Pathway to Japanese Literature

Prologue

The Moscow Academy of Sciences proposed three projects as cultural state initiatives during the Second Five-Year Plan period, submitted them to the Central Committee through the Ministry of National Education and State Planning Committee, and had them approved at the Eighth All-Union Soviet Congress.

The first two of the three plans were as follows.

1. Plan Л: Arctic Ocean Winter Route Development.

2. Plan Ч: Trans-Arctic Circle Flight - Pioneering the "Stalin Air Route".

Plan Ч’s “Trans-Arctic Nonstop Flight” succeeded in June 1937 when pilot Shikalov’s ANT-25 conquered the Arctic’s extreme cold to pioneer a regular air route connecting both hemispheres.

On June 18, departure from Moscow’s Skalkovo Airfield at 4:05 AM. After a flight time of 63 hours and 25 minutes, they arrived at Vancouver, Canada’s airfield at 8:00 AM on the 20th, establishing a new record of 12,000 kilometers conquered through the skies. As for Plan Л’s “Arctic Ocean Winter Route Development,” a fifty-seven-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 Kusumtoy on the Indigirka River estuary, they spent nearly three years until autumn 1937 surveying a 10,000-verst shipping route connecting Taimyr Peninsula’s Bekichev Port with Kamchatka’s North Mariinsk Port. However, struck by the severe cold waves of 1936–37, they achieved only twenty percent of their planned objectives and returned to Moscow with nothing substantive to show for their efforts.

Meanwhile, in 1938, during the merciless purge operations thoroughly carried out across all sectors—beginning with the Communist Party Red Army—Dr. Karpinsky was executed by firing squad on June 5th under the pretext of having carried out a counterrevolutionary conspiracy: inciting the expedition team’s sabotage and causing the survey operations to fail, as a member of the “Right Deviationist-Trotskyist Bloc.” (June 6th—Pravda Newspaper)

As for the final “Plan Я,” by the initial “Я” alone could it be inferred that its proposer was the renowned Dr. Yaroshevsky—yet its content remained entirely unknown. The submitted title was merely recorded as follows.

(ψ62°30′Ｎ. λ140°17′0″Ｅ)

“Plan Я,” after being deliberated and studied in a secret meeting of the All-Union Scientific Research Planning Committee, received approval for implementation in March 1937. An expedition team was organized with one captain and one deputy captain each， eight academic members， one sketch artist， and twelve female stenographers． On May 10 of the following year， they departed Moscow 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 the State Publishing House’s *Public Bulletin* and the *Pravda* newspaper.

Expedition Leader: Ivan Yaroshevsky, Director of the Geological Department, Ukrainian Academy of Sciences

Deputy Leader: Professor Nikolai Morozov，Ukrainian Academy of Sciences Academic Member: Boris Shirukin，Professor of Meteorology，Ukrainian Academy of Sciences

…………………………………………… Stenographer and Assistant Natasha Ivanovna

The expedition team returned to Moscow in late October 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 prohibited by decree of the Central Committee the day after printing concluded. All copies—save one—were incinerated alongside the printing plates. That sole surviving copy was sealed within the National Library’s “Restricted Documents Vault.”

What exactly was this *Investigation Report at 62°30′ North Latitude*? That secret should have been buried completely in time’s eternal flow, but through an unforeseen twist of fate, both the astonishing subject of their investigation and the truth of a realm beyond human ken lurking within its shadows were laid bare through a comrade’s testimony.

The Japanese nationals in question were six crew members of the Dainippon Kamikaze-maru (registered in Otaru City)—including fishing ground supervisor Takeru Eijiro and first engineer Kiyoshi Iwagoro—who, ten years prior in the summer of Showa 5 (1930), had been engaged in illegal fishing off Paransk in Kamchatka when their vessel was sunk by a patrol gunboat. They were subsequently exiled to the Stanovoy Range’s tundra region and subjected to forced labor on river construction projects.

1. Tundra and Radio

A desolate tundra region. Dwarfed birch and pine trees grew no taller than a foot at most. A damp wind blew through. An amber sun. Cries of wild geese.

Desolate emptiness. At the edge of the moss-covered ground stretched a gentle mountain range. It was the Stanovoy Range, extending from east of Lake Baikal to northern Kamchatka. This area—called Polkhoi ("Land of Sorrow") by Kamchatka natives—was an uninhabited northern borderland belonging to the Yakutsk Autonomous Republic. To reach human settlements, they had to walk three hundred versts either south or east. After such an arduous journey, they arrived at two or three tents where Northern Russians nomadically herded reindeer. Crossing the mountain range and trekking twenty versts north along the Indigirka River brought one to the vast delta where the Indigirka and Kolyma Rivers converged—a place inhabited by a group of vertebrates. They were not human.

They were a group of convicts performing forced labor on waterway construction at the "27th Penal Colony" in Yakutsk Oblast. Filth, depravity, starvation, exhaustion, pestilence... A bestial existence permeated with every conceivable misery persisted there. The combination of everything on both sides of the mountain range—this side and beyond—was what constituted the environment of the "Land of Sorrow."

Dusk.

62°30′ North Latitude—a long, long twilight. The sun persisted in its tarnished brass hue from evening until dawn.

The edge of the tundra abruptly rose to form Robatka Mountain (1,327). In the transitional zone between tundra and mountain foothills stood four pitched tents—Knipper-style shelters designed for expeditions, their sturdy frames resembling compact cabins. Then from one tent came the sudden spill of radio static—a jarring collision between primeval desolation and twentieth-century technology.

Leaning against documents, maps, various charts, a sextant, Clausen-style sounding machine, Bachman barometer, hunting rifle, portable lamp, mining hammer and pickaxe, canned goods, shredded tobacco, and miscellaneous books sat Dr. Yaroshevsky—broad-shouldered, sturdy, six feet one inch tall. A white-haired, childlike face; a peach-hued neck; on the whitewood table’s brazier, seal oil burned. Inside the hut hung a stifling warmth, the smell of burning animal fat, and a hazy darkness that permeated the air.

Across from the Doctor, Professor Nikolai Morozov was leaning his tall, sinewy frame toward the table, resting his cheek on one hand.

Hooked nose. A Slavic red mustache. Well-aligned, excessively white teeth. Radiant, sharp eyes. …Those eyes had been fixed intently on the Doctor’s face for some time now. His right hand was thrust into the side pocket of a suede half-coat.

The other 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 various high and low positions—on canvas chairs, empty canned food boxes, bundles of rope, and the like—each in their own chosen spots.

The sole female member of the Secret Investigation Team—the woman stenographer. Natasha Ivanovna, now twenty-five years old, sat on a folding cot at the very back of the tent, biting her nails with a gloomy air. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but neither could she be called unrefined. Blind devotion to scholarship had worn away her sense of beauty. Exposed dusky skin. Bushy eyebrows. Her eyes alone were extraordinarily captivating. Deep black eyes. Eyes that spoke of Hunnic lineage—or perhaps revealed the forthrightness of her Japanese heritage—long-slitted and large.

Next to her was the meteorologist Boris Shirukin. Strong prescription glasses. A timid-looking face. Within the expedition team, he was the only beardless man. A pale, narrow face. He was pressing his forehead with long white fingers and looking downward.

Silence. Having waited impatiently, everyone grew restless. Finally, the radio began to sound again.

“June 5th, Moscow-Khodynka Station transmission: Number 27. “…the continuation of the public trial for the ‘Bukharin Faction Conspiracy Case’.” …The counter-revolutionary acts of Professor S.L. Karpinsky of the Moscow Academy of Sciences—which delayed and thwarted the development of Arctic Ocean winter shipping routes—have now, at 10:00 AM with the conclusion of this public trial, been clarified as follows. Former Ambassador to Britain and Deputy Foreign Affairs Commissar Krestinsky, acting under Trotsky’s orders in Milan, Italy, deemed the Soviet Union’s defeat in wars against Japan and Germany an opportune moment for seizing power. In 1934, utilizing his attendance at the International Red Cross Conference in Japan during his stay in Tokyo, he requested military assistance from Japanese representatives to overthrow the Soviet regime, promising to cede Ukraine to Germany and Primorsky Krai to Japan following defeat. During this period, he—through Commissar of Transportation Rosenholtz—aligned himself with the Trotskyist bloc. At Lyakhov Island and Kotelny Strait, he idled away his days without accomplishing anything, instilled discontent among islanders, incited work slowdowns in port construction projects, and further obstructed canal excavation work in the Lena Delta—thereby carrying out an extensive counter-revolutionary conspiracy.” “…Next, former People’s Commissar of Internal Affairs Yagoda…”

Dr. Yaroshevsky reached out and turned off the radio. The primeval stillness of the uninhabited land returned once more.

As if he were crying, the Doctor hung his white-haired head low and remained utterly still for a long time. Then, suddenly raising his face, he looked around at the group with an expression of utmost anguish. Within his usual tolerant expression, the hue of futile indignation was being pressed down.

“……Gentlemen, this is the situation as you have all heard. Just as with the Joint Headquarters Incident and the Tukhachevsky Affair, Stalin is attempting to execute our honorable senior colleague Dr. Karpinsky under the pretext of ‘intelligence connections.’……Could such a thing truly be possible in reality?”

No one responded. Only the meteorologist Boris Shirukin shrugged his shoulders feebly. Dr. Yaroshevsky gazed at each of their faces one by one, as if taking stock.

“Gentlemen, I seem to be somewhat agitated.” “I admit that.” “That this world contains injustices profound enough to thoroughly disrupt the composure of even the most level-headed scientist—this is what I am now contemplating with utmost gravity.” “…The claim that the Doctor was connected to the Trotskyist bloc is utterly baseless.” “What delayed the Doctor’s investigation was not any counter-revolutionary sentiment, but rather the ‘Zeeman Effect’ caused by increased solar sunspots.” “We are well aware that it was the sudden onslaught of an abnormal cold wave that caused the Doctor’s investigation to fail… And now that very Doctor is to be branded a traitor and executed within twenty-four hours—”

Deputy Leader Professor Morozov pulled out his left fist from under his chin and slammed it down on the table. A violent thud resounded.

“By the way—that is simultaneously our fate as well, isn’t it? Doctor.”

The Doctor’s body convulsed slightly. In his expression, the somber hue intensified.

“Our fate?”

A thin voice—like reeds trembling in the wind—hung in the air.

Professor Morozov leaned across the table toward the Doctor. “We have failed… At this 62°30′ North Latitude site, there exists not a single fact matching your imaginings… These ten months, we’ve done nothing but wander aimlessly between two layers—the fractured zone and plastic zone… Oh, there are facts that seem convincing enough.” “But they don’t exist in the state you describe.” “They pierce through the central sphere heading straight for the viscous magma zone ablaze with fire…” “…This becomes the fate of our cultural state project under the Second Five-Year Plan.” “And simultaneously—our own fate… That must be it, wouldn’t you agree, Doctor?” “…The investigation results?” “So we answer:” “We took a cursory glance at Mount Robatka’s lithosphere.” “There’s nothing there—absolutely nothing.” “Very well.” “We fully comprehend your scheming.” “Your actions constitute counter-revolutionary conduct.” “Execution by firing squad!” “You may withdraw at once!”

