In the silence, the sea surged beneath the terrace, the sound of the tide rolling in.
Fan Yun raised his wineglass once more and drained it in a single gulp.
Deep in thought.
Ever since Ji Jue had departed, he had fallen into contemplation. No, it had begun earlier, the very moment Ji Jue had spoken those mocking words.
Since he came to Mid-Continent, how many years had it been since anyone dared speak to him like that?
Anger was natural, yet not enough to rattle his reason. Rage was the most pointless thing in the world; the more critical the juncture, the steadier one had to remain.
Ever since embarking upon the path of Tianyuan, he had grown accustomed to patience, accustomed to composure. For seventy-four years, through countless indignities, he had not cared even when saddled with the moniker of "Old Turtle."
No matter how foul Ji Jue's words were, or how sharp his sarcasm, it would never drive Fan Yun out of control.
—Would you fly into a blind rage just because a bug chirped too loudly?
He only wanted to know who had given this bug such ridiculous courage...
At a critical moment like this, who was pulling the strings from behind?
Lyu Yingyue? Did she want to kick him while he was down, trampling him to present a certificate of allegiance to other factions? Or had the Di family discovered his covert alliance with the Li family and sought to beat a drowning dog? Did Ji Jue wish to use him as a stepping stone to build his own reputation? Or was this a provocation from the Taiyi faction against the Tianyi faction?
Name after name flickered continuously through his mind.
Amidst these tangled thoughts, he finally set down his glass, his expression still as dark as still water, and looked toward his secretary, who had been waiting nearby for who knew how long.
The secretary's face twitched slightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. "General..."
"I know."
Fan Yun rose, glancing at the two commissioners behind the secretary. "Enough. Let's go."
"After you, sir."
The commissioners appeared genial and warm, practically reverent, immediately stepping aside to clear the way.
Fan Yun gave a cold sneer inwardly. Fallen on hard times indeed.
Once, craftsmen like wild dogs dared bark at him, and now, in the very garrison base he had built from scratch, others were bidding him "please"...
Without a word, he led the way, walking straight toward the newly landed airship.
Even now, he was afforded dignity. Every accommodation was made with utmost care. In the private cabin, his preferred wine had already been set out, the service impeccable.
Everyone was polite.
"Promotion" replaced "dismissal," "debriefing" replaced "trial," and "convalescence" would replace "liquidation"... Just as the commissioners sent from Midtown did not wear the badge of "escort guards" upon their chests.
Everything seemed luxurious, but in truth, it was no different from a prisoner's transport cart.
Escorting the disgraced official Fan Yun to the capital.
Waiting to be cast down into the mire, or to be recycled as waste...
"Heh."
As the airship gradually ascended, Fan Yun quietly watched the garrison base shrink through the window, seized by a momentary daze.
How many years had it been...
All the painstaking effort he had poured into building everything from scratch was now slipping away. Soon, a new successor would arrive and take over completely.
The operation of Tianyuan never wavered for human sorrow or joy, and no one was indispensable.
Not even a Celestial-Human.
He closed his eyes, sighing silently.
Within his mind, he began to think once more.
Even if his future was bleak, he knew the ensuing procedures all too well.
The airship would arrive at Midtown's closed airport in twelve hours. Immediately after, an unmarked vehicle would transport him to a picturesque sanatorium. For the foreseeable future, he would see no one, nor would he receive news or place a single call.
During this brief period of isolation, his fate would be decided amidst the wrangling and backroom deals between the military and parliamentary factions. No, perhaps the struggle had begun long before he received his transfer order.
Ultimately, under the verdict of the two Heavenly Overseer Saints, Taiyi and Tianyi, the final end of the tool named Fan Yun would be sealed.
Stripped of the Celestial-Human rank, confined for life in a sanatorium, waiting in vain to "be used."
That was undoubtedly the worst outcome. Yet at this precise juncture, it was also his opportunity!
The appearance of the Fourth Void Abyss had unexpectedly become his lifeline...
If he guessed correctly, within half a month or a month, he would receive a new transfer order to continue generating value for the Federation, burning himself out to redeem his crimes through meritorious service and secure greater benefits, until one day he was completely depleted.
Just like Passarella, his life and death no longer in his own hands.
