Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Hisao Juran

Prologue

The Moscow Academy of Sciences formulated three plans as cultural state projects during the Second Five-Year Plan period, submitted them to the Central Committee through the People's Commissariat for Education and the State Planning Committee, and obtained approval at the Eighth All-Union Congress of Soviets.

The first two of the three plans were as follows.

1. Plan L – Arctic Ocean Winter Route Development. 2. Plan Ch – Trans-Arctic Flight: "Stalin Air Route" Development. Plan Ch’s “Trans-Arctic Nonstop Flight” succeeded in June 1937 when Pilot Chkalov’s ANT-25 model conquered the Arctic’s extreme cold to establish a regular air route connecting both hemispheres.

On June 18th, they departed from Moscow’s Skelkovo Airfield at 4:05 AM. After 63 hours and 25 minutes of flight time, they arrived at Vancouver, Canada’s airfield at 8:00 AM on the 20th, establishing a new aerial conquest record of 12,000 kilometers. As for Plan Л’s “Arctic Ocean Winter Route Development,” a 57-member survey team organized by Dr. S.L. Karpinsky, head of the Moscow Academy of Sciences’ Institute of Geography Geology Department, departed Moscow in March 1935. Establishing their base at Kusumutoei near the Indigirka River estuary, they conducted a nearly three-year survey until autumn 1937 of a 10,000-verst shipping route connecting Port Bekichev on the Taymyr Peninsula with Severo-Mariinsk Port in Kamchatka Oblast. However, when struck by the severe cold wave of 1936–37, they achieved only 20% of their planned objectives and returned to Moscow with nothing to show for their efforts as a scientific survey.

Meanwhile, in 1938—amid fierce purge operations thoroughly conducted across all sectors beginning with the Communist Red Army—Dr. Karpinsky was executed by firing squad on June 5th under the pretext of having carried out a counterrevolutionary conspiracy: instigating expedition sabotage and causing the survey’s failure, as a member of the “Right Deviationist-Trotskyist Bloc.” (June 6th – “Pravda” newspaper)

Now, as for the final "Plan Я," one could only infer from the Я initial that its proposer was the renowned Dr. Yaroshevsky; its contents remained entirely unknown. The submitted title was merely recorded as follows.

(ψ62°30′N. λ140°17′0″E)

Plan Я was deliberated and studied in a secret meeting of the All-Union Scientific Research Planning Committee, and in March 1937 received approval for implementation. An expedition team was organized consisting of one captain and one deputy captain each, eight academic members, one sketch artist each, and twelve female stenographers, departing Moscow on May 10th of the year after next for the secret location at 62°30′ North Latitude and 140°17′ East Longitude. On May 11th of the same year, the names of all members were announced under the title "Major Geological and Military Academic Research in the Far Eastern District" in Gosizdat’s "Bulletin" and the Pravda newspaper.

Expedition Leader: Ivan Yaroshevsky, Director of the Geology Department, Ukrainian Academy of Sciences Deputy Leader: Professor Nikolai Morozov, Ukrainian Academy of Sciences Academic Member: Professor Boris Shiryukin, Meteorology Department, Ukrainian Academy of Sciences …………………………………………… Stenographer and Assistant: Natasha Ivanovna The party returned to Moscow in late October of the following year, 1938, and their findings were printed by the State Publishing House under the title *Investigation Report at 62°30′ North Latitude*. Yet for reasons unknown, distribution was banned by Central Committee order the day after printing concluded. All copies—save a few—were burned along with the printing plates, while those remaining were sealed within the National Library’s vault for Dangerous Documents.

"What exactly was this *Investigation Report at 62°30′ North Latitude*?" The secret had been meant to sink completely into eternity’s flow, yet through unforeseen happenstance, both the investigation’s astonishing subject and the truth of that uncharted realm hidden in its shadow—a reality beyond human ken—were laid bare through the testimony of certain compatriots. These compatriots were six men from the crew of the Second Kamikaze-maru (registered in Otaru City)—fishery supervisor Eijiro Takamura, first engineer Iwakichi Shimizu, and four others—who ten years earlier, in the summer of 1930 (Showa 5), had been poaching near Palansk in Kamchatka when their vessel was sunk by a patrol gunboat, after which they were exiled to the Stanovoy tundra and forced into labor on river construction projects.

1. Tundra and Radio

A desolate tundra region stretched out. Dwarf birch and pine trees grew no taller than a foot at most. A damp wind blew through. An amber sun hung low. The cries of wild geese echoed. Desolate silence reigned.

At the edge of the mossy ground stretched a gentle mountain range. It was the Stanovoy Mountain Range extending from east of Lake Baikal to northern Kamchatka. This region—called Polkhoi (Pitiable Land) by Kamchatka natives—belonged to the northern uninhabited borderlands of the Yakutsk Autonomous Republic. To reach populated areas, one had to walk three hundred versts either south or east. After such a grueling journey, travelers would find two or three tents of Northern Russians who roamed with reindeer herds. Crossing the mountains and ascending the Indigirka River twenty versts northward brought one to the broad delta where the Indigirka met the Kolyma—there dwelled a group of vertebrates. They were not human. They were exiles laboring at waterway construction in Yakutsk Oblast’s “27th Penal Zone.” Filth, depravity, starvation, exhaustion, plague... Every conceivable misery saturated the bestial existence there. The totality of these conditions on both sides of the mountains constituted the environment of the “Pitiable Land.”

Twilight. At 62°30′ North Latitude, a long, long twilight. The sun carried over its lightless brass hue from evening until the next morning. The tundra’s edge abruptly rose to become Mount Robatka (1,327). Four tents were pitched exactly halfway between the tundra and the mountain’s base. They were Knipper-style large tents—sturdy structures for the expedition, almost like small huts.

Then, from one of them, the sound of a radio suddenly leaked out. The desolate, uninhabited nature and the abrupt collision of modern civilization.

With documents, maps, various charts, a sextant, Clausen-style sounding machine, Bachman barometer, hunting rifle, portable lamps, mining hammer and small pickaxe, canned goods, shredded tobacco, and assorted books at his back sat Dr. Yaroshevsky—a broad-shouldered, robust man of six shaku one sun (approximately 185 cm). White-haired and childlike of face, with a pink neck—on the whitewood table’s brazier, seal oil burned. Inside the hut hung stifling heat, the smell of burning animal fat, and a dim darkness.

Opposite the Doctor sat Professor Nikolai Morozov, his tall, rugged frame half-leaning over the table, cheek propped against his hand. Hooked nose. Slavic red mustache. A set of well-aligned, overly white teeth. Sharp luminous eyes. ……Those eyes had been fixed unwaveringly on the Doctor’s face since earlier. His right hand was thrust into the side pocket of his suede half-coat.

The rest of the seven or eight members—that is, the entire Secret Investigation Team in the Far Eastern District—were all inside this tent. The other eight academic committee members were perched in haphazard positions at varying heights—on canvas chairs, empty canned goods crates, coiled ropes—each finding their own makeshift seat.

The Secret Investigation Team’s sole woman—the stenographer.

Twenty-five-year-old Natasha Ivanovna sat on a folding cot at the tent’s deepest recess, biting her fingernails with a gloomy air. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but neither could she be called unsightly. Blind devotion to scholarship had worn away her sense of beauty. Exposed dusky skin. Bushy eyebrows. Her eyes alone were remarkably captivating. Deep black eyes. Eyes of Hun lineage—or else expressing Japanese forthrightness—long-slitted, large eyes.

Next to her sat Boris Shiryukin, the meteorologist. Thick-lensed glasses. A timid-looking face. He was the only beardless man in the expedition team. A pale slender face. He pressed his forehead with long white fingers and kept his face bowed down. Silence. Having waited impatiently, they grew restless with impatience. Finally, the radio began to sound again.

“June 5th, transmitted from Moscow’s Khodynka Station. Number 27. “…the continuation of the trial for the ‘Bukharin Faction Conspiracy Case.’” ...The counter-revolutionary acts of Dr. S.L. Karpinsky, Professor at the Moscow Academy of Sciences, who caused delays and failures in the Arctic Ocean Winter Route Development, have now been elucidated through the conclusion of this trial at 10:00 AM as follows. Ambassador to Britain and Acting Foreign Commissar Krestinsky, having received Trotsky’s instructions in Milan, Italy, deemed the Soviet Union’s defeat in wars against Japan and Germany as an opportune moment for seizing power. In 1934, exploiting a Red Cross International Conference visit to Japan, they requested military assistance from Japanese representatives during their stay in Tokyo to overthrow the Soviet regime, promising to cede Ukraine to Germany and Primorsky Krai to Japan upon defeat. During this period, Dr. [Karpinsky], through Transport Commissar Rosenholtz, aligned himself with the Trotskyist bloc. On the Lyakhov Islands and in the Kotelny Strait, he idled away days accomplishing nothing, sowed discontent among islanders, instigated slowdowns in port construction, and further obstructed canal excavation work in the Lena Delta—thereby carrying out an extensive counter-revolutionary conspiracy. “…Next, former People’s Commissar Yagoda…”

Dr. Yaroshevsky extended his hand and turned off the radio. The primordial solitude of the uninhabited land returned once more.

As if weeping, Dr. Yaroshevsky let his white-haired head droop low and sat motionless for a long while. Then suddenly lifting his face, he scanned the room with eyes filled with anguish. Beneath his customary tolerant expression lay suppressed fury—the helpless rage of one who could find no outlet. “Gentlemen... you’ve heard it yourselves.” “Just as with the Joint Headquarters Incident and Tukhachevsky Affair, Stalin means to execute our honorable senior colleague Dr. Karpinsky under this ‘intelligence connections’ pretext.” “How can such things exist in reality?”

No one responded. Only the meteorologist Boris Shiryukin weakly shook his shoulders. Dr. Yaroshevsky deliberately gazed at each face one by one.

“Gentlemen, I appear somewhat agitated.” “I acknowledge this.” “At this moment, I find myself profoundly considering how this world contains inequities capable of thoroughly unsettling even the most dispassionate scientific mind.” “…The allegation that Dr. Karpinsky collaborated with Trotskyist blocs lacks any factual foundation.” “What impeded Dr. Karpinsky’s research wasn’t counter-revolutionary sentiment, but rather the Zeeman Effect stemming from heightened solar flare activity.” “We know full well how an anomalous cold front’s abrupt onset derailed the doctor’s work… That same doctor now faces execution as a branded traitor within twenty-four hours…”

Deputy Leader Professor Morozov pulled his left fist out from under his chin and slammed it onto the table. A violent *thud* resounded. “By the way—that is simultaneously our fate as well, isn’t it, Doctor?” “Doctor?” Dr. Yaroshevsky’s body gave a slight convulsion. The somber hue in his expression deepened.

“Our fate?” It was a thin voice, like reeds trembling in the wind.

Professor Morozov leaned across the table toward the Doctor. “We have failed… At this 62°30’ North Latitude site, there was not a single fact of the sort you imagined… For these ten months, we’ve done nothing but wander aimlessly between two layers—the destruction zone and the plastic zone… Oh, facts that seem plausible do exist.” “But that isn’t in the condition you describe.” “It is heading straight through the central sphere toward the magma zone where a thick, blazing fire burns.” “…This is the end of the cultural state projects under the Second Five-Year Plan.” “At the same time, it is our end… That must be the case, Doctor.” “…And the results of the investigation?” “There we respond.” “We took a quick look into Mount Robatka’s rock layer.” “There’s nothing there at all.” “Very well.” “We understand your schemes perfectly.” “What you have done is a counter-revolutionary act.” “Execution by firing squad!” “You may withdraw now!” “…Thud, thud!” “Not a single one of us will survive.”