……Thud, thud! “Not a single one of us will survive.”

“So we’re supposed to kick the bucket making faces like this?”

Professor Morozov’s eyes bulged, and he let his tongue loll out.

The Doctor spoke in a calm voice.

“Morozov, we have yet to begin anything at all.” “What we’ve done until now was nothing but preparation for the investigation.” “Therefore…”

The Professor raised his hand to interrupt.

“I understand what you wish to convey. ……You mean to claim we won’t fail? …Well then, that’s perfectly fine by me! I’ve no desire to forcibly oppose your honored opinion. ……What becomes of your opinion matters not in the slightest. In any case, we’ve grown thoroughly sick of digging through this weathered andesite without a shred of hope.”

“When you say ‘we’…?”

“In other words, everyone except you.”

Dr. Yaroshevsky gazed anew at each face one by one. “So—your opinion?” “It is the sum total of all our opinions.”

“When?”

“Last night, at the Third Curtain, we resolved it.”

“You’re saying we should abandon the investigation and return to Moscow as we are. Morozov.” “Preposterous. You can’t go saying that. We’re simply saying we don’t want to continue this any further. Because of your ridiculous fantasy, two of our comrades have already died. We have resolved that under no circumstances shall we allow a third [casualty] to emerge from among us.” Dr. Yaroshevsky slowly lifted his eyelids and gazed into Professor Morozov’s eyes with an unwavering look.

“You won’t return to Moscow either… If you refuse to continue the investigation any further, then what exactly do you propose we do?” The Professor wore an expression like someone humming a tune. “We’ll simply send replacements into the crater.”

Dr. Yaroshevsky smiled.

“Tundra and white birches and wild geese. “……There’s no one else here besides us.”

“On the other side of the mountain, in the Indigirka Delta, there are many convicts.” “Why don’t we send them in?” “And with those results, we will return to Moscow.” “That way, everything should go smoothly. Even if by some chance they all die—they’re useless anyway.” “There’s nothing particularly regrettable about that.” “If we were to say we killed twenty people during the investigation, even the Central Committee would hardly label us negligent.” “There, we can settle into our own study at Moscow University, surrounded by its quiet gardens… Ah, what a charm… That secluded study beside the elm tree…”

A piercing light streamed forth from Dr. Yaroshevsky’s eyes. A burning blood-red light shone upon his calm, childlike face.

“Gentlemen! …Are you proposing to massacre convicts just to return to your quiet studies? …Is that not exactly what you mean? …What disgrace! …I’d rather be executed than be stained by such blood-soaked memories. …Gentlemen! You harbor truly contemptible souls!”

Silence.

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

“Doctor… Please, at least spare me.” “…In any case… …at the very least… I… share your opinion.” “As you say… If they were to do such a thing… they would surely suffer terribly afterward…” An invisible disturbance rippled through the other seven like a wave. 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 the pocket of his leather half-coat, was pulled out. In his hand was gripped a pistol. Aiming the barrel at the center of Professor Shirukin’s chest, he pulled the hammer back with an impassive expression.

A gunshot. Then white smoke slowly drifted from the barrel. Professor Shirukin clutched his chest with his right hand, momentarily wore a dumbfounded expression, vacantly looked around at everyone’s faces, then—as if in prayer—slowly knelt onto the ground before collapsing forward. The spectacles flew far away.

Professor Morozov, still dangling the pistol loosely, rounded the corner of the table and began approaching Dr. Yaroshevsky. He pressed the barrel against the Doctor’s chest and slowly said, “Dr. Yaroshevsky. Please comply with our resolution.”

II. Earth’s Escape Hole

Cūntcūius lavas—that is, interest in the winding “Lava Tunnels” running beneath the earth—has existed since ancient times, dating back to BC. The idea of traveling as far as possible through the depths of the earth is something everyone has felt at least once. The sky, the seafloor, and the depths of the earth. The conquest of these three realms has long been an object of fascination.

Since it was believed that one could travel quite far by successfully entering a lava tunnel, various people devoted considerable time and effort to searching extensively over long periods. Hipparchus and Gregory all attempted this.

Copernicus refers to lava tunnels as “Earth’s escape hole.”

By the way, these “Earth’s escape holes” exist in great numbers around the world. To name just the most famous examples:

1. Italy’s Capri Island: Langgan Cave.

2. France’s Lourdes: Great Underground Passage. 3. Grand Canyon: Wind Cave. 4. Iceland’s Islanja Mountain: Great Underground Passage.

A lava tunnel is a tunnel formed after molten lava flows out and leaves its path behind. Generally, lava maintains a molten state in its interior for a considerable period even after its outer layer cools and solidifies. Therefore, when a crack forms in the outer crust near the lower end of a lava flow that has traveled along a slope, the viscous molten interior flows out completely through that fissure. Once the molten portion has completely flowed out and only the solidified outer shell remains as a hollow cavity, a long, elongated cavern is left behind.

Its shape features a somewhat arched ceiling and a flat floor, and it winds endlessly like a railway tunnel—hence the name "lava tunnel." The lava tunnels have ceiling heights ranging from three to five meters, with some sections featuring embankment-like elevations along the lower walls or rib-like protrusions. In Japan, the twelve wind caves of Mount Fuji exemplify this.

Sometimes, portions of lava tunnels—or even extensive sections—collapse, resulting in what are called lava trenches. Lava tunnels are often discovered during such events.

To explain how caves like Capri Island’s Langgan Cave are formed—to put it in technical terms—it’s due to what’s called a “lava mesa,” where long-extending lava tunnels are severed by river valleys or have their openings exposed on sheer faces due to undersea uplift. The underground passage of Lourdes is generally the same as that.

Now, the “Islanja Great Underground Passage” in Iceland—the last of these—possessed slightly different conditions compared to the previous three. The Islanja volcano, an ancient extinct volcano that had ceased activity approximately thirty million years earlier—around the time of the Lamirade folding, that is, between the Cretaceous and Tertiary periods—featured a lava tunnel opening on the flank of its crater, maintaining a gentle slope as it ran southeast through the boundless void beneath the earth.

The first to enter this “Earth’s escape hole” was a British geologist named Thomas Levington, who in 1892 continued his underground journey for some thirty miles and reached beneath Mount Snaefells in Iceland. Then, eight years later in June 1900, a Danish geographer named Paul Jannussen passed beneath the cape of Botzulando, emerged under the ocean, and finally walked all the way to 10° North Latitude and 71°20' West Longitude—roughly directly beneath Britain.

The records 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 preserved in the archives for ancient documents in Paris.

Reading this, one cannot help but be entranced by the bizarre beauty of the underground scenery. Sensual beauty. Unexpected. Astonishment. Oppressive awe. A trance-like state. Such diverse sensations firmly seize the soul, making one feel utterly unable to set the volume aside. Apart from Whymper’s *Scrambles Amongst 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, the three of them awoke. From somewhere, a faint light streamed in. Because their energy had mostly recovered, they hurriedly wolfed down breakfast. Since yesterday, I had been parched with thirst; in my mind's eye, I desperately envisioned the clear streams above ground—how I longed for even a single drop of foul water.

After finishing breakfast, Gans advanced with a lamp in one hand and an axe in the other, crushing obstructive sandstone as he went. The crystals of quartz soil shattered and reflected in the lamplight, indescribably beautiful. Several times, they were startled by crumbling side walls as they descended the gentle slope, and the air grew increasingly thin. However, something like a breeze occasionally caressed their faces. Thus, they managed to catch their breath slightly.

A fire burned in their throats. Something like a torchlight procession moved up and down between their stomachs and palates. However, there was nothing they could do. They comforted each other, saying that if they descended about 6,000 feet, they would likely reach a rock spring.

June 10

The floor was entirely covered with Emeri (a type of emery). With the slope gone and ground flattened, they felt they had reached the earth's very bottom. Ahead in the distance lay an uncanny sight—a black andesite mountain towered skyward like some primordial monolith. Neither truly black nor navy blue, it exuded the oppressively gloomy quality of a photographic negative. Yet since mountains couldn't exist underground, upon approaching they discovered it was weathered andesite collapsed into an erosion valley—a phenomenon Lichtenhöhen had directly borrowed from Spanish as "rias". This expanse stretched immensely wide, dotted with black basaltic lava towers called "lava spines"—cactus-shaped formations that gave the eerie sensation of standing in Mexico's deserts. Instead of harsh white sunlight, only a faint fluorescent-like glow drifted across the Emeri-covered plain.

June 21

This afternoon, they came to a point fifty miles below Mount Snaefells. This was where Thomas Levington had come in 1892. Thinking there might be some commemoration, they searched the area but found nothing. As they stood there, they faintly heard what sounded like the roar of the sea in the distance. They peered intently toward the source of the sound, but only the usual faint light pervaded the area, revealing nothing. A thread of light pierced through the gaps in the rock walls like a drawn thread of silk. That seemed to be sunlight.

Gans had been listening to the sea-like roar with his hand cupped to his ear when he suddenly shouted “Lysingbloxkoy!” He cried out.

When they inquired further, they learned that "Lysingbloxkoy" was the name of an underground ocean from Icelandic legend.

Underground sea! Imagining the moment I would confront that bizarre spectacle, I stood rooted to the spot in utter trance. For the first time, I understood why Levington had turned back here.

June 23 Around noon today, they reached a place where the vast expanse of the open sea came into view. Strange-shaped scale trees and their ilk. Voltzia heterophylla—Triassic conifers—and Pterozamites—Mesozoic cycads—thrived lushly, while at their roots grew net ferns and horsetails that spread so thickly there was scarcely room to set foot. In the shallows of the shore were crinoids, brachiopods, and various coiled shells. Morphilites and ammonites lumbered about sluggishly.

Here, Jannussen, along with his assistant Gans and a companion—the three of them—began building a raft, and a week later, they set out upon the underground blue sea. They fished for an ancient cod called Ironyctis using breadcrumbs and gazed at the volcano on the underground island named Giesel.

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

At that time, Dr. Yaroshevsky was investigating the breeding conditions of brachiopods and barnacles in the western coastal area of Karafuto. One summer day, while swinging his cane during a hike through the low mountain zone of the Karafuto Range, he discovered something utterly unexpected near the old crater of Mount Esutoru. It was a special specimen of Siberian roe deer with the scientific name C. pyarus stanovos—found exclusively in the Stanovoy Range, characterized by a white snout and unspotted fur. Siberian roe deer had never inhabited Karafuto since ancient times. Yet if Siberian roe deer were present here, they must have migrated from there by some means. Probably, when the Black Dragon Waterway froze, they had crossed over the strait of Cape Lazarev—it was at this point that Dr. Yaroshevsky’s thoughts were finally beginning to settle.

Now, as Dr. Yaroshevsky—hiding his cane behind his back—slowly approached it, the Siberian roe deer nimbly dodged away and leapt into the old crater of Mount Esutoru.

Though it was just this small incident, it came to provide a crucial clue that would lead to Dr. Yaroshevsky’s world-renowned discovery.

