On the clock tower of the Dong Bailang dock, Klein, wearing a clown mask and hidden deep within the profound darkness, quietly gazed at the dormitory of the Dock Workers' Association, and at the airship hovering above it. He could not see the specific course of the battle, nor could he ascertain the progress of events within the brick-red building—only patiently endured, interpreting the situation through subtle shifts in the surrounding scenes and the occasional black dots passing by. At that moment, he noticed that the gas lamps in that area suddenly went out—every single one! The area plunged into complete darkness. Immediately thereafter, an overwhelming sensation erupted from within the brick-red building, so powerful that even though it reached far beyond the distance, Klein could not help trembling all over, his legs growing weak, his back bending downward. It was a sensation of fundamental dominance, of crushing pressure—of something utterly unyielding and inescapable. No, one cannot gaze directly upon the divine... In a moment of dizziness, Caine felt as though he had returned to the beginning, back to the hall of Black Thorns Security, as though he were now activating his spiritual sight, trying to peer into Mégaloise's mental state, into the infant within her. That sensation was exactly the same! No, now it was more intense, more terrifying! How could this be? Wasn't Larnuus merely endowed with a modest measure of the divine gift—the kind of deity granted only a few specific gifts, perhaps a few corresponding items? How could there now be a scent of an evil god descending? Before Caine could even shake off the tremor in his body and regain control of his thoughts, he suddenly sensed a profound, serene, deep blackness engulfing the earlier incomprehensible, unviewable, and unyielding presence. Both sensations vanished simultaneously, and one by one, the gas streetlamps around him rekindled, flickering with a still fairly bright glow, while the airship that had been steadily descending once again rose upward. Everything has returned to its original state, as if nothing at all has changed. Yet Kline doesn't share this view. He straightens himself with determination, realizing that significant events have taken place within the modest red-brick building. The sense of something fundamentally and hierarchically surpassing the extraordinary has vanished—the aura of a divine god descending is gone. This means that the "True Maker," or Larnus's plan, has failed... Yet the Night Watchers must have also suffered a severe blow; they may no longer have the strength to recover. At this moment, Kline has a sudden thought and quickly removes the spirit pendulum from within his left sleeve, holding it single-handedly, and speaks in a low tone: "The current Larnus no longer poses a threat." After repeating this statement seven times in rapid succession, he opens his eyes to see the yellow crystal pendant rotating counterclockwise—though slowly and with only a modest amplitude. This indicates that Larnus remains a threat, but one of significantly reduced intensity. What Kline is more concerned about, however, is another point: the divination has not failed again! This shows that Larn-Ulus has already separated from the divinity bestowed by the "True Creator"—essentially, a separation has occurred! A deep, penetrating cold breeze swept through, and Cline suddenly shivered, feeling as though an electric current had surged instantly from the soles of his feet into his mind. Perhaps I can do something! A sudden thought flashed through him. Without hesitation, he reversed his steps four paces up the dark tower's highest level, stepping into the gray mist. He didn't waste time—he sat down immediately, manifesting a yellow-brown sheepskin parchment and a divination phrase: "Larn-Ulus's escape route." Leaning back, he swiftly murmured the words and entered a deep dream. In that ethereal, fragmented, hazy world, he saw channels flowing with wastewater, dim and dirty passageways, and metal pipes slightly rusted at the joints. It was cramped and enclosed. It was the sewer system! Klein awoke instantly and immediately enveloped himself in spiritual energy, sinking into the gray mist. As soon as he returned to the real world, he stepped back several paces, positioning himself on the side of the clock tower facing away from the airship. He did not take the winding staircase; instead, he leaped directly over the deep yellow railing, using the platforms, projections, and ornamental features on the building's surface to guide his descent, moving with the balance of someone walking on solid ground. In just a short time, his feet settled firmly on the thick street pavement. His golden-brown short hair hung limply, the windbreaker and shirt collar worn and tattered, revealing his sharper chin and thin, firm mouth. With each labored breath, a half-phantom, translucent face seemed to emerge, superimposed over each of his teeth. Cecilia supported the ground with her left hand, wearing red gloves, her body struggling to straighten her neck and gaze forward. Before him stood the staircase leading up to the second floor, where Larnus stood, his linen shirt completely open. Larnus stood upright, a pure white, moist holy bone sword inserted through his chest and abdomen. The flesh without skin, which had previously outlined the shape of a suspended figure, now vanished entirely, leaving behind a hollow space. Through this hollow, one could even glimpse Larnus's back from the front. Larnus managed a difficult movement, then