Burn It to Death!

The attack came with startling suddenness. The atmosphere, which had merely felt eerily oppressive and chilling, was now like a pool into which a huge boulder had been hurled, churning violently in an instant. This "twelfth person" could kill—and in such a manner. If one set aside all outside distractions and took this single incident as an established rule, the story of the Church of the Abyss squad recorded in Mr. Hoffen's notes made complete sense. Why had the last man survived? Because everyone else was dead, leaving the "tenth person" unable to take the form of another to strike. Why hadn't Piston Congers died? Because he had come alone. The moment that "servant" handed him the fountain pen, he had realized at once: Oh, right—I came alone. So either one arrived alone, or only one person was left. In either case, the stalemate was broken even without doing a thing. Because the extra person's method of murder was not purely physical; in Mr. Hoffen's phrasing, it was a cognitive act. Here, the difference between him and Raniedal was also clear. Raniedal's existence was undoubtedly at a higher echelon. Back in Grandfather's study, when Raniedal tried to enter Karen's body, he had manifested in his own true image rather than transforming into someone else. It was like an ability: Raniedal understood its underlying principles and wielded it at a far more advanced level, whereas the "twelfth person" here had only mastered its most rudimentary stage. "Heh heh, you're the first actor to take his final bow..." The chilling voice sounded again. His hand twisted inside Karen's chest, as though intending to grind every organ to pieces. One had to admit that this creature shared Karen's habit: when it came time to act, he liked to finish things completely and ruthlessly. Yet right then, that playful tone of having everything under control abruptly shifted. "Huh? What's going on?" He tried to wrench his hand, only to find he could not move it at all. It was as though his hand were nailed in place. The shock on Karen's face vanished, his eyes turning cold. This "twelfth person" had long integrated into their squad. During their earlier exchanges, he had probably hovered nearby, listening in. He had constantly drifted among them, and during the roll call, he must have memorized everyone's identity. The trouble was, certain forms of integration required time to settle. Details in particular were like shells left behind on the sand after the tide recedes; each one had to be picked up deliberately. For instance... everyone in the squad called Karen "Captain." Only one person called him "Young Master." Karen had never told Alfred to change how he addressed him, and Alfred had never wanted to. Calling him "Young Master" felt closer—it marked him as family. Alfred's radio would have to take in water before he would ever follow the crowd and switch to "Captain." So when "Alfred" walked up to him and addressed him directly as "Captain," the jarring dissonance immediately set off alarm bells in Karen's mind. It was simply impossible. Alfred was far too attentive and meticulous a person for that. The entity pulled back, trying to withdraw his hand. But after dragging it out a short distance, he was stunned to discover that from his wrist to his palm, it was completely coiled by what looked like a spiral of mosquito incense. Qianmei raised its head, glaring at the entity before it. It had already firmly snared him. At the same time, Chains of Order emerged from Karen's chest, looping out toward the figure in front of him. The Fire of Order, fused with the flames of Light, ignited around Karen in a blaze. This was a perfect opportunity. The moment the entity tried to kill, he transformed from raw egg white into a solid boiled egg—ready to be roasted on the branding iron. Yet Karen only saw the entity's arm snap clean off. A shriek of agony rang in his ears, and the solid figure before him instantly turned illusory. He had forcibly severed the connection, breaking physical contact, and reverted back to his previous state of existence. Karen only remembered his eyes—filled with intense hatred, yet flickering and unsteady. He was angry, furiously angry, the kind of fury that would drive him to even greater madness in whatever he did next. It was a fight to the death. Furthermore, he was weak. That severed arm had been more like cutting away a piece of his own existence. The flickering in his eyes signaled that if he suffered another wound, he would no longer be able to maintain this mysterious incorporeal state. This "twelfth person" was not inherently powerful. It was only his ability to slip between states that lent him an aura of inscrutability. In reality, he was probably just a clown wearing... A phrase suddenly flashed into Karen's mind: the Goddess's nightgown. In the mythological narrative of the Light of Order: during a campaign, the God of Order was gravely wounded, and the Goddess of the Moon draped her nightgown over him to shield him from wind, rain, thunder, and lightning, staying by his side until he recovered. In the Marlke language, "wind, rain, thunder, and lightning" were individual words listed one after another, which could even be extrapolated to mean all manner of natural phenomena. Could this passage therefore also be understood to mean that the God of Order, cloaked in the Goddess of the Moon's nightgown, was not merely using it to heal his wounds, but to evade detection? After all, during the war between the Light Camp and the Eternal Camp at the beginning of the last era, the two