He is the leader of the Tantric sect in Chagdu.

Chapter 121 Virtin

From the time he could remember, Virtue's life lacked a certain vibrancy.

Unlike most "families" in Uptown, the girl only had very vague memories of her parents from a young age, which ended when she was four or five years old, though Wilting herself couldn't quite remember.

In my memory, while my peers were still nestled in the arms of their families, I had already entered an orphanage called St. Louis—without being “abandoned” in between. This memory is hazy and vague. Later, even when Virtue used the mysterious art of enlightenment to forcibly recall it, those years were as fragile and thin as a morning dream.

It wasn't until much later that she learned that this "orphanage" was a subsidiary of the foundation, and that she herself, perhaps from a very young age, had formed an inseparable connection with this behemoth that dominated the entire city.

In Uptown, the "family" is centered around a set of "norms." Even though disgusting adults build countless complicated and chaotic relationships in various business districts and parties, the "family" is an "obligation" stipulated by the foundation. People will form families through marriage, even if they hate each other's sexual characteristics and race.

Children born into families need to be properly cared for, and the law ensures that they are compelled to fulfill their obligations. Orphanages are rare institutions in the Upper East Side; they are more like "cradles" for the foundation to select occult talents than orphanages.

Like many children who display mysterious talents from a young age, Virtin, starting at age seven, followed an unseen arrangement as he entered school, grew, studied, and progressed through his education.

Even Trinity College, considered almost unattainable by Upper Town residents, is a world of enlightenment for young girls—its secretly run "occult courses," known outside as the "Elite Program," have a completely different name internally:

Bethlehem Star

The Virtue Foundation is the only one that has come closest to success in the half-century history of this project. Perhaps some factions of members of the committee had expectations of her, but these expectations were neither heavy nor unique—it was like discovering an exceptionally beautiful kitten or puppy among the kittens and puppies that were adopted by chance, and thus focusing extra attention on her.

But now, in the eyes of the Foundation, is his own value comparable to that of a newly born [Wings of the World]?

Wilding didn't know.

From a young age, the girl didn't quite understand what "nobility" meant, nor did she understand what "greater value" meant—she also didn't quite understand why "there are so many discernible differences between people."

Perhaps it's because—in her eyes, everyone is incredibly similar, indistinguishable from one another—no matter how grand their appearance, they are all painted with the same colors inside.

Those seemingly different souls are all filled with the same dry, withered, ugly, and dull substance.

It has absolutely no aesthetic appeal and is nauseating to look at.

Is this the right thing to do?

She had long realized that she was an outsider to this world; perhaps "a born rebel" would be a more accurate description. It was as if she had suffered from an illness since birth. Wilting had even wondered if the illness wasn't hers, but something else entirely—

But how can she, who has never seen a "reference object," prove that she wasn't the one who made the mistake?

Until the girl met this madman.

—He had no taboos, he was extremely rebellious—even the being who forever sat behind that throne was forced by that dazzling light to cast a respectful glance upon him.

—His arrogance is an unreasonable madness—using his own standards to define things that are a million times larger than himself—even when the opposing target is all of humanity, the whole world, he still holds absolute, even dictatorial, self-confidence.

"Gray." Virtue took a deep breath and resolutely stepped toward the figure.

When she set foot on this land that had just escaped the category of "barrenness", what came into view was the greenery that seemed to be welcoming new life, and the soil that was beginning to be filled with life. When she inadvertently looked up, white, soft fluffy clouds floated across the horizon. She had never seen such a "sky" even at the White Tower.

The prototype of Xinxiang — unlike the pitch black and dimness of a nest.

Where does this color come from, and where did the inspiration come from? These are questions that people in this era may still have.

Meeting the girl's distant and cold gaze, the petite figure slowly stood up—to Virtin's dismay, his movements lacked the majesty one would expect from a "taboo," and his demeanor was far from terrifying. The previous dazzling arrogance and madness seemed to dissolve silently in his two slightly swaying, large ears, like snow falling into water.

Grey smiled at them, but Virtue couldn't discern his emotions. A strange thought inexplicably arose within her:

Right now, that guy actually looks kind of cute.

No one could possibly tell that the seemingly harmless fox before them was the master of the new singularity, the second [Wing of the World] who controlled Hallownest—and that he had repeatedly slapped the Foundation in the face, forcing the latter to swallow their broken teeth.

