The Temporal Aberrant Invasion incident in Binhai had, for the most part, come to an end once all involved had been apprehended.
For the first time, the Branch publicly disclosed to all citizens of Binhai City some details about the incident.
Among these, it was revealed that—former head teacher of Class 9, Grade 2 at Binhai Experimental High School, Xu Guangming (Xu Zhiwu), was the mastermind behind the incident; former Oracle Class students Lu Ran and Chen Xinyu were accomplices; and the former Deputy Municipal Officer and Security Minister of Binhai had defected and betrayed the city.
At the end of this public statement, there was also a brief explanation regarding the cross-province arrest and investigation of Chen Xinyu’s parents.
Moreover, the long-closed case of Xu Yuanzhou’s death during the aberrant assault years ago was reopened, and relevant details were announced.
The investigation report explained in detail how Xu Yuanzhou went to rescue Lu Ran, only to be betrayed by Lu Ran.
It also covered how, after Xu Yuanzhou’s sacrifice, Lu Ran’s father—Lu Jianghai, former Deputy Director of the Nanwan Provincial Communications Office—and his mother—Song Ting, former Deputy Director of the Binhai Education Bureau—put pressure on law enforcement, resulting in the case being hastily closed.
All of this was formally and thoroughly explained to the public.
As the Head of the Swordbearer Binhai Branch, Lin Mo had been so busy lately that his feet barely touched the ground.
And yet, that bastard Gu Qiancheng just wouldn’t leave.
Every three days, he’d report to headquarters: the demonkin had surfaced again, oh, just a false lead, oh, there’s another trace, damn, nothing again, don’t worry, it’s close, just wait a bit longer, something’s bound to come up…
Never mind the actual investigation progress—just say it: have you found anything or not?
In order to keep slacking off for a while longer, every time Gu Qiancheng would insist Lin Mo accompany him for the report, helping to cover for him.
No matter how busy or annoyed Lin Mo was, he had no choice but to help.
Otherwise, Gu Qiancheng would just say, “So, you want me to report what I found directly, shidi? Come, try to shut me up.”
…
Inside the office, Lin Mo stared at the mountain of approval documents and written reports piled on his desk, feeling that life had never seemed so bleak.
Counting the days, it had been almost a week since he last slept at home.
He wondered what Xuejie was up to…
Setting down his pen, Lin Mo massaged his temples, mulling over whether she might be missing him after all these days away.
However—
Chu You had long since forgotten about Lin Mo.
With the school still under reconstruction, Xia Ji had nothing to do lately, and under her persuasion, Chu You had gotten hooked on online gaming.
Now, the two of them spent every day holed up at home, playing a popular new shooting game.
Together with a third, they formed a squad to search for supplies and extract from aberrant-ravaged zones.
Full-on assault was the only way—what Lin Mo this, Lin Mo that, could he ever help them extract with a million credits?
It was as if life had returned to those days just after her faked death, when she first settled in Binhai… worry-free, lazing at home, playing or sleeping every day.
“Beep beep, beep beep.”
The phone on the table vibrated repeatedly.
But Chu You, immersed in her game, didn’t even glance at it, not even noticing that someone was persistently messaging her.
Back in the office, Lin Mo stared expressionlessly at his phone screen, his eyes gradually growing cold.
[Xuejie, have you eaten?]
[Are you playing games with Xia Ji, Xuejie?]
[I’m really busy today. Isn’t it a bit inappropriate for you to be idle at home as my assistant?]
[Xuejie, I found a new hot pot place that seems really good.]
[ (screenshot.jpg) In-game, got it, got it.]
[I’m coming home to sleep tonight.]
[Alright, well done, Chu You. Keep it up. Even when I’m home tonight, don’t say a word. My good Xuejie!]
[Angry kitten emoji x10]
He watched the screen for a while, and seeing that his messages still sank without a trace, Lin Mo slowly set down his phone.
On the couch nearby, Gu Qiancheng stood up, strolling over with a grin.
“…Why the face like your wife just died? Let me guess, is it that junior still ignoring you?”
At those words, Lin Mo looked up, shooting him a warning glance, his expression unchanged but his eyes frosty.
“Shut up. I have work to do.”
“Haha,” Gu Qiancheng clapped mockingly.
“So awkward and stubborn, all twisted up inside but too scared to act or speak—what a joke.”
