Chapter 212: The Fourth Act

Chapter 212: The Fourth Act

In Resurrection Square, already covered in scorch marks and cracks, the environment suddenly darkened. A gloom and chill nearly tangible in substance filled the air, and even the piercing silver-white lightning could not disperse it.

Daly Simone keenly sensed that an unknown creature was passing through the spirit world, drawing near this area. A bad premonition surged through her heart at once, as though she had already seen Ince Zangwill escape easily with the help of this unexpected development, vanishing to some unknown place.

A chill that she could not restrain spread through her body, as though she had returned to the time when she had first become a Beyonder.

Back then, because of an accident, the nineteen-year-old Daly had lost her family, accidentally consumed a potion, became a Corpse Collector, and was placed into a Nighthawks team.

The potion’s influence and the trauma of losing her family made her begin to enjoy coldness. She could not help drawing close to corpses. She often wandered through cemeteries and slept before graves.

This made her seem strange. It caused others to instinctively reject her. Not only did her body temperature drop; even her soul seemed to slowly freeze, turning cold.

She feared that feeling. She still wanted to be a living, breathing person. And so, instinctively making use of men’s coveting of her looks and body, she dated boyfriend after boyfriend, hoping to use the warmth of flesh to resist the cooling of her soul.

Within that dazed and fallen life, she met that man.

The man who always listened gently as she spoke. The man who always remained nearby, steadily offering help. The man who grew embarrassed when faced with jokes about relations between men and women. The man who tolerated all his teammates’ flaws with sincerity. The man who, again and again under her teasing, was left at a loss for what to do. The man who liked to hide pain and sorrow inside himself until his hairline receded far too early. The man who, when danger came, would always be the first to stand forward and shield his teammates behind him.

She changed. She began liking old-fashioned makeup. She no longer drew close to other men. Only her verbal jokes remained, deliberately declaring that she had not obviously changed.

But she still had not made it in time.

She had not had time to witness that man skillfully apply the acting method, digest his potion, and advance to Sequence 6. She had not had time to see him reach out his hand and invite her to dance the opening number. She had not had time to participate in the final battle of his life. She had not had time to tell him what she felt.

Last time, I missed it. I didn’t make it in time to do anything. Today, I don’t want that to happen again… Daly’s expression became sorrowful. The corners of her mouth slowly lifted, gentle and sweet.

With her eyes tightly shut, she suddenly pulled a small metal bottle from a hidden pocket of her clothes, threw away the stopper, and gulped down the liquid inside.

Her blue eyeshadow and blush instantly became vivid, and even her skin turned somewhat translucent. Her coiled hair broke apart in an instant, pushing back her hood and scattering outward.

“Spirit that roams the void; fearsome creature of the upper realms; unpredictable visitor.” Daly rapidly recited in ancient Hermes, each word short and powerful. “I, I in my own name, make a contract with you and beseech you to leave this place!”

Behind the eight-legged, white-feathered Ince Zangwill, a figure outlined itself. It was a bloody mass of flesh covered in countless eyes and pierced with arm after arm from different races.

It was about to grab Ince Zangwill’s body and drag him into the spirit world when it suddenly paused. One gaze after another turned toward Daly Simone.

On the surface of Daly’s skin, pitch-black snake scales suddenly protruded, and white fuzz grew from the cracks between those scales one patch after another.

Her knees weakened, and she dropped painfully to the ground, yet she maintained her spirit channeling posture throughout.

On Ince Zangwill’s body, the quill pen began writing of its own accord:

“An unknown existence descended upon Resurrection Square and was about to take Ince Zangwill away. No, it has been attracted by Daly Simone. Its aesthetics actually lean toward humans. Ah, it has given up on Ince Zangwill. It has decided to follow Daly Simone’s suggestion and leave this place.

“How unexpected. In spirit channeling, Ince Zangwill, a demigod, has actually lost to Daly Simone, who is only Sequence 5. Although this lady consumed a Flower of Spirit potion and paid an enormous price, there should still be almost no probability of her winning against Ince Zangwill, who is barely using the Quill of Alzuhod.

“Ince Zangwill is truly too unlucky. He has encountered something whose probability is almost zero!”

Amid the lightning strikes, a point of blood-red light flared in Ince Zangwill’s black eyes, which were surrounded by clusters of mysterious symbols, before subsiding again. The “hand” holding the quill pen wrote across the surface of his body once more:

“Another unknown existence has been attracted here, arriving nearby and attempting to enter the real world…”

At this point, the quill pen abruptly paused and began writing on its own:

“Here it comes, here it comes. It—She is Reinette Tinekerr! No, Reinette Tinekerr is driving away every spirit world creature in the surroundings. She glanced at Ince Zangwill. She has withdrawn Her gaze. She has left this place. She continues wandering nearby.