“In other words—we’ll croak making such faces.”

Professor Morozov’s eyes bulged，and his tongue lolled out． Dr．Yaroshevsky spoke in a calm voice． “Morozov，we have not yet embarked on anything．” “What we have done so far is nothing but preparation for the investigation．” “Therefore，…”

Professor Morozov raised his hand to interrupt. “I understand what you want to say—that we won’t fail. Well then, that’s just fine! I’ve no intention of opposing your esteemed opinion. Couldn’t care less what your opinion might be. Anyway, we’ve grown sick to death of digging up altered andesite without a shred of hope.”

“When you say ‘we,’ you mean…?”

“In other words—all the rest except you.”

Dr. Yaroshevsky once again gazed at each face one by one.

“So, your opinion?” “It is the sum total of all our opinions.”

“When?” “We resolved it last night at the Third Tent.”

“You’re suggesting we call off the investigation and return directly to Moscow as we are now.” “Professor Mor oz ov.”

“Out of the question.” “Don’t say such things.” “We’re simply stating we refuse to continue this any longer.” “Because of your absurd delusions, two of our comrades have already perished.” “We’ve resolved that under no circumstances will we permit a third casualty from our ranks.”

Dr. Yaroshevsky slowly lifted his eyelids and gazed into Professor Morozov’s eyes with an unwavering gaze. “You won’t return to Moscow either… And if you refuse to continue the investigation further—what exactly are you proposing?”

Professor Morozov wore an expression as if humming a tune,

“Someone should just send replacement people into the crater.”

Dr. Yaroshevsky smiled.

“Tundra, white birches, and wild geese. “…There’s no one here except us.” “On the other side of the mountains, in the Indigirka Delta, there are many exiles.” “Why don’t we send them in?” “And with those results, we will return to Moscow.” “That way, everything will proceed smoothly.… Even if by some mischance they all die—well, they’re a useless lot anyway.” “There’s nothing particularly regrettable about that.” “…If we were to say that we killed twenty people during the investigation, even the Central Committee would hardly call us negligent.” “There, we can settle into our own laboratories at Moscow University—surrounded by quiet gardens… Ah, what charm… That secluded laboratory beside the elm tree…”

A piercing light flowed out from Dr. Yaroshevsky’s eyes. A blood-red light fell upon his calm, childlike face. “Gentlemen!… To return to your own quiet laboratories—do you intend to massacre several exiles?” “…Is that not exactly what you propose?” …What disgrace! …If it were me—I would far rather be shot than be stained with such blood-soaked memories. “…Gentlemen! You truly possess the most utterly despicable souls!”

Silence. Professor Shiryukin, blinking his eyes timidly behind his nearsighted glasses, hesitantly stood up.

“Doctor… Please, make an exception for me alone.” “...In any case... at least... I am of the same opinion as you.” “As you say… If we were to do such a thing, we would likely suffer terribly afterward…”

The invisible disturbance spread like a wave to the other seven. Alexander Petrovich, the expedition’s sketch artist, resolutely rose from the bundle of ropes.

“Doctor, I too…”

Morozov’s right hand, which had been inside his leather half-coat’s pocket, was drawn out. In his hand was gripped a pistol. Aiming the muzzle at Professor Shiryukin’s chest, he cocked the hammer with an impassive expression.

A gunshot. Then, white smoke slowly issued from the muzzle. Professor Shiryukin clutched his chest with his right hand, wore a stunned expression for an instant, vaguely looked around at everyone’s faces, then—as if in prayer—slowly kneeled onto the ground before pitching forward limply. The nearsighted glasses went flying far into the distance. Professor Morozov, still dangling the pistol, rounded the corner of the table and approached the Doctor. He pressed the muzzle against the Doctor’s chest and slowly said,

“Dr. Yaroshevsky—please comply with our resolution.”

II. Earth’s Escape Hole

Cūntcūius lavas—that is, the "lava tunnels" snaking beneath the earth’s surface—had been an object of fascination since ancient times. The idea of traveling as far as possible through the earth’s depths was something everyone had felt at least once. The sky, the seafloor, and the earth’s depths. The conquest of these three realms had long been an object of fascination.

Because it was believed that if one could successfully enter a lava tunnel, they could travel quite far, various people spent a long time expending considerable time and effort searching for them. Hipparchus and Gregory all attempted it.

Copernicus referred to lava tunnels as “Earth’s Escape Hole.”

By the way, these "Earth’s Escape Holes" exist in numerous locations around the world. If we were to list only the most famous ones:

1. The Langgan Cave on Capri Island, Italy. 2. The Great Underground Passage of Lourdes, France.

3. The Grand Canyon Wind Cave.

4. The Great Subterranean Passage of Mount Islanja, Iceland. A lava tunnel refers to a tunnel formed after molten lava flows out and leaves behind an empty passage. Fundamentally, lava maintains its molten interior for a considerable period even after its outer layer cools and solidifies. When a fissure forms in the outer crust near the lower end of a lava flow that has traveled down a slope, the entire viscous interior completely drains out through this crack. Once all molten material drains away and only the solidified outer shell remains as a hollow cavity, it persists as an elongated cavern stretching into the distance.

Its shape—with a somewhat arched ceiling, flat floor, and endless winding like a railway tunnel—is why it is called a lava tunnel. Lava tunnels have ceiling heights of approximately three to five meters, with some sections featuring embankment-like elevations at the base of both walls or rib-like protrusions. In Japan, the Twelve Wind Caves of Mount Fuji exemplify this structure. Occasionally, either a portion of a lava tunnel or a fairly long section collapses, after which what is called a lava gutter forms. Lava tunnels are often discovered during such events.

As for how caves like the Langgan Cave on Capri Island come to exist—to put it technically, it’s what we call a “lava mesa,” where an extensive lava tunnel had been severed by river valleys or had its entrance exposed on a cross-section due to seabed uplift. The underground passage of Lourdes was essentially the same as that. Now, the “Great Subterranean Passage of Mount Islanja” in Iceland—the last of these—possessed slightly different conditions compared to the previous three. This volcano called Islanja—an ancient extinct volcano that had ceased activity around the time of the Lamirade folding, that is, between the Cretaceous and Tertiary periods approximately thirty million years ago—had a lava tunnel there that opened on the flank of its crater, maintaining a gentle slope as it extended southeastward through the earth’s depths into a boundless void.

The first to enter this "Earth’s Escape Hole" was a British geologist named Thomas Levington, who in 1892 continued his underground journey for approximately thirty miles and reached beneath Mount Sneferis in Iceland.

Eight years later, in June 1900, a Danish geographer named Paul Jannussen passed beneath the cape of Botzland, emerged under the ocean, and ultimately walked to 10°N 71°20′W—roughly directly beneath Britain.

The manuscript of this travelogue, “Earth’s Escape Hole: A Three-Month Subterranean Journey to London” (La Poterne du Globe. ――“Trois mois de voyage soussol, jusqu'à Londre” 1903.) was written under this title and is stored in the Parisian archives of ancient documents.

was written under that title and is stored in the Paris Archives.

When one reads this, they find themselves unwittingly entranced by the uncanny beauty of the subterranean landscape. Sensual beauty. Unexpected. Wonder. Oppressive awe. A trance-like state. Such varied sensations firmly seize the soul, making one feel unable to set the volume aside. With the exception of Whymper’s *The Ascent of the Alps*, this is the most beautiful and bizarre travelogue in existence.

Let us excerpt a portion here.

June 8 At eight in the morning, we awoke one after another. A faint light began to stream in from somewhere. Our strength had largely recovered, so we hurriedly wolfed down breakfast.

I had felt intense thirst since yesterday, and with a parched longing that burned, I visualized behind my eyelids the pure streams of the surface world - how I would have welcomed even a drop of foul water. After finishing breakfast, Guns advanced with a lamp in one hand and an axe in the other, crushing obstructive sandstone as he went. As quartz soil crystals shattered and caught the lamplight, their beauty became indescribable. Repeatedly startled by crumbling side walls while descending the gentle slope, they found the air growing increasingly thin. Yet something like a faint breeze occasionally brushed against their faces. And so they caught their breath slightly.

A fire burned in their throats. Something like a torchlight procession rose and fell between their stomachs and palates. But there was nothing they could do. They consoled one another that if they descended another six thousand feet or so, they would reach a rock spring.

June 10 The floor lay entirely covered with Emeri (a type of emery). With the slope gone and ground flattened, they felt they had reached earth's very bottom. Far ahead loomed an uncanny sight. A black andesite mountain towered skyward as if to pierce heaven itself. Neither fully black nor navy blue, it bore an intensely negative-like gloom. Yet since mountains couldn't exist underground, approaching revealed it as altered andesite collapsed into a proper erosion valley—a phenomenon Richthofen had directly adopted from Spanish as "rias." This expanse stretched immensely vast, black basaltic lava towers called "lava spines" rising here in cactus-like forms, evoking Mexico's deserts. Where fierce white sunlight should blaze, only a hazy fluorescence drifted over Emeri's plain.

June 21

This afternoon, they came to a point fifty miles below Mount Sneferis - the place where Thomas Levington had reached in 1892. Thinking there might be some memorial, they searched the area but found nothing. As they stood there, they faintly heard a sound like distant sea roaring. They scanned intently toward the sound's direction, but only the usual dim light permeated the space - nothing was visible. Through gaps in the rock walls, a single beam of light shone through like a thin drawn thread. It seemed to be sunlight.

Guns had been listening to the sea-like roar with his hand cupped to his ear when he suddenly shouted, “Liginbloxkoy!” When pressed for explanation, they learned “Liginbloxkoy” meant the legendary subterranean ocean from Icelandic lore. The underground sea!

Imagining the moment I would face that uncanny spectacle, I stood transfixed, rapt. For the first time, I understood why Levington had turned back here.

June 23 Around noon today, they emerged where a boundless ocean came into view. Strange-shaped scaly trees. Triassic conifers called *Voltzia heterophylla* and Mesozoic cycads known as *Pterophyllum* grew lushly, while around their roots sprawled *Coniopteris* ferns and *Equisetum* horsetails so thickly there was scarcely room to step. In the shallows of the beach were crinoids, brachiopods, and various snails. *Morphilites* and *Ammonites* lumbered about.

Jannussen began constructing a raft there with his assistant Guns and a companion, and a week later, the three of them set out across the underground blue expanse. They used breadcrumbs to fish for *Ironicthys*—an ancient cod—and gazed at the volcano on the subterranean island named Giesel.

It was already in the 1920s that Dr. Ivan Yaroshevsky, Director of the Geological Department at Moscow’s Academy of Sciences, hypothesized that Mount Robatka’s crater wall harbored a lava tunnel.

At the time, Dr. Ivan Yaroshevsky was investigating the breeding conditions of brachiopods and barnacles in Nishiumihara, Karafuto. One summer day, while swinging a walking stick, he went hiking into the low mountain zone of the Karafuto Mountain Range, where near Mount Esutoro’s old crater, he made an entirely unexpected discovery. It was a Siberian roe deer with the scientific name C. pyarus stanovos—a unique subspecies inhabiting solely the Stanovoy Range, distinguished by its white nasal area and unspotted fur. Roe deer had never inhabited Karafuto. Yet if Siberian roe deer were present here, they must have migrated from there by some means. The doctor had nearly settled on the idea that they had likely crossed over Razarev Cape’s gorge when the Black Dragon Waterway froze.

