The entire Blockade Hall was laid out according to the internal anatomy of a living creature. Though interconnected hall by hall, every junction was secured with a powerful blockade ritual.
Yet the blockade was no longer an integrated whole; its components had fallen out of sync. Cleopatris, this emperor of an old era, strode outward. At this point, he could easily have forced his way through using what remained of his power.
In practice, however, he chose not to. Instead, each time he arrived before a ritual, he observed it intently and worked out how to slip through the gaps in its operation. Thanks to the resonance effect and his grasp of the ritual's foundational layout, accomplishing this was not overly difficult. Along his entire path outward, he managed not to provoke the ritual's power much at all.
He walked along the Roamer Promenade, a corridor fashioned from the esophagus of a Slo beast that would secrete mucus to seal off the exit in times of danger. Yet as he approached, an inscrutable smile touched the corners of his lips, and a peculiar sound issued from his throat. The biological tissue, which had been disturbed by his presence and started to throb, was instantly pacified, sinking back into its prior dormancy.
Taking elegant strides, he walked through with ease until he reached the Amber Hall at the very forefront. Stepping out of here would mean escaping Blockade Hall entirely; from that point on, all that remained to confront would be the external ritual.
Yet he was in no hurry to leave. Instead, his gaze swept across the hall with evident interest.
Quite a few visitors had come here for the evening. Blockade Hall was not merely an exhibition venue; it was also the most convenient place for private business discussions, political dealings, and lovers' trysts—for nowhere was safer than this.
Consequently, around fifty people found themselves trapped here tonight, and three-fifths of them were not natives of Vea State.
With the shifts in the rituals, the Vea State administration had feared that the contained entities inside might break out, leaving them no choice but to seal the facility immediately, without giving the occupants any prior warning.
It was an exceedingly decisive move, perfectly understandable under the circumstances. Half an hour would never have sufficed to locate every person scattered throughout the complex; by then, it would have been too late for anything. It was far better to plug the exits first and figure out how to deal with them later.
These visitors were somewhat uneasy, yet not particularly panicked. Upon arrival, they had been told that Blockade Hall occasionally conducted lockdown drills to ensure security, drills that typically lasted several hours.
This was considered part of the tour experience at Blockade Hall, so encountering such a situation unexpectedly actually gave them a novel thrill.
Furthermore, they were all people of high standing. If only one or two had been trapped, they might have worried that Vea Center City would disregard decorum, but with so many of them grouped together, they were confident Vea State would never dare touch them.
Cleopatris stepped out at this moment. With an exceptionally languid, graceful gesture, he waved his hand. The mutated tissue from his palm spread out, forming an instrument shaped like a bone harmonica. Making no attempt to conceal himself, he strolled openly over to one side and sat down.
His appearance quickly drew everyone's attention. Eyes turned involuntarily toward him, drawn by his singular aura.
He seemed like someone who had no business being here, yet the solemn, dignified aura surrounding him was utterly harmonious with the setting. Cleopatris raised the harmonica to his lips and, as if no one else were present, played a melody. The lilting music was buoyant and light, yet carried a subtle depth, perfectly attuned to the listeners' mood—comforting without being overly frivolous or stifling.
In this exact moment and amidst an atmosphere of unease, it offered them a touch of joyful solace.
On the surface, everyone present acted indifferent to their predicament to maintain their composure, but claiming they felt no anxiety would have been a lie. Now, hearing the tune, their tensions momentarily melted away, and applause broke out across the room.
A pot-bellied, middle-aged man stepped forward, speaking as though conversing with an actor on stage: "I've never heard such fine music, not even at the theaters in Disaigedo. Truly, this is the most marvelous melody I have ever heard. Sir, may I ask your name?"
Cleopatris gently stroked the harmonica and offered an elegant smile. "Capa. Just call me Capa."
His soft yet deep voice drew hushed gasps from several ladies on the spot. Still smiling, he remarked, "By the way, Disaigedo is filled with nothing but second-rate performers. You went to the wrong place, sir. You should visit the Mosawa Royal Operatic Troupe; perhaps they could elevate your artistic taste just a fraction."
The middle-aged man immediately looked awkward.
Someone asked with keen interest, "Is the Mosawa Royal Operatic Troupe first-rate, then?"
"Still second-rate, but slightly better," Capa said, his gaze sweeping over the middle-aged man. "We cannot expect someone who spent the previous second gnawing on coarse bread stuffed with sawdust to turn around the very next second and critique a royal banquet."
The surrounding crowd could not help chuckling, and the middle-aged man's face darkened further.
