Chapter 68 About the Isolated World
"They ran that way! Chase them!"
A small squad dressed in armor similar to that of medieval knights moved swiftly through the silent streets, their hurried footsteps and the clatter of armor against each other jarringly in the still night.
Their target, a woman hiding in a blind spot, dared not breathe, quietly waiting for these men wielding nails and hammers to leave.
Only one person stopped—the blond boy who was not wearing armor and was respected by everyone in the group.
Unlike the armored figures who were blindly charging towards their "target" because they were misled by themselves, he stopped and looked suspiciously at the corner where the woman was hiding.
He carried a long-handled axe that was almost taller than himself when it stood upright, and slowly walked into the dark, narrow alley.
The woman who had been hiding looked at the familiar-looking child, her heart suddenly racing. She slowly reached into her pocket, where she kept her last gun.
This isn't filled with ordinary bullets, but rather with a newly developed, highly concentrated drug.
This was a test subject specially given to them by the laboratory, taking into account that their trading partner was a renowned superhuman with special abilities, in order to ensure that they would not be double-crossed.
The boy continued walking towards him, and the woman in the shadows slowly grasped her only weapon in her pocket.
"Sinclair?" A flippant young female voice came from the alleyway. "Come on, Dante's here. Haven't you been wanting to see him for a long time?"
After taking one last look at where the woman was hiding, the blond boy decisively left, leaving only bloody footprints on the ground, their color beginning to oxidize and turn black.
That was her boss's blood.
As the boy walked away, the people who had been hiding saw the owner of the voice. It was a young woman dressed similarly to the boy, with her snow-white hair standing out in the darkness.
As the two of them left, the alleyway, which had been filled with a faint scent of blood, returned to its tranquility.
A little while later, with a thud, a person wrapped in a pure black trench coat, clutching their waist and abdomen, tumbled out from the corner.
The spot where the woman with heterochromatic eyes, like a Persian cat, had been hiding was now stained crimson; she had also been injured during her escape.
It was the same blond boy from before. He swung his axe at her waist. If she hadn't dodged in time, she would probably be cut in two by now, let alone able to hide.
Curaçao thought of the white-haired woman's name for the blond boy, Sinclair... and her last shred of hope was shattered.
This really is the child she knows.
Today, Rum made an unprecedented effort to dress up carefully for meeting a certain important person, even taking off his blindfold and replacing it with a prosthetic eye.
Who knew that the important figure would give them a half-smile, then show them a mirror, and then...
They appeared on this unfamiliar land, and just when they thought they had been ambushed by supernatural powers, these armored figures passed by them.
At first, she thought it was some kind of knight culture themed event, but unexpectedly, the blond boy at the end of the line was someone she knew.
However, because of the boy's defection, she couldn't recognize him and could only observe Rum's expression. But Sinclair, who seemed out of place among the armored men, laughed as she passed Rum.
Rum, who was waiting for the group of abnormal tin cans to leave, looked over when he heard the sound and saw a face that looked familiar but whose expression was unfamiliar.
The blond boy who had defected was looking straight at him, or rather, into his eyes.
"That's... a prosthetic body, right?"
As soon as the words were spoken, all the armored men stopped and looked at them. The few scattered passersby on the street disappeared without a trace after noticing their movements.
The blond boy, who had been expressionless, suddenly became excited after noticing their somewhat unnatural reactions: "That's a prosthetic body!"
"A prosthetic body has appeared in our nest!"
"Unforgivable!"
"heresy!"
"filthy!"
The armored crowd clashed, speaking different languages, but their will was one.
The filth must be cleansed!
They were incredibly fast; before Rum could even draw his gun, the blond boy chopped off his head with a long-handled axe.
The middle-aged man who had dominated the organization for half his life never imagined that his death would be caused by a small prosthetic eye and the cowardly boy he looked down upon the most.
The blood-stained prospective leader picked up the head that had rolled to the ground, dug out the filthy prosthetic eye, and carefully examined the head of the middle-aged man who was missing an eye.
Ah... this is how a person should be!
Everyone except the boy looked at the "heretic's" companions.
“She’s trying to stop us from purging heretics,” Hammer said.
“She is also a heretic and should be eliminated,” the other hammers echoed.
With the ringleader already executed, there's no need for the quasi-ruler to intervene on the remaining accomplices.
Even the most loyal subordinates wouldn't fight these people head-on under such circumstances.
The silver-haired woman nimbly turned and fled. She needed to return to the organization and report what had happened to the BOSS. It wasn't worth sacrificing her life for a dead person here.
What followed was a night of fleeing, and the only wound on her body was inflicted by a blond boy who couldn't stand it anymore.
