Night Journey

Chapter 119 Abyss
“Cillian, you always have a furrowed brow and a tense face... That’s not the expression a child your age should have.”

The man cupped Ciri's face in his hands, examining it closely, his rough thumbs repeatedly rubbing his forehead.

"You are angry, but what exactly is the cause of your anger?"

The man was backlit, so Ciri could not see his face, but he could hear his old, hoarse voice.

Ciri guessed that beneath the shadowed face, the man must have a pair of cloudy, weathered eyes, filled with the emotions of countless years, gazing at him with pity.

The man's voice became younger and more rugged.

"You're saying you're a born killer, a madman with some kind of pathological psychology?"

He was puzzled.

"Cillian, is this truly your intention, or are you using it as an excuse to avoid something?"

Her voice became hoarse again, and the hands that cupped Ciri's face became much softer, at least not like sandpaper as before.

"When a person is unable to live consciously, madness becomes the only escape."

The boy's voice asked.

"Is that what you had in mind?"

Ciri squinted, trying to make out the faces, but the light was too intense, and all he could see were shadows.

He opened his mouth, wanting to defend himself, but his throat was dry and he couldn't say anything. Even the act of swallowing caused waves of excruciating pain.

Finally, the girl cupped his face in her hands and said nothing.

Even though all she could see was a shadow, Cillian remained convinced that she was smiling at her.

They let go of her hand, and Cillian continued to fall.

I was thrown into reality, and my body ached as if it were about to be torn apart.

"what……"

With a painful groan, Cillian struggled to open his eyes.

As dawn broke, thick fog shrouded the city, creating a hazy, gray atmosphere that made it difficult to distinguish between morning and afternoon.

A light drizzle began to fall, pattering on Cillian and bringing a chill.

Looking up, Ciri was in an extremely narrow crevice between buildings. Looking up along the building, the towering beacon of light stretched into the clouds and disappeared from sight.

Cillian managed to recall the last moments of the previous night.

For reasons unknown, the Falcon ultimately chose to spare itself, while it continued its descent.

Ciri was too exhausted. Although he managed to stab out the Boiling Sword in time to slow his fall, his body was covered in wounds. He still fell helplessly into the crevice between the buildings. Tormented by the pain and exhaustion, he fainted and only slowly woke up at this moment.

"what……"

Ciri opened his mouth and tried to catch a few drops of rain to moisten his dry throat.

As soon as the water droplet entered his mouth, Cillian tasted a strange flavor and couldn't help but spit it out.

This isn't rainwater; it's clearly waste liquid released from the cooling system after the Lighthouse burned all night.

To cool the massive Lighthouse, the cooling system emits large amounts of exhaust fumes every morning, which swirl around the city and occasionally turn into a light drizzle.

Cillian struggled to his feet, his abdomen and shoulder throbbing with pain, and he had injuries of varying degrees all over his body.

He touched his cheek; the bloodstains that had nearly split his skull open had already scabbed over.

Cillian's expression turned serious.

He didn't care about the physical changes caused by his injuries; what mattered was... that Reverse Falcon could see his own face clearly.

Knowing his own face, Reverse Falcon can find himself at any time and lower his blade.

Thinking of this, Cillian felt no joy at surviving, but rather a deeper chill.

"Reverse Falcon, what are you thinking, and what are you planning to do?"

Cillian's mind was filled with far too many questions, causing him great distress.

After struggling for a while, he still couldn't find an answer until he felt hungry and the pain in his body almost knocked him down again.

Cillian has more important things to do right now than to consider these issues.

"Damn it, where did all this garbage come from?"

Cillian complained as he struggled to move his body up the narrow gap between the floors.

The place was crammed with all sorts of garbage: metal completely engulfed in rust, rotten planks, and even some decaying bones...

It took Cillian a lot of effort to climb out of the gap between the buildings, but what awaited him was another gap that was slightly wider.

"What a hell."

Cillian looked up again, and only then did he realize that he had fallen into some kind of "abyss".

The good news is that there are crisscrossing suspended staircases above Cillian's head, and the surrounding buildings are twisted and intertwined, showing signs of human habitation.

He thought of those people living in the shadows at the bottom of society.

The term "bottom" here does not refer to the lowest social class, but rather to its literal meaning.

People living deep within the inner city, in those strangely growing buildings.

Cillian randomly chose a passage and crawled inside. The passage was dimly lit, and the air was filled with the damp smell of rust.

