Chapter 56: Second Movement

Chapter 56: Second Movement

Third floor of the restaurant at the northwest corner of Saint Hielan Square.

The moment the ghost wolf “carrying” a rose appeared before Ernest Boyar, Mistral—whose hair was pale silver and whose eyes were scarlet—immediately withdrew his gaze from Emlyn White. Darkness spread out behind him, and countless tiny bats flew within.

Bribe… This Sanguine count had only just silently murmured the word when he “saw” the overturned carriage, “heard” the neighing of the horse, and “smelled” all kinds of scents. Yet for the moment, he could not find the source of the accident and chaos.

Just then, his “field of vision” darkened, and his “eyes” seemed to lose their sensitivity to light. The noisy sounds at his “ears” stopped along with it.

Count Mistral inwardly gave a heh. He immediately intended to merge with the countless bats behind him, descend, and reassemble beside Ernest Boyar.

Suddenly, within that blackened “vision,” a speck of faint light leaped out.

This point of light swiftly expanded, becoming brighter and brighter. From within it stepped out a golden figure with twelve pairs of pitch-black wings on His back.

Those pairs of wings unfolded one after another, covering Mistral’s “sight.” On them, light and dark intertwined, forming one mysterious, complex symbol after another. They were inseparable from the golden figure, both sacred and degenerate, both bright and dark.

An angel! Mistral’s pupils dilated slightly. He could not help taking a step back, interrupting his previous thought.

…

Ernest Boyar rapidly and muddleheadedly woke up. He saw a pair of eyes as transparent as gemstones and as clear as lakewater, and felt a newspaper being handed over and stuffed into his palm.

Within those green eyes, tiny ripples spread, circling into whirlpools layer after layer at their depths, as though about to absorb the soul of whoever witnessed them.

Ernest Boyar was instantly immersed in them, unable to move his eyes away again.

Then, by his ears, a soft, drifting female voice sounded:

“Hold the newspaper and follow Emlyn White…

“Hold the newspaper and follow Emlyn White…”

This voice layered over itself again and again, echoing by Ernest Boyar’s ears, drilling into his brain and sinking into his mind.

Ernest Boyar nodded blankly and dully. He vaguely felt there were some additional words after that, yet no matter what, he could not hear them clearly.

The newsboy with the slanted satchel and newspapers swiftly turned around. Moving nimbly between several bicycles, “he” blended into the coming and going crowd.

“He” had a delicate face, and his messy hair hung down to cover his brows. As “he” walked, he removed the black gauze glove that had appeared on his left hand at some unknown time, folded it, and placed it inside the satchel holding the newspapers.

Wind blew past. “His” clothing shrank slightly, revealing a protrusion at the arm.

A few seconds later, Ernest Boyar suddenly leaped backward in place, as if dodging something.

Not good! I was affected by a Nightmare-type ability! He had only just steadied himself when his pupils dilated, and he guardedly looked around, defending against the attack that was about to come.

Although Ernest Boyar was filled with confusion over how he could have been dragged into a dream so easily, he knew very well that this was not the time to dwell on details. What came next would be the key. He absolutely could not lose focus.

Ding!

Several bicycles approached, using their bells to warn the gentleman standing in the middle of the road to move aside.

Ernest Boyar narrowed his eyes as he stared at them, the muscles beneath his clothes already gathering strength, ready to burst out.

Those bicycles circled around him from the side. The pedestrians coming and going either hurried away or slowed their steps, pointing and whispering.

Dong! Dong! Dong!

Twelve consecutive tolls of the bell rang out. White steam sprayed from the chimneys atop Saint…