suddenly burst into laughter—wild, uncontrolled laughter: "Ha! Ha! Thank you!" "Indeed, I must thank you!" "Truly, look at my earnest eyes—yes, I truly must thank you!" "If it weren't for you discovering me in time and arriving just when you did, within a few more months, I would have truly become the vessel through which the 'True Creator' descended. By then, wouldn't my condition have been indistinguishable from death?" Césima listened, clearly stunned, unable to believe that the very person she had fiercely undermined—whose greatest strength she had dismantled—was now so joyful. At that moment, he wanted to stand, but could not; he wanted to resist, yet was powerless to do so. Lan'uris sensed his confusion, cleared his throat, and smiled: "Do you know? For someone like me, after accomplishing a truly proud achievement, the hardest thing is to have no one share it with me." "Coughing, I recall in Tinggen when I was deceived by the 'True Creator.' Not only did He return through the creation of offspring, but He also subtly planted 'saplings' within my very body." "No, I even believe that Meigolus's child is merely a façade—He never even asked the members of the Aurora Circle to protect her or draw attention away. It seems as though He knew from the very beginning that this would fail." Lan'urus extended his hand, resting it on the handrail of the staircase, and smiled with quiet mockery: "Well, the true Creator wants to make a complete descent, to fully replace me—this requires vast amounts of pessimism, despair, numbness, rage, and raw malice. Only Beckland, only the eastern district, the industrial zone, and the port district can satisfy his demands. That gives me an opportunity, an opening to interact with others." "I know—simple contact-based reporting is unrealistic, because the people I meet might themselves be members of the Aurora Circle." "At first, I wanted to spark a strike to draw the police's attention to me, but the Aurora Circle members warned me, tormented me for a while, and forced me to hastily conclude my efforts." "I feigned a bit of loss of control and got the chance to vent myself into the sewer. During that process, I subtly contaminated several organisms living there with my blood, transforming them into fierce, monstrous mutants. Unfortunately, before you could investigate, the Aurora Circle discovered this—and it seems they've lost members to these very mutants. Oh, now I've lost my divinity, my 'sapling' essence; my blood no longer has the same effect. After that, I was controlled more strictly, yet I still found an opportunity—I killed a prostitute in the most brutal way, hoping to draw the police's attention. But to my surprise, the Aurora Circle members managed to frame this case as part of a series of connected murders. I still haven't managed to secure my rescue." "I no longer have any such opportunities—only to adopt a more subtle approach. I've volunteered the most fierce, most passionate, and most radical members of the Aurora Circle to watch over me. That's exactly what they wanted! How could they not think of this? These madmen are bound to cause trouble at any moment. Indeed, you've arrived!" Huffing out a long breath, Larn Uus stretched and moved his body, as if finally freed from the lingering effects. He drew the holy bone sword embedded in his chest and abdomen, expressing regret: "It's truly a pity—I couldn't take it with me. Otherwise, I would have been swiftly identified and located by you." Once the pure white bone sword completely detached from his body, the dramatic wound left no trace of blood at all. As if the parts that had been severed didn't belong to Larn Uus at all. Larn Uus placed his right hand on his chest and bowed respectfully to Kressta Cessima and the others: "The people aboard the airships outside should be recovering now. I must now proceed." "Thank you—truly, sincerely, thank you." "Though you are rather foolish, you have ultimately helped me." "To you, foolish ones, this is indeed a privilege." With that, he straightened up, smiling with a clear air of mockery, and said: "Goodbye, foolish night-watchers." "May your lives serve as my farewell." Holding the holy bone sword, he took several determined steps forward, aiming to strike Crescita Cesium. Yet at that moment, his eyelids began to grow heavy and leaden, and he simply wanted to collapse and sleep. "Indeed, you still have some strength—now that is troublesome..." Lan'urus lightly bit his tongue, then suddenly threw the holy bone sword toward the night-watchers lying unconscious by the door! "No!" Crescita, using the strength she had finally gathered, waved her arms, deflecting the invisible force and altering the sword's path. Lan'urus seized the opportunity, sprinted to the side, and leapt out through the window of the bathroom at the far end of the corridor, onto the brick-red building. Next, he opened the street-side manhole cover and climbed in, plunging downward into the underground tunnel. Larnulus seemed very familiar with this place; even in the complete darkness, he could run, leap, and pivot swiftly, racing through the maze of tunnels toward the deeper reaches. Suddenly, he stopped instinctively, leaning back. *Plip!* A playing card was deeply embedded in his right chest, its edges dripping blood. Larnulus looked up, using his natural night vision to spot the attacker. It was a middle-aged man in a worker's uniform, wearing a mask with a cheerful expression—his mouth curved upward, his nose flushed red. A happy clown. P.S.: Please recommend a monthly pass!