As Dr. Yaroshevsky, with his walking stick tucked behind his back, slowly approached, the Siberian roe deer nimbly dodged away and leapt into Mount Esutoro’s old crater. This seemingly minor incident would provide crucial insight for what became the doctor’s world-renowned discovery. The doctor inferred in this manner. In other words, the Karafuto Mountain Range—running along Sakhalin’s western coast—proceeded precisely northward along the 60th parallel north, abruptly submerged into the sea near Aleksandrovsk in Russian Karafuto to form a fjord-like structure, advanced northward across the seabed, reemerged near Okhotsk in Kamchatka Prefecture, and finally met the flank of the Stanovoy Range—which ran east-west along the prefectural boundary—at coordinates 62°30′N, 140°17′E in a T-shaped junction. And this point of contact was Mount Robatka. From this, Dr. Yaroshevsky inferred that a complete “Earth’s Escape Hole” ran between Mount Robatka and the old crater of Mount Esutoro in Karafuto.

Dr. Yaroshevsky had been applying to the Kom Academy since 1930 for permission to survey this lava tunnel, but when the Central Committee suddenly approved it in 1937, they did so purely for its military significance.

III. Kolyma Mudflats The river lent a touch of vitality to this desolate land. On the clayey soil at the water's edge, a scant patch of barley—grown by some prisoners from the 27th Penal Zone to feed themselves—swayed frail in the river wind. Rather than a delta, this was an island. Water—evocative of N₂O and Na in its hue of rotten oysters, so repulsive one wouldn't dare dip a hand—sluggishly encircled three sides of the island. The two rivers converged at this delta, serving as guard dogs for the exiles. Should anyone attempt escape by swimming this river, it would open its cruel maw and swallow them whole. Escapees sank inexorably into the bottomless mudflats beneath the river's deceptive facade. An icebreaker stripped of machinery lay grounded on a shoal, rusted crimson. From there wound the serpentine rails of a river construction trolley.

On the sandbar, grass-like plants grew sparsely, and at its edge stood the exiles’ huts and the overseer’s small house.

The eight exiles shackled in pairs sat on trolleys, sat directly on the ground, or stood leaning on shovels as they bowed their heads low and listened to Professor Morozov’s speech. Misery brands foreheads. Each had leaden faces and eyes that seemed to drift vacantly. Barefoot. A stifling animal stench. Shaved, ominous crowns of heads. A strange gait as if dragging feet. Dispassionate, gloomy demeanors. They had taken on that dull-witted demeanor of livestock—overworked and numbed to all sensation. On exposed chests were numerous glistening horizontal stripes. The countless marks from these floggings had become symbols of the long period of exile.

Japanese.

This was Eijiro Takamura and the seven others who, ten years prior in Kamchatka, were believed to have sunk into the leaden sea of Okhotsk along with their steamship. Behind Professor Morozov, the lady stenographer Natasha Ivanovna sat perched atop a high stack of rails in an elfin posture, gloomily biting her fingernails as she stared fixedly down at the eight. Natasha was a Japanese-Russian mixed-race child. Father was Ukrainian. Mother was a slender Japanese woman with a beautiful gaze. She dimly retained memories of Nagasaki’s mountainous landscapes and rows of low gray-roofed houses, but she soon forgot even those. By the age of five, she was already living in Petrograd with just her father. As for her father, he went to Novgorod in Siberia on business and never returned. She had been abandoned.

Natasha dimly recalled the scenery of a Japanese port town. These eight people had come from there. In the Soviet Union’s savage frontier, shackled together by the ankles, they labored on river diversion projects for Soviet waterways. For the Soviet Union! ……Something akin to humiliation brushed against her heart. Why should she feel humiliated for these beast-like humans? In her imagination, she had already experienced multiple beautiful, heroic lives. She did not like seeing dull, miserable, or defeated things. She supposed it was probably because of that.

In her mind, she was thinking of something else entirely. Professor Morozov’s polite manner of speaking irritated Natasha. He was explaining such roundabout things to these beasts. Professor Morozov was a man worthy of respect, but he was still partially mistaken.

Natasha respected Professor Morozov. Moreover, it was tinged with something akin to love. "Only the cold-hearted never err." Natasha was drawn to the professor's coldness. Natasha did not think that the professor had killed Shiryukin for his own personal benefit. Undoubtedly, a brilliant mind like Professor Morozov must not be allowed to fall victim to the doctor’s accursed errors and perish within the lava fields of Mount Robatka.

Professor Morozov, having finally finished his explanation, slowly lit a cigarette and began surveying the faces of the eight men one by one, as if testing the effect of his oratory. It elicited no effect. The eight livestock merely kept their heads bowed listlessly, not so much as fidgeting or stirring. These men had already lost the ability to feel anything. Had they grasped the meaning of the professor’s proposal, they should have leapt for joy—yet they didn’t so much as heave a sigh, let alone rejoice. Dreadful torpor.

Morozov clicked his tongue. (Beasts!)

And he turned toward Natasha. Their hearts connected instantly. Natasha twisted the corner of her lips tightly.

The man sitting closest finally raised his head. His eyes were dull and murky, like those of a fish. A fly busily crawled around the area next to his nasal bridge. “...So, you’re saying... if we enter that mountain’s crater and go underground... we can reach Japan...?” Professor Morozov laughed amiably.

“That’s right—you can emerge at Mount Esutoro on Sakhalin’s west coast, just like that.” “If you just walk through there… just like that… just like that…”

He got that far when suddenly he clamped his mouth shut. Morozov added: "You can reach Japan, I tell you." "In other words, gentlemen, I'm saying I intend to return you to Japan."

Once again, a deep silence fell. A long silence. The small-statured man at the farthest end shifted his footing. The chain clanked. "—Esutoro—that's right by my home—my home's—"

This was the trigger.

The beasts all began to howl at once. In voices that were neither screams nor groans—guttural sounds wrenched from the depths of their bellies— “Aah... aah...”

They kept groaning like distant canine howls.

“Aah— aah—” This time, tears were slowly trickling down.

Tears streamed so profusely from their eyes and nostrils that one might wonder where such an abundance could come from, overflowing and trickling down from chins to throats, from throats to chests. A shudder-inducing, madness-like state of agitation came over the entire group. Throwing themselves onto the ground in disarray, they curled their fingernails like crabs and continued their horrific wailing while clawing at the earth. Over there, they thrashed across the ground, scooping up dirt with their hands and weeping as they scattered it over their own heads. As they thrashed against each other, the chains became entangled, binding their two bodies into one. Then, with such force as to crush each other, they embraced, and then rolled about. The pair who had been sitting on the trolley took up their shovels and, howling wordlessly, slowly scooped up dirt and hurled it into the trolley.

Wailing voices of varying pitches wove a dismal harmony that continued endlessly. One man shouted with a gargling voice.

“What would it feel like... huh? What would it feel like...” It seemed to mean what one might feel upon emerging from Mount Esutoro’s crater and seeing Japan’s scenery for the first time in ten years. It didn’t last. The wailing voices that had begun to subside now grew even more intense than before.

Through the midst of it all, a shrill laugh suddenly pierced the air. He was an emaciated, shadow-like old man with disproportionately large eyes. His right leg ended at the knee, with a wooden splint fastened there. The fiery laughter continued for some time, but soon gave way to low, choked sobs, “...I’m such a cripple... no way I can follow you there.” “…Left alone in a place like this… how can I go on living?” “I don’t want to—I don’t want to!”

When he screamed like a death rattle, he suddenly grappled from behind a man in his mid-twenties wearing a loose-fitting rubashka, who was chained to the same shackles. “Tomekichi, give up and die here with me." “N-now, n-now... I’m beggin’ ya...”

Still locked in a grapple, he dragged him toward the mudflats with all his strength.

From there to the riverbank was not even ten paces. Tomekichi, the lean young man, was now screaming desperately while busily moving only his fingertips like a fly.

“Wait, old man! Lemme go! Please, wait!” “I’m beggin’ too... I’m beggin’ ya...”

“It’s dangerous... wait... just... lemme go... get your hands off me...”

As he said this, he was dragged along with a sickening scrape. In a sight too gruesome to behold, he dragged the young man to the riverbank, and then—

“Come with me, Tome.” He thrust him sideways into the mudflats. Tomekichi screamed—“Uwaa—”—and fell headfirst flat into the mudflats. Without a moment’s delay, the old man too—dragged by the chain—slid in feet-first with a squelch, sinking into the treacherous mud river that seemed to leer with malice. On the surface of the shallow river flowing over the mud, what looked like the tip of Tomekichi’s hand flickered into view—but only for an instant. The old man had been standing with his chest and head above the mud, but now from arms to shoulders, chest to throat—as if easing into a bath—he slowly sank deeper.

The mud now reached his chin. After clearing his throat once, “When you get back, tell my brats to take care of themselves proper.” “Well then... goodbye...”

His lips merely moved, and the final "goodbye" couldn't be heard clearly. With a gulp, he plunged his face into the mud and vanished completely.

The six people stood at the riverbank, blankly gazing with dumbstruck expressions. No one uttered a word.

Morozov whispered to Natasha.

“In other words—that’s what they call animal-like sensitivity.” “I too had meant to leave those barefoot ones behind.”

Having said that, he took out a pistol from his leather coat pocket and— “Not a very pleasant role.”

With an expression of unbearable frustration, he gave Natasha a brief smile, then strode off toward the overseers' hut.

IV. The Entrance to Hell

A strong wind blew across the mountaintop. They formed a single line and circled around the crater's outer rim. This volcano that had perished thirty million years prior had rocks that were all ancient-looking, with ropy lava twisting together like hemp cords everywhere, while black, iron-colored, or reddish rocks plunged vertically into the infinite darkness. A miasma-like thin mist. Dead rocks and lava. In this eternal silence, a single black eagle flew slowly tracing circles. It was a hellish landscape.

On the mountaintop stood twelve people. Eijiro Takamura and the six fishermen under his command, their faces composed. From the survey team’s side came Dr. Yaroshevsky and Professor Morozov, along with six other academic staff members who had come to see them off. The six fishermen each carried enormous rucksacks on their backs, with safety lamps, ropes, hatchets, and other miscellaneous items strapped to their waists or slung from their belts. Amidst a profusion of gear, their large frames were nearly buried.

The group set down their rucksacks and took a brief rest in the shade of the summit’s rocks. Not one of the fishermen wore an anxious expression. If anything, they maintained a calm expression that bordered on stubbornness. Dr. Yaroshevsky distributed hand-rolled cigarettes, one to each of the six men, who received them with gratitude before slowly beginning to smoke. They seemed completely unaware of the reckless endeavor they were about to undertake. Unpredictable perils. Starvation. Thirst. Crushing death. Suffocation. Major injury. Such things stood blocking their path, lying in wait for the six men—they had not spared a single thought for any of it.

The night before departure. Dr. Yaroshevsky explained to the group the various dangers that could arise during this journey and what a difficult expedition it would be.

The six fishermen listened in silence. Takamura, the leader of the six men, slowly raised his face and spoke in a deep, resonant voice. "Well, we'll give it a shot."

Then, turning toward the group, “Right?” he sought their agreement. They nodded in unison. Every face remained composed, not a trace of fear visible. The Doctor explained in plain language, as detailed as possible, about what lava tunnels are and then about the condition of Mount Robatka’s tunnel. The dark inclined path of Mount Robatka extends eastward for about one kilometer, then curves gently and descends toward the east-southeast. From there, about one kilometer further on, it splits into two branches: one ends at a solid andesite bedrock containing vein-like blue clay, while the other becomes blocked by altered andesite approximately 260 meters from the junction point. Propylite refers to andesite that has weathered, with pyroxene minerals transformed into chlorite; the more one digs, the more the ceiling collapses, making it impossible to advance any further.

