Tokyo: The Player Behind the Scenes.

Chapter 332, Section 79: The Last Illusion

It's drizzling tonight, and the weather is gloomy.

The giant's imposing figure cast a shadow in the dim moonlight, as if it had already enveloped the entire Westminster district.

Upon closer inspection, the machines, which are integrated with flesh and blood, seem to have a touch of steampunk style.

The gears were turning, and steam was leaking out, making him feel as if he were bathing in rain clouds.

On this last stronghold, considered the heart of London and even Britain, at Westminster Palace, everyone who chose to stay—soldiers, officers, clergy, and civilians who vowed to fight to the death—felt a chill that seemed to originate from the depths of their souls.

Looking up at that towering, mountain-like body, a sense of powerlessness, as insignificant as ants, welled up in everyone's hearts. The courage they had mustered earlier began to waver uncontrollably in the face of such a troll god on a real physical level.

They began to doubt whether their decision to stay was truly the right one.

Thinking this, his gaze involuntarily fell upon the stabilizing force that had been deliberately placed in the most conspicuous position in the temporary command center, namely King William V.

The king stood upright before a platform, having deliberately changed into a neat suit, his face displaying a serious and dignified demeanor befitting his status.

The camera in front of him was connected to the still-operating domestic broadcasting system.

"I am William V, King of the United Kingdom." His voice came through the loudspeaker, trying to remain steady, but the tension was still noticeable.

"I know that this moment may be the darkest page in our history."

"We are forced to confront the darkness of war once again."

"Westminster Palace is a symbol of the spirit of Parliament. She has stood here for centuries, witnessing plagues, fires and wars, none of which have broken her, and she will certainly not fall tonight."

He took a deep breath, his gaze seemingly piercing through the wall, fixed on the giant in the distance holding a dagger, and declared, word by word:

"I now ask the people of the whole country to witness that if I die, the throne will be inherited by my eldest son, George."

"But I myself will never retreat! I will never compromise even a little with these monsters who trample on civilization and slaughter my people! The King of England will fight here with all his warriors to the very last moment!"

"Darkness will bury us, so we will fight in the darkness and never surrender!"

The words were powerful and resonant, echoing in the quiet room and also traveling far away via radio waves.

However, beneath the lectern, his feet, clad in shiny leather shoes, trembled slightly uncontrollably, his grip on the armrests so tight that his palms were already soaked with cold sweat.

This declaration of fearlessness in the face of death somewhat helped the pale-faced crowd to recover.

Those who were going to leave had already retreated to the rear with the Prime Minister. Among those who remained, most were gamblers who risked their lives for their future political prospects or God's blessing, while the other part were true patriots who inherited Nelson's spirit.

For them, watching London, the heart of Britain, be destroyed by such a monster was a disgrace more unbearable than death.

Why not just go to nuclear explosion together and perish together, like a captain raising his sword and holding his flagship, riddled with holes, amidst the gunfire?

At this moment, Westminster Cathedral is not far away.

The once magnificent church now appears somewhat dilapidated, with many precious icons and sculptures damaged during the previous turmoil. Fortunately, the towering dome and stained glass windows still maintain their former solemnity.

Before the altar, the Pope, dressed in a white vestment and a red shawl, stood solemnly, holding a scepter.

The church was packed with people, the last of the devout believers unwilling to leave London. Their faces were a mixture of fear and determination, as they clutched their crosses to their chests, believing that this sanctuary was a fortress protected by God.

“If the devil wants to wreak havoc on earth,” the Pope’s voice echoed beneath the vault, with a soothing tone, “let him first tread over the corpses of those of us who swore to protect this place.”

He led the believers in reciting scriptures, using the spiritual torrent of sound to combat the tangible terror outside the window:
“You will not fear the terrors of night, or the arrows that fly by in the day; nor the plague that roams in darkness, or the deadly disease that destroys at midday. Even if mountains are moved into the sea, even if the earth shakes, we will not be afraid.”

