The members of the Jashin Cult seemed completely unconcerned that Lihuo and Orochimaru might escape or memorize the route.
They swaggered along, leading Lihuo toward their headquarters without even using blindfolds.
Lihuo pondered silently. Just as he had expected, this mysterious cult's headquarters was not far from the village they had just left.
Before long, the group passed through the dense forest, and an enormous ancient tree appeared before them.
The ancient tree towered into the clouds, its trunk so thick that even more than a dozen Lihuo holding hands would have struggled to encircle it.
At that moment, the captain at the front calmly drew a sharp dagger gleaming with cold light from his waist and, without hesitation, slit his own wrist.
In an instant, blood gushed out like floodwaters bursting through a dam. Scarlet liquid streamed down, drop by drop, splashing onto the ancient tree's roots.
Then something astonishing happened. As the blood continued to drip, the center of the ancient tree gradually began to turn illusory.
Slowly, a faint phantom appeared before them. Looking closely, it was a narrow stone stairway that extended endlessly downward into the earth.
The stairway was so long that its end could not be seen at a glance, and it was extremely narrow—barely wide enough for one person to pass through.
Waves of bone-chilling cold seeped continuously from that mysterious entrance, accompanied by a dense, pungent stench of blood.
Yet faced with such a bizarre and terrifying scene, every Jashin Cult member present remained exceptionally calm.
It was as though this sight was nothing out of the ordinary to them. Every one of them wore an expressionless, accustomed look.
"Move!"
The captain turned back coldly, swept his gaze over the people behind him, and led them onto the dark, bottomless stone stairway.