In other words, the survey team had been engaged in a futile struggle with this propylite for ten months. According to Dr. Yaroshevsky’s estimation, they had no choice but to abandon the propylite path; their last hope now lay in dynamiting the andesite bedrock to locate the tunnel entrance. However, the ceiling above—composed of agglomerate softened by mineral springs—meant that using dynamite could unleash unpredictable dangers. It was due to such hesitation that they couldn’t resolve to blast through the bedrock and had instead vainly continued digging along the propylite path, clinging to a thread of hope.

To this as well, Takamura— “Well, we’ll give it a shot,” he replied in the same manner. The clearer Dr. Yaroshevsky’s explanations made the tunnel’s dangers, the more resolutely they steeled themselves. Somewhere in Dr. Yaroshevsky’s heart lay a desire to exaggerate the dangers, hoping to deter them if possible. However, seeing their demeanor, he realized that any attempt to stop them would be futile. Realizing he could not make them change their minds no matter what, this time the Doctor grew serious and began giving various instructions for their underground journey.

The most troublesome issue in underground travel was securing drinking water; however, since stone springs existed belowground, they were instructed to utilize them whenever possible—by pressing an ear to the rock wall where one could hear the sound of an underlying spring’s flow. If they dug toward that spot they would reach water, but as it gushed out with tremendous force utmost caution had to be exercised. Attempting to drink the overflowing stone spring immediately would result in severe burns; therefore they were told to draw it into a container first let it cool thoroughly and only then consume it. Allowing the spring’s flow unchecked while proceeding forward risked flooding the tunnel; once they had drunk their fill they were required plug hole without fail. Then he thoroughly explained everything without omission—precautions regarding food barometer usage methods for inspecting tunnel air considerations when making camp and so on.

The six fishermen placed their hands on their knees and nodded earnestly each time with a simple "Yes, yes." Dr. Yaroshevsky examined the contents of each rucksack one by one, supplementing various missing items. To celebrate this unprecedented, reckless departure, the survey team held a modest farewell banquet; yet when they thought these six men might die in their place, they felt a meager reception would be unforgivable.

By the way, the six fishermen took sips from their cups, then set them down in unison as if by prior agreement. While watching the entire tent bustling about trying to offer the utmost hospitality, we said, "We'll be turning in now, so please excuse us," and promptly withdrew to our own tent.

Professor Morozov whispered to Natasha. “One could say they know their manners. They’re almost too refined for beasts.”

Natasha felt mild antipathy toward the Professor's choice of words as she

"Yes," she replied.

This underground journey had been imposed with the condition that if successful, all six men would return together and provide a detailed report. The one who had proposed this was, needless to say, Professor Morozov. Natasha asked, “What exactly does this condition mean—that all six must return together?” “Wouldn’t it suffice if even half made it back?” “No—they must all return.”

“So why?”

Professor Morozov answered. “We have to kill them all.” Natasha glanced up at Professor Morozov’s face. And hurriedly lowered her eyes. Something sharp pricked her heart...

When they had finished their last cigarette, the fishermen stood up in unison. A thick rope was lowered along the sheer rock wall’s surface toward the crater floor below, its gaping black maw a chaos.

The first was Kitahara Shozo, a one-eyed young fisherman.

“See you later.” Without any particular stance, he lightly grasped the rope and, bracing his feet against the rock wall, gradually descended downward. His body soon disappeared beneath an overhanging protrusion of lava. The academic staff members watched this with a kind of mournful feeling. They had to travel all the way underground to Karafuto and immediately turn back on those very feet. What horrific suffering must lie there. And then, in the end, they would be killed. These six men, who had no chance of survival whether they succeeded or failed. In this desolate hellscape, witnessing such circumstances was, indeed, a chilling experience.

Eijiro Takamura was the last to remain. After lowering all the rucksacks, he approached Dr. Yaroshevsky,

“I expect we’ll return around early autumn, but we intend to come back before the cold sets in.” Then he went before each person, bowed courteously, and with composed bearing took hold of the rope. Soon, the last of them vanished from sight.

The next morning, as Professor Morozov was in his tent, the sketch artist Petrovich rushed in with an ashen face.

“Nikolaich, something terrible has happened.”

“What?” “The Doctor isn’t in the tent.”

Morozov fixed a stern gaze. “And?” Petrovich gulped hard, “Probably, the Doctor has fled.”

“You did post guards as ordered, didn’t you?” “Professor Ogdanov was keeping watch outside the tent until morning, but he was outmaneuvered.” "...there are traces of the Doctor crawling out behind the tent." "The compass and rucksack are also missing..." "If he’s chased after the fishermen into the tunnel, it means ruin for all of us." “Even if they succeeded, they’d never return to us anyway.” “...And the Doctor will vengefully expose our sabotage...” “This has become catastrophic.” “Everyone there is in chaos.”

Professor Morozov stepped outside the tent without a word and walked some three hundred meters across the sodden tundra, its moisture seeping up with every step, before stopping to survey the desolate expanse of land. Not a single human shadow stretched across the tundra. When Morozov returned to his tent, he found the entire expedition team gathered inside. He ignored their presence entirely, walking straight to the rear of the tent where he removed an ammunition belt from its nail and slung it over his shoulder. Then, with deliberate slowness, he took up his rifle. At the tent's entranceway, he turned around,

“I’ll be right back.”

Natasha stood up.

“I’m coming with you.” Professor Morozov scrutinized Natasha’s face with a piercing gaze, then declared in a clipped tone: “If you’re coming, bring your gun.”

V. Insidious Invasion Route

Due to the relentless, grueling march without rest, everyone was parched to the point of death.

On the evening of the third day, the group encountered the first groundwater. The glossy olivine side wall of the secret passage was hollowed out there alone into the shape of a flower's calyx, quietly holding water that nearly overflowed within it. Water.

Dr. Yaroshevsky, who was at the head, was the first to discover it. Dr. Yaroshevsky, while directing the light of his safety lamp, stared blankly at it as though he had encountered something uncanny, then suddenly turned sharply around and—in a low, hoarse voice that was hard to hear—

“Water!” he muttered. “Everyone! There’s water here!” A heavy silence answered this. The five fishermen following behind Eijiro Takamura merely came to a precise halt when he stopped, emulating his action. A group of half-naked figures. Drops of blood-like sweat soaked them. Beneath backpacks as massive as mountains pressed directly onto their lead-colored bodies—bodies miserably whittled down by long years of wretched exile—they had spread out their shirts and wrapped them around their waists like the indigenous people of the South Seas.

“Water!” Not a single face showed any trace of emotion or flicker of joy. Maddening thirst—the kind that drives men mad— had been ruthlessly suppressed beneath their obstinate will to endure any hardship. The six fishermen stood at rest, silently awaiting the Doctor’s permission to drink. The Doctor knelt by the rock calyx, cupped water in his palm, and drank. The faintly silicic water, cold as ice, seared through his desiccated throat like liquid fire.

“It’s safe!” And with a hand gesture, he gave permission to drink.

“Let’s rest awhile.”

The Doctor took out the theodolite and quickly began observing their current location.

The six fishermen set down their rucksacks, took turns drinking the water, filled their canteens to the brim, and then sat leaning against the side wall. None of them assumed a relaxed posture. It was as though they were only behaving this way because they had no choice but to follow orders. The faces of the six fishermen were etched with ferocious tension, and every slight gesture carried an air of impending menace.

There seemed to be a fissure nearby, and a moisture-laden wind gently blew over everyone. Before the group stretched a subterranean slope with a vaulted ceiling, maintaining a gentle incline while continuing endlessly with the terrifying monotony of Sekitan City’s side tunnels. Soviet Far Eastern District. From the crater wall of Robatoka Mountain towering in the frontier tundra—proceeding south along the line of 140° East longitude, crossing beneath Kamchatka Prefecture’s desolate uninhabited lands and the rough leaden expanse of the Sea of Okhotsk—emerging at the ancient crater of Esutoro Mountain in South Karafuto: a winding lava tunnel spanning 1,600 kilometers, approximately 400 ri!

A colossal subterranean passageway—unexplored, unimaginable to any who came before— It was none other than what Copernicus called “Earth’s Escape Hole”! It was neither the pumice-strewn desolate passages imagined in Danish novelist Ludvig von Hollberg’s *Nicholas Grimm’s Underground Journey*, nor the agonizing wilderness of emery and lava towers chronicled in Paul Jannussen’s *Three-Month Underground Journey to London*. It was a vaulted tunnel possessing a sensual yet bizarre beauty like the magnificent arches of Arabia’s Bocca Cui Palace…

The height to the ceiling was approximately six meters. Width: four meters. There was no bulging whatsoever; the inner ring of the beautiful Doric-style elliptical arch hung slenderly and vertically downward, nearly touching the flat cave floor. The rock walls of basic augite andesite, polished by tens of millions of years of weathering, had developed a glossy smoothness and possessed a deep obsidian-like luster with substantial depth. The chill wind blowing through fissures encountered the low-density cave air and underwent rapid adiabatic cooling, forming countless water droplets on the smooth jet-black rock walls. Whenever safety lamp light struck them, they emitted subtle flashes that dazzled the eyes with their brilliance. The mirror-like walls reflected and rebounded their light against each other, which then reflected off the ceiling's inner curve, submerging the entire tunnel in a deluge of radiant light. In more distant areas where light barely reached, water droplets from high above sparkled as they dripped like scattered jewels into infinite soundless silence.

The womb of the Earth, where still no living being had ever set foot.

Realm of Death. Eternal darkness and night.

Dreadful desolation. Infinite weariness.... It narrated the Earth’s state during the Fourth Period of Formation while making quietly extinct outlines gleam. The grand lyrical sentiment of prehistoric times. Yet this bizarre beauty of the tunnel seemed capable of evoking no sensation in the group of seven. When the Doctor finished writing in his journal, the six fishermen—as if they had waited impatiently—shouldered their backpacks, fell in behind him, and once more began racing down the endless dark sloping tunnel at breakneck pace.

Beyond the myriad unforeseen dangers and hardships lying ahead in this unprecedented 400-ri subterranean journey, a terrifying hand of death was now closing in on the group from behind. Ten to twenty ruthless pursuers armed with Petersen automatic rifles were closing the distance between them moment by moment.

The group of seven were not carrying a single firearm. If they were cornered there by them, they would have to be shot down like dogs without being able to put up any resistance.

The situation was extremely perilous. Not a moment's delay was permitted. Over these three days, the seven had continued racing without even brief rests—managing only about three hours of sleep and two ten-minute breaks per day.

The Doctor’s escape. This betrayal and collusion directly meant mortal peril for the entire academic expedition team. The secret objective of “Academic Research at 62°30′ North Latitude”—were Dr. Yaroshevsky and the six fishermen to expose through their own testimony both the full bone-chilling scope of its intent and the expedition’s acts of sabotage, they would inevitably be branded as part of a “Trotskyist Bloc” faction and executed by firing squad under the pretext of having carried out a counterrevolutionary conspiracy.

The expedition party was suddenly forced into the most perilous circumstances imaginable. In the secret passage, other than cornering the seven and shooting them all dead, there was no way to escape this misfortune.

