Bologue misjudged from the very beginning, thinking Aimou knew nothing, but in reality, it was the opposite. Aimou was the one who knew the most secrets; she was the cornerstone of resurrecting Alice, and everything in Teda’s secrets was linked to her.
He didn’t loudly question nor did he shout angrily at Aimou, his voice was calm, cold as a winter’s day.
Aimou didn’t remain silent for long, she spoke, "Teacher wants to resurrect Alice."
"How does one resurrect?" Bologue asked.
"The soul determines the body, but perhaps all this can be reversed, making the body determine the soul," Aimou lifted her head, staring directly at Bologue, "reshape the vessel, returning it to its original form, along with the soul within, corrected from its errors."
"Was this all part of Teda’s plan? He never thought he could hide these from us, instead, he used us."
Bologue realized that the other reason Teda hadn’t acted against himself and Palmer was to use the two of them, letting the Order Bureau locate the venue.
No idea how Teda plans to seize the Immortal Heart, but clearly, as long as chaos erupts at the venue, he has a chance to prevail.
The best way to cause chaos is to have these factions collide.
"Teacher never talks to me about these things, he just asked me to do what I needed to do," said Aimou.
"And what do you need to do?"
Aimou tapped her chest, where Alice’s Philosopher’s Stone was hidden within the Constant Motion Core.
"And what do you think, Aimou?"
Bologue asked again, but this time his question seemed somewhat inexplicable.
Aimou didn’t answer but maintained silence.
Bologue took a deep breath, sometimes silence is also an answer.
"I just hope your teacher won’t do anything crazy; though I don’t quite like him, I’ve been quite cared for by him lately, and if possible, I wouldn’t want to wield a blade against him."
Despite the words, this time, Bologue’s gaze at Aimou carried a slight oddity.
"Is the teacher going to do something terrible?"
Aimou grew nervous, not even knowing where that door led. She just felt today’s atmosphere was somewhat off.
The usual harmony was gone, everyone carried anger, glaring warily at each other.
"I don’t know, but the place he’s heading to is quite terrible... He shouldn’t appear there."
After finishing, Bologue intended to turn and step through the doorway, but Aimou reached out to stop him.
The halo in her eyes grew clearer, the edges defined, Aimou refused to let tragedy unfold.
"Only one can pass through."
As soon as Bologue’s words fell, Ether burst forth, dazzling light flashed, garments lightly dropped to the ground, followed by a chill brushing along the body, a faint glow enveloping Bologue’s form.
The voice echoed directly in Bologue’s mind.
Bologue hesitated for a moment, picked up the suitcase Palmer prepared, and plunged into the void of darkness.
The dim light in the room faintly illuminated the man in the mirror, Gray looked at his reflection, finding his familiar self absent, replaced by a battered and decayed visage.
Gray no longer remembered how many days he had spent within this deep Great Rift, nor could he recall his past appearance, a subtle pain emanating from his body. Habitually, he grabbed the potion, injecting it along his arm, mitigating the disruption of the pain.
He had already begun to be addicted to the drugs; now, without the aid of tranquilizers, even sleep was difficult for Gray.
Every time he closed his eyes, Gray would return to that stormy night, where Jia Meng betrayed him, Milasha dying tragically before him...
Fortunately, Gray survived, thus gaining the opportunity for vengeance, even if it consumed him.
He forcefully washed his face to make himself a bit more lucid.
Upon coming to clarity, each sense sharpened, and Gray could faintly hear the tremor of metal, causing a rattling noise.
Since a few minutes ago, that thing had been making noise.
Gray wasn’t anxious, knowing time was ample. He picked up the sewn-up clothing, which was the uniform of the King’s Secret Sword, donned it once more, looking at himself in the mirror, recalling the day he joined the King’s Secret Sword.
Finally, he picked up the mottled emblem, fixing it to his chest, Gray reached out to grasp the prestigious Secret Sword, which once belonged to Milasha.
Gray’s voice was hoarse, full of curse and resentment.
At this moment, the door behind him slightly opened, light streamed in, and through the mirror, Gray could see the figure standing at the door.
"It’s already started, aren’t you going to set out?" the man asked.
"Is what you said all true? Those so-called King’s Shield Guards." Gray ignored the man’s words, instead asking about something else.
"Does their authenticity matter? Jia Meng is among them anyway. They’re all your enemies," the man said.
"Indeed," Gray nodded, turned to look at the figure at the door, "And you, Vika, what are you doing all this for?"
