Tokyo: The Player Behind the Scenes.

Chapter 328, Section 75: Location Lock

The Shard, this modern London landmark, now truly lives up to its name.

From a distance, the entire tower looks like it was forcibly piled up from countless pieces of flesh and blood of different colors and textures.

What's particularly chilling is that this enormous tissue is constantly secreting various viscous, unidentifiable liquids, which drip down like a giant, melting, bloody ice cream cone.

Even from a distance, just looking at it, you can almost smell the stench of decay.

"I remember that giant that appeared in Kyoto last time was only about a hundred meters tall, right?" Hayato clicked his tongue, his tone carrying an untimely astonishment. "How tall was this Shard Tower again?"

Oshima, who was standing nearby, had looked up the information beforehand and casually replied, "About 300 meters."

"Good heavens, this 'dissecting Britain'... could it really mean literally dissecting the entire country geographically?" Hayato muttered to himself.

He now felt that it wouldn't be surprising if these giant organs were eventually pieced together to form a race of gods.

The fifth round of the ceremony has been completed and is currently being evaluated.

[Ceremony Completion Rate: 90%]

Overall assessment: Wasted effort

[Sixth round of ceremony countdown: 32:00:00]

With a completion rate of 90%, their efforts in this round were basically in vain.

That pitiful ten percent was mostly due to the fact that the previous rounds had somewhat hindered the Ripper, causing him some damage.

This is also bad news; once the Ripper gets serious, the interference that players can cause is extremely limited.

And even if they could truly foresee the future and guess that the ritual would take place at the Shard, could they really blow up that landmark beforehand? Moreover, the more they went on, the more outrageous the power that the Ripper displayed became, almost as if it were expanding out of control.

"Don't you think," Hayato started the motorcycle, gesturing for the two to get on, preparing to head to the Tower of Flesh and Blood, "that the destructive power Ripper displayed seems much more ferocious than that of the Silver Cup Manor's owner?"

Oshima shook his head, his opinion differing: "You can't compare them like that. The ultimate goal of the manor owner, Hugo, was to achieve legendary advancement and pursue immortality. Power was just a byproduct of his goal. But look at what the Ripper did; it was purely for revenge."

"It's like... like someone who has been completely abandoned by the whole society, suddenly gaining unimaginable power. He doesn't care about the consequences, he wants to prove himself at all costs, and he wants to make the society that once looked down on him and abandoned him regret it, even if it means dragging everything down with him."

Compared to the analysis of the two men, Ludu next to him seemed a little distracted.

Her gaze was drawn to the sign of a closed Italian restaurant on the side of the road.

The sign depicted a plate of macaroni, but next to it clearly said "pasta." She could also see the dirty shop window, which displayed various shapes of pasta models.

She subconsciously used her ability to roll out a small plate of macaroni in her palm, making it look exactly the same.

"Huh?!" Ludu's eyes widened in surprise.

Her ability can even perfectly replicate these non-noodle-like shapes? Could these oddly shaped things also be considered pasta?

A sense of enlightenment struck her; she had never realized this before, always assuming that pasta had to be long noodles.

It turns out it can have countless forms!
With a hollow structure like macaroni, wouldn't it be possible to assemble it into a macaroni machine gun that could fire? She felt like she had opened the door to a new world.

Shortly after,
At the base of the Tower of Flesh and Blood, players activated nodes and collected fragments of its history.

The content of the hallucination largely matched their speculation: Aaron's so-called friend John was after the medical school tuition that Aaron had saved up through frugality.

John deduced from Allen's boasting about becoming a doctor that he indeed had a considerable sum of money, so he deliberately approached him and intentionally infected him with tuberculosis.

Next, John orchestrated a scheme involving a miracle doctor. First, he had the recovered boy thank the doctor, then he had the doctor initially dismiss Allen's serious illness, claiming he couldn't cure him. Through this gradual psychological manipulation, he ultimately dragged Allen into the abyss, nearly draining him of his hard-earned money in exchange for a series of useless "miracle drugs."

When Allen could no longer come up with a single penny, John and the charlatan doctor vanished without a trace, as if they had evaporated into thin air.

Finally, the scene freezes on the dilapidated, cheap rental room.

Alan lay on the hard wooden bed, covered with a thin blanket that offered little protection from the cold, staring blankly at the ceiling, tears streaming silently down his face.

He took out the bread from his pocket, which was already deformed, dry, and blackened, and held it under his nose to smell it deeply, as if he could still draw a trace of illusory warmth from it.