Dr. Yaroshevsky was thoroughly familiar with Professor Morozov’s ruthless methods. Professor Morozov had already committed four cold-blooded murders to conceal their sabotage and safely return the entire group to the quiet garden-enclosed laboratories of Moscow University. Professor Shiryukin. And then, three guards from the “27th Penal Zone.” When Professor Morozov discovered the Doctor’s escape, there was no doubt that he had swiftly organized a pursuit team and launched a scathing, relentless hunt.

The nimble “Death’s Pursuers” were closing the distance moment by moment. In preparation for this, only the time needed to destroy the barricade they had built at the mouth of the Daianshan rock wall remained as the pursuers’ slight handicap. Yet according to the Doctor’s calculations, even that should have been recoverable within three days.

The third night arrived.

The footsteps of death could be heard right behind the seven people…….

What, fundamentally, was this “secret objective of academic research” that absolutely had to be concealed—even at the cost of exterminating seven people? Within it lay concealed a dreadful scheme that posed a grave threat to Japan’s national defense. The Soviet Union Government had devised an insidiously ruthless major operational plan: once Dr. Yaroshevsky’s “Robatoka-Esutoro Underground Passage” was proven viable, it would abandon fortifying Vladivostok—the traditional naval base against Japan—mass-transfer Turk-Sib Railway engineers and laborers to Stanovoy for large-scale tunnel excavation, then strike Japan’s northern frontier through an unprecedented “underground invasion route” that no nation in world history had ever conceived.

The “Robatoka Mountain Lava Tunnel Survey”—which Dr. Ivan Yaroshevsky, Director of the Geological Department at Moscow’s Science Academy, had persistently petitioned for through Kom Academy since 1929—was abruptly approved in 1937 due to the staggering rationale previously outlined. This proposal underwent exhaustive scrutiny down to its minutiae during a clandestine meeting of the All-Union Scientific Research Planning Committee—comprising technical delegates from Strategy, Military Affairs, Construction, Geography, and Transportation—whereupon an operational blueprint without historical precedent was ratified.

Upon completion of this dreadful invasion route, the Soviet Union would gain extensive military superiority over Japan through three key advantages: First: Circumventing both Japan’s overwhelming naval blockade of Vladivostok and their maritime containment strategy in the Sea of Japan—thereby securing unrestricted freedom and safety for transporting armaments, troops and provisions across Japanese territory.

Second: The abandonment of Vladivostok and the comprehensive disruption of Japanese naval and air strategies through the establishment of Soviet air force bases in Japanese Karafuto. Third: The swift surface and submarine cruisers from the Kamchatka Operational Base, combined with the aviation cruisers from the Nikolaevsk-on-Amur Operational Base on the Amur River, could execute crucial operations blockading Japan’s coastline—beyond mere coastal defense—in parallel with Japanese naval maneuvers. On the eve of their subterranean journey’s commencement, while the entire survey team had been busily preparing a farewell banquet in the second tent, Dr. Yaroshevsky summoned Takamura into his own tent, briefly explained the expedition’s true objective and the merciless scheme against the six men, and proposed deserting the expedition to join their group—not to preserve his own life, but to witness the results of his research.

That meant no small danger. The mouth of the lava tunnel was blocked by a massive andesite rock formation. If they couldn't destroy it before their pursuers caught up, every last one of them would be slaughtered there. Takamura listened to the Doctor's words without so much as twitching an eyebrow. After a minute's consideration, he answered straightaway. “Do come along.” “If we’re gonna die for your sake, don’t reckon any of us’ll complain.”

That night, the six fishermen had hurriedly retired to their tents and gone to bed early to secretly transport manual rock drills and the Doctor’s observation equipment into the hidden passage within the crater wall while the entire expedition team was in a drunken stupor. After being seen off by the expedition team as they entered the dark sloping tunnel, the group raced toward the andesite rock mass like birds in flight. Due to the decay of the surrounding rock walls, a pyroxene andesite boulder—so massive they had to crane their necks to see its top—had crashed down into the center of the secret passage, completely blocking their path.

Assuming Dr. Yaroshevsky would escape from the tent around midnight, there remained only twelve or thirteen hours until then. How could they possibly bore through this massive rock formation with its steel-like elasticity in such a short time? They had almost no chance.

Kamei—one of the six fishermen—had gathered Suda and Yamaguchi to discuss something when suddenly,

“Well then, let’s try it that way.” “Might just work!”

After shouting this, he grabbed a rock drill and climbed to the top of the andesite rock mass before beginning to drill a hole where it met the ceiling agglomerate. It was a Japanese-style tunnel excavation method that began digging from the topmost point first, then struck the middle ridge, leveled the earth, and proceeded downward.

The former identities of the six fishermen were varied. Whale harpooner, laborer, flayer, tunnel engineer, hunter, shipwright. …the former identities of tunnel engineer Kamei Kintarō and laborer Suda Matsukichi proved crucial at this critical juncture. What the expedition scholars had failed to accomplish in ten long months, the two of them managed to break through in a mere ten hours.

By the time Dr. Yaroshevsky arrived, a hole just large enough for a person to squeeze through had been opened at the top of the rock mass. Then came another two hours. Working together to gather rubble and block the passage, they took their first step into the uncanny subterranean journey.

VI. “River of Lamentation” “Eighth Observation Point bis. (3:00 PM) Azimuth derived via theodolite. 62°21′ North Latitude, 140° East Longitude 226m. Compass bearing SE60°. Rangefinder: 90.3 km. Temperature 31.6. Depth 127 meters? — Still basaltic pyroxene andesite and olivine. Temperature gradient 44.7……”

Sixth Day (June 25) At the limits of possibility, were it the ocean floor, no matter how deep one might sink, the skin could still receive the sun's faint light. Yet within Earth’s womb, our senses could not perceive even a single débris of sunlight.

Today marked six days that we had been wandering through the eternal darkness of this monotonous dark sloping tunnel devoid of any change.

No matter how far we go, there remain the same arch-ceilinged pyroxene andesite walls. We are seized by a strange illusion that we aren't advancing at all, but merely circling endlessly through identical terrain. Unbearable weariness and fierce impatience crush our willpower like autumn leaves beneath a boot. Convincing ourselves of genuine progress demands superhuman exertion of mental fortitude. Today we repeated our observations three times over. Only the unwavering testimony of our theodolite and rangefinder confirms forward movement. Comparison with Seventh Observation Point data shows we've advanced two kilometers closer to Japan.

Precise scientific instruments proved our progress. While trusting this evidence, we struggled to escape the suspicion that subterranean pressure anomalies and magnetic forces might be distorting the theodolite and rangefinder. The pursuers still had not caught up that day. By my calculations, they should have overtaken us by evening three days prior. What on earth were they doing? What could have happened among them? Though their arrival would mean our immediate death, the failure of what was supposed to arrive not arriving grated on me.

Seventh Day (June 26)

The pursuers did not catch up today either. Today, I discovered the reason. Natasha Ivanovna was among the pursuers. That was why they could not recover their initial handicap. However, there had to be a limit to that. If it became clear they could not catch up with us because of Natasha, Professor Morozov would likely discard her and commence an aggressive pursuit. Therefore, we could not alter the foundational calculations regarding the pursuers' speed. That afternoon, we discovered lava tree molds of Jurassic-era cycads (Pothoxamites) and conifers (Forthia) on the side walls of the tunnel.

It was on the eighth day since entering this lava tunnel that we encountered something resembling living organisms for the first time. The concave mold carvings of cycads and conifers from ten million years ago. I gazed at them with profound emotion. These not only provided us solace but also vaguely suggested that some change was beginning to stir within this terrifyingly monotonous journey.

After advancing about one kilometer, we noticed an indistinct, hazy glimmer drifting along our path—neither the pallor of moonlight nor the milky opacity of mist. It was an eerie glimmer: pale, faint sea-green, like beryl’s radiance viewed through gauze, possessing its own cool luminosity…what Yanussen called *Béryl*. The six fishermen gazed at it in silence for some time, then all at once knelt with devout reverence as if in prayer and pressed their hands together.

Indeed, it possessed a meditative quality that transcended worldly sensations, something that could be called the serene light of the Pure Land.

We started walking toward the faint light.

The tunnel began to curve in a gentle arc from that point. When we had walked approximately 120 meters, a bizarre spectacle suddenly manifested before our eyes.

The field of vision spread out expansively, and beyond a deep valley in the far distance, a glacier-hued cliff rose dreamily white! The dark passage that had guided us these eight days now plunged without warning—a sudden glass-smooth precipice into bottomless darkness—barely continuing toward the distant cliff via a narrow rock bridge like a felled log.

Spanning the chasm of a thousand fathoms—its black maw gaping with terrifying visage—it arched in a beautiful curve, stretching far like a white rainbow. The surroundings fell utterly silent, suffused by an indescribable transparent pale green glimmer that filled the desolate, moon-like landscape devoid of even a single blade of grass or speck of moss. The rock bridge, the slopes, and the distant cliffs—all cast vague shadows upon one another while shining with chalcedony’s luminous clarity, blending into a hazy space of uniform hue.

This sudden fault—the "lava mesa"—had been caused by glacial activity.

At that time, Earth had already weathered and become vulnerable to damage. Glaciers completed the work that lightning, avalanches, storms, and rapids had left unfinished. They carried away the entire middle section of the tunnel, leaving only a single rock bridge.

Ninth Day (June 28)

Last night, after deliberating late into the night, we concluded there was no way to reach the hidden passage opening on the opposite cliff face except by crossing this knife-edged bridge that resembled a perilous rainbow. For this steep slope contained neither cracks nor protrusions that might serve as footholds. Yamaguchi—who had once worked as a mountain guide—stepped forward to lead. He guided us by tying our torsos together with a rope. He performed remarkably well.

However, another troublesome incident occurred. The rock bridge serving as our lifeline had developed a massive crack and was severed in midair. The gap measured at least six feet. While staring at the entrance to the opposite tunnel immediately before our eyes, we found ourselves unable to either advance or retreat.

Beyond the six-foot gap lay the protruding end of a saddleback with a somewhat wide plane, upon which rested a single large rock mass. Yamaguchi had been lying prone at the edge of the bridge, but soon raised himself into a horseback riding position, turned toward us, and gave a twisted smile. We took that to mean he was about to make a desperate attempt. He stood up at the edge of the bridge, leaped across to the saddleback on the other side, and sank his teeth into the rock like a lion. At that very moment, the rock began to sway startlingly. There wasn’t even time to gasp. Yamaguchi, still clutching the rock, plunged headlong into the bottomless, infinite abyss.

22nd Day (July 11)

“27th Observation Point.” “(4:20 PM) No observation.” That unfortunate morning, along with one of my companions, the cruel valley swallowed the backpack containing crucial instruments like the theodolite and rangefinder. Of course, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. To accomplish that dreadful feat, the backpack had to be sacrificed. Fortunately, the one containing provisions had been completely spared. If it hadn’t been! How were we supposed to continue this eighty-day journey?

Due to these circumstances, we could no longer advance our progress through precise investigation and observation. We had to continue this difficult journey relying on the small magnet attached to my watch chain. Seven days prior, the basic pyroxene andesite tunnel had finally ended, forcing us to wander through dark, deep valleys within Earth's womb. It was the bottom of a sorrowful fissure—bearing the visage of the Valley of Death from Dante's Inferno—where mid-Proterozoic Shunga stones and strange ejecta discovered in 1880 by Russian geologist Inostrantsev in the Olonets region stretched upward and towered in every grotesque form imaginable. A square lava platform hewn as if by axe. Ropy lava resembling giant serpents entwined. Then lava needles of myriad shapes—cactus-like, totem pole-like, necks of mythical beasts—this bizarre array stood scattered through an eerie valley blanketed under Mid-Proterozoic rust-hued ejecta. This valley lacked the usual faint light. Instead, a miasmic mist drifted dimly through gloom pierced by a hazy twilight-glow—emanating from an astonishingly high crustal fissure (likely volcanic)—that suffused everything with dull radiance.