The silver-haired woman peered out from the shadows and saw her poor boss's head impaled and hanging from a street lamp with a section cut off, burning in flames.
Even in the most disorderly country, no one would remain indifferent to such a thing. What kind of place is this?!
*
"I will help you take him where he needs to go. You also need to keep a close eye on Sinclair in this world for me."
The boy wearing a blue scarf floated, with Li Xiang standing beside him.
The bespectacled young man looked worriedly at his teacher, who was about to face the nails and hammer himself.
"Are you really sure you can do it yourself? This is too dangerous."
“Staying by my side will only limit you,” he heard his teacher say. “I believe you can find a way to exile this misplaced mirror world, instead of falling into their hands with me here.”
The dull thud of the iron boots hitting the ground could already be faintly heard.
Demian nodded to X, and after the commotion subsided, only X remained; they had left.
"You have finally arrived. Faust has been waiting for a long time."
Here it is! It's Faust in his "healthiest" mental state!
And then there's Sinclair, covered in blood, while Faust is clean and looks like he hasn't been in battle at all.
"Are you asking about my clothes?" the quasi-ruler asked, still with a somewhat shy tone, but what he said was completely different. "I just dealt with a heretic."
"There's still one escaped little mouse we haven't found..." The boy's mind was clearly still on the person he hadn't eliminated.
“Hand her over to the rest of Faust’s hammers,” the white-haired woman said, looking at the distracted blond boy. “Now it’s time to take our Mr. Dante back, don’t you think, Sinclair?”
"You are right, Madam Faust."
Unaware that she had been turned into a little mouse, the silver-haired woman leaned against the shadows. For some reason, the number of people around suddenly increased, and everyone was repeating the same phrase—"the will of the wielder."
Considering the wooden stakes and hammers in their hands, the person holding the handles must be their superior.
The alley was relatively safe, and no one had come in. The boy who had been called away, who resembled Sinclair, never returned. Curaçao pressed hard around the wound to slow the bleeding.
There were new footsteps again, but this time, in addition to the sound of iron boots, there were also normal footsteps.
She shrank back deeper into the alley, her heterochromatic eyes fixed intently on the entrance, trying to see who the footsteps belonged to.
The iron boots belonged to the two people from before. The extra person was sandwiched between them. Was this protection or... hostage-taking?
The black-haired youth, surrounded by two of N Company's top fanatics, remained calm. He knew these two people so well that he no longer felt any fear towards them.
"Who is watching Faust? Is it the accomplice of that defiled man?"
The white-haired woman suddenly looked into the alley: "Please wait a moment, Faust has some errands to run."
"Please let me have it; this is the prey that escaped from my grasp."
The blond boy also looked towards the familiar alley, where the stench of blood seemed to grow even stronger.
We've been discovered!
The long-handled axe, accompanied by the sound of the wind, hurtled towards the wounded man.
Bang—clang.
The hand gripping the weapon loosened, the light in the boy's eyes faded, and he fell forward, collapsing to the ground.
The white-haired woman instinctively shielded the black-haired youth behind her, her voice tinged with doubt: "Sinclair?"
There was no response; he was dead.
This was the first time Curaçao's hand had trembled so much while firing a gun. She knew the child too well, but she didn't want to die. She didn't want to die in this strange place.
"I'm sorry... Mr. Sinclair."
Curaçao watched as blood flowed from beneath the boy, muttering to himself.
“He seems to be dead,” X said, looking at the fallen quasi-ruler and then at the ruling man in front of him. “That guy had a gun… what kind of gun could kill someone with just one shot?”
Logic Studio?
And... did the people in that alley know Sinclair? He heard a woman calling Sinclair's name.
“Dante, it is time to call back that poor child,” said the Handler.
Curaçao had just picked up the gun that had slipped from his hand when he witnessed an unbelievable scene.
The blond boy, who had just died from a specially designed bullet, suddenly moved and then got up as if he had never been injured.
He came back to life.
"Sinclair, wait a moment."
X interrupted the prospective wielder who was about to continue his purification. He had only felt a very slight pain, more like being hit with a stone than death, which was abnormal.
Curaçao thought he was doomed, but to his surprise, the blond boy actually stopped moving when the man outside spoke. Who was he? Was he the one the armored people were talking about, the one who held the reins?
However, the young man merely prevented her from following in his superior's footsteps. After confirming that he only had one gun left, he pinned her to the ground, ensuring that she could not harm the man in the slightest.
Curaçao strained to look up and met a pair of familiar golden eyes.
What is the relationship between this man and the researcher who gave her the bullet?
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Author's note: Yeah, I made it! [Sprinkling flowers]
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