The scene was so bizarre that even Antonio, with a resolute mind, closed his eyes subconsciously. The next second, he opened them again and found that everything, from the basement where the strange noises came from to the statues in the hall, had become perfectly normal, as if the terrifying feeling that had sent chills down his spine was merely an illusion.

However, the head of the ballerina that rolled down in the center of the hall was still facing him. Its eyes were burned black by the flames, and its neck was connected to the broken stone pillars destroyed by the explosion. Combined with the surrounding scenery, it looked extremely desolate.

Antonio watched this scene silently, then turned around and walked back to the study, where he saw Bishop Gilbert lying on the windowsill, looking sadly at the dagger stuck in the soil of the garden outside the window.

"I'll ask someone to get it back for you." He said hurriedly when he saw that the bishop seemed to have the urge to climb over the wall and escape.

Bishop Gilbert hesitated and said, "It's not impossible, but you must be careful. It might break free from the sheath and hurt the wielder at any time."

Antonio nodded, closed the window, and, ignoring the chaos around him, said abruptly, "The Queen's birthday celebration is in a week."

The "Queen" certainly doesn't refer to the current Chief Consul, Sabrina Guevera, but rather the national emblem of the constitutional monarchy years before the Federation was established. At the end of the Age of Magic, the Federation became a major force in humanity's interstellar exploration, inevitably inheriting many of its old traditions. Today, the Queen's Birthday celebration is more than just a statutory holiday; in the hearts of ordinary people, it holds the same status as a "National Day."

Bishop Gilbert replied in an old voice, "I know the Vatican will cooperate with you in completing the ceremony."

Antonio, dressed in a neat black military uniform, put one hand in his pocket and said calmly, looking out the window at the countryside, "I hope this year's ceremony will go smoothly, but I have a bad feeling."

Bishop Gilbert, preoccupied with the escaping dagger, seemed distracted. "There's nothing to worry about. The Vatican has hosted simple celebrations like this for many years. It's just a repetition of the old procedures." "Safety must be ensured," Antonio emphasized. "This is the first year of the armistice. The Zerg will send representatives to the capital planet to observe the ceremony, but our internal problems remain unresolved. I suggest that the Vatican focus its efforts on maintaining stability for the time being, rather than provoking unnecessary disputes."

Bishop Gilbert gradually came to his senses. "You mean we shouldn't expend so much manpower and resources looking for Wendy Sullivan?"

But what does this have to do with him?!

I am really just an ordinary bishop serving in the capital!

Gilbert, who held the holy relic and frequently attracted the attention of important figures due to his supernatural powers, felt distressed. He stroked his recently thinning white hair and said, "I'll convey your suggestion."

Otherwise, just resign.

Or apply to be transferred out of the capital like Margarita, the logistics minister of the Red Line Legion. This is really not a place suitable for ordinary people to live in for a long time.

With some unpromising thoughts in his mind, the bishop, who was very strong in his youth and still in good health now, but looked a little haggard due to his recent life, continued to chat politely with Antonio about the current state of federal politics, gradually putting aside his previous worries.

**

Azathoth came under the windowsill.

He could sense the urging coming from his main body in Dr. Garcia's house, and he couldn't help but feel a little impatient. At this moment, all the tentacles had an unprecedented unanimous thought - quickly take Igor back to the human body, who wants to stay in this place and rot!

Isn’t the body of the beloved fragrant?

A tentacle picked up the dagger that was stuck in the mud due to gravity and couldn't pierce it by itself. It was obviously a very ordinary action, but it gave people a feeling of picky and even disgust.

The dagger hummed, as if it was trembling.

Azathoth 'opened his eyes' and looked at it carefully.

One after another, deep black cracks emerged from the surface of the tentacle, facing different directions, and gradually filled with distinct black and white eyeballs. Soon, the eyeballs, which were not in the right position, rolled and crowded together in the correct direction, and the dagger was instantly surrounded.

It shook violently, hung on the tentacle and began to play dead.

However, the red light flashing like a siren on the dagger betrayed it.

Another tentacle with a mouth stretched out from the shadows.

"Hurry up," it urged, "the two humans in the study have been taken care of."

Then the tentacle rolled up the dagger, not caring at all about the possibility of getting hurt: "This dagger feels a bit like Wendy."

Its thoughts are the thoughts of all the evil god's tentacles.

They all agreed and took the spoils without any pangs of conscience, notifying Igor and scaring people away or knocking them unconscious without telling anyone. As for whether anyone would suffer from any mental sequelae, that was not within Azathoth's consideration.