"Vika?" The man chuckled, shaking his head, "Vika is taking a break today."
The man walked toward Gray, his features gradually becoming clearer. He had the exact same appearance as Vika; to be precise, he was Vika, but Gray understood that the essence beneath this facade was different.
"Who are you?" Gray asked. "Anyway, I’ll likely die inside. A dead man knowing secrets shouldn’t matter, right?"
The man thought for a moment, then he agreed with this reasoning and conversed with Gray using Vika’s body.
"You can call me Mammon."
A peculiar light flickered in Gray’s eyes; he didn’t show much surprise, having lived here for so long, he had vaguely guessed these things long ago.
"What exactly do you intend to do? This is your kingdom; you know all the movements of the King’s Shield Guard, and you are entirely aware of their purpose. Why do you allow them? Is it simply because you cannot directly interfere with reality?"
Gray continued to ask; these were his final moments, he wanted to know more secrets.
"Allow them? Do you think I am allowing them?" Mammon was somewhat confused.
Upon hearing this response, Gray’s expression became stern; he realized it wasn’t as simple as he thought.
"Are they also under your control?"
"No, I merely make use of them coincidentally." Mammon laughed and then said, "Don’t judge me like that; I actually have personal intentions too."
"What kind of personal intentions?"
"You’re asking too much, Gray," Mammon said.
"I AM part of your plan, aren’t I? At least let me die with some understanding," Gray stated emotionlessly.
"How could that be? We’re mutually beneficial; I sheltered you and gave you the chance for revenge..."
"But that is what you wanted, isn’t it?" Gray pressed determinedly.
A raspy, strange laughter echoed, the man’s eyes hollow, facial muscles twisting into an exaggerated and grotesque smile.
"I’m looking for someone, a brother of mine. We haven’t seen each other in many years."
Mammon suddenly said, "I thought I would keep looking endlessly, but not long ago, I met another person who inspired me."
"You’re right, Gray. I cannot directly interfere with this world, so such a simple task of finding someone has dragged on for so many years."
Hollow eyes cracked open like ever-dividing cells, dense pupils filled the whites of his eyes, Mammon approached Gray, a bizarre whisper lingered by his ear.
"This is a trial, to screen and select those truly of value."
Gray anticipated what was coming; he felt indifferent, just bored.
"The most valuable person will become your debtor, running errands for you."
Gray remembered that pale mask; he had countless ties with all of this.
"Is it the Delusional? You’ve seen their value."
"No, no, no, value is not fixed," Mammon denied, then asked Gray, "How do you think we should judge a person’s value?"
Gray was silent, while Mammon again emitted a series of shrill laughter.
"Everyone has the chance to prove their value, including you, Gray."
Gray shook his head, uninterested, "The Devil’s blessing? I’ll pass."
He bypassed Mammon, grabbing the perpetually noisy object—a pitch-black key. Gray inserted it into the door’s keyhole and then drew out a dark void.
Gray gripped Milasha’s Secret Sword and stepped into it.
"Devils... I despise these bizarre and frenetic beings but am forced to admit, in sheer desperation, only they are willing to lend a hand."
The Shadow King sat on the glass round base; the Sea of Mist below emitted a hazy glow, his murky eyes beneath the mask observing intently.
Behind the Shadow King, the Third Seat stood guard beside him, akin to a sentinel, ready to protect him at any time.
"Have they set off?" the Shadow King asked.
"Already entered the venue; as for the Immortal Heart, we must secure it," the Third Seat responded.
The Shadow King did not feel much excitement from the Third Seat’s words but rather was filled with doubt.
"What’s the matter?" the Third Seat asked.
"We are in the territory of the Tyrant, and now we are trying to seize offerings for him... His silence only makes one uneasy," the Shadow King said softly.
"We kept it well secret; no one knows our purpose, not even the Order Bureau can trace us," the Third Seat said.
"No, you underestimate the Devils. If somewhere else, it would be fine, but here is the Great Rift, his land, the Tyrant knows everything."
The Shadow King’s mood was unsettled; he had never liked this place, whether past or present.
"But he has done nothing."
Listening to the Third Seat’s words, the Shadow King paused for a few seconds, then said.
"Perhaps, he has already done what he intended."
The Third Seat didn’t quite understand the Shadow King’s words; the Shadow King had no intention to explain, instead he was absorbed in watching the Sea of Mist below, his voice low and hoarse.
"Never underestimate the Devils; they can do anything, but also don’t overestimate them—they are merely pathetic prisoners."