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 Hielan Cathedral. Hymns of praise accompanied the turning of enormous gears and levers, echoing both inside and outside the cathedral.

Across the square, everyone stopped walking. In this sacred moment, some closed their eyes in prayer, while others listened quietly. Whether or not they were believers of the God of Steam and Machinery, all did so. Only the fed white pigeons beat their wings at the same time, flying up and rushing into the air.

…

Dong! Dong! Dong!

As the bell rang, no one moved. Inside the restaurant’s private room, Count Mistral also stood there with a rather grave expression, motionless.

His “vision” had already recovered, but all he could see were workers dressed in gray-blue and pale-blue clothing and bicycles of identical design. Aside from these, he discovered nothing, while Ernest Boyar had not suffered even the slightest injury.

Of course, from the newspaper in that Sanguine viscount’s hand, he guessed that the newsboy just now had been somewhat problematic. However, he did not attempt to pursue.

Clearly, that ability which borrowed the status of an angel absolutely did not belong to a mid- or low-sequence Beyonder. In other words, the force behind Emlyn White had at least one demigod hidden nearby. Mistral believed that the moment he made a move, he would inevitably be obstructed, or even attacked.

When one’s own position was easy to discover while the other party’s hiding place remained unknown, this Sanguine count felt it was not a good thing. Forcing a pursuit would only lead to major problems.

Besides, to the Sanguine, this was only a probe. If the force behind Emlyn mobilized a demigod, then Ernest Boyar’s self-protection would be used to delay that powerful individual, allowing Mistral to rely on the “Oath of the Rose” to confirm the attacker’s identity. They had never intended to let a fierce conflict erupt because of this. In their prepared plan, the most Mistral would do was take action to stop the other party for a short while, ensuring Ernest Boyar would not suffer harm.

Now, the initiative was no longer in their hands. If he pursued forcefully, there was a high probability that a demigod battle would erupt. In Backlund, near Saint Hielan Cathedral, that would be tantamount to suicide.

In addition, from Mistral’s point of view, since the opposing demigod had not personally entered the field and had merely provided assistance, if he directly took action and pursued, it would be truly beneath his dignity and an insult to the honor of a Sanguine count.

Hmph! I would like to see how this develops next! The muscles on Mistral’s face twitched faintly, and he once again turned the dark-blue gemstone ring worn on his left hand.

…

After the twelve tolls of the great bell, Emlyn began walking once more. Circling around the fountain, he passed through the fluttering descent of white pigeons and arrived at the entrance on the other side of Saint Hielan Square.

He then saw Ernest Boyar, who had slightly hunched his back and did not dare move even half a step. He saw the overturned carriage, the horse idly swishing its tail, and the driver whose face was filled with pain.

Emlyn walked over. From his pocket, he took out his wallet, drew out one hundred pounds in cash, and handed it to the driver.

“This is your compensation.”

“Ah?” The driver was both bewildered and overjoyed.

That hired carriage did not belong to him. He was only an ordinary employee. When the horse was startled and the carriage was damaged, he had first felt a brief pang of heartache, then had his mind overwhelmed by panic and despair.

According to the so-called contract, and according to similar incidents he had seen over the years, this counted as his responsibility. He would have to provide compensation. Given his income and his family circumstances, that meant bankruptcy.

In that short span of time just now, all sorts of thoughts had surfaced in the driver’s mind, mainly divided into three categories. First, extort the frightened gentleman before him and have him provide compensation, avoiding the collapse of his own family and sparing his children from being sent to black factories at a young age. Second, immediately take that horse to gang members, sell it, then return home and flee Backlund with his wife and children. Third, arrange for his family to move out of their current rented place, then go to the carriage owner and beg for mercy, hoping to pay the compensation in installments. If the owner refused, he would rather go to jail than pay a single penny.

Now, the sudden one hundred pounds in cash had slammed heavily into the driver’s heart, making his head spin and leaving him unsure what to say.

One hundred pounds was enough to buy a new hired carriage, with a great deal left over!

Emlyn did not look at the driver. Instead, he turned toward Ernest and said,

“It’s all right now.”

Aren’t you the biggest problem? Now that you have come over, how can you call this all right? As Ernest grumbled inwardly, he turned the dark-blue gemstone ring worn on his left hand.

For some reason, he felt that he should believe Emlyn White, and even approach him.

Emlyn glanced at him, then suddenly turned around and quickly entered an alley.

Ernest subconsciously took a step and followed closely behind, still holding the newspaper in his hand.

The two Sanguine, one running and one chasing, were both extremely fast, yet neither dared display anything beyond ordinary human limits.

Only after the two Sanguine had run far away and left the range of his spiritual perception did Count Mistral, using the connection between the paired “Oath of the Rose” rings, unhurriedly trail behind them.

Emlyn sometimes circled around, sometimes cut diagonally across, and sometimes returned to places he had passed before by taking another road, making it impossible to guess where his destination was. Ernest, meanwhile, was like a bull that had seen a red flag. No matter what, he refused to give up and kept following behind him.

Without realizing it, the two Sanguine arrived at Rose Street in the Backlund Bridge area.

At that moment, Emlyn suddenly accelerated. No longer fearing being noticed, he dragged out afterimages and charged into Harvest Church.

Ernest made the same move.

Not good! From afar, Count Mistral was just about to descend and prevent what would follow when Ernest’s figure disappeared through Harvest Church’s entrance.

Crack!

The stone tiles beneath Mistral’s feet shattered at once.

After entering the church, Ernest suddenly understood what had happened. Then he saw that, at the very front of the rows of seats, a figure in a brown clerical robe stood up like a mountain.

At the same time, the entire church became extremely heavy and extremely solid, as though it had become one with the earth.

Ernest’s mind instantly buzzed, and another voice echoed inside it:

“After waking from the first layer of hypnosis, throw the items on your body at Emlyn White.”

Swish, swish, swish! Ernest removed his belt, threw out his tie pin, and tossed one item after another at Emlyn White opposite him. This even included the silver pocket watch and the wallet full of banknotes.

Pa!

The newspaper in his hand fell to the ground, scattering a card that had been hidden inside.

On that card was drawn a goddess of justice seated on a stone chair, holding a sword and a balance.

A Tarot card—the Justice card.