The valley gradually narrowed toward its far end, at whose terminus rose a fifty-foot cliff bearing a massive cavern entrance, while a pitch-black river, coal-tar black in hue, formed occasional deep pools as it sluggishly flowed into the dark cavern. It was determined that this “River of Lamentation” belonged to the same category as those with unique water properties flowing through the Tocantins and Madeira of the Amazon River system and the Ruelanpago tributary of the Orinoco River—referred to in Spanish as *Rio negro* (Black River). The "Black River" harbors absolutely no floating animals or fish species. Birds and mosquitoes do not fly above it. This ebony-black river of gloom. Thin mist. Extinct lava. A sorrowful twilight hue. The Catholic "Hell" must be described in such terms. We were driven into this valley of bizarre lava pillars, leaving us no choice but to advance by following the black river’s flow into the cavern entrance.

70-Million-Year-Old Swamp

The cave widened as they progressed.

Layers of lava flows in vermilion, white, red ocher, and purplish-black showed beautiful agate-like striations, while at their base, a black river resembling flowing heavy oil undulated sluggishly. It shifted between purplish navy, deep indigo, and blackish-blue under the safety lamp’s light, dazzling the eye with its mutability. Because no plankton inhabited it, the water was glass-clear, allowing clear visibility of lava blocks shaped like coral at the fifty-foot-deep bottom—their blue lapis lazuli forms standing straight and tall.

The six-member group, with Takamura at the lead, proceeded in silence through the ribbon-like narrow rock corridor. The current meandered repeatedly, limiting visibility beyond thirty feet. The constant fear of an imminent dead end gripped the entire group. As the ceiling gradually lowered and the current made a sharp curve, a dimly lit cave entrance came into view ahead on the path.

There lay an uncanny scene.

It was a vast, sprawling marsh. A somber marsh surrounded by brown mud reminiscent of primordial chaos. As far as the eye could see, not a blade of grass grew—only a solitary cycad-like tree with a trunk resembling assembled seashells stood erect at the marsh’s edge, reaching some twenty feet in height.

An elusive milky whiteness spread hazily over the marsh. This was not the sky of the surface. The hazy canopy of the underground kingdom. Beyond imagination, the inner side of the towering earth’s crust formed there an ambiguous sky reminiscent of a cloudy day.

A sunken gray death marsh. A mournful chaos of mudflats. The solitary cycad on that shore.

Even Salvator Rosa - that painter of strange and tragic landscapes featuring caves, ancient marshes, isolated islands, and cliffs - could not have rendered a scene so imbued with sorrow. It was a sorrowful landscape that, with just a glance, would seize one with endless melancholy.

Dr. Yaroshevsky and the five fishermen sat down on the marsh's edge for a brief rest. According to where the magnet's needle pointed, they should continue marching along this shore. They took out their unchanging provisions of dry bread and smoked herring—their sole sustenance these thirty-five days—and began their monotonous morning meal. Fatigue was deeply etched on their faces, yet they all remained in good spirits. Suddenly, above their heads came a sharp metallic screech—*Kee! Kee!*—and a gray-brown bird with agave leaf-like elongated wings and a triangular crest plummeted into the marsh like a kite with its string severed. Skimming the water's surface, it opened a beak lined with shark-sharp teeth to emit another *Kee!* before jaggedly stitching a lightning-shaped path through the air and soaring back skyward.

A pterodactyl! Ten million years ago, when giant reptilian beasts like stegosaurs and brontosaurs roamed the primeval world—that very pterodactyl which had soared imperiously through Mesozoic skies! Then another creature came. A *flap-flap* sound—like wet cloth being shaken violently—was heard from above, and a jet-black creature of grotesque form, resembling a bat fused with a cormorant’s jaw, fluttered down as if a large soot ember were falling, then perched limply on the cycad’s branch.

It was a bat-winged pterosaur! ...At that time, Earth lay divided by the Tethys Ocean, with only two continents remaining: Angara to the south and Gondwana to the north. From around the Triassic period’s end, volcanic activity had gradually begun its stirrings until—by the Late Cretaceous—cataclysms arrived that might overturn heaven and earth. Ceaseless great earthquakes. Colossal eruptions. Violent heaving of bedrock. Subsidence and uplift. Monstrous tsunamis. A marine transgression of biblical scale. Continents drowned beneath waves overnight; new lands surged from vanished seas. The very crust convulsed in metamorphosis. Then perished all—from Earth-roaming reptilian titans down to tidepool shellfish—not one species spared. Thus came creation’s re-enactment: a new world’s dawn—the Cenozoic era—begun.

And then—another nine million years! …those pterosaurs still survived, flying about in such a place as this. …It was a fact so astonishing it defied both imagination and fantasy—even now, witnessing it with their own eyes, they simply could not believe it was real. As the Doctor drifted in a vertiginous daze, his consciousness growing hazy, the marsh’s center abruptly began churning—white spray arced rainbow-like skyward—and from within that violent upwelling, something resembling a massive tree trunk slowly emerged.

At first glance, it was something like a large sea serpent. The creature—resembling a giant Japanese rat snake with glinting eyes—smoothly extended twenty feet in mere moments, writhing two or three feet above the water's surface before an immense ash-gray mass like a small mountain rose imposingly onto the sandbar-like shallows.

“O—h!”

A cry of amazement burst forth involuntarily from their mouths. What terrifying magnificence! It was a gigantic quadruped with a serpent-like long neck, thought to be fifty times the size of an elephant. The neck alone, crawling across the marsh, measured over thirty feet. Its back rose to about double the cycad's height, behind which trailed an immense tail—two arm spans thick at the base—dragging forty feet across the ground. It was an indescribably magnificent landscape, as though the marsh’s bed had risen and a dark gray island had been abruptly thrust upward.

Dr. Yaroshevsky had been staring wide-eyed in blank astonishment for a long time when, abruptly—

“Brontosaurus!”

he screamed. The great reptilian beast of the Jurassic Period—said to be the largest animal Earth ever produced. Brontosaurus! The Brontosaurus—a creature that had gone completely extinct along with the previous world—was now lumbering about in the shallows right before their eyes, separated by mere marsh water, moving like a swaying hill. Dr. Yaroshevsky and the five fishermen stood on the shore of a Mesozoic marsh and with their own eyes were witnessing the ecology of a great reptilian beast from ten million years ago! It was a situation so bizarre as to be inconceivable.

The Jurassic world! The Apocalypse had unwittingly slipped into the “Underground Beast Kingdom”—a name born of poetic metaphor! After gazing at the colossal beast with ecstatic eyes, Dr. Yaroshevsky uttered an ineffably profound sigh as he approached the cycad and pressed his palm against its trunk. It was a type of cycad called Nilsonia, classified among the Rhaetic flora of the Paleozoic Triassic period—a plant that, along with ferns and horsetails, had once blanketed the entire surface of the Earth during that era. Dr. Yaroshevsky’s palm was now directly touching the skin of a plant from ten million years ago!

“I can’t breathe!” Muttering in a choked voice like suppressed sobs, Dr. Yaroshevsky gripped his white-haired head with both hands and crouched at the cycad’s roots. As a natural scientist—among the many scholars who had devoted themselves to paleontology and geology—the Doctor now found himself in supremely fortunate circumstances that none had ever before encountered; overwhelmed to his limits, he seemed on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness. The Doctor now recognized that the Jurassic strata within the cave they had just traversed had formed an inverted layer, thick gneiss blanketing its upper surface. From this alone, one could easily imagine how violent the crustal upheavals in this area had been. The portion of the Siberian Turonian terrestrial stratum where they now stood had subsided deep underground during that cataclysm while bearing reptilian beasts, reptilian birds, and ancient scale trees—only to be sealed beneath a thick crust of gneiss. Through these circumstances, these reptiles had avoided extinction and had continued living exactly as they had ten million years earlier.

Of course, the five fishermen could not feel as profound an emotion as the Doctor. However, even so, captivated by the utterly bizarre spectacle before them, each and every one of them—still clutching their dried bread—forgot to eat and simply stared in blank amazement.

The one-eyed Kitahara Shozo, who had once been a harpooner, shouted in a voice choked with emotion. “Damn, that’s huge!” “Is that an elephant or a whale?… I’d sure like to try harpoonin’ it.” “If we harpooned that thing—man, how’d it feel!” He stamped his feet in frustration over the absence of his familiar harpoon. The group burst into laughter at his comical display.

He stamped his feet in frustration, as though lamenting the absence of a familiar harpoon there.

The sight was so comical that everyone burst out laughing in unison. Dr. Yaroshevsky, roused from his reverie by their voices, lifted his face and returned to the five men, wordlessly resuming his meal. He mechanically brought food to his mouth while keeping his eyes fiercely fixed on the brontosaurus. Kamei thrust forward his furrowed brow marked by a large scar and asked the Doctor: “Professor, what in the world is that beast called?”

The Doctor's reply was remarkably curt. As if resenting the intrusion upon his emotional state, he frowned slightly and—

“That is an animal that lived in ancient times.”

he answered curtly. That was all. "Huh." "So... it doesn't do any harm?" "If that thing attacks us, we wouldn't last a moment, I tell you."

“That one eats plants, so it won’t harm people, but if that were a carnivorous dinosaur, things would be dire. Not a single one of us would survive.”

And then, as if to say, "Don’t speak to me anymore," he waved his hand. The Brontosaurus had been wandering through the shallows while swaying its massive neck, but eventually began sinking into the marsh from its legs with a squelching sound and walked toward the opposite shore with only its neck protruding above the water. As they finished their meal and were about to set out, Shimizu Iwakichi proposed an idea: they could make a dugout canoe from this cycad tree and proceed by boat. It would save time and allow them to avoid the danger posed by whatever beasts were on land. "If everyone worked together, a proper dugout canoe could be completed in just three days," he said. As Shimizu Iwakichi, who had been the second engineer of the Kamikaze Maru and possessed knowledge of shipbuilding, this was an entirely fitting proposal. Suda interjected.

"But if we dawdle around here for three days, the pursuers will catch up."

While Shimizu was voicing his opinion, this was what everyone had been feeling in their hearts.

Shimizu nodded, then— “I ain’t sayin’ I hadn’t thought about that. “But today makes thirty-five days. “If they were gonna catch us, they’d have done it way sooner. “Not that I’m takin’ ’em lightly, but I don’t see how they’d suddenly catch up in three days when they haven’t managed it yet. “Plus—if we take this tree for a dugout canoe, those bastards’ll have no choice but to take the long way ’round by land. “We’ll be movin’ steady by boat while they’re trudgin’ on foot—means from here on out, no more sweatin’ about ’em breathin’ down our necks. “What d’ya say? Sink or swim—let’s stake three days on this gamble?”

If things went well, from this point onward there would be no more fear of being doggedly pursued. They would be liberated from the miserable fate of being shot down like dogs. This swayed the hearts of the other three men. They all gazed at Takamura’s face and waited for his decision. In any situation, acting according to the opinions of Eijiro Takamura, the fisheries supervisor, had been the group’s unspoken rule since their time at the Kamchatka fisheries. Dr. Yaroshevsky, also wondering what reply Takamura would give, was watching his face. Dr. Yaroshevsky also agreed with Shimizu’s opinion. Because he thought that by going by boat, they might encounter another reptilian creature.

