Tokyo: The Player Behind the Scenes.

Chapter 323, Section 70: The Tree of Reform

The afternoon sun was shining brightly. In the garage of a townhouse in a London community, a suitcase was spread out on the ground, haphazardly stuffed with clothes, photo albums, and some small items that the owner couldn't bear to part with.

The man had just stuffed the last piece of luggage into the trunk of the car, slammed the door shut, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

The decision to temporarily leave London for refuge was not a pleasant one, but the series of terrorist attacks eventually shattered the young couple's resolve to stay.

We have to survive first.

"Sarah?" the man called into the house, his voice echoing through the empty garage. "Are you done on your end? We need to get out of the city as soon as possible, otherwise it will be troublesome to check after dark."

no respond.

Only the faint voice of a television news anchor, trying to sound calm, could be heard from inside the building, reporting on the official assessment that the current situation was generally under control and that they were responding proactively.

The male homeowner frowned slightly. Sarah was usually quite efficient; it shouldn't have taken this long.

He pushed open the door connecting the garage and the kitchen and went inside. "Honey? Do you need my help? Is Pavlov hiding somewhere again, refusing to come over?"

Silence remained; the house was eerily quiet, and even the television had stopped playing.

A strange sense of unease crept into the man's heart.

He walked through the kitchen and into the living room. His suitcase was open, several women's sweaters were scattered to the side, and the television screen showed a signal interruption; something was probably wrong again, as the signal had been intermittent for the past few days.

“Sarah?” His voice rose slightly, tinged with nervousness.

He walked quickly up the stairs, the wooden staircase creaking softly, the sound particularly clear in the silence.

"Sarah? Are you alright?" The male homeowner could see into the bedroom through the open door.

His wife, Sarah, lay on her back on the soft carpet, seemingly asleep, her body motionless in a somewhat awkward position. Her favorite silk shawl lay crumpled beneath her.

Meanwhile, their Labrador Pavlov, whom they had raised for three years and whose temperament was as gentle as a large toy, was lying on Sarah's body, his huge head buried in the crook of her neck, his shoulders shrugging and making a strange, wet rustling sound.

The sound was like it excitedly licking something.

The door frame blocked part of the male homeowner's view; he couldn't see Sarah's face or the dog's specific movements.

"Pavlov?" The man of the house breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing this, both amused and annoyed. "You naughty boy, you pounced on Mom again and licked her face all over! Get up! We have to go."

As he spoke, he walked forward, preparing to pull the overly clingy dog ​​away.

At that moment, his gaze inadvertently swept across the carpet.

Right beside Sarah's drooping hand, on the light-colored carpet, a small, ever-expanding dark red stain had appeared.

His steps froze on the spot, and his heart almost stopped beating.

what is that?
His gaze moved upwards in alarm, finally making out more details.

His wife's wrists hung limply, pale and smeared with red, the spreading red stain on the carpet coming from beneath her. And beneath Pavlov's bobbing head, there was the sound of water.

That wasn't saliva.
That rustling sound was definitely not licking.

A terrifying thought slowly emerged, chilling him to the bone. He opened his mouth, but could only utter a breathy sound.

The Labrador Retriever that had been lying on its owner finally stopped moving.

Its furry head, which had always warmly rubbed against their palms, turned very slowly, little by little.

The male owner saw its face.

Those once clear brown eyes now held only pure hatred.

Its mouth and chest were covered with thick blood and tiny tissue fragments, and a bright red trachea was still hanging from its canine tooth, swaying slightly as it turned its head.

It looked at its male owner, its blood-stained mouth slightly open, and a threatening growl came from its throat.

The former mistress, her neck almost hollowed out, stared unblinkingly ahead in the direction of the man, her eyes devoid of luster.

"Ahh! Ugh—!"

The man instinctively tried to escape, but after only turning around and taking two steps, his dog was faster than him. It pounced suddenly, and the powerful impact sent him crashing through the window and tumbling from the second floor onto the street.

"Ah!! You damned beast, get out of here!"

On the ground, the male owner used his arms to protect his neck, but the price was that his body was chewed to pieces.

He finally came to his senses and realized that he had no choice but to run away. Fueled by the pain of losing his wife, he endured the excruciating pain, pulled out the knife he was carrying, and shouted as he stabbed the dog's belly repeatedly. After stabbing it countless times, his abdomen felt warm, and he could feel the dog's strength gradually fading from his bitten arm.

"Ho ho."

The big dog finally fell silent and lay limply on his body.

He breathed heavily, as if he had asthma, and pulled out his mangled, gruesome arm, its bones tangled together.