—And, Virtin was even more convinced of his previous judgment: Grey had indeed undergone some kind of radical change—at least the fall from his previous level was a given fact, and the fact that he could enter Grey's vessel and have a direct spiritual collision with him had already proven this.

So, the one riding on the Foundation's back and relentlessly attacking right now is actually a first-stage tilter. Thinking of this, Wei Sir's expression also became somewhat strange.

Not far away, Ai Yi forced herself to switch to a serious expression, convincing herself to exude an air of mystery—watching the girl walking towards her step by step, she sighed inwardly.

—It really is you, Miss Wei.

The torture methods he had envisioned were rendered useless. Fox tensed up to stop himself from laughing. He himself hadn't expected that Wei Sir would actually pilot his mech and personally storm into the outskirts of the city. Although he had caused the other party a great deal of psychological trauma before, this method of seeking revenge was a bit too reckless.

—It still tastes familiar, no wonder it's Wei Sir!

Watching the expressionless silver-haired girl stride aggressively toward him, Ai sniffed and quickly suppressed his playful thoughts—he hadn't yet revealed his true identity, and to Virtin, he was practically an "enemy" or "sworn enemy."

It is highly likely that Eileen, who was initially deemed "missing," is now being blamed for her own death.

—This is tricky—

Ai didn't notice that the tips of her ears were drooping slightly as she looked down and began to seriously consider how to deal with the scene in front of her.

The battle of souls in the arena, a contest of mystery, takes two forms. The first, of course, is a deathmatch, just like what Ai did when he destroyed the soul of the "Holy Throne"—a contest of who has the deeper foundation and who has the higher stats.

The second type is the clash of "ideologies".

Ascension is a realm of idealism—the mystical scholar walking on the sacred staircase must first make his desires unbreakable—ideology is the manifestation of worship, and it also defines the upper limit of ascension.

When someone's "worship" fails in the conflict of ideas, it means that the ascension he seeks is merely a stepping stone under someone else's feet, something that can be replaced or discarded—this is a complete defeat of mysticism.

So, Ai, playing on home turf, opened her mouth.

"You always say you don't need to understand the ideals of a demon." He sighed softly, gently stroking the green and red sapling at his feet, and said gently, "I have no intention of persuading you. Perhaps it's because I feel that—when faced with a troublesome fellow like you, words are often powerless—"

His voice echoed through the space, and Virtue's steps faltered—she looked around, and in the instant the gray opening appeared, some kind of change seemed to be brewing in this space.

"So, I want you to make a choice."

He spread his arms, pointing to the side of his heart, "Let's play a game, come into my world—kill me in that place, and you've won."

Ai's smile revealed a familiar demeanor, and although her tone was gentle, it also carried a strong sense of arrogance. "Don't worry, I won't fight back there, and I have no offensive capabilities. As for you—I'll give you a gun. No matter where you aim at me, once you're willing to pull the trigger, this duel will be over."

He waved his hand, and as the "master of the vessel," the surging, intangible essence solidified in Virtin's hand into a pitch-black pistol.

"Alright, let the game begin."

As the last whisper faded away with the gray shadow before her, the girl looked up in a daze. The brand-new world she had known moments before had changed completely.

The familiar suspended city, the bloated skyscrapers—the cramped dome and the sparse sunlight.

Now, this is a place familiar to everyone.

Chaodu, Xiacheng, Beihe District.

An unnamed street, late at night.

A silver-haired girl walks alone in a dark alley.

Virtue had a good memory; she knew she definitely hadn't been to this place before.

In some unknown corner of a downtown area, the "region" registered in the think tank may only have a standard number and no real name.

The streets of the hive city are often named by the residents, such as Kane, which in some contexts means "dangerous" or "unreliable" — what happens in these narrow corners almost never reaches the ears of anyone other than the "parties involved".

Kidnapping, disappearances, abductions, and shady dealings—the dazzling neon lights conceal the bloated desires hidden behind the scenes, allowing the stench of decadence to rise endlessly in its expansion.

Everyone's tired of seeing these things; everyone's gotten used to them.

The search for the target was not difficult, in fact, it was too easy. As soon as Virtin followed a certain impulse and turned a corner, he saw a scene that seemed out of place in his field of vision.

An ordinary-looking shop located on the side of the street.