The doctor inferred thus. In other words, the Karafuto Mountain Range—running along Sakhalin’s western coast—proceeds northward precisely along the 60th parallel north, submerges abruptly into the sea near Alexandrovsk in Russian-controlled Karafuto, creates a sort of fjord as it advances northward across the seabed, resurfaces near Okhotsk in Kamchatka Oblast, and meets the flank of the Stanovoy Range—which runs east-west along the prefectural boundary—in a T-shaped junction at precisely 62°30′ North Latitude and 140°17′ East Longitude. And this point of contact is Mount Robatka. Dr. Yaroshevsky had thus inferred that a complete "Earth’s escape hole" ran between Mount Robatka and the old crater of Mount Esutoru in Karafuto.

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

III. The Mudflats of Kolyma

The river added some nourishment to this barren land. On the clayey soil at the water’s edge, a small patch of satowheat—grown by several people from the "27th Penal Colony" to feed themselves—swayed feebly in the river wind.

Rather than a delta, this was an island. Water reminiscent of industrial N₂O and sodium—so foul that no one would think to dip a hand in, its putrid gray-green hue like rotting oysters—lazily snaked around three sides of the island. The two rivers met at this delta, serving as the convicts’ guard dogs. If anyone tried to escape by swimming across this river, it would open its ruthless maw and swallow them whole. The escapees would sink relentlessly into the bottomless mudflats of the river—a deceptive facade of flowing water.

An icebreaker ship, stripped of its machinery, had run aground on a shoal and rusted red. From there, the rails of the river construction trolley began winding their way. On the sandbar, sparse grass-like plants grew, and at its edge stood the convicts’ huts and the overseer’s small house.

Eight convicts shackled in pairs were perched on trolleys, sat directly on the ground, or stood leaning on shovels, their heads bowed low as they listened to Professor Morozov’s address.

Misery branded their foreheads. Every one of them had leaden faces and vacantly drifting eyes. Barefoot. A stifling animal stench. Ominously shaven crowns. A strange dragging-footed gait. Unemotional, gloomy demeanors. They bore that dull sluggishness of livestock—overworked and numbed to all feeling. On their exposed chests glistened several horizontal stripes. The countless scars from flogging had become symbols of their long exile.

Japanese. This was Takeru Eijiro and seven others who had been believed—ten years prior in Kamchatka—to have sunk into the leaden waters of the Sea of Okhotsk along with their steamship. Behind Professor Morozov, the female stenographer Natasha Ivanovna sat perched atop a high stack of rails like some small fairy, gloomily biting her fingernails as she stared down intently at the eight convicts.

Natasha was of mixed Japanese and Russian heritage. Her father was Ukrainian. Her mother was a slender Japanese woman with a beautiful gaze. The mountains of Nagasaki and rows of low gray houses remained dimly in her memory, but even those she soon forgot. By age five, she was already living in Petrograd with just her father. As for her father, he left for 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 harsh frontier, shackled together at the legs, they were working on the river’s waterworks. For the Soviet Union! ……A sensation akin to humiliation brushed through her mind. Why must I feel humiliated for these beast-like humans? In her imagination, she had already lived countless beautiful, heroic lives. She had never liked witnessing dullness, wretchedness, defeat. She supposed that must be why.

In her heart, she was thinking of something else entirely.

Professor Morozov’s polite manner of speaking irritated Natasha. He was explaining things in such a roundabout way to these beasts. Professor Morozov was a man worthy of respect, but he was still mistaken in some ways.

Natasha respected Professor Morozov. And within her, a measure of love had mingled. Only the cold-hearted never err. Natasha was drawn to that very coldness in the professor.

Natasha did not think that the professor had killed Shirukin for his own personal benefit. It was certain that a genius brain like Professor Morozov’s could not be allowed to perish in the magma zone of Mount Robatka, having fallen victim to the doctor’s damnable error. Professor Morozov finally finished his explanation and, slowly lighting a cigarette, began surveying each of the eight men’s faces in turn as if testing the effect of his oratory.

It produced no effect whatsoever. The eight head of livestock merely hung their heads listlessly, not so much as squirming. These men had already lost the capacity to feel anything. If they had grasped the meaning of the professor’s proposal, they should have leapt for joy—yet far from rejoicing, they did not even heave a sigh. A dreadful sluggishness.

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 face. He had dull, murky eyes like a fish's. Along the side of his nasal bridge, a fly busily scurried about. "So... what you're saying is... if we enter the mountain's crater and pass underground... we can reach Japan...?"

Professor Morozov smiled amiably.

“That’s correct. You can emerge at Mount Esutoru on Karafuto’s western coast—just like that.” “...If we just walk through there... we’d get there just like that... just like that...” Having gone that far, he suddenly clamped his mouth shut. Morozov added.

“You can emerge in Japan.” “...In other words, I’m telling you I mean to send you all back to Japan.”

A deep silence fell. A long silence.

The small-statured man at the farthest end shifted his feet. The chain clattered.

“...Speakin’ of Esutoru... my home’s right there... my home’s...”

This was the trigger.

The beasts erupted in shouts all at once. With voices that were neither screams nor groans—voices wrung from the depths of their bellies—

“Aah... aah...”

And they continued to moan like the distant howl of dogs.

“Aah... aah...”

This time, tears were slowly streaming down.

Tears flowed so abundantly from their eyes and nostrils—as if to make one wonder where they all came from—overflowing and dripping down from chins to throats, from throats to chests.

A horrifying, mad-like frenzy came over them all. They each threw themselves onto the ground, curved their fingernails like crab claws, and continued their terrible wailing as they clawed at the earth. Over there, they thrashed about on the ground, scooping up dirt with their hands and scattering it over their own heads as they wept. As they twisted around each other, the chains tangled together, tightening their two bodies into one. Then, with such force that they might crush each other, they embraced one another, and then tumbled about wildly. The pair who had been sitting on the trolley grabbed shovels and, howling “Woo! Woo!”, slowly scooped up dirt and threw it into the trolley.

Cries of varying pitches wove a desolate harmony as they continued endlessly. One person shouted in a gargling-like voice.

“Ah... what’d it be like... what’d it be like...” It seemed to mean: What would it feel like—stepping out of Mount Esutoru’s crater and glimpsing Japan’s landscape for the first time in ten years?

It didn’t last a moment. The wailing voices that had begun to subside slightly now grew more intense than ever.

Through it all, suddenly, a shrill laughter pierced through. He was an emaciated old man—a shadow of a figure—with eyes that seemed disproportionately large. His right leg was severed at the knee, with a wooden splint fitted there.

The frenzied laughter continued for some time, but soon changed to low, choked sobs, “With me bein’ this crippled... no way I can follow ya there.” “Left behind alone in a place like this... how’m I s’posed to go on livin’?” “I don’t wanna... I just don’t...”

When he screamed like someone in their death throes, he suddenly grabbed from behind the twenty-four- or twenty-five-year-old man—who was chained to him and wearing a loose Russian shirt—in a bear hug,

“Tomekichi, give it up—wanna die with me?” “N-now... I’m beggin’ ya...”

Keeping him in a bear hug, he dragged him toward the mudflat with all his might. From there to the riverbank was no more than ten steps. Tomekichi, the emaciated young man, frantically moved only his fingertips like a fly, his voice already desperate. “Wait up, old man—I’m beggin’ ya—wait up!”

“I’m beggin’ ya too... please... I’m beggin’...” “It’s dangerous—wait... wait, let go of my hand...”

Even as he said this, he was dragged along with a scraping sound. In a horrifying state, he dragged the youth to the riverbank, and— “Let’s go together, Tome.”

He shoved him sideways into the mudflat. Tomekichi let out a scream—"Agh—!"—and plunged headfirst into the mudflat. Without a moment’s delay, the old man—pulled by the chain—also slid in, sinking feet-first with a squelch into the sinister-looking mud river. On the surface of the shallow river flowing over mud, something resembling Tomekichi’s fingertips flickered into view—but it lasted only an instant, and that was all. The old man had been standing with his upper body above the mud—but from arms to shoulders, chest to throat, he sank slowly downward, as if stepping into a bath.

Mud had already reached his chin. After clearing his throat once, “When ya get back, tell my brats to take care of themselves.” “Well then... goodbye...”

Only his lips moved; his final “goodbye” was barely audible. With a gulp, he plunged his face into the mud himself—and then vanished from sight.

The six people stood on the riverbank, their faces vacant, gazing blankly. Not a single person uttered a word.

Morozov whispered to Natasha. “So that’s what you’d call animal instinct.” “I too meant to leave those barefoot behind.”

Having said that, he took out a pistol from his leather coat pocket and—

“Not a very pleasant role, is it?” With a look of resignation, he gave Natasha a faint smile, then strode off toward the hut where the guards were.

IV. Entrance to Hell

A strong wind blew across the mountaintop. In single file, they circled around the outer rim of the crater.

This volcano, which had died out thirty million years prior, had rocks that all looked ancient; ropy lava twisted like ropes everywhere, while black, iron-colored, and reddish rocks plunged vertically into infinite darkness. A miasmic thin mist. Dead rocks and lava. In this eternal silence, a single black eagle flew lazily circling through the air. It was a hellish landscape.

On the mountain, there were twelve people. The six fishermen led by Takeru Eijiro, all with composed expressions.

From the survey team’s side, Dr. Yaroshevsky, Professor Morozov, and six academic staff members had come to see them off. The six fishermen all carried enormous rucksacks on their backs, with safety lamps, ropes, hatchets, and other assorted items attached to their waists or slung over them. Amidst the vast array of sundries, a large frame was nearly buried.

The group set down their rucksacks and took a break in the shade of a rocky overhang at the summit. None of the fishermen wore anxious expressions. If anything, they maintained a calmness that bordered on stubbornness.

When Dr. Yaroshevsky distributed one rolled cigarette each to the six men, they reverently accepted them and then slowly began to smoke. They seemed completely unaware of the outlandish things they were about to undertake. Numerous unpredictable dangers. Starvation. Thirst. Crushing death. Suffocation. Major injury. They were completely oblivious to the fact that such things blocked their path and lay in wait for the six men.

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

The six fishermen listened in silence. When Takeru—the leader among the six men—slowly raised his face and spoke in a deep, resonant voice.

“Well then, we’ll give it a try.” And then, turning toward everyone,

“Right?”

seeking their agreement. They nodded in unison. Every face remained composed; not a trace of fear showed.

Dr. Yaroshevsky explained in plain language what lava tunnels were and described in detail the condition of those in Mount Robatka. The dark inclined path of Mount Robatka extended eastward for about one kilometer before gently curving and descending toward the southeast. From there, about another kilometer onward, it bifurcated: one branch terminated at solid andesite bedrock laced with vein-like blue clay formations, while the other was obstructed by decomposed andesite some 260 meters beyond the fork. Propylite refers to weathered andesite where pyroxene minerals have undergone chloritization; the more one digs into it, the more its ceiling collapses inward until further progress becomes utterly impossible.

In other words, the survey team had spent ten months in futile struggle with this propylite. According to Dr. Yaroshevsky’s assessment, they had no choice but to abandon the propylite route; their last hope now lay in blasting through the andesite bedrock with dynamite to locate the tunnel entrance. However, the ceiling above—composed of agglomerate softened by mineral springs—meant that using explosives could unleash unpredictable dangers. Because of such hesitation, they had been unable to resolve to blast through the bedrock and, clinging to a faint hope in the propylite route, had continued digging fruitlessly up to that point.