sides had traded victories and defeats early on. If the God of Order was injured, it likely meant he had lost that battle, and had needed a way to disengage from the battlefield and escape the opposing camp's pursuit. Of course, the divine artifact [Goddess's Pity] was later completely lost. But could the Congers family's enchantment of "transparency" based on this lost artifact not have been a joke after all? The last Congers, Piston, could only enchant puppets to perform stand-up comedy. But the earlier Congerses surely possessed far greater power—a gulf akin to that between Purr and Anderson in their time. Enchanting a transparency effect from the Goddess's nightgown was a targeted enchantment—an extension of the nightgown's inherent properties. In other words, could the appearance of this "twelfth person" here be influenced by that nightgown? Couldn't "transparency" also be interpreted as "unknowable and undetectable"? Did this tomb conceal the secret of [Goddess's Pity]? A faint smile touched the corner of Karen's lips. If a divine artifact truly lay here—even just a fragment—its value would be immense. Even if he did not keep it, selling it on the black market or turning it in to the Church through official channels would yield a handsome reward. "Pfft..." Karen coughed, spitting up blood. Although he had braced himself for that earlier sneak attack, the jolt to his chest had still taken its toll, feeling as though a boxer had punched him square in the ribs. This body of mine is still too weak... Once we get back, finding a way to improve my physical constitution is an urgent priority. I can't keep suffering disadvantages because of this ordinary human body. "Captain!" "Captain!" Only now did the others notice what had happened with their captain. Muri immediately shouted: "Stay on guard!" With that, Muri and Alfred hurried over to Karen. "Captain?" "Young Master?" Karen raised a hand, signaling them not to panic, and recounted what had just occurred. As he spoke, he could not help suspecting whether the creature that had ambushed him was currently crouching right beside them, listening to every word. This was a confrontation with zero secrecy—at least on their side, everything was completely exposed. "Young Master, shall we communicate through a mental bridge?" Alfred suggested. "No. That won't hide anything from him. But there is a way to keep him in the dark." Just then, Blanche came over to treat their captain. As she approached, she realized Karen, Muri, and Alfred were all staring at her. Her expression grew nervous under the weight of three scrutinizing gazes. Karen smiled and said, "Don't be nervous." "Yes, Captain." Blanche cast a healing spell on Karen. Soon, the tightness in his chest subsided as the accumulated bruised blood was cleared away. "I feel much better. Thank you, Blanche." "It's my duty, Captain." With that, Blanche walked back to her position. Alfred pressed on, "Young Master, the method you mentioned..." "Muri, pass an order to the whole squad for me: everyone is to hold their position. No one is permitted to approach anyone else to talk." "Yes, Captain." Muri immediately got up to relay the order. Karen looked at Alfred and said, "Relationships we haven't displayed here and secrets we haven't voiced aloud are things he cannot know. We can use that as our method of communication going forward. But I still need to wait—wait for word from Kevin." Alfred nodded and said no more. After waiting about another quarter of an hour, Karen felt a summon through the symbiosis contract within him. Purr had sent word. Often, it was not that most matters were tied to his dog, nor was it sheer coincidence. Rather, whether viewed through contemporary social strata or measured by the course of history, the world inevitably took the form of a pyramid. The higher one went, the fewer the people, and the more concentrated the clues became. That was why so many matters in Wien could be traced back to Purr—a century ago, Purr had been at the absolute peak in Wien. The fact that Karen had met Instructor Piro, Mr. Hoffen's devoted fan, during training in the Dinge Region was for the very same reason. Those who had once stood at great heights had fewer peers around them, making it far more likely that historical threads converged on them. Purr's phantom form appeared before Karen, her eyes opening. By now, Purr looked worn and haggard. She was thoroughly exhausted, yet she was still toughing it out. Before Purr could speak, Karen closed his eyes. The next moment, Purr vanished and appeared in Karen's consciousness space. Purr knew this was to prevent anyone from eavesdropping. Without delay, Purr said directly, "The stupid dog says there's a simple way to shatter his state of existence, because his echelon is definitely extremely low. You just need to use blood as a spell medium and spread it across an area to catch his presence, forcing him out of his current state. Then use fire-type spells to eradicate him, and that'll..." Before she could finish her sentence, Purr's eyes drifted shut. She was too tired; by now, she had probably collapsed into deep sleep inside Aseroth's stomach. Nevertheless, her key message had been delivered. Keywords: low-tier, blood, area-of-effect, fire. Karen opened his eyes. Kevin had immense confidence in his own former state of existence, for had he not stepped in back then trying to seize Karen's body, even Diss would not have had many ways to deal with him. By "low-tier," Kevin was reassuring him that the "twelfth person" he was facing could not possibly possess