If someone observed the house from the outside, they would find that except for the study, which looked normal, everywhere was filled with tentacles. This made the originally spacious and luxurious old house look like a piece of pasta that was overstuffed with meat filling, giving the illusion that the contents would burst through the walls at any time.

The several military soldiers guarding outside were already too frightened to pass out.

The humans in the study still know nothing about this.

The only dagger that could provide a warning was captured by the enemy.

He would probably have to wait until Antonio came out of the house or received a signal from his subordinates for help before he could realize what he had brushed against. By then, the slow fear brought by the belated realization would be like a dull knife cutting flesh, enough for him to savor it for a long time.

**

"We have had enough trouble in the capital." Azathoth said to the gray bird lying on his lap in Dr. Garcia's house.

His fingers slid across the fur. Garcia caught a glimpse of this scene from the corner of his eye. He didn't know if it was his illusion, but he felt that the pale fingertips and the dull-colored bird feathers complemented each other, like some kind of hard substance that could only be formed after being tempered in a fierce fire.

The midday sun shone on Azathoth's black robe and gilded the gray St. Martin bird with its long tail feathers. This gave the ordinary daily conversation a sudden sense of holiness. Two lines of poetry inexplicably popped into Garcia's mind:

"There is no evil shadow on the capsized ship. Such suffering is unheard of in my country."

"We do not believe in the beliefs of the conquerors... In my country, people are grateful."

The god, clad in a black robe, bowed his head gently. Even though his eyes could not be seen, they were filled with compassion. This compassion and cruelty formed two contrasting sides, presented equally to the world.

He is surrounded by the blood and soil that gave birth to life, and a beautiful death slowly rises from the pearls and bones, carefully treasured by Him. The dead will never know what kind of soil is sprinkled on their heads, or what kind of flowers spread on their graves.

When such a beautiful yet terrifying picture emerged in his mind, the doctor raised his hand and slapped himself, secretly cursing himself for making up stories for no reason.

The quiet and sacred atmosphere was broken, and Azathoth looked at him with a little surprise.

Could it be that this is due to excessive psychological pressure and something is wrong with my brain?

The evil god looked at Igor on his lap with a guilty conscience. He wondered if his followers would be angry about this.

He could feel his tentacles carrying his other half, Igor and Wendy, running towards him.

I hope Mr. Antonio will keep his word and really slow down the Vatican's search for Igor's sister.

The St. Martin bird chirped clearly, and its beak gently touched Azathoth's fingertips.

Azathoth immediately understood what the other party meant.

—Do you want to leave the capital?

Igor asked.

"No," Azathoth replied, seemingly mumbling to himself. "Although we've achieved our most crucial goal, Erica still has to go to school here. Hugo didn't say it, but I know it likes crowded places."

——But you don’t like it.

"To be precise, I don't like any place with a lot of people," Azathoth said. "And it's not limited to humans. Noisy creatures make me tired."

He looked down at Igor, a man so full of life that he could even imagine the blood flowing in his veins beneath the gray fur.

Igor was different.

Azathoth thought calmly. His mind flashed to a younger version of him... perhaps fifteen or sixteen, slightly more mature than Wendy, but not much. The boy with gray hair and red eyes wouldn't have the calm and collected expression he had now. He held a messily flipped book in his hands, folding a piece of scratch paper into a paper airplane, and stroking the surface with his long, powerful fingers, trying to polish it to a brighter sheen.

A bright summer sun, not unlike today's, would stream in through the open campus windows, illuminating his strong, healthy arms. He might put down his book, prop his head up, and gaze absentmindedly at the scenery outside, a light paper airplane in his hand, thinking about what to bring home for Wendy... His gaze would no longer be buried deep within his heart, filled with thoughts that even gods could not fathom. He would be as clear as a blank sheet of paper, transparent at a glance. The young man gazed out the window at the distant horizon, lost in a daydream that seemed to last forever in the idle afternoon.

That would be the most beautiful time, like a dream that can never be retrieved.

Just like a bird perched on Azathoth, when you close your eyes, your heart becomes soft, and you cannot see the hidden hardships and scars.

This is where Igor grew up, Azathoth thought.

"Maybe I can consider this place as a permanent residence..." He said slowly as he pondered, "and make this planet more suitable for living."

As soon as Azathoth finished speaking, Garcia, who was busy in the living room, felt his legs go weak and he accidentally bumped into the coffee table with a loud bang.