Chapter 250: The Hidden Angel

Rekton felt that the Hidden Angel before him seemed to glance at him, though Her vacant expression made it far from obvious.

After a slight hesitation, he put on a reasonably proper smile and said:

"Good afternoon, ma'am."

The beautiful but vacant woman gave a slight nod as if in response, then turned her gaze toward the Witch across from her.

An Angel! Lady Despair's pupils contracted slightly — to silently negate all of her previous attacks, this had to be an Angel.

Her gaze sharpened, and layers of black flame suddenly erupted around her body as she simultaneously began creating mysticism viruses and bacteria, spreading disease and plague.

This mysterious Angel was most likely sent by the Church of the Night to handle the situation; only by spreading disaster on a massive scale and diverting the other party's attention could she give herself a chance to escape.

The expected fires and plagues never materialized — they had been silently negated.

In that instant, her body trembled strangely, as if she had encountered something terrifying, and she froze in place.

She watched her left hand disappearing centimeter by centimeter, rapidly spreading upward, impossible to halt.

My Witch characteristics! My lovely dolls and figurines! Rekton sighed inwardly, then drew out a pale yellow paper figure and swiftly flung it out.

It expanded in midair into a figure identical to Rekton, but with cold eyes devoid of any emotion.

He half-raised his right hand, swiftly condensing an ancient-styled spear that blazed from tip to shaft with clusters and points of blood-dark crimson.

Under Lady Despair's horrified gaze, the spear pierced straight through her chest, shattering the flesh and living heart within.

Her eyes filled with terror and despair, her life swiftly withering, her expression forever frozen in that moment.

This was one of the more powerful attacks among the mystic reproductions Rekton had mastered — the "Spear of Longinus."

Rekton turned to look at the Hidden Angel beside him and spoke with a slightly inquiring tone:

"May I take this Despair Witch's characteristics?"

The gentle, beautiful, vacant Hidden Angel gazed back at Rekton without word or gesture; Her pupils were deep and pitch-black, as if concealing a pure lightless darkness.

"Ahem — if not, then pretend I said nothing."

Rekton waved his hand with a touch of awkwardness, directly following the inclination of his heart — lose one Witch and there would be others; no need to provoke this big shot.

"Follow me" — an ethereal, melodious female voice that seemed to bring a deep, inner calm and tranquility sounded in Rekton's mind.

He looked in astonishment at the Hidden Angel before him — She didn't seem to have spoken, so why did he instinctively feel that this voice was Hers?

Under Rekton's gaze, She gave the faintest of nods, the corners of Her lips moving almost imperceptibly.

"Alright — where are we going?" Rekton nodded immediately and stepped forward two paces.

The vacant-faced Hidden Angel before him pulled the hood of Her classical robe, and Rekton felt his surroundings suddenly go quiet — he seemed to have left behind the noisy, chaotic street and was walking through a hidden world.

Outskirts of the Queen's District, aboard a horse-drawn public carriage.

Tris and Klein sat facing each other awkwardly; the two seemed to have just had a brief exchange, and for the moment neither wanted to speak.

Tris had not, as others assumed, headed straight for the Tasok River to flee downstream, or gone to the nearest railway to climb aboard a train.

She had chosen to return to Backlund, passing by those who pursued her.

After leaving the ritual hall where the True Creator had been summoned, Klein had rushed out of those ruins and discovered that his location was actually in the mountains, with towering peaks on all sides, making that area exceptionally well-hidden.

After just one sweeping glance, he ran wildly without hesitation — behind him was the battlefield where the True Creator's incarnation and two Angels had descended, and he needed to get as far away as possible.

He didn't even take the mountain paths; instead, relying on the agility granted by his potion, he went straight down the slope, sometimes rolling, sometimes swinging from trees.

After running a good distance, he encountered the Witch Tris, who was also heading back to Backlund, and the two stared at each other for a moment.

Perhaps having successfully escaped the control of the Witch Sect and the royal family had put her in a rather good mood; Tris invited this unlucky detective she had chosen onto the carriage to return to Backlund together.

Only in this metropolis, with its massive population and its mingling of various hidden factions and numerous Beyonders, could I evade the Witch Sect's continued pursuit!

Thinking of this, she cast a covert glance at Klein — and that terrifying old butler Finkel could appear at any time; bringing along this detective, who was also a Beyonder, might buy me some time at a crucial moment.

