Our Family Has Fallen

It’s not surprising that these monsters native to the Beast Lair became food for the Pigmen, but these human corpses…

Their clothing had been stripped off, and most of their muscles had dissolved from contact with the bodily fluids of Flesh Devourers. Apart from the bones, which were somewhat intact, it was difficult to discern much else.

The humans here were likely a large portion of the refugees captured by the Old Ancestor, ordinary people who disappeared from territories controlled by the Ascension Sect, or novice Heretics who came to practice but were killed by Pigmen.

These corpses, combined with the design of the Magic Wand in the hands of the Pigman Priests, made it clear that the Ascension Sect had been influencing the Pigmen all along.

But with everyone dead, there was no point in saying more.

If the first two types of ”ingredients” weren’t strange, then Lance soon discovered Pigman bodily tissues among these corpses. Due to the intermingling, details were hard to distinguish, but the fierce pig heads clearly showed that all their tusks had been broken off.

Whether these Pigmen had fallen to enemies and been dragged back for recycling, as had happened before, or were killed in infighting, it was clear that their own kind were also on the menu.

It also indicated that tusks held a special meaning among Pigmen; otherwise, they wouldn’t have been broken off and collected. Lance even suspected that tusks didn’t just represent strength but were also worn by Pigman Mobs to display their bravery.

Perhaps the concept of ”trade” had even emerged among them, using tusks as currency.

(Pigman Sociology +1)

These research topics were all fascinating and could unravel the Pigmen’s social structure.

But Lance and his companions were not scholars conducting research. Such matters were unimportant to them; the absence of Pigmen, however, was what truly mattered.

”It’s strange,” Lance couldn’t help but frown, muttering to himself. ”It seems they bring all their prey here to be dismembered and then distribute the flesh via dining carts to various locations.

But what’s the point of doing that?”

Lance’s words plunged everyone into thought; it indeed seemed to be counterintuitive behavior.

Especially for a Pigman society that wasn’t even in the early stages of development but still in a savage era. Wasn’t this just an unnecessary complication?

”Is it about hierarchy?” Amanda suggested after some thought. ”Like how those Pigman Mobs get to eat at the table while other Pigmen don’t? Is it a way to control the food supply and prioritize the powerful Pigmen?”

But Lance shook his head. ”No, we just found out that the food on the tables and dining carts is nearly identical. No special provisions were made.”

Boudica tried to think of an answer but quickly shook her head and blurted out, ”What’s so strange about that? Our tribe also processes the game we hunt together and then distributes it. Only in this way can more people in the tribe survive when heavy snow seals the mountains in winter.”

Boudica’s words provided Lance with a bit of inspiration.

Implementing a unified supply of resources in harsh environments is an important way to enhance overall survival capabilities.

But… well… Pigmen seem to engage in infighting…

So this doesn’t seem to align with the most basic logic.

”Indeed, this is a corrupted sacrificial ritual…”

Just as they were discussing Pigman sociology, Alhazred, who had ventured deeper, spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention.

When the other three torches gathered, illuminating the area, a peculiar stele appeared before Lance—one that didn’t seem to be of Pigman construction.

A round base supported a large, upright square boulder that subtly tapered into the shape of a stele.

It bore much damage and odd stains, but these traces, paradoxically, lent the stele an aura of profound history.

Interestingly, a hole had been carved into each side near the top. Wooden stakes were inserted into these, from which hung metal chains and manacles.

One glance was enough to understand the stele’s purpose: it was perfectly suited for suspending a person.

Why did they think so?

Because a person was genuinely hanging from it.

A man with a strong build, stripped of his clothes, was suspended in a ”Y” shape on the stele, his hands spread and bound by the manacles. His head drooped, hair disheveled.

Large patches of his skin had been peeled off, revealing raw subcutaneous tissue. The rough cuts, as if he had been flayed alive, marred his flesh.

A great deal of blood had flowed over his body, dripping onto the base below. Now it was clear what the dark red stains seeping into the stone were.

For an ordinary person, a single glance at this scene would be enough to cause nightmares for days. Even experienced individuals like Lance and his companions could barely conceal their disgust.

But this wasn’t the most preposterous part; what made it even more unsettling was that the person was still alive.

”A Heretic…” Lance couldn’t help but furrow his brow. That muscular physique, coupled with tenacious Life Force… even without any distinctive equipment, it had to be an Elite Heretic.

Hearing this, the others seemed to realize something as well.

”How could they capture a living Heretic? Why is he here?”

Obviously, these questions were beyond what the barely-living Heretic could answer.