The storefront and sign are very small. The old-fashioned neon lights look a bit outdated. The words "Convenience Store with Wings" on it are not carefully designed but hand-painted. However, it is clear that they are written with great care. There are some cute graffiti on the side as decoration. You can see that there are two birds with wings and a cat with particularly big ears.

Is it a dog? Or maybe a fox? Wilting isn't a big fan of canines and can't tell the difference.

The next instant, for some unknown reason, she walked in that direction. Something shone brightly in the girl's inspiration, as if it had been infused with something dazzling, making one want to get closer and take a look.

Then she found her target: a tiny, gray shadow huddled in the shadows where no light could reach. This thing was really tiny; it was crouching in the corner, and she didn't even see it at first glance.

Not knowing what the other party wanted to show him, in the dead silence, Virtin raised the gun in his hand and aimed at the silhouette—the dark muzzle was pointed at his chest, and his inexplicably trembling fingers gently pulled the loose trigger.

The next second, a shadow appeared in front of him, blocking the gun hole.

—It wasn't that easy after all.————

Wilting remained unmoved. She first tried to move the gun barrel, but the guy who suddenly appeared followed her like a shadow—when the girl turned and pointed the cold gun at him, she was shocked to see a familiar figure.

-nirvana.

That little one, Ellen's sister, was a "victim" left behind in the suburbs during that operation, leaving a thorny shadow in Virtin's heart.

"You—" Her lips trembled, and the single word was cut off. Through the silhouette, Veltin could not detect any consciousness that could be communicated, so he gave up the idea of ​​speaking.

Silently raising her head, she looked at the gray figure in the corner, the one who hadn't moved an inch from beginning to end, through the girl in front of her—for an indescribable time, a thin layer of mist vaguely rose from behind the amber pupils.

It was a barely perceptible sense of bewilderment.

The girl took a deep breath.

The girl in front of him was pressing her forehead against the muzzle of the gun, her bloodshot eyes staring blankly at him, motionless. Wilting had a premonition that no matter where she pointed her gun, as long as she pulled the trigger, the bullet would have to cross the person blocking her way.

What you get in your hands is a real sense of texture.

-hateful----

Anger was an emotion that Virtue should have long since abandoned—but at this moment she was beyond anger—a certain tide of resentment was surging and rising along the vessel's passage, and the taste of congealed blood in her mouth was as pungent as rust.

—Just a shadow, or rather, the shadow of a victim.

Veltin strained to regulate his breathing, gripping the gun handle tightly—an executive officer never hesitated because of a "foolish decision"—especially since this was a carefully woven trap by the enemy, designed to destroy his spirit.

-Ash----

She murmured the name to herself, each time with increasing conviction.

Such blatant malice is truly disgusting.

—And I will never be under your control.

"I'm sorry," Veltin said softly, then resolutely pulled the trigger—the bullet dissolved into a pile of sand the moment it pierced the girl's brow, and Nie's image vanished like ice in water.

In the next instant, before Virtin could even move the gun towards the dust, a sudden change occurred. An invisible substance surged from the cloud of dust and merged into the girl's soul—she felt suffocated, followed by a throbbing sensation from the depths of her heart.

—What is this?————

Wilting covered her eyes, her breathing becoming extremely rapid.

Endless attachment and trust—these things that flowed from the shadow of Nie sank into her vessel—Veltin saw this little girl, following behind Gray with unease, like a doll afraid of being abandoned, from initially harboring distant longings to now being filled with a sense of security and dependence.

—From a small animal afraid of being abandoned to finding its eternal home.

Wilting looked up in a daze.

Although the figure huddled not far away remained completely still, Veltin still faintly heard a whisper from some unseen force—

"I want you to understand the weight I bear."

With boundless gentleness, he asked, "Can your sense of justice shatter my fulcrum?"

In the resolute silence, Virtin raised her gun once more—she silently pointed the muzzle at the gray mass, and then the next shadow appeared as promised.

This time it was an unfamiliar figure.

A woman with brown wings, leaning on crutches, pushed open the door of the convenience store next door, stepped out against the corner of the wall, and blocked the gray shadow.

She tilted her head and looked at the silver-haired girl holding the gun. Her beautiful, ruby-like pupils were wide open, filled with confusion. Without a moment's hesitation, she pounced on the little figure on the ground, spreading her wings to completely envelop his outline, trying to make herself look taller, and then desperately protecting the gray figure behind her.

She bared her teeth at Virtue, looking fierce.