She is not an investigator.

"First of all... your identity is unusual, so as you guessed, the source of this power is not honorable. Perhaps I was lucky, or perhaps I was unlucky. In any case, I have become what I am now, possessing endless rage and inhuman combat power... That's all I know."

His answer was simple and somewhat ridiculous, but Alex was more concerned with other aspects than the answer itself.

Some minor issues are hidden beneath the surface.

"You are in pain. You don't think your power is a good thing, and you can't even control it. Your emotions, your reason, everything you can't control creates tragedy after tragedy. You are crying for help, so you keep fighting and killing. You are trying to die to escape this control."

"Ha, yeah, you're right. I'm going crazy, or maybe I've been crazy for a long time? I don't know, but I've had enough of that guy, or me? It killed almost everyone I ever knew. Maybe we did have some conflicts, but I never thought of hurting those people, especially not in that way."

He recalled everything he had experienced in the past, and everything he had done in the last few days.

Everything that is disgusting and terrifying.

He wouldn't want to try again, but that thing seems to never end, or perhaps it's him?

He could no longer tell who was controlling his body.

"If you can do it, kill me. Don't take any chances, or your end will be just as miserable."

"Of course... if only it were that simple."

She should have tried to leave this place, escape, avoid the war, or do anything at all.

But it seems this place won't give her that chance; in this arena, she is the center of attention.

With everyone watching, she needed to, and had to, try to defeat her opponent.

Just as she once said, and as she has lived through, it is a simple yet effective creed.

Fight, or die.

"what……"

But she's no fool. Or rather, she's willing to come here and face this guy who can kill almost any individual soldier, so she's unlikely to come without making any guarantees or taking any measures.

"Let me see... what this thing is called."

It was a book, or a script, thin and ordinary.

Whether as a weapon or as armor, it is clearly inadequate, but it has a decent name.

"Deus ex machina".

People often find themselves in various predicaments, just as stories can easily get stuck in dead ends, making it difficult to find a way out.

Therefore, in such situations, many authors will temporarily arrange some abrupt but effective solutions to this dilemma.

This is certainly an extremely irresponsible act, which will not only make the story itself feel forced, but may also cause more lingering effects.

Of course, those were not issues that Alex, who was facing a life-or-death crisis at the moment, needed to consider.

Because the story has already begun.

A bizarre stage play – The Book of Secrets: Chapter Forty-Two, In the Name of the Knight

This is a script, a blank script. No words will ever appear on it. The story begins when you notice new words starting to appear.

[Deus Ex: It can resolve immediate difficulties in the best way within a certain scope, but it is not recommended for use in the face of large-scale disasters. When a deus ex machina occurs, it will cause a certain degree of pollution and consumption to reality itself. The larger the scale of the event being resolved, the higher the consumption.]

He can solve many problems, but it's best not to rely on him, as he often brings more difficulties.

Clang——

A heavy metallic sound came from behind Alex. She took a slight step back, and a figure dressed in full armor appeared in front of her.

She knew this guy, of course she knew him, she would never forget this old relic in armor.

"I never imagined we'd meet again in this way."

"...I am not here. This false reality is almost crumbling at the slightest touch, but..."

The knight raised his head and looked at the red figure in front of him, who was also looking at him with great interest.

Just like in countless battles, he raised his rotten and broken longsword and, with a voice that seemed to carry the weight of history, announced the start of the battle.

"If evil is not eliminated, it will disgrace the name of a knight and violate the knight's command."

"Ah... Knight, it's you, Knight... I don't remember your name, but he seems to remember it, remembers that humiliation, that anger..."

Perhaps just like the trash talk that precedes every battle, the knight and his companion communicated with unexpected chemistry, neither intending to interrupt the other.

Only when the knight lowered his body and raised his sword did he finally smile, revealing a mouthful of fangs.

"This most primal struggle, a clash of pure force... we could not possibly determine the outcome, but as you said, you are not here, and our battle is not equitable."

"Desire cannot drive your soul. You still have cognition and goodness. So-called original sin... is nothing but evil itself."

