Night Journey

Chapter 160 Allies
In the cold drizzle, the grotesque steel jungle of the inner city appeared even more distorted.

The buildings resembled metal lumps kneaded by an invisible giant hand, pressing and piling up against each other like clumps of fallen corpses, indistinct and unclear.

In comparison, Cillian's figure appeared exceptionally small.

A piercing hissing sound came from all directions as the cooling system of the Lighthouse began to operate. The scorching residual heat collided violently with the icy rainwater, steaming up scalding white mist carrying the smell of sulfur and rust.

The mist swirls between the building's gaps, refracting a distorted, swaying halo of light.

Cillian wiped the tears from his eyes, and the icy air filled his nostrils, instantly clearing his head.

Underfoot, low corridors and passageways intertwine like a maze. Coal smoke, engine oil, and acrid dampness cling to every inch of space. Raindrops pound against rusted steel plates and pipes, forming murky streams that cascade down from the edges of the suspended roof like waterfalls.

In the dim light, Cillian saw the people hiding in the shadows. The sudden chill tormented them, and some, unable to bear it any longer, simply burrowed deeper into the Lighthouse of Light to warm themselves with the residual heat after it had burned all night.

Cillian continued climbing, boarding the light rail that led to the upper levels.

With a deafening roar of steel rubbing against steel, the light rail suddenly shot upwards, plunging headlong into the thick, churning haze.

The cold rain, the pungent smell of sulfur and rust, and the pervasive, suffocating dampness were all left far behind, beneath the oppressive clouds.

Boom——

The light rail broke through the clouds, shattering the gloom that had been pressing down on us.

Sunlight!

Without warning, bright, dazzling sunlight poured down like a waterfall, instantly enveloping Ciri.

The world before his eyes suddenly opened up and became bright.

The deep blue sky was breathtakingly pure, unfolding before his eyes without reservation. The air became exceptionally fresh, as if it could wash away all the gloom and filth accumulated in his lungs.

This wasn't Cillian's first time in the Upper District, but this time he was deeply shocked.

These are practically two completely separate worlds.

Beneath their feet lay a ceaseless, leaden sea of ​​clouds, like a lid that tightly sealed off all the twists, pains, and struggles of the inner city—a place of torrential rain, gloomy darkness, and a hell where cold metal and the aura of despair intertwined.

But overhead and all around, the sun shone brightly under a clear blue sky.

The track extends higher and higher, where the sky gardens are lush and green. The huge airships, like elegant whales, float leisurely above the pure sea of ​​clouds, gently moored in the clouds, carrying well-dressed dignitaries.

As the light rail pulled into the station, Cillian hurried away. He had no time to lament the class divisions in Hull City, nor did he have the inclination to criticize anything.

Race against the clock.

Soon, Cillian arrived at the familiar corridor. This time, it was already assembled, leading directly to the mansion ahead. At the same time, a clockwork servant stood to the side, as if he had been waiting for him for a long time.

Cillian rang the bell on the plate, and the clockwork servant, as if receiving a command, took the initiative to lead him forward.

Inside the library, mountains of books exuded the unique scent of aged paper and ink, while firewood crackled and warm light danced in the fireplace.

Rolf sank into the soft sofa, the light from the pages of his book reflected off his thick glasses. He turned a page, the sound of paper rubbing together particularly clear in the silence.

“You’ve broken your promise again, Cillian.”

Rolf didn't even look up, his fingertips still on the pages. "Tell me, what brings you here this time? You're not here to admire my book collection, are you?"

Cillian sat on a hard wooden chair, his soaked trousers clinging to his skin, looking like a ghost that had just crawled out of the mud.

He took a deep breath and stared intently at Rolf.

"Chief of the Army, are you... really willing to give up power and leave Hel City in such a sorry state?"

With a soft "snap," Rolf's fingers pressed heavily on the page. He looked up, the warm light casting a cold reflection on his glasses.

Rolf's tone suddenly dropped to freezing point, each syllable sounding as if squeezed out from between his teeth, with a metallic quality.

"What on earth do you want to say?"

Without flinching, Cillian threw out a name with resounding force, creating a crack in the warm and inviting library.

"Director DeKarl."

He said.

"He is a member of the Claws. The so-called purge operation and the current attack on the City Guard Bureau are all hoaxes he orchestrated."

Cillian spoke faster, the long-suppressed truth eager to burst forth.