Takamura tensed his thick eyebrows, sat with his arms crossed in his usual thinking pose, pondered for about a minute, and then uttered a single word: “Alright, let’s do ’er!” he said. The group, having once shouldered their backpacks, lowered them again, drew the hatchets from their waists, and began hacking at the base of the cycad. As a precaution, Suda the laborer was assigned to stand guard at the tunnel entrance. They had agreed that if he spotted even a glimpse of a safety lamp’s light in the cavern, he would come running to sound the alarm.

The cycad was as hard as stone, but they nevertheless felled it before nightfall. Following Shimizu's directions, the group piled small branches into a mound atop the cycad trunk to facilitate hollowing and set them ablaze.

Dusk was drawing near, and the surface of the marsh had begun to shift from an ashen white to a hazy grayish-black.

Suddenly, two sharp gunshots rang out from the tunnel entrance about ten ken behind them. A bloodcurdling death scream from Suda was heard, and after a brief pause, a single mass of white smoke came flowing swiftly out from the tunnel entrance.

They all froze in place. The death-dealing pursuers finally caught up. Dr. Yaroshevsky gently placed the axe on the ground and moved his pale lips, "They've come!" he muttered. On the fishermen’s faces there was not so much a shadow of fear as a bitter hue of regret for having underestimated their situation. Takamura alone sat on the cycad trunk with a resigned expression and made no move to stand up.

From the darkness of the tunnel entrance, Professor Morozov appeared with an impassive expression. In his hand, he gripped a large Petersen six-shot automatic pistol. From behind him emerged Natasha Ivanovna, clad in a leather half-coat and leather gaiters.

Professor Morozov and Natasha—just the two of them. There was no one following behind. This first took the five by surprise. Moreover, neither bore the rugged equipment they had imagined. They carried neither automatic rifles nor ammunition belts. In the professor’s hand was nothing but a single pistol. As ever, his eyes held that inhuman ruthlessness, yet his haggardness bordered on pitiable—shirt and trousers torn to shreds, blotched here and there with thick stains of blood.

Natasha’s condition was even worse. The collar of her coat had been mercilessly torn open, exposing her bare white shoulder where a gruesome wound—as if clawed by a beast—gaped, from which fresh blood ran in vertical streaks. Professor Morozov came to a halt about twenty feet from the group and, with an emotionless gaze devoid of any shadow of feeling, began slowly surveying each of their faces one by one.

When they witnessed the two’s wretched state, a similar strategy had spontaneously taken shape in each member’s mind in that instant. The disparity amounted to one pistol. If that bastard came just a little closer, they’d gang up and kill him while he was devouring one of them. However, within the professor’s calm mind, a precise calculation of the optimal distance for both defense and attack had already taken shape. He came to a halt at precisely twenty feet and did not attempt to advance a single step further.

Professor Morozov slowly raised the muzzle and began taking direct aim at Takamura’s chest.

Finally, the final moment came. All thirty-five days of terrible hardship would now come to naught. The sole comfort for them all was that they would die in a place some one hundred fifty ri closer to Japan than the penal colony's delta. The professor’s finger on the trigger twitched spasmodically. Takamura rolled his large eyes as he watched this, then whispered in Japanese in a voice audible only to the three. “That bastard’s pistol only has four bullets. Even if he kills one of us with each shot, someone will still remain.” “The one who’s left—kill that bastard and the woman, then get back to Japan no matter what.”

The three nodded. Still—who would be left? The Doctor? Professor Morozov’s hatred toward the Doctor alone would never allow him to remain alive. In that case—someone among the four would survive.

The bullet did not fly out; instead, Professor Morozov issued a sharp command. "Form a column!... The one at the back—place both hands on the shoulders of the one in front." They obeyed the command and formed a column. The one at the front was the Doctor. Professor Morozov then issued the third command. “Maintain formation and retreat toward the swamp!”

The group began retreating backward toward the swamp, one step at a time.

What a meticulous mind. The Professor was fully aware of his own side’s deficiencies regarding slaughter. Meanwhile, the fishermen too had quickly discerned what the Professor intended to do. Being one bullet short, he meant to drown all five of them in the mudflats. They recalled their unfortunate comrade who had dragged along Tomekichi—a young fishing apprentice—and willingly sank into Kolyma’s mudflats. That guy had been smarter than us. Kamei—

“Hmph.”

He chuckled derisively. That intent was immediately grasped by all. While retreating backward, the other three also began to snicker.

The third command came.

“Halt! “…Dr. Yaroshevsky, you alone come over here.” The Doctor left the line and walked toward the Professor with resolute bearing. His face had lost its pallor.

Until now, Natasha had been sitting on the mud observing the unfolding events intently when she suddenly stood up and began approaching the Doctor. Glaring at him with an eerie, fanatical gaze,

“Traitor!” she shouted, slapping his cheek with her open hand with all her might. The Doctor staggered unsteadily. “Shameless wretch! Self-serving bastard! Dog!” Waiting for Natasha’s fury to subside, the Professor said quietly: “Doctor, I’ve changed my mind. I intend to postpone your and their executions until we glimpse Japan from Mount Esutoro’s old crater. You must cooperate with them to ensure Natasha and I continue our journey comfortably... Though it’s regrettable the honor of discovering this astonishing ‘Beast Kingdom of the Depths’ won’t be yours—that too is your own doing. After all, you created my motive for coming here, Doctor...”

VIII. Kama's Boudoir

The dugout canoe glided along the viscous marsh surface like a dead thing, not raising a single ripple. The marsh’s edge blurred hazily into mist, and as the canopy’s milky hue reflected across the water’s surface in a uniform expanse, they felt as though advancing through the very sky itself. The dugout canoe measured over five meters in length, its breadth enough to comfortably seat seven. At the bow sat Natasha and Professor Morozov; at the stern, the Doctor took his seat. The four fishermen sat cross-legged in a row at the bottom of the dugout canoe, adjusting the vessel’s speed and direction in accordance with the life-or-death guidance of Professor Morozov’s pistol muzzle.

At the sound of oars, a brontosaurus would suddenly thrust its ostrich-like neck above the water, or lungfish would swim in the marsh’s shallows. Then, Professor Morozov would have them turn the bow in that direction and meticulously observe and sketch. At times, he would have them halt the canoe on the marsh for half a day while sketching twenty different studies of brontosaur and pterodactyl behaviors. During that time, Natasha would place the pistol on her lap and serve as the prisoners' guard.

Thus, even on the third day, the canoe advanced only to the middle of the marsh. The rowers grew utterly bored and took turns dozing off. Alone among them, the harpooner Kitahara would tap away at making harpoons with chunks of hard peat he gathered from the marsh’s edge whenever he had a spare moment. He seemed determined to retaliate against the Brontosaurus at all costs.

On the morning of the seventh day, they finally drew near enough to see the opposite shore. On the opposite shore stretched high hills with bizarre folds, their sheer faces revealing the black maws of cave entrances as marsh water carved violent channels plunging into those depths. There appeared to be a violent drop between marsh surface and cave floor, roaring cascade echoing through caverns audible even from afar. Shimizu the steersman was first to notice. They began frantically rowing while urging crewmates in desperate bid to escape waterway—but already too late. The canoe surged toward cave entrance like iron drawn to magnet—stern spewing white foam with tremendous force. In blink of eye opposite cliff loomed before them. The dugout canoe spun one-and-a-half times violently in entrance whirlpool before being sucked into pitch-black maw with thunderous roar—plunging downward at thirty-degree angle.

It was exactly like an old water chute that used to be at an amusement park pool. It was almost a miracle they hadn’t been thrown from the canoe. With a clattering thud, they tumbled toward the bow in a domino-like collapse, and by merely scrambling together in a heap, they emerged unscathed. The Doctor, who had been at the bottom, ended up crushed beneath everyone else and suffered terribly. As the canoe spun halfway around at the cave entrance, it began to fall stern-first. Therefore, even amid this precarious situation, Professor Morozov still ended up occupying an advantageous position to monitor the five. When the chaotic scuffle erupted, he grabbed the gunwale with one hand while swiftly climbing backward toward the stern, shrewdly pulling the pistol to rest against his knee. Natasha directed the safety lamp's light toward the five and continued her vigilant surveillance without respite.

Thirty minutes. An interminable thirty minutes that felt like an eternity passed, but still, the dugout canoe did not stop falling. The dreadful infinite fall. In the pitch-black cavern, a deafening roar of water thundered so violently it threatened to burst their eardrums, paralyzing everyone's hearing.

Then began an uncanny phenomenon.

As the dugout canoe fell, the temperature inside the cavern rapidly intensified. By the end of an hour, everyone was drenched in sweat and began panting like dogs, gasping hoarsely. The heat reached at least forty-two or forty-three degrees. Professor Morozov uttered a sardonic quip, sweat dripping in fat drops from his jaw. “Well, Doctor. We’re about to plunge into a thick magma zone, aren’t we? If I’m to be your companion in hell, you must be quite satisfied.”

The Doctor responded with earnest seriousness.

"Since there can’t possibly be any current flowing into a magma zone, the fall should cease before long." The Professor jerked his shoulder and fell silent with a look of utter exasperation.

It turned out just as the Doctor had predicted. After about ten minutes, the rate of descent gradually slowed. Then, just as they were abruptly thrust upward two or three times by large swells, the canoe passed through the cave entrance and was expelled into a dimly lit marsh where ferns and horsetails grew thick and wild.

A dense subtropical marshland. Before their eyes spread a vista akin to the leech-infested swamps of Borneo.

The water was stagnant, thick and heavy, and drawn by a current whose movement was imperceptible, the canoe advanced quietly. Along the riverbanks, slender branches of ancient ginkgoes with peculiar forms and white cypress roots twined like snakes hung ominously over the water; Cretaceous-era Buéntata horsetails, net ferns, and palm ferns grew so thickly that no foot could tread through them, while in the distance stood clusters of Kurutatsu trees bearing sword-like leaves, their distinctive forms appearing as though engaged in some ritual dance.

Here, too, the heat was intense. The air did not stir even slightly, and within it hung an intoxicatingly strange fragrance—unlike anything ever smelled before—thick and suffocating. Among the ferns, crimson cycad flowers—monstrous sunflower-like blooms over two meters wide—opened their nightmarish, garish blossoms everywhere, while two-foot-long giant dragonflies and cloisonné-brilliant phosphorescent butterflies fluttered above them like creatures possessed by somnambulism. The intoxicatingly strange fragrance was coming from those flowers. The entire marshland lay enveloped in the aphrodisiac miasma of cycad flowers, comatose with ecstasy within a dream of love. ...Once one entered this place, they would become intoxicated by the mystical fragrance of the flowers and die as if falling asleep—it seemed this was precisely what Camarayana, known as "Kāma’s Bedchamber," located upstream on India’s Jagudaburu River, must have been like.

Everyone seemed on the verge of melting into sweat. The heat was terrifyingly intense; no matter how much courage they mustered, they couldn't row continuously for even five minutes. Moreover, streams with identical fern-covered banks branched out like a maze to both left and right, forcing them to consult the compass and restart their course multiple times. Professor Morozov, even here, had the canoe stopped at will, bringing his eyes close to the flowers and ferns to observe them intently and make sketches. The Doctor, who had been stripped of both pencil and notebook, gazed at them with a scorching intensity—as if trying to etch their forms directly into his eyes.

