Night Journey

Chapter 162 Fully Armed
Cillian's mind went blank. Time seemed to stretch out like a rusty chain, each second emitting a grating creak that echoed in his ears.

It was unclear how long it took him to accept the truth—Rolf was the Reverse Falcon.

It was both unexpected and reasonable.

No wonder that night, after splitting open his helmet and seeing his true face, Reverse Falcon didn't kill himself.

That was Rolf; he recognized himself.

Presumably, his self-loathing stemmed largely from this.

Not only did he follow in his footsteps, but he also forged his identity, wielding immense power in Hel City and causing cracks to appear in the order that he had painstakingly established.

Rolf calmed the anger rising in his heart and sighed wearily.

Even at his age, looking back on the past, he still couldn't help but clench his fists.

He was both grateful for his youthful energy and frustrated that he could never reconcile with the past.

In the end, Rolf simply looked at Cillian calmly, observing his reaction with a mischievous grin.

Ciri took a deep breath and, his fingers trembling, picked up the six-eyed winged helmet in his arms.

The helmet was heavy, as if it bore the weight of the entire Reverse Falcon era. The coldness of the metal seeped into my palm, carrying a pungent smell of engine oil and rust.

Cillian's gaze was fixed on him, scrutinizing him closely.

It resembles the crudely made imitations of Bruce, but is undoubtedly much more exquisite.

The helmet's surface was covered with layers of scratches, deep grooves crisscrossing like leather torn by claws, with dark red rust stains on the edges from oxidation, and signs of repair were visible everywhere.

Three pairs of lenses are arranged radially and embedded in the front of the helmet. The surface of the lenses is covered with fine cracks and fog, reflecting a faint light.

They are linked by a set of tiny mechanical mechanisms, with precision gears meshing tightly with the motor, producing a soft clicking sound when they rotate, like a sleeping metal insect awakening.

Cillian gently wiped the lens with his fingertips. When activated, the three pairs of lenses could be switched freely to select different field of view modes.

The helmet's ear flaps feature clusters of iron feathers that extend outwards like steel thorns; these are not merely decorative elements, but rather highly efficient heat dissipation fins.

Legend has it that the mist that swirled around the Reverse Falcon when it appeared was probably the gas that dissipated heat from there.

"That night..."

Cillian carefully considered his words before speaking, "I remember clearly piercing through your arm."

"so what?"

Rolf snapped his fingers nonchalantly.

More clockwork servants entered in response.

They were no longer the submissive waiters of the past; gray linen shawls covered their gaunt bodies like shrouds, and they no longer held trays, but modified tubular guns and longswords welded with serrations. Their gear-driven pupils flashed with an emotionless scarlet light, and they stood in a sinister array at the doorway.

"The hunting path of the Reverse Falcon is not always smooth."

Rolf said softly, “He might lose an arm, break his torso, or even have his head chopped off, but he always comes back, as if he were immortal.”

That night, what fought against Cirion was just an empty shell, a Domination Armor remotely controlled by Rolf.

No wonder I couldn't perceive its destiny power; it was itself a manifestation of the mechanical skeleton's destiny.

Looking around Rolf's mansion again, Cillian realized that all his previous talk about taking care of his wife was utter nonsense.

He built this place into a fortress for himself, always ready to face any enemies who came after him.

Looking at these clockwork servants again, Cillian immediately understood why Rolf, despite having lost power, still had the confidence to oppose Decal.

Rolf has amassed an army within this mansion, but what about outside of it?
Ciri slowly reached out and took the sword blade from the box.

"In the records, those people were all killed by densely intersecting blades. I've always been curious about what kind of weapon could achieve such an effect."

He softly called out the name of the blade.

"Closure sword".

Cillian's fingertips lightly brushed the edge of the blade, and the instant they touched the tip, a sharp pain pierced his mind.

The pain wasn't intense, like being pricked by a thin needle, but in the instant the pain struck, Cillian clearly felt that he had briefly lost contact with the surging source energy within his body.

Cillian looked at Rolf in surprise, only to hear him explain.

"The soul is the essence of our power, a testament to the origin of the sea. Whenever an extraordinary being seeks to harness the source energy, our soul also participates in the release of that power."

Under the damage of the Soul-Crossing Alloy, the damaged soul will temporarily detach from this process, leading to an interruption of source energy and even preventing the release of certain extraordinary powers.

Cirien gripped the chainblade and gently raised it. In the glow of the hearth fire, the tip of the blade took on an eerie and mesmerizing hue. As he gazed at it for a while, he could faintly hear wailing and howling.

"That is to say..."

He murmured, "This sword can block the enemy's source energy and silence their power."

“It can only affect you for a moment,” Rolf cautioned, “but in a life-or-death struggle, a moment is enough.”

