The flood came without warning.
Every grafting trick, every fertilizer method, every insecticide for Sumeru roses—tangled with farmers' sighs, rain-damp memory, idle gossip about a Chamber heiress—all slammed into Orien's skull like a breached dam.
His vision warped, sound became a hive of whispers. A thousand voices spoke at once.
"Damn it—" He clutched his temples, nearly collapsing.
[External information surge detected. Initiating firewall…]
[Warning! Structure includes residual consciousness. Full purge requires massive Fracture Value!]
[Options: Spend 5000 FV to purge / Spend 1000 FV to suppress and absorb slowly.]
"Suppress! Now!"
[1000 FV spent. Surge suppressed.]
A cooling barrier slammed into place. The torrent dulled, the fragments became files to sift later. Dizziness ebbed.
But in those few seconds, three Matra stormed into the alley, boxing him in.
"Don't move! Hands up!" their leader barked. The compass in his grip quivered, needle locked onto Orien.
Dead end. Three trained hunters. Reinforcements likely en route. To fight here was suicide—Cyno would descend.
Orien's eyes flicked to the glowing canister in his hand… then to a pile of crates and tarps. A desperate idea sparked.
He raised his hands, voice shaking, face twisted with panic: "W-wait! Don't kill me! I surrender! I-I just bought this out of curiosity! It lit up on its own, I swear!"
He "fumbled"—the canister slipped, tumbling toward the junk pile.
"Catch it!" Instinct overrode discipline. All three Matra lunged to save the evidence.
Now!
Mirror Flower, Water Moon!
Thunder Shadow Flash!
The decoy Orien trembled in place.
The real one blurred, lightning skimming low. Not toward the alley mouth—backward, into the wall.
Verdant Thorn burst from his arm, catalyzing hidden seeds in the cracks. Vines erupted, cushioning the impact.
CRASH!
Bricks shattered, a hole torn through.
He vanished into the breach.
The canister clinked safely into a Matra's hands. They looked up just in time to see the decoy dissolve like mist—and the jagged hole in the wall.
"An illusion?! Damn it, he's gone! After him!"
Whistles shrilled.
But Orien was already a phantom in the labyrinth, Stealth and Concealment smothering his breath, Guerrilla Tactics guiding each step across crates, beams, and rooftops.
He veered toward the sewers he'd spotted earlier—reek and chaos, the perfect cover.
Then it struck.
A killing intent, heavy as a mountain, fell from above. His body froze.
On a stack of cargo stood Cyno.
Jackal helm silhouetted in sunset, crimson eyes blazing. The Staff of Scarlet Sands hummed with judgmental lightning.
"Tricks of shadow, petty illusions… worthless before law." His voice cut like ice. "Kneel. Submit."
The staff cleaved down, thunder itself sharpened to a blade.
Too fast. Too final.
Orien's pupils shrank. Flash? Too late. Illusion? Worthless. Counterattack? Suicide.
One gamble remained.
As the bolt fell, he yanked out the violet sigil taken from the black market—Fatui script writhing across its surface—and thrust it high.
"I'm with the Craftsman!!" he roared.
The name. The code. Dottore.
BOOM!
The judgment halted inches above his brow, sparks searing the air.
Cyno's staff hovered, wrath crashing against suspicion. His eyes locked on the sigil, then on Orien's face.
"…Fatui… the Doctor?" His voice was glacial, quaking with fury and doubt.
In that sliver of hesitation, Orien unleashed everything.
Thunder Shadow Flash!—straight into the sewer mouth.
Scarlet Prison!—fire imprint slammed into the ground, detonating dust and flame, hurling him faster.
Stealth and Concealment!—to vanish into the stench and smoke.
BANG!
Lightning, fire, filth—all exploded. The shockwave blasted refuse skyward, choking the port in smoke.
When Cyno cleared the haze, only the black maw of the sewer remained. His prey was gone.
"Bastard!!!" His roar thundered over Port Ormos.
"Search! Tear the sewers apart! Seal every exit! Nothing leaves!"
"Yes, General Mahamatra!" Matra scattered, pale with fear.
Cyno stood above the pit, eyes seething crimson lightning.
Whether you are the sky screen's master… or the Fatui's dog… you've enraged me.
The hunt begins now.
Meanwhile, swept along by sewage and pain, Orien smirked through blood.
He'd won the gamble. Planted seeds of doubt.
Next stop: the "Orchard." To taste the true Poison Apple.
(End of Chapter)
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