Then, he took out the dagger that he had never been able to figure out how to use, took a deep breath, and resolutely plunged it into his heart.

The illusion ended abruptly there.

"I think the next location is already quite clear."

In the ward, Kurosaki put down his binoculars and spoke to Taira no Ryu beside him with little emotional fluctuation.

"Where exactly did the ceremony take place?" Ping Shenglong looked up from his tablet.

“Stockwell Station.” Kurosaki drew a circle on the map and handed it over.

Ping Shenglong took the map, looked at it, picked up a pen, squinted, and connected the existing markers on the map, outlining a clear pattern.

“A six-pointed star?” he mused. “So, the actual location of the second ceremony, which was completely extinguished by that rain, was Battersea Park. Then the next ceremony location should be London Bridge.”

Kurosaki nodded expressionlessly, sat down to the side, picked up a fruit knife, and began peeling an apple again.

"I don't want to eat apples anymore," Ping Shenglong said, looking at the familiar gesture. He had eaten more apples in the past few days than in the previous ten years combined.

“Heh,” Kurosaki paused for a moment, then sneered, “You’re just being presumptuous. I’m peeling it for myself.”

Ping Shenglong ignored his tone and put down the map: "Aren't we going to tell them about this hypothesis?"

“There’s no need.” Kurosaki’s voice sounded tired, even a little disheartened. “If you can’t even figure this out, I might as well be the player.”

Ping Shenglong could sense that something was wrong with him.

It's a profound sense of frustration—the feeling of knowing disaster is imminent yet finding oneself powerless to stop it. When the gap between ideals and reality becomes insurmountable, even the most resilient person will feel despair.

"What will happen if the ceremony is eventually launched?" Ping Shenglong tried to pull his thoughts back to his expertise in deduction, hoping to reignite his fighting spirit.

Kurosaki took a bite of the apple, chewing it without much flavor: "Two possibilities. First, the ritual only has six rounds, and the center of the six-pointed star is Westminster, where it will suffer annihilation. Second, it's the seventh round of the ritual, concerning nobility. But either way, Westminster is doomed. The power of the ritual now is beyond our ability to contend with."

He paused, his tone carrying a resigned calm: "The players are probably in for a tough time too. Unless it's someone like the White Mask, or God himself intervenes."

"I'm actually quite optimistic about that. If things really get to the point of no return, perhaps something we can't yet understand will intervene. However, the price we'll have to pay before that is probably immeasurable."

Kurosaki was right about one thing: even without his reminder, the players could already tell from the geographical location that the location of the ceremony could be pieced together to form a six-pointed star.

If they can't even see this, they can basically say goodbye to being players.

"This is the only way."

Nobita sighed in the player lobby, his voice revealing little surprise, only deep weariness.

"Notify the authorities that the area covered by the hexagram, especially the central area, must be evacuated immediately."

This is not a discussion, but a notification.

The next level of combat will likely be beyond the scope of what conventional armies can intervene in.

Unless the authorities are ruthless enough to drop a massive strategic weapon in the heart of London, and they have to hope it actually works.

This option comes at a price no one can afford.

As expected, the difficulty was no joke. At first, they were somewhat intrigued, thinking that this way of playing could save them a lot of lifespan.

In the end, however, this kind of game, which doesn't offer constant opportunities for trial and error, left them physically and mentally exhausted. But it varies from person to person; Ethan prefers this style, while Iwasaki doesn't seem to mind as much.

They experience less internal moral pressure than most players.

“They might not necessarily do it,” Taki said.

The group looked on with curiosity. Did these people, who valued their lives so much, not think about leaving at this point? They knew that the Ripper hadn't really made a move in the earlier rituals, but the final ritual would definitely be different; there would certainly be a real battle.

Even they weren't sure if they would survive.

It was only thanks to the special possession paper dolls that they survived; otherwise, more than half of them would probably have died.

“You underestimate the attraction that the extraordinary has for ordinary people.” Taki shook his head.

Everyone understood; ultimately, it all came down to that rain.

It gives people the illusion that God will bless them as long as they pray sincerely.

They would even risk their lives to ensure their devotion was seen.

"Can't they see the people who died in the previous rounds of the ritual?"

Do you know the witch joke?

"Uh, I understand."

Those who could withstand being burned at the stake were undoubtedly witches; those who couldn't were purified, making them even more likely to be witches.