Even to this, Takeru—

“Well then, we’ll give it a try,” he replied in the same manner. The clearer the doctor’s explanation made the tunnel’s dangers appear, the more resolutely they displayed their determination. Somewhere within the doctor’s heart lay a desire to exaggerate the perils—to dissuade them if possible. Yet observing their demeanor, he realized no form of deterrence would prove effective.

When he saw that he could not make them change their minds no matter what, Dr. Yaroshevsky now grew serious and began imparting various precautions for the underground journey. The most troublesome issue in underground travel was securing drinking water; however, since stone springs existed underground, they were to utilize them as much as possible. By pressing their ears against the rock walls, they could hear the sound of subterranean stone springs flowing. If they dug toward that spot, they would reach water; however, since it would gush out with tremendous force, they had to exercise utmost caution. If they tried to drink the gushing stone spring water immediately, they would suffer severe burns; therefore, they were to collect it in a container first, let it cool sufficiently, and then drink it. If they proceeded forward while allowing the stone spring to gush, there was a risk that the tunnel would become flooded; therefore, after drinking their fill, they had to be sure to seal the hole. Then, he thoroughly explained everything without omission—precautions regarding food, how to use the barometer, methods for inspecting the air inside the tunnel, considerations when making camp, and so on.

The six fishermen placed their hands on their knees and earnestly nodded, each time responding with a simple "Yes, yes." Dr. Yaroshevsky examined each of their rucksacks one by one and supplemented any missing items. To celebrate this unprecedented, reckless departure, the survey team held a modest farewell banquet; yet, when they thought that these six men might die in their stead, they felt such shabby hospitality would not suffice.

By the way, the six fishermen took a sip from their cups and set them down as if by unspoken agreement. While watching the frantic bustling throughout the tent as they tried to offer their best hospitality, we said, "We’ll be turning in now—pardon us," and briskly withdrew to our own tent.

Professor Morozov whispered to Natasha. “They might as well be said to have manners.” “Too polished for beasts.”

Natasha was feeling a mild antipathy toward the Professor’s phrasing while,

“I suppose so,” she replied.

A condition had been attached to this underground journey: if successful, all six would return together and provide a detailed report. The one who had proposed this was, needless to say, Professor Morozov.

Natasha asked. “What does it mean to insist they all return together? Half should be acceptable, wouldn’t it?”

“No, it must be all of them.” “So why?”

Professor Morozov answered.

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

When they finished their last cigarettes, the fishermen rose in unison. A thick rope was lowered along the face of a sheer rock wall toward the crater floor below—a chaotic gaping black maw.

The first was Kitahara Shozo, a one-eyed young fisherman. “Well then, goodbye.” Without any particular stance-taking preparation, he nimbly gripped the rope and, bracing his feet against the rock wall, began lowering himself downward bit by bit. His form soon vanished beneath an overhanging bulge of lava.

The academic members watched this with a sense of tragic solemnity. They had to journey underground all the way to Sakhalin and immediately retrace their steps. What terrible hardships awaited them there. And ultimately, they would be killed. These six men would lose their lives regardless of success or failure. In this desolate hellscape, witnessing such circumstances was truly a chilling experience.

Takeru Eijiro was the last to remain. After lowering all the rucksacks down, he approached the doctor,

“When we return, I figure it’ll be early autumn regardless, but we plan to make it back before the cold sets in.”

Then he went to each person one by one, bowed politely, and with a composed demeanor took hold of the rope. Before long, the last person had disappeared from view.

The next morning, when Professor Morozov was in his tent, the sketch artist Petrovich came rushing in with a pale face.

“Nikolaich, something terrible has happened!”

“What?”

“Dr. Yaroshevsky isn’t in his tent.”

Morozov glared sternly. “And then?”

Petrovich gulped hard,

“Probably, the Doctor has run away.” “As I ordered, you did post guards, right?”

“Professor Ogdanov was keeping watch outside the tent until morning, but he was outsmarted.” “…There are traces of Dr. Yaroshevsky having crawled out behind the tent.” “The compass and rucksack are missing too…” “If he chased after the convicts into the tunnel, it would mean ruin for us all.” “Even if they succeed, they’d never come back to us anyway.” “…And our sabotage—the Doctor will expose it out of spite…” “This is catastrophic.” “Everyone over there is panicking.”

Professor Morozov exited the tent in silence, squelching through the waterlogged tundra as he walked about three hundred meters. He stood there and surveyed the desolate landscape. On the tundra, there were no figures resembling people.

When Morozov returned to his tent, the entire investigation team had gathered inside. Morozov did not so much as glance in their direction. He walked toward the back of the tent, took the ammunition belt from the nail and slung it over his shoulder, then slowly picked up his rifle. At the tent entrance, he turned back,

“I’ll be going out for a bit.”

Natasha stood up.

“I’m coming with you.” Professor Morozov studied Natasha’s face with a probing look for an instant, then said in a clipped tone: “If you’re coming, bring your rifle.”

V. The Insidious Path

Due to the relentless, grueling march without rest, every last one of them was parched to the point of death.

On the evening of the third day, the group came across their first groundwater.

The glossy olivine side walls of the secret tunnel had been hollowed out there into a shape resembling a flower’s calyx and quietly held water that nearly overflowed. Water.

Dr. Yaroshevsky, who had been leading the group, was the first to discover it. Directing the light of his safety lamp toward it, Dr. Yaroshevsky stared blankly at the water as though encountering something uncanny, then whirled around and muttered in a low, hoarse voice barely audible: “Water!” “Gentlemen—there’s water here!” A viscous silence answered him. The five fishermen following behind Takeru Eijiro stopped their feet in perfect unison when he halted, nothing more.

A half-naked assembly. Drops of blood-like sweat soaked them. Their lead-colored flesh—miserably whittled down by long years of wretched exile—bore mountainous backpacks directly against it, their shirts spread out and wrapped around their waists like South Sea islanders.

“Water!”

Not a single face showed any trace of emotion or joy. Maddeningly intense thirst. That thirst was being crushed under their tenacious willpower that sought to overcome any hardship. The six fishermen stood at ease, quietly awaiting the Doctor’s permission to drink.

Dr. Yaroshevsky knelt beside the rock calyx, scooped water with his palm, and drank. The ice-like water containing a trace of silicon pierced painfully into the parched depths of his throat.

“It’s safe!” Then with a hand gesture, he granted them permission to drink.

“Let’s take a break for a while.” Dr. Yaroshevsky took out the theodolite and briskly began surveying their current location.

The six fishermen set down their backpacks, took turns drinking water, filled their canteens to the brim, and then sat leaning against the side wall. None of them had a relaxed appearance. They looked as though they were only doing this because they had no choice but to follow orders. The faces of the six fishermen were pressed with an intensity of terrible tension, and even their slightest gestures exuded a menacing aura.

There seemed to be a crevice nearby, and a damp wind gently swept over everyone.

Before the group stretched an underground sloping tunnel with a domed ceiling, maintaining a gentle incline as it continued endlessly with the dreadful monotony of a coal mine’s lateral tunnels.

Soviet Far Eastern District. A winding lava tunnel spanning 1,600 kilometers—approximately 400 ri—soared from the crater wall of Mount Robatka in the frontier tundra, proceeding south along the 140°E longitude line to cross beneath Kamchatka Prefecture’s desolate uninhabited lands and the storm-tossed leaden-gray Sea of Okhotsk, before emerging at the ancient crater of Mount Esutoro in South Sakhalin!

A vast subterranean passageway—unexplored, unimaginable to any who came before— It was none other than what Copernicus called the “Earth’s escape hole”! It was neither the desolate, grim lateral tunnels littered with pumice stones imagined in *Nicholas Grimm’s Underground Journey* by Danish novelist Ludvig von Hollberg, nor the plaintive wilderness of emery and lava towers depicted in Paul Jannussen’s *Three-Month Underground Journey to London*. It was a domed tunnel of sensual yet uncanny beauty—like the magnificent archway of Arabia’s “Boccà Cui Palace”…

The height to the ceiling was approximately six meters. The width was four meters. There was no bulging whatsoever; the inner curve of the beautiful dorya-style elliptical arch hung straight down vertically, meeting the nearly flat cavern floor. The rock face of basic pyroxene andesite, polished by tens of millions of years of weathering, had developed a glossy smooth surface with a substantial, deep luster reminiscent of obsidian. A chill wind blowing through cracks met the low-density cave air, triggering abrupt adiabatic cooling that formed countless water droplets on the smooth surface of the jet-black rock walls; each time the safety lamp’s light struck them, they emitted faint flashes that blazed with dazzling brilliance. The mirror-like walls on both sides reflected and bounced back that light, which then ricocheted off the inner curve of the ceiling and submerged the entire tunnel in a deluge of resplendent radiance. In slightly distant areas where the light barely reached, water droplets from above fell like spilled jewels, trickling down glittering into infinite silence devoid of any sound.

The womb of Earth where no living creature had yet set foot. Death’s realm. Eternal darkness and night. Dreadful desolation. Infinite lassitude……It spoke of Earth’s state in the Quaternary Period while quietly making extinct contours glisten. The grand lyrical sentiment of prehistory.

However, even this uncanny beauty of the cavern passage seemed to fail to evoke any feeling in the group of seven. The six fishermen, as soon as Dr. Yaroshevsky finished writing in his journal, shouldered their backpacks as though they had been waiting impatiently and—with the Doctor leading—began racing down the boundless dark-sloping tunnel at a flying pace.

Beyond the myriad unforeseen dangers and difficulties that lay ahead in this 400-ri audacious underground journey, a terrifying hand of death was closing in on the group from behind. Ten to twenty ferocious pursuers armed with Petersen automatic rifles were narrowing the distance between them moment by moment.

The seven-member group was not carrying a single firearm. If they were cornered here, 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 their desperate sprint with only about three hours of sleep and two brief ten-minute rests per day, without a single additional pause.

The Doctor’s escape. That betrayal and collusion directly signified a mortal threat to the entire academic expedition team.

The secret objective of “Academic Research at 62°30′ North Latitude”—if the full extent of its bone-chilling intent and the expedition team’s acts of sabotage were exposed by the Doctor and six fishermen, they would inevitably be branded as part of a “Trotskyist Bloc” conspiracy and executed by firing squad under charges of counterrevolutionary plotting. The expedition group was suddenly thrust into a situation of utmost peril. There was no way to escape this misfortune other than to corner the seven in the dark tunnel and shoot them all.

Dr. Yaroshevsky was well acquainted with Professor Morozov’s coldly pragmatic methods. Professor Morozov, in order to conceal their sabotage and safely return everyone to the quiet garden-enclosed laboratories of Moscow University, had already committed four ruthless killings. Professor Shirukin. And then, three guards from the "27th Penal Colony."

There was no doubt that Professor Morozov, upon discovering the Doctor’s escape, immediately organized a pursuit team and launched a relentless hunt.

The nimble "pursuers of death" were closing the distance with each passing moment. In preparation for this, the time required to destroy the barricade they had constructed at the mouth of the Daianshan rock wall remained the pursuers' only slight handicap. However, according to the Doctor's calculations, even that should have been recoverable within three days. The third night arrived.

The tread of death echoed right behind the seven...