The knight held his sword in one hand, still trying to communicate in his incomprehensible way.

Perhaps it wasn't a conversation, or perhaps it was just a piece of advice from a knight.

"Are you talking to him? Of course... I can't understand your communication. Fight, only one battle after another."

He couldn't understand, and he didn't want to endure it any longer. His patience was limited, and his increasingly intense anger desperately needed an outlet.

"Now... I hope you're ready."

As soon as he finished speaking, red mist billowed up.

In the already small space, all sightlines were blocked. Alex tried to cover her mouth and nose, but the red mist still seeped into her nostrils, stirring her emotions and affecting her reason.

An unnamed rage surged into her brain almost instantly, blurring her vision.

But she could still see it, see the figure standing in the mist.

"..."

Does he breathe? What lies beneath that heavy armor?

Will he have emotions? Like everyone affected by this red mist, will he be reminded of his humiliating and resentful life?

"..."

The knight is not from the past.

He lost himself long ago; he is a relic of the old era, a chaotic entity from the end of time that should not exist.

He considered himself a knight who symbolized order and justice, even though he had lost his past and his own soul.

Even if he was born in chaos, even if he is not absolutely perfect in his justice.

But he remained consistent.

His brain may have decayed, his vocal cords may no longer be able to roar, his sword may be rusted, and his armor may be rotten.

He was a rebellious knight, and also the last knight.

Reason and madness seemed to have left him; anger and calmness never came near him.

Within this red mist, they manipulate everyone's emotions and actions, like arrogant masters toying with toys in their hands.

But in reality, they are nothing, aren't they?

The knight wasn't good at thinking, but he was always thinking, pondering how he should wield his sword.

No longer for foolish justice, nor for outdated rules.

He certainly had a hard time finding the answer, but someone told him everything.

The one who led him to his new path, the only one he truly acknowledged.

Perhaps that's why he continues to fight to protect what he has.

"Knight... tell me, will you be angry?"

The sounds wandered back and forth in the red mist, like omnipresent ghosts, or like the mist itself.

"Knight... tell me, are you afraid?"

The sound was sometimes near, sometimes far, sometimes right next to the ear, and sometimes hard to recognize.

"Knight... now tell me, will you win!"

The sound closed the distance almost instantly, and emerging from the red mist was a huge humanoid figure.

Without hesitation, he lunged at the knight who was still standing in place, and his heavy arm slammed down on the tattered helmet.

As expected, the already fragile helmet was instantly crushed into a ball, accompanied by a tooth-grinding sound, and his fist was pressed against the knight's chest, pounding down again and again.

First it dented, then it broke, and finally it went through, from which black liquid flowed out.

"Look...look at you. I thought you wouldn't bleed, I thought you would be stronger...Knight, you are incredibly weak. From the moment you considered yourself human, you became incredibly weak!"

The voice was strange, ethereal, and its gender was indistinguishable.

He was speaking, but it wasn't him who was saying all this. He didn't know the knight; he was just an ordinary person, a pitiful man being manipulated.

But on his body, within the red mist, within the totems symbolizing violence and rage, lay endless fury.

It was also directed at the knight's own anger.

"The sins born of human nature, the shackles of humanity, you speak of the weakness and wretchedness of mankind, but you have never seen the power beyond that. Anger cannot bring power, it can only bring endless resentment."

The knight's body was transformed, but he still calmly and slowly recounted everything.

Perhaps he doesn't care about these things because he has never felt pain.

"I've had enough of your lectures!"

"exactly."

At that moment, the knight's arm suddenly grabbed the arm that was trying to smash down again.

"I will discard all my formalities here."

An unprecedented, powerful sense of struggle arose in his arm at that moment.

With a chilling sound of bones cracking, the incredibly hard crimson arm was completely deflected at that moment.

"Your sun has set."

A bizarre stage play – The Book of Secrets: Chapter Forty-Three, The Predestined One

It was an almost one-sided battle, and Alex even struggled to find the words to describe it.

All she saw was the knight breaking off the man's arm and then beheading him.

There was no exciting battle, no exaggerated visual effects, just a simple head being chopped off.