Therefore, those who died were not devout.

Most of the people here are atheists, and even now, their concept of God is more of an unfathomable supernatural being, making it difficult to understand their thoughts.

“William V is the leader of the Anglican Church, and the Pope is the leader of the Catholic Church. In this place where God has manifested His presence, do you think the first person to leave will be considered a coward?” Ethan added with a smile.

Hayato scratched his head: "It's not that childish, is it?"

"Hard to say," Ethan shrugged.

"Even if God really does manifest miracles, it doesn't mean they can become extraordinary."

"So you underestimate the allure of the extraordinary to ordinary people. Even the slightest chance is enough to make many people risk everything."

Everyone was silent.

Iwasaki glanced at the time: "Who will activate the node on London Bridge?"

“Well, since this point is related to love, there’s a high probability that there will be content related to Mary. I’ve seen what she looks like.” Ethan raised his hand.

Seeing that no one objected, Ethan immediately logged off and disappeared from the player lobby.

London Bridge, one of the oldest crossings on the Thames, is where Ethan stands in the center, the Mercy Crystal in his hand emitting a soft glow, activating the node there.

Touch the water sphere, and illusions engulf reality.

London Bridge at night, shrouded in mist.

A thin woman, constantly suppressing a cough, walked unsteadily ahead.

She wrapped her thin shawl tightly around herself, her face appearing unusually pale and haggard under the gas streetlights, and she kept glancing back nervously.

There seemed to be nothing not far behind her.

But Ethan could see a man shrouded in complete darkness, silently following him. His presence was so faint, as if he were part of the night itself.

The woman grew increasingly frightened, quickening her pace to almost a jog. Finally, she spotted a patrolling police officer on the bridge.

She rushed forward as if grasping at a straw, her voice trembling with fear: "Sir! Officer! I... I feel like someone has been following me!"

The officer looked around warily, his hand on his baton, and walked around once.

On the misty bridge, apart from the occasional passing carriage, there were no suspicious people nearby.

“Madam, you may be too nervous.” The officer’s tone was reassuring, but also a little impatient. “I can’t see anyone. Perhaps you need to go home and rest as soon as possible.”

After confirming several times that the shadowy figure following her was indeed gone, the woman thanked the police officer, still shaken, and continued walking unsteadily, her suppressed coughs particularly clear in the quiet night.

Unbeknownst to her, the dark figure, like a ghost, slowly crept up from the shadows beneath the bridge.

He gripped a dagger tightly in his hand, his hand trembling slightly from the force.

As Ethan drew closer, he could even hear Ethan's suppressed, rapid breathing.

Just then, faint footsteps came from another direction, and the dark figure immediately retreated back into the shadows.

Approaching was a thin, poorly dressed woman, who appeared to be a laundry worker or factory worker returning home late at night, or perhaps some other profession.

She kept her head down, and her gait revealed her extreme fatigue.

"Still five shillings short, sigh." She sighed, touching her pocket.

The person in the shadows took a few deep breaths and coughed very slightly.

He awkwardly lunged forward, grabbed the female worker's mouth from behind, and sliced ​​the blade across her neck without hesitation.

The movements were clean and crisp, showing the skill honed through countless rehearsals.

Before the female worker could even utter a sob, she was quickly dragged and plunged into the dark, icy Thames. A few ripples appeared on the surface of the river, but it soon returned to calm.

After doing all this, the dark figure leaned against the rough bridge pier, panting heavily as if he had used up all his strength.

After a moment, he slowly raised his head, letting the moonlight illuminate his face.

It was Aaron Cross.

His face was a mixture of post-killing excitement and fear. He covered his head, tears streaming down his face, and muttered to himself.

"If anyone's to blame, blame this cannibalistic country."

"It devoured my kindness."

He held the knife in his hand, and a bloodstain appeared on the once clean blade.

The illusion vanished.

Ethan stood there, his brow furrowed.

He recognized her; the first woman he was being followed was Mary, who had appeared twice before.

But at this moment, she was no longer the angelic prostitute that Allen remembered.

The tuberculosis she contracted from John also completely destroyed her health and appearance.

For someone in her line of work, contracting tuberculosis means she'll never have any more customers and will only be kicked out. She can maintain a semblance of dignity for now, but it probably won't last much longer.

What puzzled Ethan most was that the Ripper seemed completely unaware that this frail woman was the angel he had been longing for. He had almost chosen her as his first target.

(End of this chapter)