Chapter 114: The Mysterious Priest

Had Zhang Xingmin known that joining the crowd would bring him such trouble, he absolutely would not have dragged Yang Dalong along.

Of course, that is hindsight. After all, he possessed no ability to predict the future.

At the moment, Damin and Brother Long were squeezed into the throng, hoping to glean some information. In such a noisy crowd, this was truly difficult. Even so, they managed to overhear some fragmented snippets. By piecing them together in their minds, Damin realized that while the truth wasn't exactly earth-shattering, it was nonetheless bizarre.

The construction history of this small city went back a long way. In the oral traditions of the indigenous peoples of South America, this was once an important city. Although its size had always been limited by natural conditions, its location was vital—a key hub connecting the western plateau to the vast Amazon plains and a transit point for travelers from all directions.

Before European colonists destroyed it, this place was a center of indigenous culture. To tighten their control over the Americas, the Spanish colonists razed the city to the ground. Although later generations attempted to rebuild it, the advent of the railway era left the town off the main transportation arteries, and it was gradually forgotten. Hence, the locals called it "The Old City," its true name long since erased from memory.

The city Damin and Brother Long saw now was formed during the Third World War by people seeking refuge from the nuclear catastrophe. Subsequently, a group calling themselves the "World Ecological Restoration Project" occupied the site and replanned it, retaining the fruits of modern industry and technology while integrating elements of the original indigenous culture.

Logically, as the vast majority of residents were refugees and immigrants from around the world with little to no indigenous ancestry, there was no need to preserve indigenous traditions. However, the person who controlled the city at the time, driven by personal preference, insisted on adding what he called "respect for tradition." It wasn't authentic indigenous culture, but rather something of a hodgepodge.

His successor had initially intended to remove these elements to transform the town into a high-tech model, hoping to attract more attention and investment from dark organizations. However, he discovered that these so-called traditions actually served to unite the people. Thus, not only were they kept, but some were even restored. This attracted many curiosity-seekers and those of indigenous descent, significantly boosting the city's strength, and the long-lost indigenous culture began to revive. They started holding regular ceremonies and celebrating various festivals. The event Zhang Xingmin and Yang Dalong were currently witnessing was an ancient rain-praying ritual.

"If you want to know if it's going to rain, ask the meteorological bureau! What the hell is the point of praying to gods and Buddhas here?" Yang Dalong muttered, watching the devotees waiting for the priest to begin. "Are these people idiots? The water shortage in this Old City is obviously related to the population boom! Don't they study geography?"

Rarely seeing Yang Dalong use scientific knowledge to mock these charlatans, Zhang Xingmin replied with a sarcastic tone, "They aren't stupid! They just lack a Zhang Zongchang! If it doesn't rain in three days, tear down the Dragon King Temple, then blast it with cannons!"

Damin and Brother Long spoke in Chinese and kept their voices low, primarily to avoid angering the zealots. However, not far from them, there happened to be someone with native-level Chinese proficiency. Hearing their conversation, the man’s eyes went wide, and he stared at them with a look of stunned disbelief.

Noticing the shift in atmosphere, Damin and Brother Long followed their intuition and spotted the bearded middle-aged man glaring at them. They knew they were in trouble; their conversation had been overheard. Fearing the bearded man would incite the surrounding crowd against them as "heretics," Damin and Brother Long turned on their heels to make a quick escape.

Watching the East Asian-looking young men try to run, the bearded man spat in their direction and shouted words like "Satan."

Shortly after, Damin and Brother Long heard a commotion behind them. It was unclear whether the crowd was hunting for the two heretics, or if a brawl had broken out over the spit...

The chaos did not last long before the crowd fell silent. It wasn't due to their discipline, but because a person of great importance had arrived.

From a distance, Zhang Xingmin and Yang Dalong saw a tall platform rising from the ground in the center of the crowd, likely triggered by some underground mechanism. Layers of steps emerged continuously from the earth, forcing the crowd to retreat. Once the crowd stood still, Damin and Brother Long realized that the steps, shrinking layer by layer from the outside in, were a high-fidelity replica of a Mayan pyramid.

"It seems these people are quite well-prepared!" Damin remarked.

"Yeah! Look at that guy in the black robe; he’s really putting on a show," Brother Long added.

The crowd was so quiet that Damin and Brother Long’s conversation sounded jarringly loud. The man in the black robe standing at the center of the platform glanced in their direction. Ignoring them, he began to preside over his ritual, murmuring in a language they didn't recognize—perhaps a dying indigenous American tongue, or perhaps just complete gibberish.

Regardless, the man in black made the atmosphere eerie and mysterious, reminiscent of a horror film.

Then, the quiet crowd began to cheer, followed by a chorus of people kneeling, raising their hands high above their heads in unison, and kowtowing. It looked as if they had been trained. Only Damin and Brother Long stood there foolishly, unable to keep up with the rhythm.

Realizing they stood out, Brother Long hurriedly pulled Zhang Xingmin down to mimic the strange crowd. But just as they knelt, the group rose and began a dance that defied description.

Following this, the sound of percussion instruments similar to drums resonated, followed by the long, haunting notes of a flute-like instrument. The crowd grew quiet again—this time, truly silent. Everyone kept their heads bowed, as if waiting to be judged.

Damin and Brother Long looked at the inexplicable people around them. If not for their modern clothing, the two would have thought they had time-traveled. Looking at the man on the stage performing strange motions, it would be hard for anyone to believe he wasn't an ancient shaman.

"What is the meaning of all this?" Brother Long, who considered himself well-traveled, was completely clueless. Guessing that Zhang Xingmin’s mind was quicker and might have spotted a clue, he asked.

"I don't know! All I know is that we might be in trouble! Look, a squad of people is heading our way!" As he spoke, Zhang Xingmin grabbed Yang Dalong and prepared to run.

Seeing them try to escape, the squad picked up their pace, shouting something as they came.

Brother Long couldn't understand them, but Zhang Xingmin did: the group was shouting, "Sacrificial offerings."