"Then, sir, in your view, who counts as first-rate?" another curious voice called from the crowd.
"For that, one would have to look to Taiyate Palace or Angshangte," Capa replied.
One was the capital of the Ayon Strait League, and the other was the political center of the Palanio Faith Region.
Someone asked in confusion, "Are you saying those politicians maintain their own performing troupes?"
"No," Capa answered. "I mean they are brilliant actors themselves."
The person replied earnestly, "Oh, sir, I grant that they are professionally trained, but their singing voices and personal artistic accomplishments are a far cry from the musicians and vocalists on stage."
"Quite so," Capa said. "Which is why the theater in Disaigedo was never an opera house; it was merely a venue for stage plays."
Hearing this, quite a few people squirmed awkwardly, though others broke into knowing smiles.
"Capa, was it?"
A man who was unmistakably a traditional Yono nobleman stepped forward. Offering a slight bow with impeccable etiquette, he said, "I am Laror Ack Tolay of Fleudor. A pleasure to meet you."
"Ack Tolay? You are a descendant of that Blacksmith of Ack?"
Tolay was pleasantly surprised. "You know of my ancestor?" He lifted his chin and spoke with unmistakable pride: "Yes, my ancestor was indeed merely a blacksmith, but he served under His Majesty Legar III and was ennobled with the fief of Ack for his martial feats. Even in this new era, we still retain that land."
"A worthy point of pride," Capa nodded. "Though the Blacksmith of Ack was an illegitimate son, his mother was Victoressa of Eveline. She later married King Lothric I of Albion, making him a brother to the subsequent King of Vilon."
"Truly?" Tolay himself was unaware of this piece of history, half-skeptical and half-delighted.
"Indeed," Capa murmured, a wistful look coming over him. "That beautiful lady... possessed immense charm. Certain indiscretions involving her could easily be forgiven."
At this mention, everyone's interest was piqued. People stepped forward one after another to converse with this man named Capa.
They soon discovered that he was extraordinarily knowledgeable. His voice was resonant, melodious, and clearly reasoned, yet deeply captivating. Merely listening to him speak was a pleasure, as though one were absorbing wisdom and enrichment. It made them instinctively long to draw near him, connect with him—and even follow him.
Above all, they found that he possessed an intimate knowledge of court intrigues from ages past, especially the peculiar eccentricities and private affairs of legendary, illustrious figures. They listened with rapt fascination, feeling as though their own breadth of knowledge was expanding by leaps and bounds.
Gradually, everyone clustered around him, offering continuous applause and momentarily forgetting all about being trapped. Yet at this moment, no one noticed that from the very first notes of the harmonica, an invisible ripple had radiated outward and was steadily reverberating through Amber Hall.
Even after the playing ceased, as Capa spoke and steered the conversation, his voice resonated and echoed endlessly through the space. Fine, hairline cracks began to creep across the amber walls.
The strange mutated creatures trapped within seemed agitated by some disturbance, their limbs slowly beginning to twitch and stir.
Meanwhile, over at the White Rock Long Hall, the administration received increasingly frequent warnings transmitted from the esoteric ritual team stationed around Blockade Hall.
Because A'lu's backup consciousness had not yet finished its overwrite, they were unable to detect where the problem lay inside Blockade Hall, nor could they actively adjust the rituals. At present, all they could do was wait.
No one blamed Ryan. If things truly went wrong later, he would bear the primary responsibility anyway, so there was no need to antagonize him now. Besides, the solution he had proposed was prompt. Had they not held a voting session and reached a decision earlier, they would already have intervened to handle it.
Furthermore, no one could have anticipated the unfolding shifts in advance. After all, the convergence of the three stars occurred only once every three hundred years. Three hundred years ago, this land had belonged to the First People; the city itself had not even been founded, leaving them with no idea what consequences it might bring.
The only detailed simulation data had been provided by A'lu. Yet while she hadn't fabricated figures outright, she had submitted a dataset with the widest margin of deviation from the true fit.
She had simply chosen the absolute lowest value within acceptable limits, causing the administration to drastically underestimate the level of danger. For now, all they could do was have their esoteric ritual specialists maintain the outer perimeter rituals as best they could, waiting until the conscious entity overwrite concluded before taking further action.
Ryan, for his part, appeared remarkably calm at this moment. He knew that even if problems arose with the rituals inside the hall, they would not collapse so quickly; moreover, there was another layer of rituals safeguarding Blockade Hall from the outside.
Glancing at his wristwatch, he saw that only five minutes remained before A'lu would be fully restored. Soon, all of this would be set right.
Chapter 1144