On the Resurrection Square, now scorched and cracked, the atmosphere suddenly darkened, thickening with a tangible sense of gloom and cold—so profound that even the brilliant silver lightning could not dispel it. Dailie Simonne immediately sensed the presence of unknown beings moving through the Spirit Realm, approaching this area, and a wave of ill omens surged through her mind, as if she had already seen Iness Zangwei effortlessly escape, vanishing into the distance. Her body grew cold, as if she had returned to the very moment when she first became a Supernatural. Back then, after an unforeseen event, she had lost her family and, by mistake, ingested a magical potion that transformed her into a "Body-Collector," assigned to the Night Watch unit. The lingering effects of the potion and the trauma of losing her family had made her increasingly drawn to coldness, instinctively drawn to corpses, often wandering through cemeteries and sleeping at gravesides. This made her seem odd, triggering an instinctive repulsion from others, so that not only did her body temperature drop, but her spirit too seemed to slowly freeze, growing cold. She feared this sensation, still desiring to remain a living, breathing person, and thus instinctively relied on the men's admiration for her appearance and body, securing one boyfriend after another, hoping that the warmth of her body would counteract the chill in her soul. In this hazy, dissolving life, she encountered a man—always gently listening to her speak, steadily offering support, modestly embarrassed when teased about matters of romance, sincerely patient with all his teammates' flaws, repeatedly at a loss when she teased him, someone who quietly carried his pain and sorrow, with his hairline receding early due to accumulated stress—and who, when danger arose, was always the first to step forward, placing his teammates safely behind him. She had changed—she now favored more formal makeup, no longer drawing near to other men, only offering a few light remarks to subtly signal that she hadn’t undergone any obvious transformation. Yet, she still hadn’t made it in time. She hadn’t witnessed him master the art of the spell, fully absorb the potion, and rise to Sequence 6. She hadn’t seen him reach out to her, extend his hand, and invite her to dance the opening waltz. She hadn’t participated in his final battle. She hadn’t had the chance to express the emotions that stirred within her heart. The last time, I had missed it all—had done nothing at all. Today, I don’t want to be that person again. Daili’s expression grew sorrowful, then gently, tenderly, a soft smile began to rise at the corners of her lips. With her eyes tightly closed, she suddenly pulled out a small metal vial from within the folds of her clothing, removed the stopper, and drank the liquid in one smooth gulp. Her blue eyeshadow and blush instantly brightened, her skin seemed to glow with a subtle transparency. Her neatly coiled hair instantly unraveled, and she pushed aside her hood, letting it "The spirits drifting through the void, the awe-inspiring beings from the upper realms, the unpredictable visitors." Daili recited swiftly and powerfully in concise, ancient Hermes. "I, by my name, enter into this covenant with you, and I implore you to depart!" The quill pen on Inés Zangweil began writing by itself: "An unknown entity has arrived at the Plaza of Resurrection, destined to take Inés Zangweil—no, it has been drawn to Dely Simonne; its aesthetic leans decidedly toward humanity. Oh well, it has abandoned Inés Zangweil and has decided to heed Dely Simonne's advice and depart. "What a surprise! In the matter of spirit communication, the half-god Inés Zangweil, despite her divine status, has been outmatched by Dely Simonne, a mere Sequence 5. Though the latter has consumed the 'Spirit' elixir, paying a great price, her chances of prevailing against Inés Zangweil, who is merely managing the 'Alerthod Pen' with steady effort, seem slim indeed. "Inés Zangweil has truly been unlucky—she has encountered something nearly impossible!" Amid the thunderbolt, a single crimson glow flared within the dark, symbol-encrusted eyes of Ines. Zangwiel, then faded away. The "hand" holding the quill once again inscribed upon his body: "Another unknown entity has been drawn to this vicinity, attempting to enter the realm of reality..." As he wrote, the quill suddenly paused and continued on its own: "It has arrived, it has arrived—It, It is Renette. Tinielcor! No, Renette. Tinielcor is driving away all the spiritual beings around her. It glanced at Ines. Zangwiel, then withdrew its gaze, and departed. It continues to wander nearby." "Ines. Zangwiel is truly unlucky, truly unlucky!" Ines. Zangwiel's body, which had been swiftly moving, suddenly halted, as though struck by a great blow. Thunderclap! A thick, silvery-white lightning bolt plunged down, striking the eight-legged "monstrosity" with tremendous force, sending Inz. Zangwei leaping forward and emitting a sound unlike any human. Blood-red glimmers