“Ince Zangwill is too unlucky. Too unlucky!”

Ince Zangwill’s rapidly moving body suddenly paused, as though he had been dealt a heavy blow.

Rumble!

A thick bolt of silver-white lightning descended, striking the eight-legged “monster” heavily and sending Ince Zangwill flying forward as he let out a shriek that no human could have made.

In his pitch-black eyes, blood-red radiance spread outward like an explosion, becoming two light clusters filled with bloodlust, cruelty, and madness.

“Ince Zangwill can no longer control his emotions or maintain his excellent condition. He has lost most of his reason…” The somewhat damaged quill pen grew dimmer and dimmer as it wrote, gradually coming to a stop.

Amid howls that made goosebumps rise, endless darkness spread outward, pulling Daly Simone and Leonard Mitchell into a dream at the same time.

But the thunder and lightning that followed immediately awakened the sleepers.

Ince Zangwill stepped backward with eight legs, leaving an afterimage where he had stood. He rushed at terrifying speed toward Daly Simone, who was now half out of control, intending to cruelly tear apart this Nighthawk who had ruined his escape.

Boom! Boom!

Exaggerated bolts of lightning fell one after another, stopping his movement.

Boom! Boom!

Those eight strange “legs,” covered in white feathers and many charred marks, moved in succession. Ince Zangwill, half crouched on the ground, prowled around the square, avoiding lightning strikes and searching for a chance to kill Leonard and Daly.

Gradually, with the reason he still possessed, he discovered a problem:

The frequency of the lightning strikes was slowing down!

The person generating the lightning from an untraceable location seemed to be approaching their limit. Their spirituality was nearly exhausted.

Ince Zangwill’s heart stirred. A cruel smile appeared on his face as he ran at high speed and spoke in a low voice in ancient Feysac:

“You are all going to die!”

He seemed to have already forgotten about escaping.

You are all going to die… Leonard Mitchell heard those words, yet he had no solution at all, because he did not dare open his eyes. He could not determine Ince Zangwill’s position and could not use his spirituality to lock onto the other party.

At that moment, he seemed to return to Tingen City. To the Blackthorn Security Company. To the day they had fought Megose. He became again that weak, powerless self who could stop nothing.

Back then, he had clearly wanted to help the captain and Klein. He had clearly overcome his fear. He had clearly had the Old Man to provide assistance. Yet because his Sequence was too low and his strength insufficient, he had soon been knocked unconscious, unable to participate in the battle that followed. When he woke, he could only see two corpses. He could only face the agony of their relatives to ease his own self-reproach.

The leisurely life in Tingen, the feeling of considering himself the protagonist of a drama yet not having to shoulder responsibility—Leonard had always missed it. But the more he missed it, the more he hated that version of himself, and the more he regretted not working hard sooner.

Behind his tightly shut eyes, light and shadow swayed. Leonard clenched both hands into fists and hurriedly called in a low voice:

“Old Man!

“Old Man!”

This time, no voice echoed in his mind. No one offered assistance. Pallez Zoroast remained asleep.

Leonard’s breathing grew heavy all at once. His head could not help following the flashes of light from side to side. His voice turned slightly hoarse, carrying obvious panic as he shouted,

“Old Man!

“Old Man!

“Old Man!!”

His voice gradually lowered and disappeared into the thunder. Leonard’s head slowly drooped, and his face was once again filled with self-blame and pain.

His lips moved. His hands loosened, then clenched again. His entire body froze for several seconds.

Suddenly, his expression turned resolute. His face twisted as he opened his mouth and recited in a low voice in ancient Hermes:

“The Fool that doesn’t belong to this era;

“The mysterious ruler above the gray fog;

“The King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck!”

The moment the prayer ended, an image strangely appeared in his mind:

Ince Zangwill, who seemed to have become a spider or a malformed feathered wolf, was rapidly moving about, dodging lightning strikes and occasionally attempting to attack him or Daly Simone.

Unlike normal, however, Ince Zangwill’s figure within this image was extremely blurred, almost replaced by a patch of red light. It could only be used to confirm his position.

Leonard was first stunned. Then he laughed, tears sliding down one drop after another.

Without hesitation, he raised his left palm and pressed the glove to his temple. With his right hand, he tightly gripped the Luck Stealer charm.

“Fate!”

As that difficult, mysterious ancient Hermes word echoed, Leonard caused a transparent book to condense in front of him. Amid the ethereal chant of “I came, I saw, I record,” the book turned to one of its pages, and he locked onto the eight-legged monster covered in many white feathers.

Silver-white lightning abruptly erupted. Leonard Mitchell, his expression ferocious, threw the charm and shouted with all his strength:

“Die! Ince Zangwill!”

He had waited far, far too long to say that sentence. In his heart, he had rehearsed it countless times.