What on earth could this “secret objective of academic research” be—one so vital it had to be concealed at all costs, even if it meant exterminating seven lives? Hidden within lay a terrifying scheme that gravely threatened Japan’s national defense. The Soviet government had devised a coldly ruthless master plan: were Dr. Yaroshevsky’s “Robatka-Esutoro Underground Passage” proven viable, they would abandon fortifying Vladivostok—their traditional naval stronghold against Japan—relocate Turukhansk-Siberian Railway engineers and laborers en masse to Stanovoy for full-scale tunnel excavation, then assault Japan’s northern frontier through an unprecedented “subterranean invasion route”—an audacious stratagem no nation in history had ever attempted.

The “Robatka Mountain Lava Tunnel Survey,” which Dr. Ivan Yaroshevsky—Director of the Geological Department at Moscow’s Scientific Academy—had fervently applied for through Kom Academy since 1929, was suddenly approved in 1937 due to the astonishing reasons described above.

This proposal was strictly discussed in detail at a secret meeting of the All-Union Scientific Research Planning Committee—comprising technical commissioners from Planning, Military, Construction, Geography, and Transportation—where an unprecedented operational plan was decided upon. Once this dreaded invasion route was completed, the Soviet Union would gain the following extensive military advantages over the Japanese Empire.

First: By circumventing both the Japanese Navy’s overwhelming maritime blockade and the encirclement of the Soviet naval base Vladivostok, they would gain unlimited freedom and safety in transporting weapons, troops, and provisions within Japanese territory.

Second: The abandonment of Vladivostok, as well as the comprehensive disruption of Japanese naval and air force strategies through Soviet airbases advancing into Japanese Karafuto. Third: The operations of swift surface and submarine cruisers from the Kamchatka operational base, along with aircraft cruisers from the Nikolaevsk-on-Amur operational base on the Amur River, could—in parallel with Japanese naval maneuvers—assume the critical operation of blockading Japan’s coastline, extending beyond mere coastal defense. On the eve of their subterranean journey’s commencement, while the entire investigation team was engrossed in farewell dinner preparations at the second tent, Dr. Yaroshevsky summoned Takeru to his own tent. He concisely explained the expedition’s true purpose and ruthless plot against the six men, then proposed deserting the expedition to join them—not to safeguard his life, but to witness his research’s culmination.

It meant no small danger.

The mouth of the lava tunnel was blocked by a massive andesite rock formation. If they could not destroy it before the pursuers caught up, then every last one of them would have to be mercilessly slaughtered there.

Takeru listened to the Doctor’s words without so much as a twitch of his eyebrows. After thinking for about a minute, he immediately replied. “Please come, sir.” “If we’re gonna die for your sake, sir, ain’t none of us gonna complain.” That night, the reason the six fishermen had hurriedly retired to their tents and gone to bed early was so that, taking advantage of the expedition members being in a drunken stupor, they could secretly transport the manual rock drills and the Doctor’s observation instruments into the dark passage within the crater wall.

After being seen off by the expedition team and entering the dark sloping tunnel, the group raced toward the andesite rock formation as if flying.

Due to the decay of the surrounding rock walls, a massive pyroxene andesite boulder—so large they had to crane their necks to see its top—had fallen into the center of the dark passage, firmly blocking their path. If the Doctor were to escape from his tent around midnight and come to them, they had only twelve to thirteen hours left until then. How were they to bore through this massive rock formation—with the resilience of steel—in such a brief span of time? The prospects were nearly nonexistent.

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

“Well then, let’s give ’er a try. Might just work!”

With that cry, he shouldered the rock drill, climbed to the summit of the andesite formation, and began boring a hole where it met the ceiling agglomerate. It was a Japanese-style tunneling method that began digging from the vertex first, then proceeded downward through mid-ridge striking and earth leveling. The former occupations of the six fishermen were varied: whale harpooner, laborer, skinner, tunnel excavation expert, hunter, shipwright. …It was the former expertise of tunnel excavation expert Kamei Kintaro and laborer Suda Matsukichi that proved decisive in this desperate hour. What the expedition’s scholars had failed to achieve in ten months, the two men completed in barely ten hours.

By the time the Doctor arrived, a hole just large enough for a person to pass through had been opened at the summit of the rock formation. Then came another two hours. After everyone worked together to gather rubble and completely block the passage, they took their first step into the bizarre subterranean journey.

*VI. "River of Lamentations"*

“Observation Point 8 bis. (3:00 PM) Azimuth angle via theodolite. 62°21′ North Latitude, 140°226′ East Longitude. Compass bearing SE60°nt. Rangefinder: 90.3 km. Temperature 31.6. Depth 127 meters?—Still composed of basic basalt, pyroxene andesite, and olivine. Geothermal gradient 44.7……”

Day Six (June 25)

Within the limits of possibility, if it were the seabed, no matter how deep one sank, their skin could still receive the sun’s faint light. But within the womb of the Earth, our senses cannot perceive even the slightest débris of sunlight.

Today marked six days of wandering through the eternal darkness of this monotonous dark sloping tunnel devoid of any change. No matter how far we went, there were the same arched ceilings and pyroxene andesite side walls. We were assailed by a strange illusion—not that we were advancing at all, but merely circling the same spot over and over. Unbearable weariness and intense impatience crushed the power of will like a blade of grass. To convince myself that we were indeed moving forward required summoning superhuman willpower. Today, we repeated our observations three times. Only the theodolite and rangefinder ensured our progress. Compared to the 88.3 km mark at the Seventh Observation Point, we saw that we had advanced another two kilometers closer to Japan.

Precise scientific instruments verified our progress. While believing them, I found it difficult to escape the suspicion that subterranean pressure and magnetic forces might be distorting the theodolite and rangefinder. The pursuers still had not caught up that day. According to my calculations, they should have caught up at least three days prior by evening. What on earth were they doing? What could have happened among them? Though their arrival would mean our immediate death, this miscalculation—their failure to appear—irritated me profoundly.

Day Seven (June 26)

The pursuers still had not caught up today.

Today at last, I discovered the reason for that. 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 came to pass that they could not catch up to us because of Natasha Ivanovna, Professor Morozov would likely discard her and begin vigorous pursuit; therefore, we could not afford to alter the basis for calculating the pursuers’ speed. This afternoon, we discovered lava tree molds of Jurassic cycads Pothoxamites and conifers Forthia on the side wall of the tunnel.

It was on the eighth day after entering this lava tunnel that we first encountered something resembling living organisms. The concave lava tree molds of cycads and conifers from ten million years ago. I gazed at them with an abnormal intensity of emotion.

These not only comforted us, but also dimly suggested that some change was beginning to occur in this dreadfully monotonous journey.

After advancing about one kilometer, we noticed an indistinct, hazy glimmer drifting along our path—a faint light that defied description. It was neither the pallor of moonlight nor the milky white of mist. It was an uncanny glimmer—like the radiance of beryl viewed through gauze, a faint pale sea-green hue possessing its own cool luminosity…what Janssen called Béryl. The six fishermen gazed at it in silence for some time, but then all knelt in unison with pious reverence, as if in prayer, and pressed their hands together.

Indeed, it possessed a meditative quality that transcended worldly sensations—something one might call the serene radiance of the Pure Land.

We began walking toward the faint light.

The tunnel began to curve, tracing a gentle arc from that point onward. After walking approximately 120 meters, a bizarre spectacle suddenly manifested itself before our eyes.

The field of vision spread out into a vast expanse, and beyond the deep valley in the far distance, a glacier-hued cliff towered with dreamlike pallor! The secret passage that had guided us for eight days abruptly plunged—without warning—into an infinite darkness with an unseen bottom via a glass-smooth steep slope, then continued tenuously toward the opposite cliff through a narrow rock bridge resembling a log bridge. Spanning the yawning chasm—its terrifying maw agape—in a beautiful arc, it stretched like a white rainbow across the abyss.

The surroundings lay in piercing silence, suffused with an indescribable transparent pale green glimmer that filled the cold, lunar-like landscape devoid of even a blade of grass or a patch of moss. The rock bridge, the slope, and the distant cliff beyond—all objects cast faint shadows upon one another while shining with the limpid clarity of chalcedony, dissolving into a hazy space of uniform color.

This sudden fault—the "lava mesa"—had been caused by glacial action. By that time, the Earth had already weathered and become vulnerable to damage. The glacier completed the work that lightning, avalanches, storms, and rapids had left unfinished. It had carried away the entire middle section of the secret passage, leaving only a single rock bridge.

Day Nine (June 28)

After deliberating late into last night, it was concluded that the only way to reach the hidden passage opening on the side of the opposite cliff was to cross this dangerous rainbow-like bridge, sharp as a knife’s edge. For there were neither cracks nor protrusions on this steep slope that could serve as footholds. Yamaguchi, who had experience as a mountain guide, took the lead. He tied our torsos together with a rope and guided us forward. He handled it quite skillfully.

However, another troublesome problem occurred. The rock bridge they relied on as their lifeline had developed a large crack and been severed in midair. The gap measured no less than six feet. We found ourselves unable to advance or retreat, even as we could see the mouth of the hidden passage immediately before our eyes.

Beyond the six-foot gap lay the protruding edge of a saddle with a somewhat wide plane, upon which sat a large rock mass. Yamaguchi had been lying prone at the edge of the bridge, but soon raised his body into a horseback-riding posture, turned toward us, and grinned. 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 saddle on the other side in a single bound, and sank his teeth into the rock like a lion. The instant he did so, the rock began shifting with shocking ease. There was no time to react.

Yamaguchi clung to the rock as he plummeted headlong into the bottomless, infinite abyss.

Day Twenty-Two (July 11)

"27th Observation Point. "(4:20 p.m.) Observation: None”

On that ill-fated morning, along with one of my companions, the merciless valley swallowed the backpack containing crucial instruments like theodolites and rangefinders. Of course, it was no one’s fault. To perform that horrifying feat, we had to sacrifice the backpack as a matter of course. It was fortunate that the one containing food had been completely preserved. If that hadn’t been the case! How could we possibly have continued this eighty-day journey then?

Due to these circumstances, we could no longer proceed at a measured pace through precise investigation and observation. We now had to continue this arduous journey relying solely on the small magnet affixed to my watch chain. Seven days prior, the basaltic augite-andesite secret passage had finally terminated, leaving us wandering through the dark, deep valleys within Earth's womb. It was the desolate floor of a chasm resembling Dante's Infernal Valley of Death—where Mesoproterozoic Shunga stones and bizarre ejecta discovered in 1880 by Russian geologist Inostrantsev in the Olenets region stretched upward in every grotesque form imaginable. A square-hewn lava platform as if cleaved by axes. Ropy lava resembling colossal serpents entwined. Then came lava needles of sundry shapes—cacti-like, totem pole-like, qilin-neck-like—this uncanny array stood jutting sporadically through an eerie valley smothered in Mesoproterozoic rust-hued ejecta. Here lingered none of the usual faint light; instead, a miasmal haze drifted through dim air while crepuscular glow—from some impossibly high crustal fissure (likely a volcanic vent)—pervaded the space with wan luminescence.

The valley gradually narrowed in the distance, and at its end rose a fifty-foot cliff bearing a large cavern entrance, while a coal-tar-black river sluggishly flowed into the dark cavern, forming deep pools here and there.

