181. The Leader of the Index Finger: Why Are You Standing Here?
What the Tarnished called insufficient, in the eyes of other witnesses, was a sword of judgment capable of crushing the entire nest into powder.
That silver-white pillar of light, unlike the warm and comforting light of the Seed of Light, poured forth power and oppression.
"Tsk tsk, making such a fuss right after its launch, this newly emerged World Wing... is probably even more difficult to deal with than those old-timers." A woman in an association uniform remarked to her companion.
"The spectacle may be impressive, but they don't really intend to set off the entire city like fireworks, do they?" her companion scoffed.
This kind of thing isn't something their association can handle; let the other World Wings or their leaders deal with it.
They just need to do their own job.
"It seems... we've welcomed a rather active new friend."
Throughout The City, in nests and on top floors, the chairmen of other World Wings, gazing at the dazzling silver light, wore varying expressions.
Some were rapidly calculating the new markets, disruptive technologies, or potential disruptions to their profit chains that the newcomer could bring, their eyes practically overflowing with greed.
Others merely glanced at it indifferently, then lowered their heads, as if what unfolded outside was nothing more than a slightly glaring neon advertisement, failing to stir even the slightest ripple in their hearts.
While some others still revealed pure admiration.
"Audacious! Daring to announce its existence to the entire city upon its debut... Interesting."
However, regardless of anticipation, indifference, or admiration, one emotion was conspicuously absent from all their faces—fear.
This was only natural.
Because they were World Wings. As long as they didn't cross that forbidden red line, who could touch them in the slightest?
In this dog-eat-dog world, they stand at the very top of the food chain, their fangs and claws the unimpeded law of passage.
Threats?
Those are nothing more than the powerless cries of lower-level ants.
Of course, all of this, taken for granted, might have been an irrefutable truth in the past.
But now… that silver pillar of light tearing through the sky, like a cold and sharp declaration, a silent question—it exists.
Really, it exists.
---------
Walking through the library, Xiling's steps were somewhat unsteady, the strange sensation in his body growing stronger. But this wasn't due to the Seed of Light affecting him.
On the contrary, it was he who had made a small adjustment to that creation containing immense hope and despair.
The core of the Seed of Light was forged from surging, boundless energy and a collective emotion honed to its extreme.
As it rises and blossoms, its warm light should equally illuminate the hearts of every city dweller, planting a seed deep within their numb souls and granting them the right to choose.
But… Xiling didn't want to give everyone an equal choice, especially those souls already soaked in blood and sin.
Either embrace the light, gain cleansing and rebirth.
Or, sink completely and perish in the abyss of darkness.
There is no middle ground, no gray space for lingering existence.
Therefore, he used magic as dye to stain the pure seed of light, forcibly infusing it with his own will.
This caused his steps to become unsteady, his strength constantly cycling between recovery and depletion, leaving him perpetually in a weakened state.
"Hoo…"
Xiling sat slumped in his armchair, his body sprawled out as if all his bones had been removed, letting out a long sigh.
Not far away, in the shadow of a bookshelf, a pair of eyes silently watched all of this. Elaina frowned slightly, a small storm raging within her.
"Idiot…that guy looks like he's about to fall apart from exhaustion, does he really think his terrible acting can fool anyone?" she thought to herself.
"Only a few silly girls would be foolish enough to believe him…"
"Taking everything upon himself, carrying a burden heavier than a mountain without uttering a sound…it's the ultimate form of self-torture!" A wave of frustration washed over her.
"If it were me, I'd throw this thankless, potentially self-destructive trouble as far away as possible. Why make myself look so pathetic?" Thinking this, Elaina let out a barely audible sigh.
"...Ugh. Seriously…I can't do anything with him."
Xiling's eyes were closed, his consciousness teetering on the edge of lucidity and drowsiness.
Footsteps approached, stopping beside him.
Xiling slowly opened his eyes. What came into view was Elaina's delicate yet expressionless face.
She gently placed the teacup on the low table in front of him, warm steam rising from its rim, carrying a faint aroma of tea. She didn't look at him, but simply sat down in another high-backed chair beside him, casually opening a book as if it were a casual gesture.
"...Have some tea."
