He is the leader of the Tantric sect in Chagdu.

Chapter 84 The Inaccessible Change

Second Communication Channel:

"The armed forces under the Tribunal, the tactical organization of the Punishing Order: the Scavengers | "

"Tactical objective: Eliminate illegal cult files (backed up)"

"On-site tactical personnel: 7 people, including 4 temporary support cleanup workers"

Basic modification permissions have been configured.

Basic strike weapons have been deployed.

"Interim Commander: Ronan the Actor"

Time: 7:32

Xiacheng, Beihe District.

The Church of St. Naraccan.

The old site.

boom-

The doors to the underground chapel were swiftly and violently smashed from the outside, then collapsed with a deafening roar, raising a cloud of dust, before being blown away by a sudden gust of wind.

"Be on high alert around the perimeter"

A cold voice slowly rang out: "The law of judgment descends upon this place: it is time for reckoning. All hostile individuals who appear before us and are still capable of movement shall be annihilated, leaving no survivors. Not a single one who does not resist. I do not wish for you to be above my authority. As for whether you are truly innocent, the eye of judgment will decide."

Outside the door stood a menacing team of four steel giants, all clad in standard power armor and fully armed, their bodies forming a shield that blocked view from almost every direction.

They stormed into the heart of this cult's den of iniquity, leaving behind traces of resolute slaughter and charred human remains, their power armor's seams filled with the flesh and blood of rebels.

The incorrigible criminals have become rotten flesh beneath the feet of the judges.

"That's enough—there are no more enemies standing."

Among the people clearing the crowd, one of the three surrounded individuals, a young man with antlers, snapped his fingers, pushed aside the large figure blocking his way, stepped over the collapsed doorway, and entered the church. He looked around and frowned.

The dense darkness buried everything in shadow, with collapsed walls and broken pillars everywhere, the occasional dripping of water, and the sound of wind from an unknown source—perhaps the air circulation system in this place was still working, but there was no trace of any living creature in sight.

All that could be seen were unidentified corpses lying on the ground, the pervasive dust and the stench of blood obscuring everything.

Ronan followed the scene from his memory to the area directly below the chapel. Looking at the two piles of undisturbed tin shells in the corner, he sighed, "They ran pretty fast—"

He rubbed his temples, his tone somewhat helpless, "I miscalculated—I thought that with the brains of these lunatics, they would definitely not be willing to give up the venue they had been running for so long, and were prepared to fight us to the death here."

"It's all Ronan's fault! Why is he overthinking things in a match where he's just crushing the weak? He should have just done what I said! He should have just crushed them!" The antler-wearing girl pushed aside a few tin cans next to her and yelled at Ronan in dissatisfaction.

"Don't rush—"

Ronan considered "caution" to be one of his greatest strengths. Even though his teammates kept telling him things like "just go for it," "don't be so hesitant when you're beating up newbies," and "how can you possibly lose?" the young apprentice still maintained his own judgment.

Considering that this operation involved invading someone else's base, he resolutely decided to "call in reinforcements first!"

In just a few hours, the group of cult members who had been making inflammatory statements not long ago had vanished without a trace.

"What do we do now?" Mia asked smugly, hands on her hips, speaking with an air of "it's not my fault anyway."

"What's the rush? They can't escape."

Ronan shook his head and looked at the cleaning crew that had been temporarily brought in behind him. For the Foundation, these metal cans were considered "consumable" level logistical support. Any employee who was out on missions could request headquarters to send a small team over, and would only be charged a token amount of a few dozen performance points.

He waved.

"Number Three, go check the back and see if there's anyone still breathing on the way here. If so, keep their vital signs up and bring them here. The rest of you, stay on guard."

"besides----"

Ronan narrowed his eyes, and after everyone had dispersed, he looked at the last person who remained in place and said softly.

"Deputy Director Faber, we haven't had a chance until now—but perhaps we can have a more in-depth discussion now."

The middle-aged man who came into Ronan's view at this moment was about forty years old. His hair was a luxurious silver-gray, and his exquisite mechanical right arm was decorated with intricate hollows and patterns. It was quite stylish and looked light and elegant. This was obviously not a prosthetic body used to replace or extend the function of the limbs. Perhaps the purpose of "aesthetics" took precedence.

Mia blinked but didn't say anything—she recognized it as a "custom-made mechanical body" produced by "Violet Private Workshop." Although it was a prosthetic limb, it was more of a "luxury item," with any one of them costing at least six figures in credits.

