“—Please wait a moment!”

Longman shouted to Bishop Gilbert.

Here it comes again, that illusion that I've forgotten something.

Bishop Gilbert stood before Azathoth.

The dagger at his waist flashed red.

—It became even darker.

For some reason, when Langman caught a glimpse of the light from the corner of his eye, this thought suddenly arose in his mind.

That light... perhaps it should have been brighter and more dazzling.

At that moment, like an old-fashioned projector with poor signal contact, an unfamiliar image flashed before his eyes:

The dagger at Bishop Gilbert's waist shone brightly, a blinding crimson light filling the entire living room. Faces blurred in the light, and the elderly bishop gripped the metal hilt, his muscles tense like a bow about to be drawn. Blood trickled down his thigh like a stream onto the polished marble floor, the thick, dark liquid growing thicker and thicker... gradually covering ankles, knees, then chests, and finally, submerging the fragile necks of the people.

Langman saw himself.

He tilted his head back and stood on tiptoe, as if he were dancing a ballet. However, in reality, he was immersed in a bloody quagmire, unable to escape, and felt the pain of being deprived of oxygen bit by bit in almost despair.

At this moment, Langman suddenly woke up, the false picture in front of his eyes disappeared, and pure sunlight replaced the red light emitted by the dagger, warming his vision.

Amidst the bewildered looks of the others, he took two deep breaths to suppress his racing heartbeat, pretending that he was actually frightened by Gilbert's wound.

The conversation proceeded normally.

Bishop Gilbert agreed to stay for dinner.

He invited the rest of the guests to wait until after dinner to discuss the trivial conflict between Erica and Terry.

It seemed like everything was back to normal.

So what exactly did I forget?

The nerves in Langman's solar plexus twitched and spasmed, and he thought over his plan in a distracted manner.

Yes, first of all, he should find out the identities of these 'Erica relatives' who suddenly appeared.

Secondly, he wanted to explore the reason why Ford suddenly relaxed.

Of course, these two points are most likely caused by the same reason. This group of strange people is 80% likely to be Ford Hill's extremely trusted backers, and judging from the way they are dressed, they can't be some big shots in the capital.

He was distracted at the dinner as he kept thinking about the strangeness of the whole situation and trying to figure out why he was in such a bad mood.

"Are you okay?" Langman's train of thought was interrupted by the question. He raised his head slightly impatiently and found that the person who spoke was the young man in the black cloak who was sitting motionless in the chair, leaning against the back, and didn't seem to be planning to eat or drink.

The man folded his pale fingertips, his gaze fixed on him as if through his hood. His hands were paler than the china on the table, and only half of his face, serene, was visible beneath his hood. He looked young, yet he carried a morbid, decadent air, the tinge of a chronic illness or years of sunlight. He reminded Langman of a withered rose petal in the mud, or perhaps a reef deep in the ocean, sculpted by the waves.

It was almost impossible for him to imagine that the other party would pay attention to his actions.

Langman was stunned for a long time before he came to his senses and nodded: "I'm fine, thank you."

Although the brief conversation only took a second or two, Langman's eyes couldn't help but stare at the other person's exposed skin.

He suddenly understood why Bishop Gilbert had looked at the young man in such an impolite manner when he passed by him.

This guest has a strange appeal that makes people feel both fearful and obsessed - at least for Langman himself, the feeling of looking at the scenery from the edge of a cliff is irresistible.

Terry Griffin was sitting next to him now. The little boy ate silently, and his expression was full of anger and fear when he looked at Erica.

Bishop Gilbert sat a little further away, and judging from the way he raised his fork in a haphazard manner, he also seemed absent-minded.

Dinner ended at six o'clock in the afternoon.

The sky outside the Griffin Mansion turned completely black, while the interior of the old house was illuminated by electric lights as if it were daytime.

Unfortunately, as time went by, Langman found that his anxiety and irritability did not subside, but instead became more intense as night fell. He was like an ant trapped in a hot pot, helpless and could only vent a little by running around in circles, consuming energy.

At half past six, Bishop Gilbert said he was tired from the day's travels and wanted to go to the guest room to rest.

Langman noticed that there were dark blue marks under the other person's eyes, as if he had not slept well for several days and nights.

What’s going on… Does the Vatican have a lot of work to do?

This question flashed by in a flash, and was not noticed by the host. Before leaving, Bishop Gilbert looked back at him again, hesitated for a moment, and whispered, "You must be careful."

This was a nonsensical statement, and Langman frowned in confusion.

Be careful? Be careful about what?

What dangers can you encounter in the Griffin mansion?

