Watching Bologue leave, Vika’s smiling expression gradually cooled down, then another wilder and more fervent smile appeared on his face, with a touch of madness.
Vika, who was always steady and rational, was unimaginable in such a state, like a madman.
He hummed a tune, muttering to himself, "Mr. Lazarus, you’re still not attentive to details, did you miss even this?"
Vika casually placed the wine glass aside, the glass wobbled, rolling on the bar, then shattered to pieces.
The piercing shattering sound caught the attention of many people, they all looked at Vika with surprise in their eyes, seemingly the first time Vika had broken a glass since everyone’s known him.
Vika paid no mind to the broken glass, not even glancing at it, his demeanor completely changed, as if his inner soul had switched.
Taking steps towards the shadowy doorway, as he approached, a strong scent of blood seeped through the door crack, with faint traces of blood on the floor.
Opening the door, in the dimness, Vika saw the figure leaning in the corner, just like the first time he came here, covered in blood and in a wretched state.
Gray gasped painfully, as the potion’s effect waned, excruciating pain shot up from his leg, with not only the flesh torn but the bones riddled with cracks.
He tore open the outer layer of his pants, exposing the bloody leg, not caring about Vika’s gaze, he picked up the medical kit’s supplies, tending to his wound like a beast licking its wounds.
Vika leaned against the door, arms crossed, watching Gray.
"You were almost discovered."
"But you covered for me."
Gray, with his head down, did not look at Vika, his voice seemingly calm, but a sharp knife lay hidden in the shadows beneath him, ready for a desperate fight.
"So... what price does this entail?"
After a brief silence, Gray’s voice sounded again.
Having lived in this labyrinthine route for some time, he was well aware of the rules here, where sudden kindness was nonexistent, only costs to be paid.
Vika had covered for him, a price was needed, yet unclear what he must pay.
It could be little, or it could be a lot, but Gray no longer cared, stepping into the vortex meant dying midway or reaching the end, with no third path.
Gray lifted his head, looking at the man by the door, the room dim, and him against the outside light, becoming a dark silhouette, shadows making Gray feel locked in by countless eyes.
A golden coin was tossed to Gray by Vika, catching it, a Mammon Coin now rested in his hand, with endless threads entwining, as if nurturing something.
"Every pattern represents a legend, and this pattern appears the most often..." Vika’s voice drifted.
"The more frequent the pattern, the more known the legend is to everyone." Gray responded softly.
"What do you think this pattern represents?"
Fingers gently rubbed the coin’s surface, carrying an almost magical glow, even in the darkness emitting a golden shimmer.
"You... and this Web Bar."
Gray’s eyes filled with blood, constant pain tearing at his nerves, but by now he was becoming accustomed to enduring it.
In this period, he’d essentially lived under Vika’s protection, realizing with time Vika’s enigmatic status in this maze-like path, garnering everyone’s respect, and upon entering the bar, chaos ceased, replaced by a silent order adhered to by all.
In this labyrinthine route, Vika was like a legendary presence, everyone living here needed his help, convincing Gray that the pattern represented Vika.
Vika smiled, shaking his head, denying Gray’s assumption.
"Sometimes legend doesn’t refer to a specific person, it could be an unforgettable event, or a mysterious phenomenon."
"What are you trying to say?" Gray grew wary.
"It represents a rule."
Vika spread his hands, raising his voice, "Pay tribute to the Tyrant, and in return, you receive the Tyrant’s protection."
The labyrinthine route never had a clear owner, if one were to say who ruled here, it would be the Tyrant spoken of in tales, a being of legend found only in stories, despite all the singing, Gray hadn’t found a shred of the Tyrant in the labyrinthine route.
Gray, like many, regarded the Tyrant as an odd tale passed through time.
"Are you crazy?" Gray found Vika peculiar today, as if he were a different person, "Do you have some kind of multiple personality disorder?"
To this, Vika merely laughed heartily, not hiding anything, immediately stating frankly,
"Gray, do you know what holds the most value?"