exploded from his dark eyes, spreading out into two fierce, bloodthirsty, and madly glowing orbs. "Inz. Zangwei can no longer control his emotions, maintain his composure, or preserve his rationality—he has lost most of his sense of self..." The once-intact quill, now slightly frayed, grew progressively paler and eventually ceased writing. Amid the chilling, goose-flesh-inducing roar, an endless darkness spread, drawing both Daili Simonne and Leonard Mitchell into the dream. Yet the ensuing thunder and lightning soon roused the slumbering ones. With a single backward step of his eight legs, Inz. Zangwei left a lingering trail of shadow, and surged forward at high speed toward Daili Simonne, now in a state of partial disarray, intent on cruelly tearing her to pieces. Thunder! Thunder! A series of dramatic lightning bolts descended, halting his movements. Thunder! Thunder! Eight strange, white-feathered "legs," scorched with blackened marks, moved in succession, carrying Ins. Zangwei half-crouched and circling the square, evading the lightning strikes and searching for the opportunity to kill Leonard and Daili. Gradually, with a measure of rationality, he realized a problem—the frequency of the lightning was slowing down! The one who could not be traced in generating the thunder strikes seemed to be approaching his limit, his spirit rapidly depleting! Ins. Zangwei's eyes lit up with a cruel smile, and as he sped ahead, he spoke in a low, ancient Fussak dialect: "All of you shall die!" He seemed to have forgotten the need to escape. All of you shall die... Leonard Mitchell heard these words, yet felt powerless—because he dared not open his eyes, unable to determine Ins. Zangwei's position, unable to channel his spirit to bind him. At this moment, he seemed to have stepped back into Tinggen City, back into Black Thorns Security, back into the very day he fought against Meghelo—back into the version of himself that had been weak and helpless, unable to do anything. On that day, he had clearly wanted to help the captain and Caine, had overcome his fear, had a seasoned elder at his side to support him—yet because of his low sequence and insufficient strength, he had been knocked out quickly and unable to participate in the subsequent battle. He could only wake up to find the two bodies of his comrades, and only by facing the pain of his relatives could he ease his inner guilt. The tranquil life in Tinggen City, the feeling of being the protagonist without having to shoulder responsibilities—this had always remained a cherished memory for Leonard. Yet the more he remembered it, the more he resented that version of himself, the more he regretted not having made greater efforts earlier. Before him, his eyes tightly shut, light and shadow danced. Leonard clutched his fists tightly, calling out urgently: "Old man! "Old man!" This time, there was no sound resonating in his mind, no one to assist him—Palis Soloyasde remained asleep. Leonard’s breathing grew heavy, and his head involuntarily shifted side to side with the flashes of light. Then, his voice came out slightly hoarse, clearly hurried and urgent: “Old man! Old man! Old man!!” The voice gradually softened and faded into the thunderous roar. Leonard’s head slowly drooped, his face once again filled with regret and pain. His lips moved slightly, his hands loosened and then clenched again, and for several seconds, he remained motionless. Suddenly, his expression became resolute, his face contorted as he opened his mouth wide, reciting in the ancient Hermes tongue in a low, steady tone: “The fool of a time unmade; The mysterious sovereign above the gray mist; The King of Yellow and Black, ruler of fortune!“ As soon as the prayers settled, an unusual image unexpectedly appeared in his mind: Inz. Zangwei, transformed into a spider or a deformed feathered wolf, was swiftly moving, dodging lightning strikes and occasionally attempting to attack himself or Daili Simon. Unlike the usual clarity, Inz. Zangwei’s form in this image was remarkably blurred, almost represented merely by a patch of red light, serving only to indicate his position. Leonard was first stunned, then burst into laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks. Without hesitation, he raised his left hand, placing the glove against his temple, and then firmly grasped the "Steward of the Flow" sigil with his right hand. As the ancient Hermes word "Fate" echoed with a solemn and mysterious resonance, Leonard summoned transparent scrolls to form before him, turning to a specific page while softly chanting "I come, I see, I record," and simultaneously locked onto the eight-legged creature adorned with numerous white feathers. A brilliant flash of silver lightning erupted suddenly, and Leonard Mitchell threw the talisman with a fierce expression, shouting, "Die, Inz. Zangewell!" This cry had been waiting for a long time, rehearsed in his mind countless times. PS: First publish, then revise. There's another chapter coming tonight—please support with your monthly subscription!