After a night of unconsciousness or rest, Cillian's strength had recovered considerably. The wound on his abdomen had been cauterized and the bleeding had been stopped, but the injury on his shoulder was not too serious.

As a second-tier Fusionist, Ciri's extraordinary physique made him less likely to die.

Rushing sounds came from the surrounding darkness, and Ciri could feel the hidden gazes. The lower-class residents were warily observing Ciri, discussing his origins and speculating about his purpose.

"He's still alive."

"It came from above... the very top."

Cillian could barely make out a few indistinct words.

When it fell last night, it attracted the attention of the residents. They were used to the corpses and garbage falling from the sky and did not pay much attention to it.

People seem to have a strange coexistence of crisis and relaxation, but in reality, it is a sense of helplessness in the face of reality.

He kicked open a rickety iron gate and continued forward.

This place is as complicated as a maze, but as long as you keep going upwards, you will always find a way out.

After wandering around for a while, Cirien's fatigue and pain increased, and his patience dwindled. Just as he couldn't help but find a direction and began hacking his way through the obstructing iron wall, bright daylight arrived.

Pushing open the heavy iron gate, Cillian finally climbed out of the bottomless abyss and arrived at a suspended ladder.

From here, one can get a perfect view of the high walls of the inner city. Once over these walls, Cirien's home won't be far away.

Having lived in Hull for so long, this was the first time he had felt a sense of belonging to the apartment, and he longed to return home.

To avoid attracting attention, Cillian went to great lengths to get over the high walls of the inner city.

With the real Falcon back and the imposter no longer able to continue, Cillian felt a sense of relief, no longer having to worry about running into his colleagues.

Realizing this, Cillian's first reaction was to seek help from the nearest official agency; they couldn't just stand by and watch a city guard employee die on the road.

The idea had barely formed when Cillian dismissed it.

How could he explain the origin of his injuries? He couldn't very well tell everyone that he had been brutally beaten by Reverse Falcon, so why was Reverse Falcon targeting him in the first place?
Cillian wasn't good at lying, so it was extremely difficult for him to weave such a complex story in a plausible way.

Not to mention……

Perhaps, the reverse falcon is observing me from some corner?

Cillian suddenly stopped, and a chilling aura swept over him once more.

Look around.

Pedestrians hurried through the streets; office workers carried briefcases, men and women walked hand in hand, and young people shouted something, graffitiing pale six eyes on the walls, only to be chased by the sheriffs…

"Reverse Falcon! Reverse Falcon!"

Some people used the name of the reverse falcon as a slogan and cheered continuously.

"What should we do in the future...? Should we sell the house and buy a ticket to the City of the Lonely Tower?"

Someone asked worriedly, "I've heard that the City of the Lonely Tower is safer than the City of Hel. What do you think?"

A rebuttal arose, "Are you serious? To go bankrupt and move to a completely unfamiliar city-state? Even if we get there, how are we supposed to survive?"

"Why think so much? Just take it one day at a time."

Some people laughed and joked that he had just woken up and was already drinking heavily from the bottle.

The constant whispers of conversation blended with the bustling traffic on the street, creating a vivid portrait of life in this era.

Some are anxious and restless, some accept everything calmly, and some are numb and indifferent to everything...

Cillian stood in the shadows, observing indifferently.

He didn't have any deep feelings, only that the Falcon was hiding among them, looking at him with a mocking gaze.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over Cillian, his legs went weak, and he nearly collapsed.

The effects of the injury have worsened, and Cillian must receive treatment and rest as soon as possible.

In this situation, Cillian unexpectedly began to miss Maefoni.

The last time I was in such a sorry state, it was because I ran into her that I received timely treatment. It was also during that time that I met Brother Gavin.

So much time has passed; Brother Gavin should have returned to the City of Wounded Cocoons with the supplies promised by the Lov family.

If given the chance, Cillian would really like to visit the City of Wounded Cocoons, see the dungeon that imprisons the Rebels, and see how the Painful Monks torture them, so he can have some serious training.

It must be said, Brother Gavin was truly a philosopher and a genius...

"Damn..."

Cillian's thoughts became jumbled.

Staggering out of the shadows, preparing to do something with the last vestiges of lucidity...

A familiar yet bewildered voice rang out.

“Cillian?!”

Blood loss blurred Cillian's vision, but he still managed to identify the newcomer by the large patches of red and white on their clothing.

"Meifuni?!"

With his last breath, Ciri spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Help!"

"what?"

Meifuni grabbed Cillian, who was about to faint, and called out loudly.

"Again!"

(End of this chapter)