Gradually, the waterway narrowed, and ahead opened a vast marshland blanketed with green horsetails, where a herd of four or five large reptilian beasts wandered. The Doctor suddenly raised his hand and had the canoe stopped.

The Professor inquired. "What's the matter?" The Doctor pointed toward the reptilian beasts. "Because it's dangerous..."

“That’s a stegosaurus isn’t it? There’s nothing particularly dangerous about them is there?” The Doctor shook his head.

“Though it may seem unbelievable，we are no longer in the *Jurassic Period*. “We are in the *Cretaceous Period*. “The net fern flora surrounding us clearly proves it． “Therefore，there are no *Jurassic*-era stegosaurs in this marshland． “The *Cretaceous Period*’s carnivorous and ferocious species—iguanodons and dinosaurs—should be here… I believe those wandering in the distant marshland are indeed them．”

“Just because there are net ferns here? If we account for changes in land-sea distribution and plant migration across geological eras, such discrepancies are perfectly natural. …What scientific basis supports claiming we were in the Jurassic six days ago and are now in the Cretaceous?”

“In other words, all we have is the fact that we abruptly fell from the Jurassic to the Cretaceous Period in about an hour. …There’s no further explanation I can provide.”

"A ten-million-year fall in one hour! What a fantasy!"

Then, pursing his lips, he sneered, "Hmph." However, he did not attempt to push the canoe onward. According to where the compass needle pointed, they had no choice but to continue marching across the marshland. The group halted their canoe in the current and waited with stoic patience for the herd of beasts to depart. As evening drew near, the creatures finally stirred, lumbering into the distant black cycad forest. Muffling their oar strokes, they cautiously advanced the canoe, landed on a dim shore where roots coiled like creepers, formed a column with Takamura at its head, and warily pressed through the net ferns.

Professor Morozov and Natasha followed at the rear, as usual, about thirty ken behind the five.

After walking about half a ri, an ear-splitting scream of terror suddenly erupted behind the five.

A horrifying event had occurred! A gigantic dinosaur had reared its forelimbs against its chest, flung its thick curved tail stiffly backward like ivory, and was charging toward Professor Morozov and Natasha in bounding leaps spanning eighteen feet at a time! Dinosaur! Tyrant among reptilian beasts. Ruthless slaughterer. The dinosaur—regarded as the most ferocious animal Earth has ever borne! Its body length measured well over fifty feet, and its raised head still protruded above the crown of a thirty-foot-tall Kurutatsu tree. Its forelimbs bore shrine-guardian-like webbed hands, while its hind limbs brandished sharp claws resembling crescent-moon blades.

Its ochre-colored maw gaped wide open, baring seven-inch-long sword-like teeth terrifying to behold, each leap spanning roughly eighteen feet as it closed in on the two from behind with deafening earth-shaking thuds! The Doctor and the four fishermen huddled together, staring blankly at the scene for a short while. In that instant, they couldn’t comprehend what was beginning to unfold. But soon, they came to understand that an extraordinary event—one that would determine their life or death—was beginning to unfold in this marshland.

This wasn’t just about Natasha and the Professor. If they hesitated, every last one of them would be killed there. To escape certain death, they had no choice but to take the offensive and bring down their foe at all costs. Professor Morozov and Natasha, their faces contorted in terror, continued running breathlessly while letting out fragmented screams that were hard to make out. However, they couldn’t match the pace of the dinosaur leaping eighteen feet with each bound. The dinosaur was closing in right behind the Professor.

“Aaaaaaah!” A sharp scream resembling an infant’s wail resounded through the desolate Mesozoic marshland. The dinosaur made one final leap, grabbed the Professor with both hands, and lifted him up to its chest thirty feet high. Within the webbed, grotesque forelimbs resembling cycad leaves, the Professor’s pitifully small hands and feet flailed about frantically like flies. Beneath those feet, Natasha collapsed unconscious.

The first to leap out was Kitahara. He lifted the long-handled peat harpoon horizontally above his shoulder and advanced toward the dinosaur in a stance reminiscent of a Greek javelin thrower. His ape-like face flushed crimson up to the hairline, every crease on his visage crinkling into a beaming grin as if he couldn’t contain his delight at finally wielding the harpoon he’d painstakingly crafted. “Well now, it’s just like playing whale!” “Ain’t no reason to be shocked by its size, you idiot!”

He charged at the dinosaur as if to ram it headlong, planted himself between its hind legs, and with a glance upward, drove his harpoon into its right eye with a decisive thrust.

The harpoon rose straight up as if pulled by a rope, pierced deeply beneath the dinosaur’s eye, and with a violent shudder sent a tremor through its shaft. The dinosaur let out a guttural roar of agony, hurled the Professor it had been clutching against its chest onto the ferns below, then swung open its massive jaws to seize Kitahara before whirling around in one swift motion and bounding off into the shadowy depths of the gloomy cycad forest. This was the end of the resolute Kitahara.

IX. ‘Ай’—The Underground Sea

At the base of the cliff, ocean waves pounded against the rocks and swirled back in retreat, producing a deafening roar that continued unceasingly. A gray mist risen from the sea clung hazily to the rocky projections like a burial shroud, blurring all sharp angles and rendering the sinister island's appearance even more mystical.

Ten ri in circumference.

Sheer cliffs and precipices. At the center of the island, a Nicod-type volcano abruptly rose two thousand meters, spewing a fearsome pillar of fire into the sky. The roar of raging waves. The wailing of the wind. The cries of seabirds. A fire-spewing mountain. And then, the meager ferns and brachiopods clinging to the rocks with a lion’s grip. Beyond that, there was nothing—a desolate, lonely island in the underground sea. The lonely sorrow of Mendelssohn’s overture *The Hebrides* could not begin to approach that of this primordial world’s solitary island.

Two months had now passed since we were attacked by dinosaurs in the Tsurunia Wetlands. Autumn too was drawing to its close. The group that had numbered seven at that time had dwindled to a mere four. Myself—Professor Morozov—and three fishermen: Takamura, Shimizu, Kamei. Dr. Yaroshevsky had set out one morning two weeks prior to collect Pleurotomaria shellfish beneath this island's cliffs and never returned by nightfall. The following morning, when we went searching, we found him lying dead at the base of the western cliff—still clutching a Pleurotomaria shellfish in his right hand. Obsession. It was an end befitting the Doctor.

Natasha had also died of scurvy around the same time. Her throat was ravaged, and by the end she could no longer speak. Pointing at her pus-filled gums,

“Ah… ah…” All she could do was scream. We immediately understood what that meant. Natasha had been asking them to bury her teeth in Japanese soil (Nagasaki?). For about a week prior to her death, we had already known—through her confession—the purpose for which she had followed me.

She had come to protect the lives of six fishermen and save them from my slaughter. Respect and nostalgia for her Japanese mother’s bloodline. That had been her primary motive. That was why, while crossing the rock bridge of Lava Mesa, she had thrown two rifles and their ammunition belts into the valley below under the pretense of an accident. She succeeded. At the tunnel entrance by the marsh, with only one casualty incurred, she succeeded in completely saving the remaining six lives—including the Doctor—from my slaughter. Because at that moment, there had in fact not been a single bullet remaining in my pistol’s magazine.

After completing the rites honoring her mother's bloodline, she then gripped an empty pistol during my investigations and protected me to the last from any sudden retaliation by the fishermen. Incidentally, this outstanding young female corps member desired to rest not beneath Soviet soil, but under that of Japan. Beneath her mother's soil. When fisherman Takamura nodded solemnly, Natasha managed a faint smile and died with a gurgling in her throat. It had already been twenty days since we became stranded on this isolated underground island.

After departing the Tsurunia Wetlands, we wandered through desolate plains of emery and quartz sand, then entered once more the monotonous dark passage of pyroxene andesite, until on the morning of the seventy-sixth day, we suddenly emerged into the very heart of this island.

A barren rocky island, devoid of a single tree, enveloped by raging waves. What method could we possibly use to cross this sea?! We were completely blocked from proceeding when we were just 200 kilometers away. We could do nothing but gaze at the leaden sea, letting out sighs of despair. Janussen had named the underground sea beneath Iceland "the Joyous Sea." We decided to name this sea "Ай! (Alas!)" after our very sighs.

Scurvy was beginning to afflict everyone. Our food supplies were also running out. In such conditions, turning back to Stanovoy once more was utterly impossible. Both the Doctor and the three fishermen seemed to have steeled themselves to die on this subterranean island. We conceived the idea of fishing to compensate for our food shortage. Numerous cod-like fish were caught. The Doctor’s opinion was that they were likely Eronichtys from the Jurassic-era Palaeoniscidae family.

Ten-million-year-old cod! We devoured them. The next day, Shimizu and Kamei brought back strange mollusk shells. When we looked, it was that precious Pleurotomaria from the Carboniferous period. Living Pleurotomaria! This was what had enthralled the Doctor. He ran madly toward the western cliff but never returned. The regular consumption of guillemot eggs and ancient cod accelerated our scurvy. This morning, Kamei suddenly lost the ability to speak. It was ultimately a matter of time. Sooner or later, the same fate would befall the other three. A hopeless existence dragged on. Death was gradually approaching. Ah, the sun! Soon, we will die like deep-sea blind fish without ever seeing that nostalgic light again. (September 10th Entry)

Letter (Addressed to Professor Nikolai Lazarev, Department of Geology, Moscow University)

"Please understand beforehand that this bears no relation whatsoever to the 'Academic Survey Report at ψ62°30′N. λ140°17′0″E' submitted to the All-Union Scientific Research Planning Committee, being purely a private letter addressed to you personally." "At this moment of parting, I wish to share a minor concealed fact omitted from the official report, making this my token of gratitude for your steadfast friendship."

On precisely the twenty-third day since we became stranded on this island—that is, around 9:20 AM on September 13th—a drawn-out steam whistle suddenly sounded from the southern shore, and through the sea fog, a single steamship loomed dimly into view. It was no phantom. A real steamship! The ship's name, OTARU MARU, could even be clearly read on its hull. What my confusion and panic had been at that moment—there was no need for me to describe here.

Dr. Yaroshevsky succeeded. The underground passage does indeed extend from Mount Robatoka to part of Japanese territory. However, it does not connect to the old crater of Mount Esutoru in southern Karafuto, but rather emerges at the northernmost island of the Kuril Islands adjacent to the Kamchatka Peninsula. This fact stripped all military significance from this academic expedition's true purpose. The island is nothing more than a small rocky island with a circumference of about ten versts, located merely eighty nautical miles from Petropavlovsk Port, which serves as the operational base in Kamchatka.

What we had believed to be an underground sea was in fact the Sea of Okhotsk. The island we named Ай has already been clearly recorded under the name Atlasov Island in Japan's cadastral register. What the Doctor had believed to be Jurassic-era ancient cod was in fact a local cod species abundantly fished in these waters, and what he had taken for Carboniferous-era Pleurotomaria turned out to be a type of Hawaiia known as Chishima Kohaku-gai. The reason I did not document these minor tragicomedies or the true cause of the Doctor’s fatal fall in the official report stemmed not from personal friendship toward him, but rather from a sense of academic solidarity. The report and the letter addressed to you are to be delivered to the Soviet consulate in Otaru by three fishermen.

"As for me? ... I intend to return to Stanovoy through the underground passage once more to ensure the accuracy of our survey of the Underground Beast Kingdom." With food supplies insufficient and myself afflicted by scurvy, I will likely collapse along the way. However, there's nothing left but to try as much as I can. ......Well then, farewell. Please give my regards to your wife and two beloved daughters. And especially to Ms. Anna, please!