methods as advanced as his own, telling him not to worry too much. Karen had already realized as much. Blood, area-of-effect... This part was trickier. There were countless spells that used blood as a medium or a sacrifice, but controlling the volume and coverage was difficult. Ensuring both sufficient volume and expansive coverage would require the caster to expend a massive amount of blood, putting tremendous strain on the body. Even Karen, with his profound reserves, only had deep spiritual energy, not extraordinary blood production. Just then, Karen thought of someone—someone who seemed uniquely gifted in this regard! As for fire, Karen already understood: earlier, when he unleashed the flames of Light, that creature had been terrified into cutting off its own flesh to flee. Karen opened his eyes; Alfred was still crouching before him. "Young Master?" Karen gave Alfred a nod, then called out to the surrounding squad members: "Don't be afraid, everyone! I've already wounded that thing. It won't dare make another move anytime soon. Relax a bit—don't think of it as anything terrifying. It's just a bug that can't bear the light." Karen had spoken nonsense—for as long as that bug was not dead, no one could truly relax. Upon hearing their captain's words, everyone subconsciously counted heads again. Still twelve. That meant the bug was still lingering right beside them. Karen paused to choose his words carefully, then continued shouting, "Everyone, stay put and stay calm! Do not act on your own; obey every order. As I had Muri convey to you earlier, that bug likes to disguise itself as an ally to launch sneak attacks." A second piece of nonsense. "Once this mission is wrapped up, how about we go have hotpot together?" A third piece of nonsense. Three nonsensical statements in a row caused everyone to exchange glances. They all sensed that something was amiss, knowing full well their captain would not spout gibberish at a time like this. "Next, the person who must follow my instructions is... Aisen's daughter." Richard: "..." Fortunately, though Richard always called himself dead weight, his psychological caliber was solid. He did not foolishly jump to his feet and shout, How am I a woman?! Instead, he mirrored the puzzled expressions of everyone else, appearing to ponder who "Mr. Aisen's daughter" could possibly be. If Karen had mentioned the "Guman family," everyone's eyes might have turned toward Richard. But a personal name gave nothing away. One might easily remember a teammate's family name, but who remembered the first names of their teammates' parents? "In a moment, so long as it won't kill you, remember: spread it across as wide an area as you possibly can." Like everyone else, Richard let his gaze drift across Ashley, Blanche, and Philomena. Internally, he was screaming wildly: Fuck, what does he mean?! Karen looked at Alfred and whispered, "You." "Me?" "Opposite." "Opposite?" "Go." "Understood." Karen had spoken to Alfred in Chinese. Thanks to Alfred's scholarly research, he grasped the meaning. Mars and Richard were positioned directly opposite each other. This made Karen realize that he could use this language as a squad code in the future. It was genuinely useful, with zero risk of being deciphered. Karen called out again: "Next, everyone cast the Fire of Order spell and launch the flames above your heads! Aisen's daughter, listen closely to me: you once told me that you and your boyfriend love playing belt games, that you find it very thrilling, and that so much always flows!" Richard: Belts... fluid flowing... no, blood! Using blood as a sacrifice for a spell?! Richard understood. After swallowing that bug, his physical constitution—especially his regenerative ability—had grown extraordinarily powerful. Karen meant for him to sacrifice blood to cast a spell! Maximum volume? As wide an area as possible? Yes, exactly that! Ashley's face went bright red, Blanche covered her face, and Philomena bit her lip, looking deeply embarrassed. The others all eyed the three girls with amused, gossipy expressions, silently speculating which of them was into such wild games. In truth, everyone was acting. Even Philomena, who was normally the most aloof and standoffish, cast aside all reservations in this atmosphere and played along. She was haughty, not stupid. Watching their reactions, Karen felt genuinely gratified. This was the sheer comfort of leading smart, capable team members. Karen counted the numbers again: one, two, three... twelve! He was still among them; he had not fled. Fine then. You can wait for your death. Karen raised his hand and roared, "Begin!" Alfred immediately sprinted toward Mars. Earlier, Ashley, Blanche, and Philomena had all been decoys, and Alfred running toward Mars was another feint, all orchestrated to herd that entity straight toward Richard at this exact moment. Everyone began condensing and releasing the Fire of Order; after all, every one of them was an Order priest, and this spell was second nature. Only Richard flushed red and spat a massive spray of blood from his mouth into his spell. Sacrificing his own blood, he unleashed an enormous Fire of Order that surged outward in every direction at maximum speed and maximum radius. To sustain the spell's perimeter, Richard kept spouting blood. Right at that moment, not far in front of Richard, as the reddish-tinted Fire of Order swept across the ground, a contorted black figure abruptly materialized. Without needing an order from Karen, everyone hurled their condensed flames of Order straight at the figure. "Aaaagh—!!!"