"Ah, thank you." Xiling carefully picked up the teacup, took a small sip, and the cool, slightly astringent tea slid down his throat, seemingly dispelling some of his fatigue.
He put down the cup, his gaze shifting to the figure beside him, engrossed in the book.
Xiling hesitated for a moment, his tone tentative and uncertain, and asked softly, "Um... Elaina? Did I... do something to upset you?" His voice held a hint of cautious confusion.
Her fingers, which had been turning the pages, paused almost imperceptibly. Elaina finally looked up from her book, her tone clearly displeased.
"No. I made myself unhappy. It has nothing to do with you, don't overthink it."
A brief silence fell between them.
"...Sorry."
"Tch." Elaina glared at him.
"You didn't do anything wrong. Why are you apologizing? It's ridiculous!"
"Heh," Xiling relaxed a little from her glare, chuckled softly, leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes again, his voice tinged with tired languor, "I don't know... It's just my intuition telling me I should apologize right now. Maybe... Is it a hero's intuition? I just feel like I should take some responsibility..."
Elaina watched Xiling close his eyes to rest again; her lips moved, but she didn't say anything. A more complex feeling welled up inside her.
"I don't even know what I'm angry about..." This silent whisper slipped through her mind.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to return her gaze to the pages of her book. She sat there quietly, letting the sound of turning pages be the only companion in this corner. Accompanied by soft sleeping breath from near her…
---------
The air was thick with the pungent, almost unbearable smell of rust, and the carpet beneath her feet was soaked in a sticky, dark red stain. Kyuushou stepped over the wrecked corpses and broken weapon parts, pushing open the heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor.
Behind the door was not the luxurious office she had expected, but rather a cold, hard-edged command center.
In the center of the room, behind a desk, sat a figure that sat there imposingly.
It was an old man, his white hair as white as frost, meticulously combed, his broad shoulders still as straight as mountains.
He calmly watched Kyuushou enter, his gaze sweeping over her shoulders and across the hellish scene outside the door; however, not even a ripple crossed his eyes.
Or rather, he simply didn't care.
"You are… the Hunter of the Finger." The old man's deep, steady voice broke the deathly silence.
Kyuushou stopped, her face expressionless, not even showing disgust. She raised her right hand, and a destructive energy rippled from her palm.
"You're Carlo, the second boss of Thumb."
"Say your last words. I'll only hear them this once." She really didn't want to waste even a second of her breath on this scum.
"Yes." Carlo nodded slightly, his movements unhurried, as if merely confirming a simple identity.
"Could we talk a little longer?" His voice remained calm, as if discussing tomorrow's weather.
"After all, today is the end of my life. We both know that, don't we?" His words contained no pleading, no resentment, only the pure, frank statement of facts.
Kyuushou's hand hovered in mid-air, not immediately falling. She wanted to hear what this high-ranking criminal mastermind wanted to say in his final moments.
She leaned back, as if sitting on an invisible throne, even casually resting one ankle on her other knee.
"Tell me, what do you want to talk about?"
Carlo placed his hands on the table, without hesitation, getting straight to the point:
"It's not that I have any grand pronouncements to make. It's just… this morning, I received an instruction from the index finger." His tone was flat and emotionless, as if relaying a meeting notice.
Kyuushou raised an eyebrow slightly.
"An instruction?"
"You mean… an instruction from the index finger?"
"Yes, that's right." Carlo readily admitted.
"Ha." Kyuushou's lips curled into a smile.
"I haven't even gone to cause them any trouble, yet they've already jumped out on their own? So, you're conveying this instruction to me?'"
"Exactly." Carlo nodded.
"This morning, the agent of the index finger personally delivered an instruction."
He paused, each word uttered clearly, "Ask the person destined to take my life today one question."
"...What question?"
"Why are you standing here?"
Silence returned.
After a moment, Kyuushou uttered two words:
"Finished asking?"
"It's finished," Carlo answered calmly.
"...Then," Kyuushou's figure slowly rose from the invisible chair, "Goodbye."
Carlo nodded slightly:
"Thank you."
Kyuushou didn't look at him again. She turned around and walked towards the door, which closed silently behind her, separating the two worlds...
The room was deathly silent...
Behind the desk, the imposing face had vanished, leaving only a dark red splatter of ink behind it...