“A long time ago, my colleagues Dalin and Anya sensed that there was a mysterious force within the City Guard Bureau interfering with their investigation of the Claws…”

Cillian quickly recounted their discovery: the omnipresent invisible beings and how they followed the clues.

"In the subsequent investigation, we dispelled the fog and pinpointed the fate of the invisible ones..."

He stared intently into Rolf's eyes. "And that's why I sought your advice earlier."

Rolf's body tensed almost imperceptibly for a moment, then he slowly closed the book in his hands, the heavy hard cover making a dull thud. A playful smile curved his lips, but his voice was devoid of any laughter, as if he were stating a trivial fact.

"Did that invisible being come from the path of returning to stillness?"

A look of urgency flashed in Cillian's eyes as he explained further.

"Yes, using the clues you gave me, Dalin designed an information trap, and... and he used himself as bait to lure the Invisible One into the trap, which is how we discovered his identity."

He gritted his teeth and repeated the name again.

"Decal Quirk".

Rolf was silent for two seconds, then suddenly clapped his hands twice, the applause sounding abrupt and cold.

"Wonderful."

He drawled out the last syllable, “A pretty good story, full of drama, intrigue, and even a touch of tragic fate.”

"So, you, who came all this way to tell me a story..."

Rolf leaned forward slightly, his gaze suddenly becoming extremely imposing. "Just say it, Cillian, what do you want me to do?"

Cillian's voice was hoarse with a sense of desperation.

“Dekar is entrenched in the heart of the city guard, wielding great power. We do not yet fully understand what he is plotting against this city… but the core is simple: as long as Dekar is eliminated, all conspiracies will crumble.”

But with our current strength, we are simply outnumbered and outmatched. We need an ally, an ally of sufficient stature who shares the same reason for eliminating Dekar.

Cillian painted a rosy picture of the future, laying out the stakes clearly on the table.

"Chief Rolf, if you help us kill Dekar, you can rightfully regain control of Hel City and no longer be forced to leave everything you know."

Rolf let out a very soft chuckle, slowly stood up, walked to the fireplace, picked up the fire tongs and poked at the fire, sparks bursting and scattering everywhere.

Rolf had his back to Cillian, his voice as calm as the stillness before a storm.

“Hmm…that does sound very tempting. Power, revenge, returning to one’s homeland…but what about the risks, Cillian?”

His voice suddenly rose, carrying a merciless questioning tone.

"What if your group of junior employees' speculations are just a pathetic misunderstanding from beginning to end? As for the evidence?"

He chuckled lightly. "Don't bring up those baseless accusations with me. After all, what are you in this city? A bunch of insignificant low-level employees. If it weren't for Tide Night and Boiling Sword, you wouldn't even have the chance to speak to me."

Rolf approached Cirion step by step, the firelight casting flickering shadows on his face.

Tell me, Cillian.

Why should I stake all my wealth and life on someone of lowly status and without any connections?

Even if... even if your bizarre story is true, and Dekar is indeed a damned monster, are you absolutely certain you can succeed? Assassinating a city guard chief—how much power does he have around him? How much do you know about his abilities?”

His voice grew colder and colder.

"What if you fail? You'll just die, but what about me?"

I will not only lose all my remaining cards, my wealth, my status, my last shred of dignity... even my life will be thrown into the sewage ditch in the inner city like garbage.

But if I choose to stand by and do nothing…

He spread his hands, revealing an almost cruelly elegant smile.

"I can leave this collapsing quagmire with my honor and wealth, and with dignity. What does it matter to me whether Hull City is destroyed or reborn?"

Faced with this overwhelming reality and blatant contempt, Cillian's blood rushed to his head, his cheeks burned, but the flames deep within his heart burned even brighter.

Contrary to his usual behavior, he did not fly into a rage, but instead fell into a stagnant calm.

After a long silence, Cillian's eyes held an almost obsessive resolve.

"You don't have to get involved yourself."

He was extremely calm.

"There's no need to use your hidden forces or intricate networks of relationships."

Cillian raised his hand, pointing to Rolf and also to the mansion that symbolized his status.

“You are the Spirit Craftsman. Give me your most prized weapon, the one that can kill Dekar. I will do it, I will prove it, and I will bear all the risks and the consequences of failure.”

Cirien promised.

"And you, all you need to do is come out and receive everything you deserve after the victory!"

(End of this chapter)