"Ahhh."

He finally managed to get up, but before he could turn around and go back into the house to check on his wife, he saw four or five cats leap out of the bedroom window of the house across the street, each carrying a bloody piece of meat in its mouth.

"Mommy! Mickey bit me! It hurts!"

"God! No—"

Screams echoed throughout the community as a large number of pets attacked people almost simultaneously.

Countless cats, dogs, birds, and even more bizarre pets, after killing their owners, left their homes, ventured out into the streets, and gathered into a beast tide, heading towards the Tree of Reformers.

Any living person who dares to appear in their sight along the way will be immediately attacked indiscriminately.

The once adorable pet that wagged its tail and begged for mercy is now tearing a bloody path with its teeth and claws.

When the first pet arrived at the location of the Reformer's Tree, the Ripper had already ripped open the chest and held the still breathing lungs high above his head.

Cats, dogs, birds, and beasts—these carefully raised pets of humans were like magnets to the Ripper, rushing forward fearlessly. Their flesh and skin quickly stuck together, and soon, like grains of sand forming a tower, a sapling of flesh and blood appeared on the original site of the Tree of Reformers.

Its trunk is made up of tangled limbs and a spine, and its canopy is made up of countless swaying heads and tails, giving the whole thing a sense of life's filth.

As if it possessed a life of its own, this evil tree continued to expand and grow taller with the infusion of more nutrients, its branches spreading outwards, one branch giving rise to two, and two branches to four, covering an even larger area.

Oshima was the first to arrive. He slammed himself to the ground, crushing a group of frenzied cats and dogs into a bloody mess.

He stared at the terrifying tree that was already taking shape, his fists clenched.

"Allen Cross! What exactly are you pursuing?!"

Oshima couldn't even imagine how many people had died in the riot involving so many pets.

His anger toward the Ripper was almost beyond reason.

The Ripper's actions reminded him of his ancestors, all of whom were demons who, for their own selfish desires, were willing to drag the entire nation into the abyss.

Upon hearing the name Allen, the Tree of Flesh and Blood suddenly paused its stretching motion.

On the tree trunk, twisted limbs and heads writhe, eventually coalescing into a gigantic, abstract, and ever-shifting human face. A voice, a mixture of countless agonizing screams and a single, unwavering will, rumbles from the depths of the canopy:
"I'm not Allen, I'm Jack the Ripper." "I've returned only to dissect this hypocritical nation! It's you who had to interfere!"

Do you think a lot of people are dying now?!

"In my hometown, during that great famine, when corpses littered the fields, the number of people who died was far greater than this!!"

"The glory of Victoria? How many Irish bones lie buried beneath that dazzling golden age?! It's not just a string of numbers in a history book!"

Oshima interrupted with a cold laugh: "Are you doing this for the sake of your compatriots who died in the famine, or to satisfy your own personal grudges? A coward with power is still a coward. Just like me, you have to use high-sounding excuses to cover up your shame!"

"You hate the cannibalistic Britain of that time, but you hate even more that you couldn't be one of them. You hate your own powerlessness! You envy everything that others have, but your nature is the same as theirs—the survival of the fittest!"

"Even my former self wouldn't dare admit that someone like you wielding power is no different from an incompetent person ruling a country! Both are disasters!"

The existing clues do not show that he loves Ireland at all. On the contrary, it can be vaguely seen that he is trying to shed his Irish identity, try to integrate into London, and hope to become a real Londoner by passing the medical exam.

Bringing up the Irish famine at this point seems more like an added fuel to the fire, as if they felt their resentment wasn't strong enough.

Just like his previous resentment towards medical school, because he couldn't meet the requirements, he thought all the requirements were wrong.

Ultimately, even after gaining power, he still looked down on his former humble and failed self deep down, and tried to use grander reasons to cover up the seemingly insignificant personal grievances stemming from his personal setbacks.

"you?!
The Tree of Flesh and Blood trembled violently, its abstract face contorting into a grotesque grimace as its innermost thoughts were exposed. Beyond the anger, there was an overwhelming sense of dread at being completely seen through.

These people seem to know everything!

My past seems transparent to them—this is impossible!!
He emitted a sharp, explosive sound.

Oshima frowned, ignoring him. He swung his fist to clear away the frenzied pets that were pouncing on him again, and then took out the crystal to activate it.

Sure enough, a new critical juncture appeared before him.

He reached out and touched it without hesitation.

A flash of white light, and the scene changed abruptly.

The bloody battle vanished in an instant, the illusory scene swallowed up reality, and the view of Hyde Park in Victorian London came into view, while the clamor of voices simultaneously flooded into the ears.