Klein looked at the Witch across from him as if sensing something, and said in a voice so calm it was nearly cold:

"What are you thinking?"

Hearing this, Tris looked at the detective sitting across from her and smiled seductively:

"Heh — Mr. Detective, we're safe now, and it's just the two of us here. Do you need me to pay you your fee?"

"I don't mind letting you experience true pleasure."

"No need," Klein refused curtly.

Tris was about to tease the detective a couple more lines when, suddenly, her head swam with dizziness.

When her vision returned to normal, she found that she had inexplicably left the public carriage and was standing beside a muddy road on the outskirts, facing the detective, whose eyes had shifted from confusion to alarm and wariness.

Tris's pupils contracted rapidly as she warily scanned her surroundings.

Then she saw a figure draped in a classical robe with the hood up, and beside that figure stood a young man wearing a brownish-yellow long trench coat and gold-rimmed glasses on his nose.

For some reason, Tris felt as if she had reverted to infancy, so frail that she had no power to resist at all.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, her legs trembled violently, but her entire body was unable to move.

So terrifying... she's the most frightening enemy I've ever encountered — even that Lady Despair from before never gave me a feeling like this... Am I going to die here? How ridiculous — I was just rejoicing that I had escaped control.

An overwhelming sense of despair and an uncontrollable sorrow seized Tris's heart, as if she were sinking into the deepest nightmare.

The intense psychological turmoil kept her from noticing that the wariness on the face of the detective beside her had already relaxed.

"Good afternoon, you two — care to say hello?"

Rekton directed this remark at Klein and even gave him a wink.

Say hello? What does that mean? Does he want me to pretend I'm well acquainted with the other party... Surely he can't be asking me to befriend this entity with such a terrifying presence.

Klein looked at that beautiful but utterly expressionless face — dark eyes deep and shadowed, yet lacking spirituality — and his heart pounded uncontrollably.

Various thoughts churned in Klein's mind for a second or two; then, collecting himself, he removed his half-high silk top hat, held it across his chest, and gave a slight bow:

"Good afternoon, ma'am~"

When he straightened up, he saw that the woman with the beautiful but utterly vacant, expressionless face had the corners of her lips slowly twitch and curl upward, revealing a smile.

A smile?... At me?... Klein was stunned; he could not fathom at all why this big shot — whether saint or Angel — would smile at him.

In the next moment, Leyton and the beautiful but expressionless female figure vanished together.

Klein and Triss both felt a sense of relief, especially Triss, who just moments ago had almost thought she was doomed.

"They've left."

"Even among those high-ranking witches, I have never felt such terrifying pressure; she might even be Him."

Triss didn't know whether she was talking to herself or to the detective beside her.

Everything just now had seemed like the most vivid illusion, but when she lowered her head, she was shocked to discover that the sapphire ring on her left pinky had somehow shattered into pieces, losing all its color.

Pop, pop, pop—the ring and gem fragments fell one after another.

Beside him, Klein watched this scene, his pupils slightly contracting. The terrifying entity's target seemed to be this ring suspected to be a 0‑level sealed item? Perhaps the ring wasn't as simple as it appeared, after all, that witch had even changed her name to Qike.

In the barren fields outside the city, the old steward Finkel beside Prince Edsac was fleeing at full speed.

His hat was gone, his meticulously kept gray‑white hair hung loose and disheveled, and his clothes were covered in mud.

He let out a breath, paused slightly, panted as he looked behind him, seeing no one there, and felt a little relieved.

When he turned his head, preparing to change direction and continue fleeing, he suddenly noticed two figures appearing before him.

One was a woman in a hooded classical robe, her face dull and expressionless; the other was a young man following her, wearing a brown long coat and gold‑rimmed glasses.

"The royal family is starting to purge you, preparing to cut ties? Or is the Storm Church taking action?"

Leyton looked at the old steward Finkel before him and spoke pensively.

Finkel's pupils contracted; he immediately opened his mouth to utter an Ancient Hermes word, but was shocked to find that his lips and the sound he produced had vanished, his expression instantly filling with despair.

"Has the promised Conqueror's trait been transferred to the witch sect as the royal family pledged?"

Leyton asked the question again.

Finkel nodded frantically; if he could speak, he would surely tell everything he knew, leaving no detail untold.

Unfortunately, this could not change his fate; he was like a pencil drawing on paper, being erased bit by bit by an eraser, leaving no trace.

(End of chapter)