The "River of Lamentations"—it was determined to belong to the same category as those with unique water properties called *Rio negro* (Black River) in Spanish, flowing through tributaries like the Tocantins and Madeira of the Amazon River system and the Ruelanpago of the Orinoco. The "Black River" harbored absolutely no plankton or fish. Neither birds nor mosquitoes flew above it. This ebony-colored, gloomy river. Thin mist. Lifeless lava. The color of a sorrowful twilight. The Catholic "Hell" must have had such a description. We were driven into this valley of bizarre lava pillars, with no way forward except to follow the Black River’s flow into the cavern entrance.

70 Million-Year-Old Swamp The cave widened as they advanced.

Layers of vermilion, white, ocher, and purplish-black lava flows displayed beautiful banded patterns like agate, while at their base, a black river resembling flowing heavy oil undulated sluggishly. It shifted to bluish-violet tinged with purple, then to deep indigo, then to blackish-navy under the safety lamp’s light, dazzlingly transformed before their eyes.

Because no plankton inhabited it, the water was as clear as glass, allowing coral-shaped lava blocks in sapphire-blue hues to be clearly seen towering straight up from the depths of about fifty feet. The six-person group, with Takeru at the lead, proceeded in silence through the belt-like narrow rock corridor. The current twisted so many times that they could not see more than thirty feet ahead. The anxiety that they might hit a dead end at any moment constantly gripped the entire group.

Before long, the ceiling gradually lowered and the flow made a sharp curve—then ahead on their path, a dimly lit cave entrance came into view.

There was an eerie landscape.

It was a vast swamp. A gloomy swamp surrounded by brown mud evocative of primordial chaos. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing resembling grass—only a single cycad-like tree with a trunk that looked fashioned from seashells stood upright at the swamp’s edge, reaching about twenty feet in height.

An elusive milky whiteness hazily blanketed the swamp. This was not the sky of the surface world. The dimly luminous canopy of the underground realm. The underside of the towering crust, beyond imagination, had formed a hazy sky akin to a cloudy day here.

A sinking gray swamp of death. A mournful chaos of muddy shoals. The solitary cycad on that shore.

Even Salvatore Rosa—who painted bizarrely solemn landscapes of caves, ancient swamps, isolated islands, and cliffs—could never have depicted a scene so saturated with sorrow. It was a sorrowful landscape where even a single glance was enough to be seized by endless melancholy.

Dr. Yaroshevsky and the five fishermen sat down on the swamp’s bank for a short rest. According to where the compass needle pointed, they would need to continue marching along this shore. For thirty-five days now, they had been taking out their unchanging provisions of hardtack and smoked herring to begin their monotonous morning meal. Though fatigue was deeply etched on their faces, they all remained in good spirits.

Suddenly, above the six heads came a metallic screech—*Kee! Kee!*—and a gray-brown bird with a triangular crest and long, slender wings resembling agave leaves plummeted into the swamp like a kite with its string severed. Skimming the water’s surface, it opened its beak lined with shark-like sharp teeth to screech once more, then soared back into the sky, stitching jagged lightning patterns through the air.

Pterodactyl!

Ten million years ago, when giant reptilian beasts like Stegosaurus and Brontosaurus roamed the prehistoric world, those very Pterodactyls that once dominated the Mesozoic skies! Then, next, another one came. A flapping sound like wet cloth being shaken vigorously echoed from above, and a pitch-black entity of grotesque form—as if fusing a bat with a cormorant’s jaw—fluttered down like a large soot ember falling, then dangled from a cycad branch.

It was a Bat Dragon!

...At that time, the Earth was divided by the vast Tethys Sea, with only two continents—Angara to the south and Gondwana to the north. From around the end of the Triassic Period, volcanic activity gradually began, and by the late Cretaceous Period, world-upending cataclysms arrived. Ceaseless massive earthquakes and colossal eruptions. Tremendous ground upheaval and subsidence. Subsidence and uplift. Gigantic tsunami. Gigantic marine transgression. Continents became seas overnight, and from those seas, new continents abruptly emerged. Massive upheaval and dramatic transformation of the Earth’s crust. And from the giant reptilian beasts that had once roamed the Earth down to the shellfish dwelling in the seas—every last one of them perished. After that, the creation of heaven and earth was repeated once more, and a new world—that is, the Cenozoic Era—began.

And then, another nine million years! ...that these pterosaurs had continued surviving and were still flying about in such a place. ...It was a marvel beyond imagination or fantasy; even now, witnessing it firsthand, they simply could not accept it as reality. As Dr. Yaroshevsky wavered in his vertiginous daze, consciousness blurring at the edges, the swamp's center abruptly began churning with restless agitation. White spray arched skyward like a rainbow—and from within the torrential upwelling emerged something akin to an enormous tree trunk, rising inexorably into view.

At a glance, it appeared to be a large sea serpent. The large python-like creature with glittering eyes smoothly extended twenty feet, writhing and twisting two or three feet above the water’s surface for some time—then atop a sandbar-like shoal, a massive hill-like mass of deep gray heaved upward with mountainous weight.

“Whoa!”

A cry of amazement burst forth involuntarily from everyone’s lips. What monstrous grandeur! It was a gigantic quadrupedal beast with a long, serpentine neck—easily fifty times the size of an elephant. The length of its neck alone, crawling across the swamp, measured over thirty feet. Its back was positioned at about twice the height of the cycad, and behind it trailed an immensely thick tail—two arm spans in girth—stretching a full forty feet in length. It was a grand spectacle beyond description—as though the swamp’s bed had risen and a dark gray island had been thrust upward suddenly.

Dr. Yaroshevsky had been staring blankly with wide eyes for a long time when, abruptly, he screamed, “Brontosaurus!”

“Brontosaurus,” he screamed. The great reptilian beast of the Jurassic Period—said to be the largest animal the Earth had ever birthed. Brontosaurus!

The Brontosaurus—a creature that had gone extinct along with the ancient world—was now lumbering about in the shallows right before their eyes, separated by mere swamp water, its movements causing the hill-like form to sway. Dr. Yaroshevsky and the five fishermen stood at the edge of the Mesozoic swamp, now witnessing with their own eyes the ecology of a great reptilian beast from ten million years ago! It was a circumstance so extraordinary as to defy belief.

The Jurassic world! The Apocalypse had poetically named it the “Underground Beast Kingdom”—and they had unwittingly strayed into its depths! Dr. Yaroshevsky gazed intently at the colossal beast with an entranced look, then let out an ineffably deep sigh as he approached the cycad and touched its trunk with his palm. It was a type of Rhaetic plant from the Paleozoic Triassic Period—a cycad called Nilsonia that, in those times, had covered the entire Earth’s surface alongside ferns and horsetails. Dr. Yaroshevsky’s palm was now directly touching the surface of a plant from ten million years ago!

“I can’t breathe!”

With a voice like a stifled sob, Dr. Yaroshevsky clutched his white-haired head with both hands and squatted down at the base of the cycad. As a natural scientist—among the many scholars specializing in paleontology and geology—now standing in a supremely fortunate circumstance that none had ever encountered before, Dr. Yaroshevsky appeared on the verge of unconsciousness, overwhelmed to his very core. Dr. Yaroshevsky noticed that the Jurassic layer within the cave they had just passed through had become an inverted stratum, with thick gneiss now blanketing it. From that alone, he could easily imagine how violent the crustal movements in that area had been. The part of the Siberian Turonian terrestrial stratum where they now stood—carrying reptilian beasts, reptilian birds, and ancient scale trees—had subsided deep underground during that upheaval, only to be sealed beneath a thick crust of gneiss. Due to these circumstances, these reptiles had avoided extinction and continued living exactly as they had ten million years ago.

Of course, the five fishermen could not feel as profound an emotion as Dr. Yaroshevsky. But even so, confronted by the utterly bizarre spectacle before them, every last one of them found their souls stolen away—holding their dried bread in hand and forgetting even to eat, they stared in a daze.

The one-eyed Kitahara Shozo—once a harpooner—cried out in a voice choked with emotion.

“So huge! Is that s’posed to be an elephant or a whale? ...Man, I wanna try stickin’ a harpoon in it! Man, if ya stuck a harpoon in that thing, wonder how’d it feel!” As if lamenting the absence of his harpoon here, he stamped his feet in frustration. The sight was so comical that everyone burst into laughter all at once. Dr. Yaroshevsky lifted his face as if roused from a dream by the sound, returned to where the five men were, and wordlessly resumed his meal. He mechanically brought food to his mouth, his eyes burning as they remained fixed on the Brontosaurus.

Kamei thrust forward his scarred forehead and asked Dr. Yaroshevsky. "Professor—what in the world do you call that creature?"

Dr. Yaroshevsky’s reply was exceedingly curt. As if annoyed at having his awe interrupted, he slightly furrowed his brows,

“That is an animal that lived in ancient times,” he answered curtly. That was all.

“Huh? “So that thing don’t do no harm? If that thing went an’ attacked us, we wouldn’t last a blink.”

“That one’s a grass-eater—it won’t harm people. But if that were a carnivorous dinosaur, things would be dire. Not a single one of us would survive.” He waved his hand as if to say “Ask me nothing more.” The Brontosaurus swayed its massive neck while lumbering through the shallows, until its legs began sinking into the swamp with thick squelching sounds. Keeping only its neck above the water, it trudged toward the far shore.

After finishing their meal, just as they were about to depart, Shimizu Iwakichi proposed an idea: why not make a dugout canoe from this cycad tree and travel by boat? It would save time and allow them to avoid dangers posed by whatever beasts might roam the land. He argued that if everyone worked together, they could complete a proper dugout canoe in just three days. Coming from Shimizu—who had been a second-class engineer aboard the *Kamikaze Maru* and knew shipbuilding—this was indeed a fitting proposal. Suda interjected.

“Even so, if we dawdle around here for three days, the pursuers will catch up.” While Shimizu was voicing his opinion, it was what everyone had already felt in their hearts.

Shimizu nodded, then, “It’s not like I haven’t thought about that. “But today already makes thirty-five days. “If they were gonna catch up, they’d have done it sooner. “I ain’t downplayin’ it, but I don’t see how folks who haven’t caught us yet would suddenly close in over these three days. “And another thing—if we take this tree and turn it into a dugout canoe, those bastards’ll have no choice but to take the long way ’round by land. “We’ll be barreling along by boat while they’re trudging over land—means from here on out, we ain’t gotta be jumpy ’bout ’em catchin’ up any second. “What d’ya say—sink or swim, ain’t it worth bettin’ three days on?”

If things went well, from here on out, they would no longer have to worry about being pursued by their hunters. They would be liberated from the wretched fate of being shot down like dogs. This swayed the other three. They all gazed at Takeru’s face in unison and waited for his decision. In any situation, acting according to Takeru’s opinions had become the group’s unwritten law since their time at the Kamchatka fishing grounds. Dr. Yaroshevsky too, wondering what reply Takeru would give, kept his eyes fixed on his face. Dr. Yaroshevsky also agreed with Shimizu’s proposal. This was because he thought traveling by boat might let them encounter another reptilian creature.

