After leaving the Hunter’s Dream, Charles first went to Iosefka’s Clinic.
He hoped to persuade any other Hunters who might be recovering there to help him, or at least obtain some practical assistance or information from the doctor.
“The patients require complete rest and cannot be disturbed. Please understand, I cannot allow uncertain influences from outside to interfere with their recovery… Please leave.”
Iosefka’s voice came through the heavy door, firm and leaving no room for argument.
Once again, she kept him firmly outside the safety of the clinic, citing the need to prevent infection and avoid disturbing her patients.
Turned away at the door, Charles felt even more disheartened.
He wandered aimlessly through the dangerous streets until he eventually found himself outside Gilbert’s window, the only place that might offer him some comfort or useful information.
Through the heavily rusted iron bars, he saw Gilbert propped against the headboard.
His face was even more haggard and bloodless than before.
From time to time, he broke into violent, racking coughs, and dark red blood seeped between the fingers covering his mouth.
“You needn’t worry about me… It’s an old ailment.”
Gilbert spoke first, his voice weak but strangely calm, as though he were the one comforting Charles.
“Has your investigation in the streets made any progress? Have you recovered anything?”
Charles leaned against the cold wall, shook his head, and sighed.
“Nothing. I haven’t recovered any important fragments of my memory, nor have I found any solid clues about Paleblood. Instead… I’ve encountered countless dangers, all intent on killing me.”
He recounted everything he had experienced over the past few days, leaving out the Hunter’s Dream.
He spoke of the deranged, mutated residents, the ferocious and cunning Scourge Beasts, the strange and powerful Cleric Beast, and the gate leading to the Cathedral Ward, sealed as firmly as an impassable chasm.
“Ah…”
After hearing him out, Gilbert let out a long sigh filled with despair for the city and sympathy for Charles.
The two fell silent.
Only the occasional unnatural howl from the streets and Gilbert’s muffled coughing broke the stillness.
“Perhaps…”
Gilbert knew that Charles would never give up so easily.
After a long period of thought, he finally offered a new and uncertain suggestion in a voice barely above a whisper.
“You could try… the sewers.”
“The sewers?”
The fading hope in Charles’s eyes flickered back to life.
“Would that really work? Do they lead anywhere else?”
He leaned forward without realizing it.
“Of course. At the southern end of the bridge, close to the water, there’s a hidden entrance to an underground river. They say it leads directly beneath the Cathedral Ward.” This chapter was copied from novelping . com without permission.
A trace of reminiscence and barely concealed fear passed through Gilbert’s eyes.
A bitter, meaningful curve touched his lips.
“It’s a… how should I describe it… a ‘colorful’ place. I mean rotting filth, mutated creatures, and… well, you understand. No respectable person would willingly set foot there.”
According to Gilbert’s hazy memories, the underground river had once served as an important route for transport and drainage during Yharnam’s early years.
Later, as the city expanded and Blood Ministration became widespread, it deteriorated into a filthy sewer where waste gathered and every manner of crime and illicit trade flourished in the shadows.
No one would choose such a path, filled with unknown dangers, unless they had truly run out of options.
“But I suppose…” Gilbert looked Charles over with faint amusement, taking in his bloodstained clothes and weary yet determined eyes, “you don’t have a better choice, do you?”
“No. This is the road I have to take now,” Charles admitted with a bitter smile.
The path ahead might be perilous and uncertain, but the answers he sought seemed almost within reach.
He had no other choice.
After saying farewell to Gilbert, Charles followed his memory through the sloping alley behind the apartment building, its ground piled high with refuse.
Before long, he reached the open space beneath the Great Bridge.
According to Gilbert, the old elevator platform leading to the underground river should have been beneath the bridge arch.
Yet fate seemed determined to mock Charles.
The moment he emerged from the shadows of the narrow alley, two enormous humanoid monsters lumbered out of the darkness beneath the bridge.
They were as large as small hills, their gray-white skin resembling rough stone.
They let out deep, guttural growls, casually seized the boulders scattered across the ground, and hurled them toward him with a violent rush of air.
Charles threw himself sideways in an awkward roll, narrowly avoiding the deadly projectiles.
The rocks exploded against the ground behind him, spraying fragments in every direction.
The two hulking creatures stood like living fortresses, completely blocking the only path to the elevator platform.
Their steps were slow but relentless, crushing any possibility of forcing his way through.
Charles made his decision immediately.
He abandoned the idea of a direct assault and turned instead to a secondary route, a path leading down into the sewers that Father Gascoigne had once mentioned in passing.
It would take him farther out of his way, and he knew nothing of the terrain, but at least it would allow him to avoid the insurmountable obstacle before him.
Not long after returning to the middle of the Great Bridge, Charles used Father Gascoigne’s vague description and his own keen Hunter instincts to locate the hidden entrance.
It lay at the end of an inconspicuous terrace, concealed beneath tattered canvas and assorted debris.
Just as Father Gascoigne had said, the ancient city of Yharnam was riddled with emergency passages and shortcuts unknown to ordinary people.
Every capable Hunter had to know how to find and use them.
Such knowledge was essential for surviving the Night of the Hunt.
The passage had been crudely assembled from discarded timber and rusted metal plates.
With every step, the structure groaned under his weight, and splinters crumbled away beneath his feet, as though the entire thing might collapse at any moment and cast him into the bottomless darkness below.
The descent was long and oppressive.
When Charles finally reached the bottom, a suffocating stench struck him like a solid wall.
It was a mixture of rotting organic matter, discarded research waste, and the overpowering smell of blood.
He nearly vomited.
The sewer district had originally been a natural ravine between two mountains, forever cut off from sunlight.
After it was crudely converted into a vast artificial waterway, the conditions worsened further beneath the weight of the high-rise structures packed layer upon layer above it.
The air was thick with damp mold.
Only a few pale shafts of light filtered through cracks from unknown places, outlining enormous rusted pipes and walls slick with slime.
Charles had barely adjusted to the darkness when he spotted several horrifying, bloodthirsty creatures in Beast Transformation wandering beside the murky sewage of the main channel ahead.
Their bodies were covered in wet, dark red fur.
Their limbs had lengthened and twisted backward at the joints, while protruding fangs and cold, gleaming claws served as their primary weapons.
Their appearance was terrifying, but their minds were in an even worse state.
All reason had vanished, leaving nothing but a primal craving for blood.
At that moment, they were surrounding a Hunter who stood with his back pressed against a rusted pipe.
He was covered in blood and clearly gravely wounded.
Charles raised his pistol and fired without hesitation.
“Bang!”
The shot echoed through the enclosed space and immediately drew the Beasts’ attention.
He ducked into a swift roll as one of the transformed creatures swept its claws past the fabric across his back.
In the same motion, he slid toward the nearest one, and his Threaded Cane thrust upward like a venomous serpent striking.
“Clang!”
The tip of the cane scraped against the cold edge of the creature’s swinging meat cleaver, then sank precisely into its exposed chest.
After killing the first one, Charles did not linger.
He quickly withdrew behind a thick support pillar, narrowly avoiding a metal javelin hurled by another enraged creature.
The weapon tore through the air with a sharp whistle.
Using the scattered stone supports, abandoned wooden crates, and recessed sections of pipe throughout the waterway, Charles struggled against the frenzied encirclement.
He relied on the reach of his Threaded Cane and the suppressing fire of his pistol, drawing the creatures apart one by one before bringing each of them down.