The blood drained from his veins coated the black blade, transforming into a roaring blaze of crimson flames.
Xing Chen’s horizontal slash, imbued with a blood-red arc, forced Gris back as he spoke with a wry grin:
“Same old tricks? Better come up with something big, Gris. I’ve been piecing together too many lost memories lately. One more death, and I might just forget you a lot entirely.”
“Hmph, when it comes down to it, it’s always up to me, isn’t it?”
The magic stone embedded in Simon’s elemental glove pulsed with light once more, its power matching its previous surge but tempered to avoid turning the glove into a one-use relic.
Simon drew on the stone’s elemental energy, channeling the fire magic into a concentrated orb in his palm.
Xing Chen and Noi surged forward, intercepting Gris’s counterattack to buy Simon time.
A deft upward strike from Xing Chen’s blood blade left Gris’s guard wide open.
A beam of solar light slammed into his abdomen, its raw energy sending him staggering back several steps.
In desperation, Gris heaved a massive slab of fallen ceiling toward them.
A radiant shield materialized out of thin air, deflecting the boulder.
Xing Chen’s blood blade sliced through it in an instant, preventing any stray harm.
At Gris’s feet, a golden disc of a protective barrier spun clockwise, locking him in place as it tightened its invisible grip.
“It’s ready! Get clear!”
At Simon’s shout, Noi and Xing Chen darted out of the trajectory.
“Whoosh.”
A rainbow-hued cannon of light, condensed into the size of a basketball, erupted from Simon’s hand.
Gris was engulfed, his screams drowned out by the crackling roar of burning elements.
As the light faded, Gris lay motionless on the ground, a faint sprout writhing slowly in the wound on his chest.
This time, Simon didn’t strut over in triumph.
Gris now wielded A-minus strength, and arrogance could cost them dearly.
The trio watched cautiously.
Sure enough, Gris’s arm twitched, new branches sprouting to prop him up as he struggled to his feet.
“Crossflower.”
Just as Gris’s foot touched the ground, a silver sword and a black blade moved in perfect sync, pinning him back to the earth.
Noi tilted her head, catching the gaze of Lyte, who had just broken free from his own confinement.
“Not bad with those martial skills, huh? Faster than me now, and your control’s spot-on.”
“Uh, thanks for the praise.”
They exchanged a quick smile.
Neither Crossflower had been a killing blow—Gris clung to life by a thread.
Xing Chen explained the mechanics of the mutation serum.
Noi cast a purification spell to clear Gris’s mind, helping him muster his own magic to resist the alien corruption.
Her innate healing magic followed, mending his grievous wounds with steady precision.
Once the groundwork was laid, Lyte stepped in, using the power of the hero to purge the corruption entirely.
The woodworking factory was a ruin, its second-floor office—the heart of the battle—reduced to a skeleton of shattered walls and gaping holes, its roof sheared clean off.
The creaking staircase groaned underfoot.
By the time Tina and the others reached the second floor, Gris had shed his mutated state.
The branches protruding from his body had fallen away, and the wound on his chest was knitting together under Noi’s rough but effective healing.
“Ugh… what? I’m not dead?”
Gris stirred, his eyes dazed as he took in the three men and one woman standing over him, like nurses at a bedside vigil. He froze, bewildered.
He had craved death, even injecting the mutation serum to ensure no one could save him.
He’d committed unspeakable acts, all in a futile bid for his father’s approval, only to find himself unworthy of life.
Clutching his head in anguish, Gris muttered, “Why didn’t you kill me? Why?”
“Because you colluded with the aliens, dragging human society down with you.”
A raspy voice cut through, laced with the scent of herbal smoke.
Arden, a specially crafted cigarette between his lips, had scaled the factory’s exposed rebar to reach the office first.
“But,” he added, stepping closer to Noi’s group and exhaling a long plume of smoke into the empty air, “you’ve got one shot at redemption.”
He paused, then continued, “And here’s some good news: your father recognized you as his own long ago.”
“What? What did you say? Is that true?”
Gris’s head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes bulging with disbelief as Arden spoke the words he’d longed to hear.
“I’m not certain, but Andy just sent this to my aide. See for yourself.”
Arden handed over his aide’s phone.
Gris’s trembling hands took it, and as he read the text on the screen, tears streamed down his face.
‘So… Father forgave me long ago…’
On the road back to the capital, Andy had contacted Gris’s father.
The man revealed that he and his son had been estranged for over two years, their only connection maintained through a distant noble relative, Lutos.
Two months after Gris left the capital, his father had softened, sending word through Lutos that Gris should come home—that he no longer cared about his son proving himself with grand achievements.
But Lutos, scheming to find a scapegoat to manage the factory, had buried the truth.
He’d fabricated lies to deepen the rift, ensuring father and son never reconciled.
“How about it?” Arden asked.
“If you’re willing to provide evidence and information to the Demon Suppression Bureau, we’ll consider reducing your sentence.”
“I’ll do it… I’ll do it.”
Gris broke into anguished sobs.
Hope had been within his reach all along, but he’d been blind to it, stumbling into this tragedy.
The aide, arriving late, cast a complicated glance at Gris as he confessed.
Taking the phone, he left without a word.
Simon, meanwhile, was at the mercy of Tina and the other nuns, their “healing” more akin to vengeance.
The red-haired nun dragged him off as he yelled for Xing Chen to save him—only to be ignored.
Xing Chen, Lyte, and Noi, tied to the Wagner Town disappearances, stayed to hear Gris’s account.
From his lips, they learned that the noble Lutos had colluded with Nightmare, a newly risen captain in the Sin Domain, to construct a Hellgate.
Its exact location was unknown, but it was likely hidden in the slums.
Arden immediately ordered his team to raid Lutos’s estate, but the response came quickly: Lutos had fled to the slums, his lavish villa burned to ashes, leaving no trace of evidence.
The slums were a chaotic mess, barely policed by the Demon Suppression Bureau even in normal times.
With the capital under siege by the Sin Domain’s four fugitive captain-level aliens, the empire was stretched thin, unable to spare resources for a small southern town.
Arden instructed his aide to escort Gris back to the bureau’s branch.
Tucking his notebook of recorded intel into his uniform, he turned to Noi, Xing Chen, and Lyte, bowing deeply.
“My deepest thanks for your help. I have no way to repay you, but tomorrow, I’ll have someone deliver a thousand bucket of one thousand star coins.”
Xing Chen waved it off.
“Keep my share. Give it to them. I’ve got a little one at home to feed. I’m off.”
With that, he leapt from the second floor, casually freeing Simon from Tina’s grip—and her pilfering hands.
Earlier, Xing Chen had asked Simon to pick up some high-quality milk powder from the Kingdom of Mosode for his pets.
Noi and Lyte, both strapped for cash, happily accepted the modest reward.
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