Lin Mo shot him a sideways glance, irritation clear in his voice.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Am I wrong though?”
Gu Qiancheng leaned on the desk, head slightly lowered, eyes fixed on Lin Mo.
“Since you started, I’ve heard at least a dozen girls with a thing for you—logistics, special ops, secretaries—you rejected every one.”
He raised his eyebrows, lips curled with mischief.
“…You never show any interest in other women, but you’re always trailing after Junior. Shidi, you’re way too obvious.”
Lin Mo stayed silent, averting his gaze slightly.
Seeing this, Gu Qiancheng just grinned and continued, “But I really don’t get it—”
“Even though you like her so much, you were the one who reported to Old Qin about her being a demonkin… Lin Mo, what were you thinking?”
Lin Mo’s eyes flickered with a barely noticeable emotion.
After a moment’s silence, he slowly stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, back to Gu Qiancheng, speaking quietly…
“Back then, it was indeed me who reported it, and I personally led the team to capture Xuejie.”
“But all of that was based on an agreement I made with Deputy Commander Qin.”
Here, Lin Mo slowly turned his head to look at Gu Qiancheng, his tone flat: “…I would personally capture Xuejie to prove my stance. In exchange, Xuejie would not be detained, but rather placed at a designated location to live.”
“At that time, I planned to resign all my posts and forgo all benefits, to become her supervisor and live with her.”
Hearing this, Gu Qiancheng’s brows shot up in disbelief.
He sized Lin Mo up for a moment.
“No way, bro, are you for real?!”
Lin Mo said nothing, just nodded.
Gu Qiancheng straightened up, sighed, and shook his head as he walked back to the sofa, mumbling, “Why make it so complicated… Just go for it, man! Kiss her, hug her, pin her down—tell her you know she’s a demonkin and you don’t care, that you’re crazy about her. Why overthink it?”
He truly didn’t get it.
It seemed that Lin Mo’s brain just worked differently from normal people.
Though, admittedly, he himself wasn’t all that normal either, but compared to Lin Mo, he was at least a bit more normal, right?
“You don’t understand…”
Lin Mo sighed softly, turning again to gaze out the window, emotions surging in his eyes.
After a long while, he finally murmured, “Xuejie… she hates men.”
…
…
In a dead-silent wasteland.
Jinghu and Kiran Biska trudged forward aimlessly, their auras waning; both bore wounds and heavy steps, a far cry from their formerly arrogant selves.
As they moved, a strange, unnerving little tune—someone humming a bizarre melody—suddenly pierced the silence.
The tune had a sticky, hair-raising undertone, like a whisper from the abyss.
Both froze in their tracks, warily turning toward the sound.
From the shadow of ruined walls in the distance, a figure slowly emerged—a man clad in a tailored black suit, his face hidden behind an expressionless, ashen-white mask, only two hollow eyeholes revealing the deep, chilling gaze beneath.
He was dancing a slow, twisted tango alone, steps precise yet lifeless, jarringly out of place amid the desolation, adding to the eeriness.
Fluid armor remaining on Kiran Biska’s arm surged to life, instantly shaping into a dull, chipped greatsword, which he gripped tightly.
Jinghu narrowed his eyes, his demonic aura coiled and hidden, fixating on the bizarre, unwelcome visitor.
The man kept up his unsettling dance, drawing closer until he stopped less than five meters away.
His humming trailed off right then, leaving behind a tense silence.
First, the man lifted his head.
The gaze behind his mask seemed to appraise the blood-soaked, ominous Kiran Biska, then shifted to Jinghu.
Then, he did something utterly unexpected…
He bowed, giving a standard, graceful noble’s salute.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” rising, his voice carried a strange lilt through the mask, “I am Yan, a… lost lamb.”
Kiran Biska’s crimson pupils flickered.
He stepped forward, leveling his greatsword, voice rough from both injury and vigilance: “How did you know exactly where to find us?”
A strange man appearing out here—no way this was a coincidence.
Yan cocked his head, as if mildly surprised by the question, but didn’t answer.
Instead, he laughed softly and, as if sharing an amusing artwork, began to speak, “The professor’s experiments have provided me with many… many fascinating data points, and have yielded… some astonishing results.”
With that, he opened his left palm, which he’d been loosely holding.
Resting quietly on his pale palm was a nail-sized, pitch-black seed, its surface seeming to swirl with viscous fluid, emanating a palpable aura of foreboding and distortion.
