Her azure eyes widened, her small mouth slightly agape, as if her entire being had turned to stone.
She understood every word Baiheng described, but when put together, they formed a picture she couldn't comprehend at all.
Rising Dragon Fist? Combos? Strange dances?
Was this really the person she knew?!
After a long while, Cyrene finally found her voice with difficulty, her tone filled with deep concern: "Anaxa... his mental state... has it really... deteriorated to this extent?"
The abstract dance was shocking enough, and now with such violent combat techniques, Cyrene couldn't imagine the pain and distortion Anaxa was enduring.
Baiheng also sighed and nodded, then recalled Madam Herta's words, her tone becoming somewhat low: "Master said... to save you all... including Anaxa, and the others... there are only two ways: either 'persuade' them, or... 'defeat' them."
Hearing this condition, Cyrene's delicate eyebrows furrowed slightly, and a hint of doubt and struggle flashed in her eyes.
(Inner thoughts: Combat... conquest... is this truly salvation?)
But seeing Baiheng's equally troubled expression, she didn't voice her doubts, merely gently held Baiheng's hand and whispered: "...Regardless, knowing there's still hope... is always good."
[Jarilo-VI - Belobog]
Meanwhile, on the distant frozen planet Jarilo-VI, the ruler of Belobog, Supreme Guardian Cocolia Rand, had just finished a day of heavy and exhausting work.
She returned alone to her private chambers on the top floor of Qlipoth Fort, dismissing all her attendants.
Inside the magnificent room, the fireplace crackled, attempting to dispel the planet's eternal chill, but it failed to warm the coldness in her eyes and the deep fatigue within her.
She took off her robe, a symbol of power and responsibility, draped it casually over the back of a chair, then collapsed somewhat weakly onto the soft bed, closing her eyes that held complex emotions.
The whispers of the Stellaron, the survival of the city, the chaos of the Lower District, and the persistent prophecy about 'outsiders'... countless burdens weighed on her shoulders, making it difficult for her to truly relax even when resting.
As night deepened, the castle inside and out was silent, save for the occasional sound of wind and snow beating against the windows.
Just then—
Outside the bedchamber, beyond the heavy, ornate wooden door carved with the Guardian's emblem, a tall figure silently appeared.
The newcomer seemed to merge with the shadows of the corridor, without a single footstep, without a single breath escaping.
She stopped before the door, quietly 'gazing' at it, as if she could penetrate the thick wood to see the ruler inside, who had just lain down, mentally exhausted.
A moment later, a slender, beautiful hand, like a work of art, adorned with a black lace glove, slowly rose and gently rested on the cold doorknob.
Fingertips touched metal without making the slightest sound.
With a slight turn of that hand, the doorknob could be rotated.
Inside the door was the weary, sleeping Cocolia.
Outside the door was a visitor of unknown intent, with a profound aura.
"I suggest you don't touch that door."
A lazy yet pleasant female voice sounded from behind, and at the same time, a cold, hard object gently pressed against the back of the visitor's black-robed head.
The sensation was unmistakably a gun muzzle.
The figure beneath the black robe paused, her fingers, about to exert force, hovering mere millimeters above the doorknob.
"While it's impolite to disturb a lady's slumber,"
The female voice from behind continued, her tone steady, betraying no hint of tension, as if merely stating a fact, "it's even more impolite to arrive uninvited, especially in the dead of night. Could I ask you to turn around so I can see which presumptuous guest you are?... Or, perhaps we can chat in a quieter place? The room next door is quite empty."
The black-robed figure complied, slowly lowering her hand.
She didn't turn around immediately but obediently, with an almost elegant composure, walked towards the direction indicated by the voice—an empty reception room on the other side of the corridor.
Throughout the process, she showed no surprise or panic, as if she had already anticipated this encounter.
(She recognized this voice. Kafka... the voice from the game in her previous life that made her feel so at ease and nostalgic. Strangely, beneath the black robe, her taut nerves relaxed for a moment. A 'familiar' person was better than a completely unknown enemy.)
The reception room door closed behind her with a soft 'click'.
The room was unlit, with only the cold moonlight filtering through the high window, cutting out pale areas on the floor.
The gun muzzle remained steadily pointed at her back.
"Alright, mysterious guest,"
Kafka's voice was still clear in the dimness, "Now, can you tell us your origin and your purpose in trying to disturb Ms. Cocolia's beautiful dream?"
The black-robed figure remained with her back to them, silent.
"Hey, cat got your tongue?"
A slightly displeased and younger voice spoke up, "Cosplaying a dark wizard in the middle of the night and coming all the way to this icy, snowy place, surely it's not for sightseeing, is it?"
(It's Silver Wolf. As expected, she's also here.)
Beneath the black robe, Madam Herta's lips curved into a small smile.
Finally, she spoke, her voice coming through the black robe with a peculiar, deep echo, yet exceptionally clear: "Purpose? Very simple. I just... want that'Stellaron'."
Kafka let out a soft "Oh?" her voice rising at the end, with a hint of inquiry.
"What if I say... no?"
She asked, her tone still gentle, but the gun muzzle pressed against the back of Madam Herta's head conveyed an undeniable pressure.
"No?"
Madam Herta chuckled softly, her laughter sounding particularly abrupt in the room, "'Stellaron Hunter' Kafka, and... Miss 'Silver Wolf', who was just universally wanted by the Herta Space Station, had her account banned, and is brimming with anger. Are you stopping me to uphold the predetermined'script', or simply... to avoid further complications?"
As these words were uttered, the air in the room seemed to freeze for a moment.
"Damn it! How did you know?!"
Silver Wolf's voice instantly rose, filled with incredulous annoyance, "And who's brimming with anger?! That old witch's puppet matrix firewall is only mediocre..."
"Silver Wolf."
Kafka gently interrupted her, but her voice also carried a hint of imperceptible gravity.
The other party not only knew their identities but also clearly knew Silver Wolf's recent predicament, which was far from ordinary.
"Tsk, boring." Silver Wolf clicked her tongue and grumbled softly.
Kafka continued to ask: "Even knowing our identities, you still insist on acquiring the Stellaron? This makes things difficult for us."
"Insist?"
Madam Herta's voice took on a playful tone, "Perhaps... we can try another way. I don't necessarily have to take the one in Belobog. You, the 'Stellaron Hunters', traverse the star seas with an extensive intelligence network. Find me a Stellaron, any one will do. As long as it's delivered to me, I guarantee I will leave immediately and will not interfere with your 'performance' here."
"Huh?!"
Silver Wolf couldn't hold back anymore, complaining in an exaggerated tone, "Who are you?! Do you really think Stellarons are like cabbages? You just open your mouth and expect us to find you one! The thing known as the 'Cancer of All Worlds'! You just say you want it and you get it?"
Just then, Madam Herta let out a soft, delighted laugh.
This laughter was no longer concealed, reverting to its original clear and magnetic female voice.
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