He closed his eyes, offering a derisive sigh.
Laughing at himself, and mocking those rivals who wished him dead. He had been brought this low, yet he still had a chance to climb back up.
Only, in that single instant, his heart inexplicably skipped a beat.
Involuntarily.
Without reason, the smile of that mad dog Ji Jue floated to the surface of his mind, along with those eyes... No mockery, no scorn, just cold indifference and calm.
Just like looking at a dead man.
*Something's wrong!*
Fan Yun was suddenly jolted alert.
A foreboding sense welled up within him—something was off. What else did he not know?
What other factor lay beyond his anticipation?
He abruptly looked up.
His brows furrowed.
Just then, the airship suddenly swayed. Hurried footsteps rushed past outside the door, suggesting a moment of chaos, but calm was swiftly restored.
As if nothing had happened at all.
"What is it?"
He pushed open the door, but before stepping out, he saw the commissioner barring the way.
Still smiling, the commissioner guarded the door, refusing to let him take a single step outside. "Rest assured, General, it's merely high-altitude turbulence."
Yet down the corridor, the secretary looked faintly pale, staring back at him with rare panic.
Blocked.
Fan Yun glanced at the secretary, then turned to the commissioner. "It seems I have not yet been put on trial, have I?"
"Of course not."
The commissioner understood his meaning, glanced at the secretary, and said, "If you insist, sir."
"I want to have a drink with my subordinate. That's not against protocol, is it?"
Fan Yun pressed the demand, no longer caring whether it complicated matters.
The commissioner glanced behind him, and the guard stepped aside, granting passage. Otherwise, the commissioner said nothing more, merely nodding to Fan Yun with a smile. "Should you need anything, please let us know at any time, sir."
The door closed.
In the silence, Fan Yun's expression darkened for a moment before steadying. "What happened?"
The secretary's lips trembled. Cold sweat poured down his suddenly bloodless face as he pulled out his phone. "Word just came in... Half an hour ago, Cor... Corrupted Scale appeared in Midtown. His assassination attempt on the President failed, but... at the scene, they found... found... from our garrison base..."
His voice spiraled out of control, quavering and off-key. "A... fusion bomb..."
*Shehri?!*
Fan Yun blanked for a heartbeat, then flew into a rage, his eyes turning bloodshot.
Using a Federation fusion bomb to assassinate the Federation President—right as he himself had just set out on his journey...
Like a bolt of lightning cutting through the dark, a hypocritical smiling face surfaced before his eyes. A chill gripped his entire body as he roared, "Lyu Yingyue!!!"
The dog that bites truly never barks!
Vicious! Absolutely ruthless!
The Taiyi faction was leaving him no way out at all—they meant to tear him out by the roots!
No, stay calm. First, he had to...
His train of thought ground to an abrupt halt.
He sensed it—something was wrong.
On the illuminated screen of the secretary's phone, there was no message at all. There was only a terribly familiar smiling face, waving in mockery, offering a silent greeting.
And hidden beneath the phone, a crimson blade had already pierced his body... No pain, no warning. He had not even noticed when the sword had struck!
Phantom Sever!
The assassination technique renowned for being invisible, formless, and completely without precursor—capable of granting a painless death, an end without ailment, so that the victim never even realized they had died!
There was no time to look up. In the reflection of the screen, he saw the smile breaking out across the secretary's panicked face, down to those crimson irises.
Fierce and monstrous like a wolf!
That was a deep, bitter hatred that had persisted ever since the fall of the White Nation, etched into the very bone!
Ni Lin bared his teeth, laughing silently.
"Praise the Wolf Lord."
In that single moment of shock, what surged forth was unprecedented fury.
What utter, bloody nonsense!
How dare these creatures of the Wolf Sin, crawling in the dark, show their faces before him!
Without hesitation, the power of a Celestial-Human erupted!
Alas, too late.
The strike of Ni Lin's blade was merely a greeting. Even before that, in the reflection of the airship's cabin window, a bizarre hat had materialized out of thin air.
From the hat that resembled a snake that had swallowed an elephant, a hand reached out, pressing against the windowpane from across the reflection.
A violent tremor.
Everything in the cabin was replaced by an illusion of drinking and cursing, while they themselves were dragged into the reflection of the window.