But no matter what, the other party's concern meant that the Holy See had a good impression of the Griffin family. He said, "You are right."

"...and don't go looking for that young man in the black cloak."

Bishop Gilbert said.

He gently stroked his notebook: "I don't care what your purpose is. I have heard some rumors about you."

"The thrill of dancing on the edge of a knife and the joy of victory are indeed extraordinary, but no one can guarantee that they will never make mistakes."

"We must learn to seek benefits and avoid harm, and temporarily avoid the sharp edge."

The bishop looked at Langman deeply.

Langman suspected that the other party had already known his purpose: "Yes, I understand."

But it didn't matter, as Griffin had always been one of the Vatican's largest sources of funding. In fact, Bai Jiaojiao and him discussed two main issues in his study. One was the future development direction of mechas and high-tech thermal weapons, and the other was the possibility of popularizing divine arts and supernatural powers among the people.

Because of the war with the Zerg over the years, the Federation has deliberately ignored research in this area for a long time in order to maximize profits and maintain social stability.

Now that the war is about to be completely settled, Langman, as one of the most visionary speculators, will never miss such an opportunity.

A bond of shared interests was more stable than any other relationship; they shared prosperity and adversity. Bishop Gilbert would never joke with Langman's safety. Even if he might have some complaints about the Griffin family's personal behavior, he wouldn't point them out at this time.

After all, even if he already has an heir, who can guarantee that Griffin Jr., Langman’s eldest son, will still be able to follow his father’s will and wisdom and continue this contract?

Gilbert sighed.

Such a helpless look made his face look even older.

"I can't tell you too much," the old man said finally. "This is the Vatican's biggest secret. All I can tell you is that the crisis is by no means gone. On the contrary, it is returning with even greater ferocity. Why do you think the Chief Archon, known as 'Her Majesty the Queen Who Risen from the Flames of War,' suddenly decided to negotiate peace with the Zerg?"

"Even if this means she completely gives up Igor Sullivan, gives up the federal high-level forces that have been constantly reshuffled over the years, and even gives up the situation of 'poor people's children becoming senior executives' that she personally created?"

"...I beg your pardon." The smile on Langman's face vanished. He said coldly, "You've misunderstood the cause and effect of the matter. It was the Archon who gave up on Marshal Sullivan first, allowing wolves like us to bite off a piece of flesh from the giant dragon. If they were really as united as they were in the past, do you think that just the two of us, me and Viscount Joyce, the current head of the Federation's mecha research and development department, could mobilize so many opportunistic losers?"

"The truth is, the Archon felt she was close to achieving her goal, and so he prepared to get rid of her."

"We are just pawns that seize opportunities."

"Opportunity, opportunity." Gilbert couldn't help but take two steps towards the door. "What opportunity did you seize? Don't think I don't know you, Mr. Langman. When Marshal Sullivan's sister, that little Omega girl who knew nothing about everything, disappeared in the capital, who was responsible? Didn't you create this so-called opportunity yourself?"

Langman leaned back in the soft chair and smoothed his long golden hair.

"You're very kind, Bishop," he said coldly. "I don't think I had such great power back then. I'm afraid you should ask the Archon himself, or the Federal Security Service headquarters in the capital."

"It doesn't matter if you don't admit it," Gilbert said. "As your loyal collaborator, I simply have to remind you. I hope you can maintain this calm expression until retaliation arrives."

This was too rude, and Langman's irritability suddenly burst out. He pursed his lips and twisted them into a sneer: "Could it be that Igor Sullivan has returned?"

Gilbert drew a symbol in front of him, representing the true God believed in by the Church.

"God bless you, sir."

He said nothing more and turned and walked out of Langman's study.

After the bishop left, Langman walked around the room twice, read only two lines of the document in his hand, and then threw it on the desk.

He strode out of the study and stood in front of the guest room door.

If nothing unexpected happens, the young man who Gilbert said should never be faced directly lives inside.

However, even though he walked to the door impulsively, Langman felt a sense of unease the moment before knocking. He was not the type of person to talk big before a battle and then retreat from the battlefield, but the fact was that now he wanted to turn back and leave, and it would be best if this door would never be opened.

...Or let’s go back.

The most important thing in life is to follow your heart, and the idea of cowardice gradually took over.

Langman took a step back, then another step back, and decided to talk about it tomorrow morning.

But just as he was about to turn around, the solid wooden door in front of him was suddenly opened from the inside. The person inside seemed to have been waiting for him for a long time and did not seem surprised to see him.

"Longman Griffin, now that you've come this far, aren't you going to come in?"