist to the staff, and they will provide temporary shelter.

Every day at 10:00 AM and 6:00 PM, be sure to collect meals at the food distribution center in Lower City's central plaza. If you arrive late, there won't be anything to eat.

If you're truly hungry, try your luck at the inn and taverns.

Before winter sets in, you can receive warm clothes and thick blankets from the distribution points set up by the Lofic Consortium.

If you find Silver Antelope or Golden Lion coins, it's best to save them for emergencies.

The young girl seemed somewhat distracted, occasionally sneaking glances at Miss Keroy. Worried, the man took out a piece of paper and began to draw on it.

He was illiterate, struggling to leave behind some sketches that even he wasn't sure could be understood.

The two cherished their meal, and after finishing, the man wiped the bread crumbs from the girl's mouth. She looked back at Miss Keroy with reluctance as they arose, and their voices grew distant. Ethan faintly heard the man asking if she had anywhere else she wanted to visit.

The young girl was satisfied.

She saw the bird that could cook, even touched its wings, now it was time to go home.

The conversation faded around the corner, and the restaurant fell into brief silence.

"What does the black mark mean?"

Ethan asked, noticing his boss seemed a bit down, feeling an ominous premonition.

The boss appeared hesitant, adjusted his mood, and then said, "They are the chosen ones."

"Followers of the Old Gods?"

The mark was a flame-shaped black pattern, seemingly familiar, likely the emblem of Sincaro, the Demon King. He'd seen this mark before on members of the Lofic Consortium.

"You could say that."

The innkeeper forced out a slight smile, "For him, this is a moment of utmost significance. He can finally offer his soul to the omnipotent Old Gods, and at such a grand occasion of the ritual."

Compared to the tone just moments ago, this seemed like something rehearsed many times, devoid of emotion.

This tone was familiar.

Before Julius fell, this was how the people of the Empire praised the clergy.

If you had doubts about the clergy's actions and voiced them, congratulations, you were in serious trouble.

Ethan also heard that due to widespread impact from such monotone praise, to improve the Empire's atmosphere, some High Priests made more than a dozen specific rules about the tone of praise in various cities; any insincere praise detected by the clergy would lead to severe consequences.

These rules were abolished as soon as the Cabinet was established.

And now, the innkeeper's tone clearly lacked authenticity.

According to the High Priests, praise should be heartfelt, filled with intense emotion.

Then, they would very "considerately" ask why your tone wasn't sincere, whether you had other thoughts.

Ethan understood.

His guess was correct; for the man, this was his "last meal"; that's why he kept explaining things to the young girl during the meal.

"How many souls are needed for the ritual?"

"13."

The innkeeper blurted out.

With the conversation deepening, Ethan gained a more comprehensive understanding of this city.

Most "mixed-blood" residents of the dungeon are refugees from various nations. Here, they live and work, owning their own jobs and shops. They aren't burdened by high taxes, and compared to the Empire's past harsh environment and clergy's rules, this place is nothing short of paradise.

The premise is you need to offer enough souls to the Old Gods.

The extra rituals require 13 souls.

Besides that, every month they need to offer 10 souls to the Old Gods in exchange for divine protection.

From a macroscopic perspective, this tax could be described as "conscientious," as in the old Empire, the number of people persecuted by the clergy each month was likely several times that number.

10 souls monthly for a chance to live in paradise is a temptation hard to refuse.

And the Lofic Consortium, building on this, carried out a series of reforms, making sacrifices more "humane."

In public opinion, these sacrificed residents are devoted followers, and the people of the Abyss would give the highest appraisal of their sacrifice. That flame-like black mark is proof of their devotion.

In their living environment, dungeon residents are willing, within their means, to assist these noble souls. As the man just mentioned, when his daughter is starving and cold, she can find temporary shelter and free food at the inn; no one would "waste" such a noble soul.

Once their souls have been sacrificed, their relatives and descendants will receive varying degrees of care from dungeon residents.

This is a benevolent cycle.

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