In an instant, reality and illusion inverted.
Immediately following, the blood-red light of Pan Ying violently erupted! A tyrannical crimson fire surged from inside out, sweeping through, instantly filling body and soul, incinerating everything within the compartment in a flash.
A grievous wound!
At most, an instant. For a Celestial-Human, this degree of injury was practically insig... insig...
The sneer on Fan Yun's face froze.
The moment the blood fire erupted, a hand reached out slowly from behind, pressing down upon his head. The pitch-black silhouette of flames grinned silently, and then, a speck of black fire quietly manifested between the five fingers, driving straight through the breach Pan Ying had carved...
Like a spark dropping into phlogiston, it flared instantly, spreading and invading through every crevice, carrying mountains of bloody hatred and desperate madness.
—The so-called "Non-Fate"!
Ever since its creation, it had stood in direct opposition to Tianyuan, a fire forged specifically against the sins of Tianyuan—the karmic seed that had once burned the palaces of the Eternal Empire to ashes!
In that momentary daze, what surfaced before his eyes were bloodstained faces.
Old, young, male, female.
Across sun-baked bronze skin ran countless tears; winding tears of blood streamed from hollow eye sockets, and rotting bones danced and beckoned within the abyssal dark.
Rising along with the viscous blood and fire, they clung to his soul, viciously pulling, biting, and gnawing in hysterical vengeance.
Layer upon layer of warped faces, reduced to beasts, stretched on endlessly like an ocean!
He was falling swiftly...
Utterly laughable!
"Mere entanglements, not worth mentioning!"
Fan Yun roared. The chronowedge of a Celestial-Human raged, violently forcing back the black fire, struggling to crawl out of the sea.
Yet in that instant, he saw the old man slowly crawling out from the hat.
And the vanity mirror in the old man's hand.
The mirror's surface opened and shut like an eye, staring at him. In the mirror's reflection, a blurry silhouette appeared, lounging on a folding chair, basking in the sun, puffing on a cigar. Prodded by a companion, he reluctantly pulled out a handgun and casually pulled the trigger toward the world outside the mirror.
*Bang!*
From the recorded image flew a near-invisible bullet. Crossing the bitter sea of blood and the flames of Non-Fate, it struck dead center between his eyebrows.
Fan Yun's eyes widened. His consciousness and soul severed completely, falling into the ocean of fire and blood.
Without an ounce of strength left to struggle, he collapsed faceup.
"We meet again! What a coincidence!"
Amidst the dissipating black fire, a familiar smiling face looked down, offering a solemn greeting:
"I trust you've been well, General?"
That was...
Fan Yun's pupils shrank violently.
—Ji Jue!
In that instant, his expression twitched. Gathering all his strength, he laid out his bargaining chips: "My position in the military, I can yield—"
"Shh!"
Ji Jue raised a finger to his lips. "Don't speak. I'm busy."
*Click.*
With a crisp sound, a black toolbox was placed beside Fan Yun and slowly opened, revealing categorized tools glinting in the air.
With a flick of his hands, a mat was unfurled.
"Heave-ho!"
With the joint efforts of Ji Jue and Ni Lin, Fan Yun's body was hauled onto the mat.
Then, before his very eyes, Ji Jue washed and disinfected his hands, raised them, pulled on sterile gloves, picked up shears, and began snipping open his pant legs and cuffs.
The icy sensation of steel gliding across flesh sent shivers through his skin. Fan Yun's eyes strained as he cut his gaze sideways to look at Ji Jue, forcing out a question amidst the coils of Non-Fate fire: "Just what do you..."
"Please don't misunderstand. This really isn't a test or a threat, nor do I intend to make promises or extort you."
Without looking up, Ji Jue took out a marker, drew alignment marks on his bare skin, pulled out a bone blade, and sliced cleanly without hesitation.
Abdomen opened!
Just as it had been back in the chemistry lab at the Federation garrison base, the spectator was still the spectator, the assistant still the assistant.
Yet in this reprise, something felt fundamentally different.
There were no conspiracies, no ambitions. There was only the purest research and analysis, the most straightforward dissection and dismantling.
Numbed, he could not even feel pain. Submerged beneath countless bloodstained faces in the coils of Non-Fate fire, a distant voice reached his ears.