At this moment, he was standing in the same spot as before. There was no longer the tree of flesh and blood in front of him, only a thick, charred tree stump that had been burned by the raging fire.

This is the remains of the true reformer tree that was later commemorated.

The tree stump was covered with various printed leaflets and slogans, and a large crowd had gathered all around. Judging from their attire, they were mainly tired-looking workers and ragged vendors, and the air was filled with the smells of sweat, smoke, and excitement.

Oshima quickly scanned the crowd but couldn't find the Ripper for a moment.

Just then, a passionate and inflammatory voice rang out from the tree stump:

"Freedom is not a handout from the lords! It is our inherent right!"

"What is freedom?! Freedom is the ability to loudly say no to those unscrupulous factories that drag out working hours to twelve hours and reduce wages to half a shilling!"

"Freedom means being able to put our votes into the ballot box with dignity! It means letting those high and mighty lords in Whitehall hear our voices—"

“We are not numbers on their ledgers, nor are we pets that wag our tails and beg for a bone. We are living, breathing human beings! We are citizens of the country!”

"If work can't allow us to live well, then we'll fight! Until we take back everything we deserve!"

"Let us stand together again today and shout it out! We demand universal suffrage for adult men!"

"Let spring belong to every free person! Let this dead tree sprout anew for us!"

"Now, now, right now!"

"Now!"

"Universal suffrage!"

"free!"

The speech was clearly not just beginning, but was reaching its climax; the speaker's words ignited the emotions of the crowd! People waved their fists and shouted enthusiastically, creating a tremendous uproar!
The island moved, passing through people lost to history, its gaze continuing its search. Finally, on the outermost edge of the crowd, in an inconspicuous corner, it spotted that small, pale figure.

He stood at the edge of the crowd, his pale face flushed with excitement, his fists clenched tightly, his lips moving as if he were also quietly shouting the inspiring slogans along with the crowd.

But he dared not speak loudly, and would occasionally turn his head to look at the patrol officers outside who were gathered together talking.

Even so, after only a few shouts, his frail body seemed unable to withstand the immense emotional turmoil. He began to stagger backward a few steps, and finally his legs gave way, causing him to collapse onto the muddy ground.

The flush of excitement quickly faded from her face, leaving only her original paleness and embarrassment.

Just then, a gentle female voice sounded beside him:

You look... pitifully hungry.

Allen raised his head in a daze.

The afternoon sun was a bit too bright, so he squinted. Backlit, he saw a young woman leaning down and looking at him. The sunlight cast a soft halo around her, illuminating her fair skin and beautiful eyes.

At that moment, Aaron Cross felt he had probably seen the most beautiful girl he had ever met. All the noise and clamor of the world seemed to fade away instantly, leaving only that captivating face before him.

His ears turned bright red instantly, his heart pounded, and he opened his mouth but stammered. His tongue, which was usually quite good at boasting, seemed to be tied in knots, and he completely lost his ability to speak.

The woman smiled, seemingly finding his awkwardness amusing, and then placed a small piece of black bread wrapped in oil paper into his hand.

Allen took the bread blankly, as if holding some precious treasure, and stood up in a daze, his eyes still stealing glances at the other person.

"You're Irish, aren't you? If you don't mind, have some bread to fill your stomach."

“Ah, I… I am.” Allen grabbed the bread and nodded reluctantly.

"What do you think of this person's speech?" the woman suddenly asked casually, her gaze sweeping thoughtfully over the enthusiastic crowd.

Alan seemed to be jolted awake, his face regaining its excitement. He gestured frantically, as if trying to express a lot, but ultimately, due to nervousness, he could only stammer out a few words: "Good, very good, you're right."

The woman gave a faint, complex smile.

“I’ve seen you before,” she said with a sigh. “Working odd jobs at Whitechapel, right? If you need me later.” She paused, lowering her voice. “I’m at 17 Backstreet. Feel free to come.”

After saying that, she didn't look at Allen again, turned around and walked out of the park, quickly disappearing from sight.

The already pale face of Alan began to drain away little by little when he heard the words "17 Backstreet."

He certainly knew what 17 Backstreet meant; it was one of the few upscale brothels near Whitechapel.

It turns out that the woman who appeared to him like an angel, suddenly descending upon him and giving him warmth and food, was a prostitute.

He suddenly laughed self-deprecatingly, thinking that someone like him had no right to look down on prostitutes.

Moreover, the other party did not show the slightest disgust because of his appearance. To him, such a person was no different from an angel.

Unfortunately, I forgot to ask their name.
(End of this chapter)