After reciting the prayer, the Pope raised his hand, signaling to the clergy beside him that the solemn ceremony of the Blessed Sacrament should officially begin. The altar priests shook the incense burners, and wisps of frankincense smoke rose and filled the air.

"Holy Archangel Michael, protect us on the day of struggle, lest we fall into the devil's schemes and evil."

"Holy Mary, pray for us."

Hayato's motorcycle passed by the church. Listening to the sounds coming from inside, he touched the crystal in his arms and pursed his lips: "These people should pray to the 'unknowable' instead of God. At least the 'unknowable' definitely exists. God is too hard to say."

"At the very least, cheer us on."

Hayato didn't really believe in God before, and he believes even less now, thinking that they are probably just legends left behind by past ascetics.

Lu Du, sitting in the back seat, was confused and neither agreed nor disagreed.

"I've always wanted to ask you, why do you use your real name as your nickname? It would be so much better to use just one character like me. If someone leaks your name, it's easy for the authorities to find you. If you're alone, it's fine, but if you have family members, it's easy for them to threaten you."

Taking advantage of the fact that there were only two of them, Hayato, who had just sacrificed nine years of his life, was almost exhausted and drove slowly, while chatting with Ludu.

However, Hayato is just a case of the pot calling the kettle black. His nickname, Hayato, is basically enough to identify him as Hayato. Moreover, he has a temper that explodes at the slightest provocation. Even if he doesn't encounter any extraordinary disaster, it's only a matter of time before his abilities are exposed.

"What was that 'wave' again? Mambo?"

“It’s Luciole Dubois!” Ludu corrected earnestly, the name seemingly holding a very important place in her heart.

"Oh, I see, Mambo!" Hayato laughed a few times, but quickly realized that the atmosphere behind him had suddenly become a little strange. He glanced at the rearview mirror and could see that the Italian hair on Ludu's head looked like Medusa's hair, baring its fangs and claws.

He quickly coughed twice, abandoning his joking thoughts about the name: "Just kidding, just kidding, Ludu, sorry."

Ludu doesn't hold grudges. After hearing Hayato's apology, he paused for a moment, then gave a cute smile: "I forgive you. My classmates often joke with my name, but they've never apologized to me. You're the first! No wonder you're a chosen one like me!"

Hayato fell silent upon hearing this, wishing he could slap himself twice for what he had just done.

I'm so damn stupid! If you're going to drive properly, then drive properly! What kind of joke is this?!
In silence, Hayato led Ludu to a corner of the plan.

Although they don't yet know how the so-called protection works, common sense dictates that the larger the area that needs protection, the less protection will be allocated to each individual point.

So after a brief discussion with the officials, and with the Ripper as the target, the officials quickly provided a map.

They basically only protected the core Palace of Westminster and the adjacent church. The church here is the Anglican Westminster Abbey. The cathedral where the Pope resides is one kilometer to the southwest. Covering that area would be too costly and it should not have been the Ripper's primary target.

After delivering his final address at the palace, William V went to the church for a prayer service, where a large number of believers had gathered.

The nine players took their places one after another. At the original site of the museum, the Ripper had completed his final preparations and took his first step southward.

thump.

Whitechapel area.

Tian, ​​depicted as a little boy, appears on a slightly chaotic street.

Glass was smashed, and people fought and shouted insults.

A number of people remained scattered around the Whitechapel area because the previous ceremonies had not affected this area, so they chose to stay in order to protect their family property.

Yes, many residents stayed not because they were defending London, but simply to avoid returning to find their homes completely ransacked.

Tonight, they probably figured the authorities wouldn't have time to deal with them, so they just went into party mode.

However, as he delved deeper, those troublesome classic skins began to appear less and less.

On the ground, there were many corpses scattered about, their blood staining the ground red.

"here."

He was met by Kurosaki and a Talos squad; the corpses on the ground were clearly their handiwork.

Kurosaki quickly and discreetly sized up the little boy, memorizing his appearance. At the same time, he opened the holographic map and showed it to the boy: "According to the data, the location where the Ripper killed Mary Jane Kelly was the second-floor bathroom of this building, with an error of no more than two meters."