“This seed contains much… much exquisite nourishment,” Yan’s voice was reverent, obsessed, “The oracle remains of a mother after death, a father’s searing grudge, a girl’s humble wishes in her darkest hour, and a little fox’s burning essence… what a perfect blend, don’t you think?”
He paused, his tone tinged with regret, letting out a faint sigh as he lightly tapped the seed with his finger.
“But… what a pity.”
“The pollution and ill omen belonging to the aberrants—it’s not pure enough, not… extreme enough.”
Yan slowly raised his head, the empty eyes of his mask boring into Kiran Biska past Jinghu.
“Perhaps,” his tone was soft, yet carried a deadly chill, “the death of the Fourth Calamity, the Dusk Knight Kiran Biska of the Eastern European continent, will make it more complete.”
“Courting death!”
No sooner had Yan spoken than Kiran Biska’s eyes blazed with fury, his suppressed rage and desperation ignited in an instant.
Without warning, he erupted into motion—despite grievous wounds, his remaining power was still terrifying…
The black fluid armor blazed with searing blood-red light, his greatsword carving a freezing, slicing arc through the air as he swung at the seemingly defenseless Yan!
Yan, however, only looked stunned, standing there dumbly as if frightened—he made no move to dodge, didn’t even raise a guard.
The next instant—
Jinghu’s face froze, his pupils constricting to pinpoints, overwhelmed by unspeakable shock.
That sword strike, bearing all Kiran Biska’s remaining might, struck squarely at Yan’s head—yet failed to leave the slightest mark, didn’t even make the masked head sway.
And Yan—
With a casual gesture, as if swatting a fly, he raised his right hand.
The motion was not fast, but still faster than the eye could follow.
“Splurt!”
Half an arm, like a red-hot blade sliding into butter, pierced through Kiran Biska’s chestplate with zero resistance, emerging from his back.
In Yan’s palm, he gripped a still-beating heart, pulsing with thick black mist and the stench of blood.
“You…”
Kiran Biska’s body froze, disbelief in his eyes as he stared down at the gaping hole in his chest, then, with great effort, lifted his gaze to the ashen mask looming close, forcing out a final, broken syllable, full of absurdity and unwillingness.
Yan smiled.
Even through the mask, his ease was palpable.
He slowly drew his arm from Kiran Biska’s body.
As he did, the light faded from Kiran Biska’s eyes.
Yan tossed the still-warm heart to the ground as if discarding garbage…
He elegantly flicked the sticky, black blood from his hand, even sounding genuinely apologetic, “Sorry, Mr. Biska… time was short, preparations lacking.”
“Otherwise, with your status, you should’ve died far more gloriously.”
With that, he dipped his head, as if offering a moment of silence.
Kiran Biska crumpled to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.
The Fourth Calamity, once infamous across Eastern Europe, fell here, in an unnamed wasteland.
At the same time, a nearly invisible, yet extremely ominous and deathly black mist peeled away from Kiran Biska’s ruined corpse and, as if drawn by a magnet, swiftly sank into the pitch-black seed in Yan’s left palm.
The seed’s color seemed to deepen even further.
“Hah… hah…”
Jinghu staggered back, face as white as paper, gasping for breath as though a phantom hand clutched his lungs.
The near quasi-king Kiran Biska… was dead? Just like that—instantly killed?!
The next second—
Yan slowly looked up, his gaze passing over Kiran Biska’s corpse to settle on the terrified Jinghu.
“Mr. Jinghu, don’t be afraid.”
He gently swirled the seed, now visibly more sinister after absorbing the black mist, “In the later acts, I’ll be looking forward to… your performance.”
With that, Yan bowed again, offering an impeccable farewell salute.
“We are all men of dignity,” he straightened, his voice full of mirth, “Let’s hope our next meeting will be even more enjoyable~”
Finishing, he turned and walked away with the same strange, elegant tango as before, disappearing into the shadows of the Ruined City.
Leaving behind only a freezing Jinghu and Kiran Biska’s corpse.
As Yan vanished, Jinghu’s legs gave out; he dropped to his knees with a thud, cold sweat soaking his back.
He looked at Kiran Biska’s corpse, then jerked his gaze to where Yan had disappeared, terror surging over him like a tidal wave.
That man… Yan?
What kind of monster is he, really?!