Ronan said solemnly, "The Foundation needs an explanation regarding this serious breach of law enforcement."

Despite the significant age difference, this obviously well-off deputy director, who held a high position, didn't even dare to breathe loudly in front of Ronan, who was a generation younger than him. He could only carefully move in front of him and then lower his head.

"Tsk—"

The representative from the foundation gave a cold laugh, though his tone remained unchanged, it was tinged with obvious annoyance and anger: "Perhaps you don't fully understand our work—but I think, as a high-ranking official in the North River District Enforcement Department, you should at least be able to count?"

"come over."

He spoke in a commanding tone, practically dragging Faburn around the empty benches to the depths of the chapel, then pointed to the broken pieces of tin on the ground, "People have been replaced with tin—living things have been replaced with inorganic matter. This has been happening here for at least half a month, maybe even longer, but it wasn't until the system sent us an alert from the pool that it was entered into the Foundation's archives."

"Although we don't interfere in non-mysterious matters according to the rules, as the downtown law enforcement department, you are the unit closest to the invisible forces. The court even provides you with special training on mysterious crimes, and what's the result? —"

He took a step forward. Ron was half a head shorter than Faburn, and the horn on his head almost pierced his eye socket. "Conservatively speaking, at least four figures of Hallownest citizens died in this evil, without leaving a trace, becoming a number kept in the think tank archives—and then being sealed away forever."

A mocking glint flashed in his eyes: "Is this your response to the foundation?"

The deputy director also took a half step back, his pale lips moving stiffly, as if he had lost too much blood.

"Tsk—"

Ronan snorted coldly, finally understanding why anger eventually turned into relief, because that was exactly how he felt now.

"What a useless piece of trash."

He sighed heavily—then suddenly frowned and looked into the darkness on the other side.

"Ronan," the antlered girl said softly, taking a step closer to him.

"I heard you."

Ronan drew his gun from his waist, then called back the Cleaners over the communications channel. He stood in front of Mia, his eyes flashing with fire.

"etc----"

After seeing the figure emerge from the darkness, he tilted his head, lowered his gun slightly, and stared blankly.

"————" Seemingly a little uneasy, Mia grabbed his arm.

A little girl walked out towards us.

A lifeless gaze, a stiff expression and demeanor, and unsteady steps.

too familiar.

Ronan clenched his fists.

He had seen a lot, that night, and along the way.

Tin-made dead souls.

—But why?

"The Foundation has set rules for Nest—regarding children, we have established incredibly strict laws. Every missing child must be tracked down to the end, whether dead or alive—"

His arms hung limply at his sides, and he stood there, watching the little girl run step by step from the darkness to him.

She opened her mouth and waved her hand vigorously, but no sound came out. Dead souls have no ability to speak; the remnants of the soul only retain obsession, without any consciousness, so of course they cannot express themselves.

But her actions seemed to be a form of expression, so Ronan quietly followed behind her and gave the gathered cleaners the instruction to "stay put".

He followed the girl to a corner, and then his whole body trembled.

A woman lay motionless on the ground.

A hint of joy suddenly appeared on the little girl's blank face. Driven by her broken obsession, the tin shell, like a light and airy young animal, tiptoed to the woman's side, pounced on her, and looked at Ronan with a pleading expression.

Why isn't Mom moving?

Perhaps she is thinking about this problem with a dull, obsessive mindset.

Ronan slowly moved his violently trembling, deep blue pupils away.

He couldn't watch it anymore.

—The Church of St. Naracco, in order to achieve the “ascension” promised by the Holy See, collected the souls and flesh of victims throughout the North River district. Their targets were either homeless wanderers who roamed the night—a group that was unemployed and homeless, and whose disappearances or arrests for their madness could not cause any disturbance.

And what about the rest?

If fanatical disciples truly regard this "ascension" as a "promised salvation," and under such a mindset—

The fanatics then sent their own family members first to the sacrificial sanctuary.

This is the mystery that is beyond control.

This is the wild and unregulated growth of Tantric Buddhism.

Ronan stared wide-eyed, afraid to blink. He felt like a dry, cracked bundle of firewood, emitting smoke in the ever-increasing heat.

The crackling sounds seemed to ignite my very soul.

"Feel sorry."

He took a step forward, gently stroked the little head of the dead soul, and then smiled bitterly, "It must be hard for a broken soul to only experience confusion and pain, right? It must be exhausting. I'm sorry."

And then—goodnight.