Takeru tensed his thick eyebrows, crossed his arms in his usual thinking posture, and pondered for about a minute before finally uttering a single word: “Alright, let’s do it!” he said. The group, having once shouldered their backpacks only to set them down again, drew the hatchets from their waists and began chopping at the base of the cycad. As a precaution, Suda the laborer was assigned to stand guard at the cave entrance. The agreement was that if even a flicker of a safety lamp’s light was spotted in the cave, he would come running to report the emergency.

The cycad was as hard as stone, but even so, they finally managed to fell it before nightfall. The group, following Shimizu’s instructions, piled small branches into a towering heap on the cycad trunk to make hollowing easier and set them ablaze. Dusk was drawing near, and over the marsh, the ashen white began to shift into a hazy grayish-black.

Suddenly, two sharp gunshots rang out from the cave entrance about ten ken behind them. Suda’s piercing death scream—a gyaaah!—rang out, and after a brief pause, a mass of white smoke swiftly flowed from the cave entrance.

They froze in unison.

The death-dealing pursuers had finally caught up.

Dr. Yaroshevsky gently set his axe down on the ground and moved his pale lips,

“They’ve come!” he muttered. The fishermen’s faces showed no trace of fear; instead, they bore the bitter regret of those who had underestimated their predicament. Only Takeru sat on the cycad trunk with a resigned expression, making no move to rise.

From the darkness of the cave entrance emerged Professor Morozov, his expression coldly impassive. 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 nothing following behind them. This first took the five by complete surprise. Moreover, neither of them had the kind of formidable equipment the five had imagined. They had neither automatic rifles nor ammunition belts. In the Professor’s hand was only one pistol. As usual, his eyes were inhuman and cold, but he was so haggard that he inspired pity at a glance; his shirt and pants were torn to shreds, splattered here and there with thick patches of blood.

Natasha’s condition was even worse. Her coat collar had been mercilessly torn open, exposing her pale shoulder where a ghastly wound—as if clawed by some beast—gaped open, fresh blood streaking vertically from it. Professor Morozov came to a halt about twenty feet from the group and, with a gaze devoid of emotional nuance—a somber intensity—began slowly surveying each face one by one.

When they witnessed the two’s pitiful state, a similar strategy had spontaneously taken shape in everyone’s minds. All they had was a single pistol. If those bastards came any closer—before one of us got devoured—the rest would gang up and finish them off.

However, within the cool-headed Professor's mind, a meticulous calculation of distance—one that balanced both defense and attack—had already been completed. He halted at a distance of about twenty feet and did not attempt to advance a single step from there. The Professor slowly raised his gun barrel and began aiming squarely at Takeru's chest.

The moment of truth had come at last. Their thirty-five days of grueling hardship would now come to nothing—a case of chasing two hares and catching neither. The only comfort for them was that they would die in a place about 150 ri closer to Japan than the delta of the penal colony. Professor Morozov’s finger on the trigger twitched. Takeru, rolling his large eyes as he watched this, whispered in Japanese so only the three could hear. “That bastard’s pistol only has four bullets left. So 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. No matter what happens, make sure you get back to Japan.”

The three nodded, “Uh-huh.”

Even so—who would remain? The Doctor? Given the Professor’s hatred for him alone, he’d surely never let the Doctor live. That meant one of the four would survive. The bullet didn’t fire. Instead, the Professor barked a sharp command. “Form a column! The man at the rear—grip the shoulders of the one before you!”

The group obeyed the command and formed a column. At the front was the Doctor.

Professor Morozov then issued the third command.

“Stay where you are and retreat toward the swamp!”

The group began retreating backward step by step toward the swamp.

What a meticulous mind. Professor Morozov was fully aware of his side’s inadequacies in carrying out the slaughter. Meanwhile, the fishermen had also quickly discerned what the Professor intended to do next. Since he was one bullet short, he intended to drown all five of them in the mudflats. They recalled their unfortunate comrade who had dragged along a young fishing apprentice named Tomekichi and sank into the Kolima mudflats of his own accord. That guy was smarter than us. Kamei— He snorted derisively. The meaning immediately reached them all. While retreating backward, the other three began snickering.

“Hmph.”

Kamei laughed derisively. The intent behind it was instantly clear to everyone. While backing away, the other three also began to snicker.

The third command came.

“Stop!” “...Dr. Yaroshevsky, you alone come over here.” Dr. Yaroshevsky stepped out of the column and walked toward Professor Morozov with a resolute air. He no longer had a pale face. Natasha, who had been sitting on the mud and staring intently at the proceedings, suddenly stood up and began approaching the Doctor. While glaring at the Doctor with the uncanny stare of a fanatic,

“Traitor!”

She shouted, then slapped his cheek with all her might. The Doctor staggered unsteadily. “Shameless! Selfish bastard! You dog!”

After waiting for Natasha’s fury to subside, the Professor said quietly, “Doctor, I’ve changed my mind. I intend to postpone the execution of you and those people until we catch a glimpse of Japan from the old crater of Mount Esutoro. You must cooperate with those people to ensure that Natasha and I can continue our journey comfortably from here on out... Though it’s a great shame that the honor of discovering the astonishing ‘Underground Beast Kingdom’ will not be yours, that too is your own doing. After all, Doctor, you’re the one who created my motive for coming here...”

VIII. "Kama's Boudoir"

The dugout canoe glided across the viscous swamp surface—utterly still, not a single ripple—as though lifeless. The edge of the swamp blurred hazily into the distance, its milky-white canopy reflecting across the water’s surface in matching hues, creating an illusion of sailing through sky itself. The dugout measured over five meters long—three ken by traditional measure—with space ample enough for seven occupants to sit unconstrained. At the bow sat Natasha and Professor Morozov; at the stern claimed his seat Dr. Yaroshevsky. The four fishermen sat cross-legged in a line along the canoe’s base, altering speed and course according to each nuanced gesture of Professor Morozov’s pistol barrel—an instrument of lethal precision now repurposed for nautical command.

Startled by the sound of oars，Brontosaurs would abruptly thrust their ostrich-like necks above the water，while lungfish would swim in the shallows of the marsh．Then，Professor Morozov would have them steer the bow in that direction，where he would meticulously observe and sketch．At times，they would moor the boat in the swamp for half a day as he sketched twenty different aspects of Brontosaurs’ and Pterodactyls’ ecology．During that time，Natasha would place the pistol on her lap and serve as the prisoners’ guard．

Thus, even on the third day, the dugout canoe had advanced no further than the middle of the swamp. The rowers were thoroughly bored and took turns dozing off. Only Kitahara the harpooner tapped away diligently whenever free, crafting harpoons from hard peat blocks gathered along the marsh bank. He seemed determined to strike back at the Brontosaurus with a harpoon. On the seventh morning, they finally drew near enough to glimpse the opposite shore. High hills with grotesque folds stretched along the far bank, their sheer cliffs revealing cave mouths like black gullets where swamp waters carved a raging channel before pouring inside. A violent drop seemed to exist between swamp surface and cave floor, the thunderous cascade echoing through caverns and resounding into distant darkness.

Shimizu the driver was the first to notice. He encouraged the rowers and began frantically paddling to escape from the waterway—but by then it was already too late. The dugout canoe, like an iron fragment drawn to a magnet, spewed white foam from its stern as it hurtled toward the cave entrance with tremendous force. The opposite cliff rapidly loomed before their eyes. The dugout canoe, caught in the whirlpool, spun violently one and a half times at the entrance before being sucked into the pitch-black cave with a thunderous roar, then began plummeting headlong at a thirty-degree angle.

It was exactly like the water chute that used to be at Yuenchi. It was almost a miracle that none of them had been thrown from the canoe. With a clattering thud, they tumbled toward the bow in a domino-like collapse, and by scrambling into a tangled heap, they managed to come through unharmed. Dr. Yaroshevsky, who had been at the bottom, ended up being crushed beneath everyone else and bore the brunt of it. Because the dugout canoe spun sharply halfway around at the cave entrance, it began to fall stern-first. Therefore, even in this precarious situation, Professor Morozov still managed to secure a position convenient for monitoring the five. When the scuffle broke out, he grabbed the gunwale with one hand, swiftly retreated backward toward the stern, and deftly pulled the pistol close to his knee. Natasha directed the safety lamp’s light toward the five and continued her vigilant watch without respite.

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes—an excruciatingly long thirty minutes that felt like an eternity—had passed, but still, the dugout canoe did not stop its relentless fall. A terrifying, endless descent. In the pitch-black cavern, a deafening roar of water thundered cacophonously—so intense it could burst eardrums—paralyzing their auditory senses.

Then, an eerie phenomenon began. As the dugout canoe fell, the temperature inside the cave rapidly intensified. By the end of an hour, everyone was drenched in sweat and began panting like dogs, their tongues lolling out. The heat was at least forty-two or forty-three degrees. Professor Morozov, with drops of sweat dripping from his jaw, uttered a sardonic quip. “Say, Doctor. “We’re about to plunge into a thick, viscous magma zone now.” “If I’m to be your companion in hell, you must be quite satisfied.”

The Doctor retorted with earnest seriousness.

“Since there can’t possibly be any water flow entering a magma zone, the fall should end before long.” Professor Morozov’s shoulder twitched, and he fell completely silent with an exasperated look.

It was just as the Doctor had predicted. After about ten minutes, the speed of their descent gradually slowed. Then, abruptly lifted two or three times by massive swells of water, the canoe passed through the cave entrance and was suddenly thrust into a dimly lit marsh where ferns and horsetails grew thick and wild.

A dense subtropical marshland. Before their eyes lay a distant vista resembling the leech-infested swamps of Borneo. The water lay stagnant, thick and heavy, and the boat advanced quietly, drawn by a current so sluggish it was nearly imperceptible. Along the riverbanks, slender branches of ancient ginkgoes twisted in strange forms, their roots and white cypress rhizomes coiling like serpents to hang eerily over the water. Cretaceous-era horsetails called *Buentata*, net ferns, and palm ferns grew so densely that no foot could tread there, while in the distance stood clusters of Kurudatsu trees—their sword-like leaves poised in peculiar, dance-like postures.

Here, too, the heat was oppressive. The air stirred not a wisp, and within it hung a thickly oppressive fragrance—intoxicatingly strange, unlike anything ever smelled before. Amidst the ferns, crimson cycad flowers—monstrous like sunflowers, seven feet in diameter—bloomed everywhere with nightmarish toxicity, while two-foot-long dragonflies and resplendent cloisonné-like phosphorescent butterflies fluttered above them as though entranced by sleepwalking. The intoxicatingly strange fragrance was coming from those flowers. The entire marshland was enveloped in the aphrodisiac miasma of cycad flowers, drowsily comatose in a dream of love. ……Once someone entered this place, they would become intoxicated by the mystical floral fragrance and die as if falling into slumber—it seemed this was precisely what Camarayana, the “Kama’s Bedchamber” of intoxication said to lie upstream on India’s Jakhdabur River, must resemble.

Each and every one of them felt like they were melting into sweat. The heat was oppressively intense; no matter how much courage they mustered, they couldn’t keep up rowing for even five minutes. To make matters worse, streams with identical fern-covered banks branched out maze-like to both the right and left, forcing them to consult their compass repeatedly and start over.

