"Are these... all Curseborn?"

Merka arrived at the entrance of a prison and unleashed Descent of the Holy Son, using his hand engulfed in white flames to bend the iron bars of the prison.

Inside the iron bars, besides simple furnishings like a toilet and a bed, there was only a body that had almost decayed into fragments.

The body was dressed in prisoner's clothes, with shackles on his ankle that had grown iron thorns, almost as long as an adult's thumb, penetrating deep into the marrow of the body, crudely and effectively restricting the person's movements in life.

Just by this, the cruelty and mistreatment of prisoners by the laboratory could be seen. Such level of abuse, even for a Curseborn, could be considered a serious violation of the Acadia Civic Constitution.

Merka turned the body over, checked it briefly, but found nothing symbolizing his identity on the body.

However, there were no eyes in the eye sockets of the body.

Just from this, Merka could almost be certain that this was a Curseborn.

"Could it be... that all the prisons here are for holding Curseborn?"

Unconsciously, a nameless dark fire silently rose in Merka's heart.

Indeed, Merka's guess was correct.

He searched several prisons in a row, and almost every prison held a body that had rotted into a skeleton.

They had no eyes, ears, chin, or nose, and even in death, they looked like bizarre monsters.

Merka half-squatted next to a body without a chin, furrowing his brow slightly.

Somehow, he expected himself to be angry.

But seeing this, the terrifying palpitations overwhelmed the anger, making him tremble inexplicably.

"What do they want to do with Curseborn...?"

Frantically, Merka glanced sideways and saw rows of test tubes and herbs outside the prison hall.

"Could it be that they use Curseborn for experiments...?"

"Darn it... darn it."

"In the eyes of these nobles, are Curseborn not even considered human?"

Merka approached the group of jumbled large boxes, randomly pulled one down, took some reagents from it, pinched them with his fingertips, raised them in the air, and carefully examined them under the light shining through the ceiling.

But to Merka's surprise, most of the reagents here had been used up, not even leaving any residue.

Just like this, Merka had no way of knowing what experiments the No Smoke Zone was conducting using Curseborn.

"..."

Several boxes were brought down in a row, but Merka gained nothing.

Merka looked deep into the pile of boxes.

In the dim and dimly lit area, a long conveyor belt twisted and folded like a dragon between the small mountains stacked with boxes.

Merka looked to the end of the conveyor belt and saw a processing workshop that was almost reduced to scrap metal.

This black and yellow behemoth exuded an aura that hinted at its former grandeur, dragging dozens of conveyor belts.

Just by looking at its size, one could tell it was a terrifying efficiency monster that rivaled any mechanical construct in Merka's impression.

In the distance, several stacks of linen sacks were scattered along the long conveyor belt.

Without hesitation, Merka immediately ran towards the huge processing workshop at the end of his sight.

He knew that if he even stayed for a bit more, the Owl God could silently arrive.

Under the production workshop, Merka finally understood how large the workshop was.

Standing in front of this monster that swallowed rivers, even the height of the conveyor belt it spat out was two to three meters taller than Merka. In the face of them, Merka looked as small as a rabbit under an elephant's feet.

He infused himself with magic, climbed onto a huge forklift parked next to the conveyor belt, and then jumped onto the conveyor belt.

He stood steady on the conveyor belt, approached the sacks, and cut open one of them on the conveyor belt.

"Are these... red powder?"

The sack was full of red powder leaking out, covering Merka's feet.

"Could all of these be red powder?"

Merka was shocked as he looked towards the end of the conveyor belt.

If all these bags were filled with red powder, they could last Curseborn in the whole Acadia for seven to eight months at least.

Just this one bag could fetch an unimaginable price among the Curseborn.

"Why... I don't understand?"

"Why are all these red powders... showing up in the laboratory? And on the workshop of the laboratory..."

"Could these special drugs all be made by the laboratory?"

Merka looked in disbelief at the massive and eerie workshop.

His astonished and bewildered expression was mixed with indescribable pity and pain.

Merka couldn't help but ponder deeply.

Perhaps, the relationship between Curseborn and Acadia was far more complex than he had imagined.

Suddenly, several loud explosions rang out above Merka's head.

All the light bulbs hanging from the ceiling instantly shattered.

The whole area, like a stage at the opening of a show, fell into darkness in an instant.

Merka's expression changed from surprise to fear in a flash.

He knew that it had arrived.