Gray couldn’t fathom such things, value varied for everyone, some could be bought with gold, others saw it as dust.
Out of curiosity, Gray still asked softly.
"What is the most valuable thing?"
"The deepest desires and most delusional wishes of humankind, these primal forces intertwining, compelling humans to make choices, they produce different values based on those choices."
Vika’s voice carried a note of enchantment, immersed in such beauty.
"Just like the choices people make when facing disaster, some choose self-deception, while others courageously step forward, revealing the value of their soul."
"Do choices determine our value?" Gray asked.
Vika did not provide a clear answer to this, only speaking in a more fervent tone.
"Gray, I like things of value, but what I like more is witnessing the creation of value firsthand, watching you make the right choices in dire straits."
Whether it was an illusion or something else, Gray vaguely saw scarlet hundred-eyed shadows slowly opening in the darkness, each eye reflecting a madness that shattered sanity.
"Even more wonderful is that you’re standing on blessed ground here, where all wishes will come true."
"As long as you’re willing to pay the appropriate price."
Gray whispered, feeling like a small boat sailing on the sea, overshadowed by a massive dark shape.
"So that’s why you’re willing to help me, help the Delusional, right?"
Gray seemed to understand Vika’s purpose, as if Vika had a sort of foresight, seeing every choice people would make in the near future, waiting expectantly for that scene like an audience in the amphitheater.
To hasten the birth of all this, the stingy presence did not mind offering a little assistance.
"I’m watching you all."
Vika suddenly uttered this inexplicable sentence, then fell silent, the madness gradually dissipating from his aura.
Gray could distinctly perceive this change. Vika at the door moved aside, a slight light illuminating his face, showing a hint of confusion, but like one having a brief memory lapse and then recalling everything, he nodded self-consciously and looked at Gray.
The voice was calm and steady, once again reverting to the Vika Gray was familiar with.
"You’re not truly experiencing a split personality, are you?"
Gray started to struggle to understand Vika; the transformation was too abrupt, the personality difference too stark, as though two souls resided within his shell.
"No, my boss just came by. He always likes this, arriving silently and then leaving suddenly."
Vika was long accustomed to this and did not plan to explain anything to Gray. After confirming Gray’s status, he closed the door, and darkness enveloped everything.
Some fear darkness, but for Gray, it made him feel particularly at ease, as though he was being protected by the darkness itself.
He slowly lay down, the combat and agony making him exhausted, and his consciousness grew drowsy. Just as he was about to drift into sleep, a noise of static electricity sounded, and a touch of red light flared in the darkness. Gray quickly woke up and reached for the communicator in the corner.
The voice rang in his ear, distorted and piercing from the interference.
"He’s a genuine Undead. I used all the alchemy equipment you gave me on him—whether it was gunfire or poison, injuries of that severity could easily kill a Prayer Believer, but on him, it merely restricted his movement a little. He needed only a short time to get back on his feet."
Gray’s voice carried a hint of dread, as it was his first time facing an Undead, and Bologue showed him a sufficiently terrifying suppression.
Like an indestructible Evil Spirit, all your means only extend your remaining life. Without Vika’s protection, Gray even thought he might already be dead.
"Why did you want to kill an Undead?" Gray voiced his confusion, nearly dying because of the other’s idea today.
"There are many ways to be Undead. I merely wanted to determine which kind he belonged to."
"It seems he’s the most troublesome kind."
The dreadful pain still reminded Gray of today’s events, and he warned, "Unless you have a way to keep him in a state of death... repeatedly killing him, otherwise I can’t think of any way to control him."
"Hmm... I understand."
The other was indeed seriously considering it, but Gray found it unbearable, the madness within the Great Rift far exceeding his imagination.
"Who are you then? Delusional, you’ve designed so much just to test his Undeath? How does that relate to your purpose?"
"Bologue affects our actions; he’s like a hunting dog released in the hunting ground while we’re the pathetic rabbits."
The Delusional’s voice was cold, cruel.
"Whether it’s your wish or mine, the prerequisite to achieving all of this is excluding Bologue... excluding the Order Bureau."