"Rast… that 'Lantern Bearer' ability you used earlier—can you use it again?"
Hiltina asked quietly as they approached the mansion. "I mean, the kind that can cover every cultist inside the main house."
"Technically… yes," Rast replied, his gaze pausing briefly on her slender shoulders, hidden beneath the hood of her cloak.
"But are you sure?"
Hiltina's voice was calm but firm. "Using that ability puts a tremendous strain on me, especially when expanding the target from a single individual to dozens… In my current state of mental exhaustion, I can't provide any backup for you."
"The mansion has thirty-six people inside. More than half are armed… and most of them, tainted by flesh corruption, can continue fighting even while injured, ignoring pain."
Rast had already guessed at Hiltina's ability. While his own 'Tower' sequence leaned toward mental manipulation, her long-sequence ability was clearly combat-oriented.
Even so, the plan she proposed was extraordinarily dangerous. Hiltina did not have infinite loops like Rast—no countless chances to retry.
"No matter how much they ignore pain, as long as their bodies are made of flesh, once a bullet pierces the heart or skull, they'll be stopped."
Hiltina's brown eyes met his steadily. "Besides… since you've never managed to change the outcome of Deep Blue Port's annihilation at dusk in your tens of thousands of loops…"
"Then it's obvious the thing we're facing is far more than just the people inside this mansion."
Watching Rast in action, she knew the mansion's cultists would not truly hinder him.
If anything had trapped him in this endless cycle for over a century, it could only have been something far more terrifying.
"History, as recorded in ancient texts… the so-called fate… it isn't something you can break without risking everything, without struggling with every ounce of strength."
Hiltina's gaze was calm but resolute. "I refuse to die unnoticed in the Night World."
"You said I'm the only variable you encountered in tens of thousands of loops," Rast reminded her. "Then… maybe it's time to trust me."
Looking into her clear, unshadowed brown eyes, Rast nodded.
Hiltina tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and smiled. "Now that we're about to fight side by side… I realize I haven't properly introduced myself."
"You probably guessed already—like that Shadow Sequence dancer you encountered before, I've reached the Third Tier."
"As for my long-sequence ability… it's called—" She paused, a faint curve forming on her lips.
"'Chariot.'"
Inside the mansion, lights blazed brightly.
Men and women drank and laughed, empty bottles littering the floor—it looked like any ordinary banquet.
But a closer look revealed a different truth: in every gaze, there was a wild, feverish anticipation, as if everyone had gathered solely to witness a single event.
Clack, clack.
Sudden footsteps echoed outside the mansion door, growing louder. Instantly, all eyes turned toward the sound.
Two black-robed figures finally stopped at the gate. The one in front had half a foot inside the mansion, bent over, gasping.
"Vice-Pontiff… urgent intelligence from West Street to report to the leader."
"Davi? What's going on?"
The middle-aged man known as the Vice-Pontiff stood, frowning toward the figure in the doorway. Despite the cloak and hood, he recognized the voice—it was one of the two guards he had stationed outside.
"I thought I said the leader would see no one today," the Vice-Pontiff muttered.
The hooded figure straightened slightly. "This report is critical. It's about Councilor Talis. The West Street outpost has been destroyed by the inspection bureau to deliver this message."
The Vice-Pontiff's brow furrowed deeper, twisting like gnarled roots. Talis wasn't an unfamiliar enemy; he was arguably the cult's greatest threat in Deep Blue Port.
Of course, Talis's goal was not merely to eliminate the cult—it went far deeper. Somehow, he had discovered the miraculous nature of the sculpture their leader had retrieved and coveted it. Healing illnesses, eternal youth… its allure to a power-hungry, aging councilor was obvious.
The city's political stalemate had so far prevented open conflict. But now, using his authority, Talis had wiped out one of their outposts. Was this the beginning of a full-scale showdown with the aristocracy?
"Speak," the Vice-Pontiff demanded. "What exactly has Talis done?"
All eyes turned toward the messenger, heavy with tension. Surviving today would have been enough—once the leader completed the ritual, nothing more would matter. Yet why now, at the most critical moment? A leak? A traitor?
The black-robed man finally straightened.
"This is the account of the last survivor from the West Street outpost. Accuracy cannot be fully confirmed, but the report is highly reliable."
He raised his left hand from his sleeve, as if revealing a grave secret. Slowly, clearly:
"Intelligence states… Councilor Talis—"
"He—he infiltrated the city council…"
?
The words were so abrupt and offbeat that the cultists momentarily faltered. It was just a blink, but it was enough for Rast.
The silver pistol slid from his sleeve into his hand.
Without hesitation, he pressed it to his temple.
All eyes followed, rapt.
Bang—
The gun roared. Smoke filled the air. No bullet had fired, yet Rast's head tilted as if pierced. His ice-blue eyes flared.
Then, behind him, all present saw it: the tower raging in a storm, and beneath it, the phantom Lantern Bearer, the lantern casting a pure, radiant light.
The blaze reflected in their eyes. The cultists froze, stunned as if a sudden sunlight had pierced the darkness.
The Lantern Bearer's mental shock wouldn't last long. Normally, aiming at dozens of targets, it would fade in seconds.
Hiltina, who had been quietly following Rast, stepped forward to stand beside him.
She tore off her hooded cloak in one swift motion, revealing her armor—white accented with crimson. Her chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders, reflecting the torchlight with golden highlights, brightening the night and dispelling shadows from the mansion.
In just a few heartbeats, the twin blades in her hands unleashed a red-and-white storm, sweeping through the entire hall.