Ikeda's gaze lingered on Kurosaki for half a second.

Kurosaki keenly noticed this: "You know me?"

Ikeda shook his head: "I've heard of you."

Kurosaki raised an eyebrow, surprised that his reputation was quite widespread, which confirmed that there was a fairly convenient communication channel among players.

If communication requires resources, there's no need to deliberately mention him.

He is now waiting for Ikeda here at Takii's request. The location of the Ripper's murder victim has long been determined, but they are destined to find no clues. They had previously compiled the information and given it to Takii, but it seems they have gained nothing.

Following the guidance of the holographic map, Ikeda went up to the second floor of the building and found the marked restroom.

“This marked location is the most reliable, and it’s also where Mary’s body will appear.” Kurosaki looked at the crystal Ikeda had taken out and reluctantly asked, “Should we leave?”

"No need." Ikeda didn't mind being observed using the Mercy Crystal; after this round of the game, they probably wouldn't meet again.

They must have already collected information on the process of activating illusions beforehand.

Kurosaki was a little excited when he heard this. He adjusted the recorder in front of him to make the angle more perfect, and then stared intently at Ikeda's every move.

Watching videos is ultimately superficial; to truly understand something, you must see it for yourself.

Several kilometers away, a battle seemed to have already begun, the booming sounds even causing dust to fall from the ceiling of the apartment building. But no one cared about these details; Ikeda activated the crystal directly.

Just as he expected, it slowly appeared, probably the last node.

Ikeda reached out and touched it, and in the blink of an eye, he was pulled into history.

Tuk-tuk-tuk.

creak.

The door was opened a crack, revealing an eye.

"Who are you looking for?"

"Is the snowflake from No. 17 Backstreet here?"

"Oh, it's me." The door opened a little, and her face appeared before Allen.

"Is it you?!"

Allen stared wide-eyed in disbelief at the woman before him, with dark circles under her eyes, a sallow complexion, and no trace of youthful vitality. She was completely different from the angelic image in his mind.

A profound sense of loss overwhelmed him; he found it hard to accept that the angel had shed his holiness and fallen into the dust.

Before he could finish his surprise, perhaps it was Allen's mention of number 17 on the back street that put her at ease, she opened the door and pulled the Ripper inside.

“Three pence a time, six pence a night, pay upfront. My boyfriend will be back early in the morning, I’ll give you a discount of one pence if you leave before five.” Mary welcomed Allen in, her eyes lifeless, and sat on the bed, spreading her legs.

For people from the lower classes, having a prostitute as a girlfriend is not unusual.

Allen had also heard this news before he arrived.

Only he knew how much mental preparation he had done before knocking on that door.

Allen silently took out sixpence.

Mary glanced at him unexpectedly, but said nothing and put the penny into the drawer.

For Allen, the only thing Mary hadn't changed about was that she didn't feel disgusted by his ugly face; she saw him as an ordinary person.

This rekindled a spark within him.

However, after everything was over and he got dressed again, he felt no pleasure whatsoever.

"Snowflake, snowflake, do you remember me?"

"Hmm? Sorry, my memory isn't very good, but this is the price for regular customers." Mary tidied up, glanced up, and then looked away.

Allen's breathing quickened: "You really don't remember me? I... I'm so ugly..."

Mary shook her head and said casually, "Actually, I don't know why, but I'm not familiar with people's faces and can't really recognize them."

Allen was struck dumb: "Can't you even tell the difference between beauty and ugliness?"

"I really can't tell whether you want to do it again or not?" Mary smiled at him and winked.

At that moment, Allen felt nauseous.

He remained silent for several seconds, suppressing his breathing, and looked up: "Come with me, I will give you everything you want, and from now on, you won't have to serve other men anymore."

"Uh, is this your first time? Or have we met before?" Mary didn't show any joy, but rather full of vigilance. "Excuse me, please leave. My boyfriend will be back soon."

