She is not an investigator.

She unconsciously pursed her lips; the dryness made her feel increasingly irritable.

The train conductor did not leave; he continued to observe Igris's appearance.

Her behavior was so unusual that it naturally warranted extreme caution.

But before he could say anything, a white figure appeared in his eyes amidst the rapidly passing ice field outside the car window.

That's the guy who was just leaning against the car window.

At this moment, it was still looking into the car window, its pale face revealing an extremely terrifying smile.

He was running, running alongside the train, chasing after it.

He was very fast, even faster than the train itself.

The train conductor instinctively raised the shotgun in his hand.

But soon, even more of them appeared on one side of the train.

Smiling, she looked at Igris through the car window.

The Gods' Fool - The Northern Train: Chapter Sixty-Two, Make Your Response

"They seem to be coming for me."

"you?"

Igris shook her head, stood up from her seat, and looked out the window at the figures running.

Bandages slowly spread across her cheek, completely covering her face.

Only now did everyone realize that something was wrong, and they all took out their weapons.

But before they could make any further moves, another voice rang in everyone's ears.

"Watch out for the tunnel."

The voice was incredibly familiar, yet utterly repulsive.

Igris felt like she had heard the voice somewhere before, but she couldn't remember where.

Then, it got dark.

The speeding train was instantly plunged into complete darkness, with no light at all.

The surrounding sounds seemed to fall silent at this moment, becoming hazy, dreamlike, and magical.

Igris could see everything in the darkness, but at this moment she still couldn't see anything.

That is not darkness.

What obscures everything is not the lost light, but the paint that tries to blacken reality.

She lost everyone around her, and she lost the train that was moving.

For some reason, Igris found herself in a wasteland.

Beneath her feet was shallow snow, with a few footprints remaining, stretching into the distance.

Igris looked around but didn't find anything else.

Helpless, she gripped her weapon tightly and slowly followed in her footsteps.

From the initial clear footprints, the marks gradually became messy and difficult to discern.

Before anyone knew it, a howling wind began to appear, blowing against Igris's face, its chill biting cold.

Igris continued walking forward, struggling to discern the direction of the footprints, and followed them onward.

I don't know how long I walked, but the footprints disappeared.

Instead, there was blood.

The bloodstains stretched out long, like footprints, pointing Igris in the right direction.

She continued forward, following the trail of blood.

She soon arrived at her destination.

She saw the tracks, the steam train, and the pool of blood beside it.

Igris recognized the train in front of her, because it was the very train she had been on.

Many figures fell beside the train, leaving behind pools of blood.

Igris tugged at her collar nervously and slowly approached the corpses.

She turned the corpses over and examined their bodies and faces one by one.

Everyone was dead, their bodies even somewhat stiff, but Igris didn't recognize them.

Perhaps they are the train conductors on this train; Igris had heard Cecilia mention this before.

She turned her gaze back to the interior of the train.

The car door was half open, and it didn't look like it had been attacked by a spider and was riddled with holes.

Igris slipped into the train, and the warmth gradually dispelled the chill in her body.

But she had no way to be happy.

The carriage was clean and there weren't many passengers.

By the door, the train conductor sat on the ground, clutching his hunting rifle tightly in his hands.

He looked like he was asleep, very quiet and peaceful.

But Igris could tell he was dead.

He didn't have any fatal wounds, but he was indeed dead, dead inside the car.

Igris slowly walked towards the back of the carriage, passing through empty seats and corridors, and going through one carriage after another.

She saw someone again.

Alvin, the cook.

He lay on the floor of the fourth carriage, the ground covered in blood, a meat cleaver still clutched in his hand.

His body was hardly intact, with large and small bite marks all over his body, but his real fatal wound was probably the cut on his neck.

He committed suicide.

The carriage was in disarray, and there were many empty cages, probably his pets, although they had all disappeared.

Igris turned her head and walked towards the driver's seat.

The driver's cab door wasn't locked; it was just ajar and could be easily opened with a push.

In that seat, Cecilia lay motionless on the dashboard.

Igris couldn't see any wounds on her body; she looked as if she were asleep.

But like the train conductor, she died.

Igris gently nudged her body, and she completely collapsed, falling heavily to the ground.

Igris then noticed the blood on the dashboard.

She had a deep wound on the top of her head that went through her brain and tore her cheek.

Her death was equally tragic, and the pain on her face was not diminished in the slightest.

Igris silently looked away and stepped out of the driver's seat.

She sat down in the first carriage, looked at the train that had completely died, and took a deep breath.

A wave of sadness washed over her, making her emotions somewhat difficult to control.

Igris rubbed her face, breathing heavily, trying her best to calm her collapsing mind.

But some guys won't do what she wants.

Does it look familiar?

"..."

She remembered.

That voice.

That voice, which she loathed to the extreme, was filled with vulgarity and despair.

"The bonds you have formed with some of the dead."

Tap, tap.

The crisp sound of footsteps slowly approached Igris and stopped in front of her.

He spoke slowly, in a tone and voice that sounded almost mocking.

"Just like that time, wasn't it?"

“Nyarlathotep…”

"Yes, I'm glad you still remember my name."

The man in the white suit clapped lightly, smiled, and bent down to look at Igris, who was looking down.

"Are you desperate? Are you sad? You call yourself a guardian, but you were never able to protect anyone from the beginning. Only today do you realize that this train was dead from the start, including the people on it."

He lowered his body again, looking up at Igris's expression through her loose hair.

Sure enough, his smile became even more arrogant and jubilant.

"I just want to see this expression on your face... this helpless and desperate look."

He laughed heartily, yet with a mocking tone.

“Remember last time… you couldn’t do anything either, but you clearly had a chance to save her, didn’t you? To save that… Mirabelle.”

"..."

Are you crying? Oh... poor thing, do you need a hug?

He grinned, and strange laughter emanated from his mouth, accompanied by countless whispers.

They were like his servants, echoing everything he did and mocking everything Igris did.