"To be honest, I hate politics.
"Too vague, too chaotic, sticky and tangled, like an overcooked stew that turns the stomach... Saw, please. Thanks."
Amidst the shrill grating of the blade, that indifferent voice sounded once more:
"General, I deeply believe that a truly wonderful world should be clear and distinct like spring water running over stones, orderly like embroidered silk.
"So, why don't we return to the purest state of things? Let us believe together..."
"—that a person should pay the price for what they have done!"
*Crack!*
The blade of spiritus drove through his soul, tearing inward.
A cold hand ruthlessly plunged through his consciousness, gripping the chronowedge of the Celestial-Human, and then, without mercy—Dissociation Art: Jingzhen!
"A man like you can die. Fine! But redeeming yourself through meritorious service? No!"
He said, "I won't allow it."
*Boom!*
Like a mayfly shaking a giant tree, the chronowedge merely shuddered, unmoved. But then came the second strike, the third, the fourth, the fifth... relentless, seemingly unending.
Until the first fissure appeared. Then a second, a third... Amidst the sprawling, intricate web of fine cracks, a spine-chilling sound of shattering finally rang out!
Swallowed and bound by the fire of Non-Fate, Fan Yun roared, yet no sound came out. Those grayish-black eyes, shot through with blood vessels, bulged wide, yet could see nothing.
He felt only his soul, his everything, sinking into an endless sea of blood, ground down bit by bit by the venomous bites of countless faces...
Severing the link between consciousness and soul, cutting the resonance between the Celestial-Human and the chronowedge, stripping away the materials layer by layer from the outside in.
Blood, bone, life, everything.
With the assistance of the Tale old-timer, meticulous and careful, life was extracted drop by drop from the flesh, and the essence of Supreme Goodness separated from the soul.
Categorized, processed, and sealed away.
Even the chronowedge fell completely dormant beneath the chain bindings of Tale Alchemy, giving no further response.
In the end, what remained on the dissection mat was nothing but a shriveled husk, a soul possessing nothing but pain, a consciousness stripped of all thought save for raw lucidity.
It whimpered in vain, having lost its vocal cords, incapable of uttering a word.
Curses? Or pleas?
None of it mattered anymore.
"Time to say goodbye, General."
Those dark eyes looked down as Ji Jue delivered his final words: "A pity that this journey's destination isn't Midtown, nor will there be exclusive service or a private suite."
He said, "You are going where you belong."
In that single instant, Fan Yun's body convulsed violently. He gasped, his bloodshot eyes nearly losing focus, reflecting Ji Jue's face.
And behind Ji Jue, the ferocious silhouette gradually emerging...
Here, a sacrifice was offered to the Great Sin.
—The Shadow of the Tower has awaited thee long!
"Remember what I said?"
Ji Jue smiled, waving his hand. "Have a safe journey."
In that instant, Fan Yun's eyes widened in despair. He could not even leave behind final words... Innumerable black threads snaked out from the shadows, writhing like living things, coiling around his trembling soul.
Darkness surged forward!
An endless, eternal fall commenced!
Toward the abyss.
***
By the time the commissioners sensed something amiss and knocked on the door, it was already too late.
The locked door of the compartment was wrenched open, but the sight that met their eyes was unrecognizable.
In the dead silence, no sound could be heard.
The fine wine in the glass still wafted faint wisps of sweet fragrance. The air conditioning blew cool, without the slightest stuffiness. Unfortunately, the man who was meant to enjoy it had become a shriveled corpse kneeling on the floor.
Sharp needles pierced the hollow husk, forcibly propping the corpse upright.
The severed head rested in the corpse's hands, the twisted face still bearing the traces of ferocity and despair...
Yet upon the severed neck, the head of a snarling wild wolf had been sewn in place.
Hollow eyes stared at the intruders, gleaming with ravenous savagery.
A mockery so complete.
"..."
The commissioner stood frozen, his face deathly pale, stumbling back a step.
He even forgot to breathe...
And upon the wall, written in fresh, wet blood with a sweeping stroke, someone had left one final question for the Saints of Midtown:
—*That whereby man differs from the beasts is but small, is it not?*
Chapter 654