“I know him, a porter at the fish market. I have money. Come with me, you can use any of my money!” Allen exclaimed excitedly, taking out his money bag and slapping it on the bed. It was full of money, and the sound was crisp.

Mary only glanced at it, her face growing increasingly stiff: "I... I'm sorry, you should leave now, I can return the money to you."

He opened the drawer, took out the sixpence he had just received, and tremblingly handed it to Allen.

Allen's eyes widened, and his pupils gradually turned red.

"Why...don't you want money? Besides money, I also have power, very, very strong power, enough to protect you!!"

Allen looked around anxiously, grabbed a simple chair, easily pulled off its legs, and then, with a gritted tooth, snapped the table leg in half.

Mary's pupils dilated, and her lips trembled: "I... I really only have this much left. I still owe rent. Please, please, let me go."

Allen finally couldn't take it anymore and slapped the penny out of Mary's hand, sending it flying.

"I don't want your money back! I want you to come with me!"

Mary felt as if she had lost all feeling in her hands. She staggered backward, tears streaming down her face, and covered her head with them, saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't, please." She trembled all over.

Allen stood there, and in the last eye that had been devoid of disgust, he finally saw a trace of loathing.

But he doesn't think it's his fault.

It was as if a nerve in his body snapped instantly, and his violent hatred broke free from its restraints.

His movements became rough; he grabbed Mary's hair with one hand and pulled her close to him, almost pressing her against his face.

"You hate me that much? Why do you hate me?! What right do you have to hate me! What right do you have to refuse to come with me?! What do I have that your boyfriend doesn't have! You're just a prostitute, a lowly prostitute, a prostitute who sleeps with anyone!!!"

"I crawled out of hell with great difficulty, not so you could look down on me! You are definitely not that angel! Definitely not!! Give me back my angel! Give him back!!!"

Mary was terrified and screamed, "Murder!" But Allen quickly covered her mouth with his.

laugh.

Mary's eyes widened, her limbs thrashed about, and she made a clicking sound in her throat. Her teeth instinctively clenched tightly against Allen's tongue, but to no avail.

Her eyes gradually lost their luster, and tears streamed down her face.

Tears also welled up in Allen's eyes, dripping into her eyes before falling down with them.

After a while, he finally let go and, incidentally, pulled the dagger out of Mary's right carotid artery.

The bed was stained red with blood.

Allen gripped the blood-soaked dagger, covering his face and suppressing his sobs in a low voice.

Nobody cares about me, nobody cares about me.

"Erudition, handsomeness, freedom, health, wealth, love, nobility. Why can't I have one of them? And why do those who possess them not know how to cherish them?"

"Such a world is utterly worthless."

"Yes, you're right. Destruction. Dissection will start the destruction of Britain with this bastard."

"Grant me the power to abhor rituals. I am willing to pay any price for it."

He took out the blood-stained, dry, hard bread from his pocket and casually placed it on the bedside table.

Then he turned around and swung the knife at Mary's corpse.

The illusion shattered completely with that one strike.

In reality, Ikeda snapped out of his daze and withdrew his hand.

Kurosaki was somewhat disappointed: "Is this... finished?"

"Hmm." Ikeda nodded thoughtfully.

Just as the illusions around them shrank and faded away as usual, the piece of black bread, as if it were not on the same level, remained suspended in mid-air for less than half a second after the bedside table disappeared, before finally falling to the floor with a thud.

All eyes immediately turned to them.

Ikeda immediately picked up the black bread and examined it carefully.

Some of the blood on it was fresh, while some was quite dark, as if it had been sitting there for a long time.

In the center of the bread, there is a crack, as if it had been stabbed with a knife, and the dark bloodstains are mainly concentrated in this area.

Without a doubt, this is the black bread that the Ripper placed on the bedside table in the hallucination.

"Does Mary's file mention a bloodstained black bread on her bedside table?" Ikeda wondered, but he didn't ask Kurosaki immediately, keeping it to himself.

Without that, it would be quite terrible.

(Reference content)
(End of this chapter)