Professor Morozov, even here, effortlessly had the dugout canoe stopped and observed the flowers and ferns up close with great focus, sketching them intently. As for the Doctor—whose pencils and notebook had been confiscated—he gazed at them with searing intensity, as if trying to etch them into his very eyes. Gradually, the waterway narrowed until a vast marshland blanketed with green horsetails opened in the distance ahead, where four or five large reptilian beasts wandered in a herd.

Dr. Yaroshevsky suddenly raised his hand and had the dugout canoe stopped. Professor Morozov asked. “What’s wrong?” Dr. Yaroshevsky pointed toward the reptilian beasts. “Because it’s dangerous…”

“That must be a stegosaurus.” “There’s no particular danger.”

The Doctor shook his head.

“Though it may be hard to believe, we are no longer in the Jurassic period. We are in the Cretaceous Period. The net fern flora surrounding us clearly proves this. Therefore, there are no Jurassic-era stegosaurs in this marshland. The Cretaceous Period’s carnivorous, ferocious types—ornithopods and dinosaurs—should be present here... I believe those creatures wandering the marshland over there are indeed them.”

“Just because there are net ferns here? If we account for changes in landmasses and plant migration across geological eras, such discrepancies would actually be 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’ve abruptly fallen from the Jurassic to the Cretaceous Period in this past hour or so. …No further explanation can be given.”

“A ten-million-year fall in one hour! What a delusion!” Pursing his lips, he sneered, “Ho.” Yet he made no move to push forward. The compass needle left them no choice but to traverse the marshland. The group anchored their dugout canoe in the current and waited with gritted teeth for the beasts to leave. As dusk neared, they finally stirred—lumbering into the distant black cycad forest.

Muffling the sound of their oars, they slowly advanced the canoe, landed on a dimly lit shore where rhizomes coiled like vines, formed a single-file line with Takeru at the front, and carefully proceeded through the net ferns.

Professor Morozov and Natasha followed at the rear as usual, keeping a distance of about thirty ken from the five.

After they had walked about half a ri, a sudden, ear-splitting scream of terror erupted behind the five. A horrifying event was unfolding! A gigantic dinosaur drew its forelimbs up to its chest, flicked its thick, curved tail—like an elephant’s tusk—straight back, and bounded forward in kangaroo-like leaps as it chased after Professor Morozov and Natasha! Dinosaur! The tyrant among reptilian beasts. A cruel slaughterer. The dinosaur said to be the most ferocious animal Earth has ever spawned!

Its body length was easily over fifty feet, and when it stood upright, its head still rose above the crowns of thirty-foot-tall Uradatsu trees. Its forelimbs had webbing like a waterfowl’s, and its hind limbs bore sharp claws resembling crescent-moon blades. Gaping its massive ochre-colored maw wide open, baring seven-inch-long sword-like teeth of terrifying visage, it bounded forward in leaps of about eighteen feet each—closing in on the two from behind with earth-shaking thuds that left them aghast!

Dr. Yaroshevsky and the four fishermen clustered together and stared blankly at it for some time. In that instant, they couldn’t comprehend what was beginning to unfold. But soon they understood—an extraordinary event that would determine their life or death was unfolding in this marshland. This was not just Natasha and Professor Morozov’s problem. If they hesitated now, every last one of them would be killed here. To escape certain death, they had no choice but to take the offensive and destroy their enemy at all costs.

The professor and Natasha continued running breathlessly through terror-contorted faces while emitting fragmented screams too indistinct to parse. Yet they couldn't rival the dinosaur's bounding strides covering eighteen feet per leap. The creature closed directly behind them now.

“Aaaagh—!”

A sharp scream like an infant’s wail resounded through the silent Mesozoic marshland. The dinosaur made one final leap, seized Professor Morozov with both hands, and lifted him up to its chest thirty feet high. Within the webbed forelimbs resembling grotesque cycad leaves, Professor Morozov’s pitifully small hands and legs thrashed about frantically like a fly. Beneath its feet lay Natasha Ivanovna—unconscious and collapsed.

The first to leap out was Kitahara. He hoisted the peat harpoon with its long shaft horizontally over his shoulder and advanced toward the dinosaur in a stance reminiscent of a Greek javelin thrower. His monkey-like face flushed crimson up to his hairline, grinning broadly with his entire face crinkling in laugh lines—delighted beyond measure to wield the harpoon he had painstakingly crafted. “Well now, it’s just like playing tag with a whale. You’re shocked ’cause it’s so goddamn huge, you idiot!”

He charged at the dinosaur as if to tackle it head-on, planted himself between its hind legs, looked up, and with a decisive strike, drove the harpoon into its right eye. The harpoon, pulled taut by the rope, shot straight upward and plunged deep beneath the dinosaur’s eye, its shaft shuddering once with a resonant twang. The dinosaur roared an earsplitting cry, slammed the Professor it had been clutching against its chest onto the ferns below, then gaped its massive maw wide to clamp down on Kitahara before whirling around and plunging into the dense gloom of the cycad forest.

This was the end of the resolute Kitahara.

IX. ‘Ай’—The Underground Sea

At the base of the cliff, the sea’s waves crashed against it, swirled back, and roared ceaselessly with a thunderous sound. A grey mist rising from the sea clung to the rocky crags like a burial shroud, blurring every sharp angle and rendering the eerie visage of the island even more mystical.

Circumference: ten ri. Sheer cliffs. At the center of the island, a Nicode-type volcano abruptly rises two thousand meters high, spewing a towering pillar of fire into the sky.

The roar of raging waves. The wail of wind. The cries of seabirds. A mountain spewing fire. And then, a scant few ferns and brachiopods clinging fiercely to the rocks. A desolate, lonely island in the Underground Sea—there was nothing else besides. The desolate sorrow of Mendelssohn’s overture “The Hebrides” paled in comparison to that of this prehistoric island’s isolation.

Two months had already passed since they were attacked by dinosaurs in the Tsurunonia marshland. Autumn too was nearing its end. The party that had numbered seven at that time had now dwindled to four. I (Professor Morozov), then three fishermen—Takeru, Shimizu, Kamei.

Dr. Yaroshevsky had set out two weeks ago today, on that morning, to collect longevity clams dwelling beneath the cliffs of this island and never returned by nightfall. The next morning, when they went out to search, they found he had fallen from the western cliffside and met a gruesome death, his right hand still firmly gripping the longevity clams. Tenacity. It was a fitting end for the Doctor.

Natasha had also died of scurvy around the same time. Her throat had been ravaged, and by the end, she could no longer speak. While pointing at her gums filled with blood and pus, "Ah... ah..." was all she could scream. We immediately understood what that meant. Natasha was asking to have her teeth buried in Japanese soil (Nagasaki?). About a week before her death, through her confession, I had already come to know for what purpose she had followed me.

She had come to protect the lives of the six fishermen and save them from my slaughter. Respect and nostalgia for her Japanese mother’s blood—that had been her primary motive. That was why she had pretended it was an accident when crossing Lava Mesa’s rock bridge and thrown two rifles with their ammunition belts into the valley below.

She succeeded. By sacrificing just one person at the cave entrance beside the marsh, she had managed to completely save the remaining six lives—including the Doctor’s—from my slaughter. This was because, at that time, there had not been a single bullet remaining in my pistol’s magazine. After completing the ritual honoring her mother’s blood, she then gripped the empty pistol during my investigation and protected me to the end from the fishermen’s sudden counterattack. Yet this outstanding young female comrade wished to sleep not beneath Soviet soil, but under the earth of Japan. Under her mother’s earth.

When the fisherman Takeru nodded earnestly, Natasha managed a faint smile and died with a gurgling in her throat.

It had been twenty days since we became stranded on this underground isolated island. After departing the Tsurunonia wetlands, wandering through a desolate wasteland of emery and quartz sand, then entering once more the monotonous tunnel of pyroxene andesite, on the morning of the seventy-sixth day, we suddenly emerged at the heart of this island.

A barren rocky island, devoid of even a single tree, engulfed by raging waves. What method could we possibly use to cross this sea?! We were completely halted when we had just two hundred kilometers left to go. We could only gaze at the leaden sea while letting out lamentations. Janussen had named the underground sea of Iceland "the Joyous Sea." We decided to name this sea "Ай! (Alas!)" leaving our lamentations as they were. Scurvy was beginning to afflict everyone. The provisions were nearly exhausted. In this state, it was utterly impossible to turn back to Stanovoy once more. Dr. Yaroshevsky and the three fishermen alike appeared to have steeled themselves to die on this underground island.

We thought of fishing to compensate for our lack of provisions. Cod-like fish were caught in numbers. It was the Doctor’s opinion that they were likely Eronicthis, an ancient cod family from the Jurassic Period. Ten million-year-old cod! We devoured them. The next day, Shimizu and Kamei brought back peculiar mollusk shells. When we saw them—those were none other than those precious Pleurotomaria from the Carboniferous Period. Living longevity clams! This was what enraptured the Doctor. He ran like a madman toward the western cliff and never returned.

The regular diet of guillemot eggs and ancient cod accelerated our scurvy. This morning, Kamei suddenly lost his speech. Ultimately, it was a matter of time. Sooner or later, the same fate would befall the other three.

A life without hope continued. Death was gradually approaching. Alas, the sun!

Soon, we will die without ever seeing that beloved light again, like blind fish of the abyss.

(September 10th Entry)

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

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, and is purely a personal letter addressed to you alone. At this moment of parting, I wish to convey certain minor hidden facts omitted from the official report—a token of gratitude for your unwavering friendship.

On the twenty-third day since we had been pinned down on this island—that is, around 9:20 a.m. on September 13th—a soft whistle suddenly sounded from the southern shore, and a steamship emerged dimly from the sea fog. It was not an illusion. A real steamship! Even the ship's name—OTARU MARU—could clearly be read on its hull.

The extent of my confusion and panic at that moment need not be written here anew.

Dr. Yaroshevsky succeeded. The underground path indeed penetrates from Mount Robatka to part of Japanese territory. However，it does not lead to the former crater of Mount Esutoru in South Karafuto，but rather emerges at the northernmost island of the Kuril Islands adjacent to the Kamchatka Peninsula.

This fact stripped all military significance from the true purpose of this academic expedition. That island is merely a small rocky island with a circumference of about ten versts, located just eighty nautical miles from Petropavlovsk Port, which serves as the Kamchatka operational base.

What we had believed to be an underground sea was in fact the Sea of Okhotsk. The island we named АЙ had already been clearly registered under the name Araido Island in Japan’s cadastral register. What the Doctor had believed to be Jurassic-era ancient cod were in fact Kaitō cod abundantly fished in these coastal waters, and what he had thought were Carboniferous-era longevity clams turned out to be Chishima amber clams, a species of Hawaiia.

My decision not to document these minor tragicomedies and the true cause of the Doctor’s fatal fall in the report stemmed not from friendship toward him, but rather from academic solidarity among scholars. The report and this letter addressed to you have been arranged 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 the 'Beast Kingdom Underground' survey." My provisions are not sufficient, and as I am afflicted with scurvy, I will likely collapse along the way. However, there’s nothing left to do but try all I can. ……Well then, goodbye. Please give my regards to your wife and two beloved daughters. Please give my regards especially to Ms. Anna!