Cillian attempted to infuse source energy into the lockblade. A metallic hum emanated from between the blade sections as they drew power and awoke from their slumber.

"However, the true power of the Qihun Alloy lies not in its ability to suppress source energy, but in its ability to damage souls."

Rolf paused, then murmured.

"You should know that some bodies cannot be killed."

Cillian was confused for a few seconds, and then a vague name surfaced in his mind.

The Refusal of Death. Since leaving White Cliff Town, Cillian has not encountered any Refusal of Death. Even his understanding of the Refusal of Death comes from the Painful Monk and Gavin.

After handing over the six-eyed winged helmet and the chain-blade sword to Cirion, Rolf felt inexplicably relieved. He then rang the dining bell, and a fully armed clockwork servant brought over a bottle of beer.

As he drank heavily, the alcohol gradually affected Rolf's senses, and his cheeks flushed.

Ciri stared blankly at the two Source Contract Armor pieces, still finding it somewhat unbelievable.

Rolf's words carried a hint of drunkenness.

When do you plan to take action?

Cillian replied without hesitation.

"Victory Day".

He went on to add.

"Due to the incessant rain, the event has been changed from an outdoor speech to a citywide broadcast. De Karl will be broadcasting from the observation deck at the Lighthouse of Light."

The so-called observation deck is a platform that juts out from the upper part of the Lighthouse.

Its location is just right, neither too high to be seen by citizens, nor too low to be touched.

Whenever there is an important event, important people come here and, like a king, tell lies to their subjects who are as insignificant as ants.

Rolf reminded him, "Don't forget, it won't just be Dekar standing there by then."

"I know, but I'm not alone."

Even before arriving at this mansion, a plan had already formed in Cillian's mind.

A terrible and insane plan.

Whether he succeeds or not, Cillian believes he will become one of the most notorious terrorists in the history of Hull.

Rolf's patience was nearly exhausted, and he urged, "Is there anything else you need?"

Cillian thought for a moment, then took off the gray-white shawl from the clockwork servant and took the exquisite Raging Revolver from its belt.

"Tsk."

Rolf looked away, not wanting to see this annoying guy anymore.

Cillian's hand paused on the door frame, and he slowly turned around, the chain-like blade of his lockblade making a soft metallic scraping sound with his movement.

“Chief of Staff,” he said in a low voice, like steel being tempered, “there is one more question that you have not answered.”

Rolf tilted his head back and gulped down the last mouthful of beer, the liquid dripping down his gray beard.

Upon hearing this, he frowned and put down the wine bottle, the glass bottom hitting the sofa armrest with a thud.

"Which question?"

Ciri took a step forward, the firelight reflecting a flowing light onto the six-eyed winged helmet in his hand. He raised his face, his eyes revealing an almost naive stubbornness.

"Eradicate all evil."

Rolf suddenly gripped the bottle tightly between his fingers, and spiderweb-like cracks appeared on the bottle.

His eyes, reddened by alcohol, instantly became sharp and clear. He wanted to rebuke something, but in the end, it turned into a sigh.

“Cillian, you don’t understand…”

He turned his head to look at the flickering fire, its pure light filling his vision.

"Even if I wipe out all the evil in Hel City, so what? I will grow old, I will lose, I will die."

He spread his arms wide, his gray beard and hair dancing wildly in the fire.

"Even if I am truly an immortal monster, invincible, what happens after I purify Hel City?"

Who will wipe away the bloodstains of the Lonely Tower City? Who will remove the rotting flesh of the City of Wounded Cocoons? Must the entire outer frontier be razed before this is over?

The sound suddenly rose in pitch, carrying a searing pain like molten iron.

"And then what about the abscesses on the outer ring of the inner flame, and the malignant tumors on the inner ring of the flame core?"

He staggered backward, bumping into the bookshelf, causing the books to tremble and fall in a flurry.

“The power of an individual has its limits,” Rolf said calmly. “The Reverse Falcon cannot continue to kill indefinitely, but a perfect order can last forever.”

"No...that's not the case."

Cillian did not accept this reality and began to explain his thoughts.

"Having conquered the outer frontier, let's continue our slaughter along the Dawn Corridor, from the inner flame outer ring to the flame core inner ring... just as the Three Sages once did, to reunite the fragmented world, declare war on the chaos and evil, and embark on an expedition into the dark world."

He suddenly donned the six-eyed winged helmet, and the pale six eyes suddenly lit up. With a metallic clang, the heat-dissipating iron feathers unfolded.

“Rolf Reed, you haven’t come to terms with reality, nor have you grown old; you’ve simply… stopped being angry.”

Distorted electronic sounds seeped from deep within the helmet, scraping through the air.

“But I didn’t, and neither did the reverse falcon.”

He gripped the lockblade tightly and held the boiling sword firmly.

"We remain angry."

(End of this chapter)