A spark ignited in his hand, then with a gentle touch, it was softly cast into that ethereal shell, bursting forth in a blazing, bright flame.

But strangely, a pungent smell wafted into his nostrils, like dried and rusted iron.

"Ronan!"

A shout came from behind, and in the next instant, a crisp firing sound brought a heavy bullet.

In Ronan's dazed gaze, the bullet pierced through the small tin shell, sending the girl's burning, lithe figure flying far away, pinning her to a pillar, then a "boom—"

A deafening explosion rang out, and a violent shockwave whipped up dust that spread throughout the entire space.

A spark, more vibrant than blood, bloomed in his eyes.

Then everything fell silent.

Ronan took a deep breath, and the following thought flashed through his mind—a bomb.

He gritted his teeth.

—A bomb made of tin.

The gift that the Holy See left for them.

Damn it—

Mia quietly walked to Ronan's side and then buried her head in his chest.

"It's very dangerous."

At this moment, the cleanup crew had all fallen silent. One of them stood quietly in place, holding a survivor whose breath was fading and whose abdomen had a large hole, waiting for orders.

Their commander was furious.

"Missing children, a large-scale bombing operation—haha, hahaha!"

—This is absolutely outrageous.

Ronan couldn't help but laugh out loud. He was both crying and laughing at the same time. Then he walked up to the deputy director, grabbed Faburn by the throat, and lifted his feet off the ground like he was a beast that didn't need to be cherished.

"Let me guess what exactly is running rampant in the already rotten law enforcement department in the lower city. Is it the invisible control of those giant corporations in the upper city, or those traitors within the organization who have sided with the mysterious folk associations—or perhaps, some dirty thing with a hidden nest has secretly crawled up here."

—How disgusting! I really want to burn it all to the ground.

"My patience has its limits—Deputy Director, what if you were to die unexpectedly while assisting the court in carrying out a mission—if I recorded that in the attendance log, a new deputy director would replace you the next day—"

Fire's rage surged to its limit, his eyes burning with violence: "Tell me, will anyone come to investigate the truth for you?"

"Ronan!"

Mia suddenly spoke up anxiously, pressing her antlers hard against Ronan's waist, "Watch your Principles power!"

"—

"

Ronan was momentarily dazed, then suddenly realized what was happening.

"Feel sorry."

These words were spoken to Mia. Ronan released Fabern from his grasp, looked at his pupils contracting with fear, and gave a self-deprecating smile, "In the end—I am still just an apprentice, unable to fully control even my own power."

Even knowing that killing the deputy director would not help the decaying city, Ronan, as an apprentice studying "fire," still could not balance the impact of the "untouchable change" on his bloodline.

This is also the most common emotional pain encountered by every apprentice in the courtroom: justice and change are the fuel for their ascent, while the sense of powerlessness in their hearts is a kind of descent.

No wonder the elders always tell you: only by touching the real world can you ignite the "fire"—as an apprentice, before accepting the weight of this transformation, the forging of the hammer is nothing but emptiness, and the ascent is nothing but a baseless dream.

Tragedy is the best teacher.

"If this had happened during the time when the Hearth Council was in power—how could such a thing have happened?" he murmured.

Although Ronan himself did not experience that era, as a member of the Inquisition, he had already glimpsed "Hall of Nest" from decades ago through his predecessors.

"It was because we gave up too much that those newly formed upper-class factions and giant corporations were given a chance to breathe again. We clearly had the opportunity to completely wipe them out back then—but—"

"Ronan."

Mia interrupted him, then whispered, "You know, we all know the Foundation doesn't participate in ruling. We can be guardians, judges, or mysterious authorities—we can even decide the path and future of the Nest, but we can never be dictators sitting on a throne."

"Ronan," she said, "we are the wings, and we are the pollution."

"----I know."

Ronan didn't deny it; he closed his eyes, and the following sounds seemed like he was eating in a dream.

"I just feel—unwilling to accept it."

The next sentence was stuck in his throat, but in the end, he swallowed it down.

"never mind.

99

He directed the cleanup crew to take the survivor who was feigning death from the ground, ensuring his vital signs were preserved along the way. He glanced repeatedly at Faburn, who was trembling beside him, shook his head, and chuckled, "For now, let's continue the unfinished cleanup."

Ronan turned and walked out of the church, which had been reduced to ruins.

"Go back first. I will apply for a search warrant and force the law enforcement department to cooperate with the investigation. I will also prepare for the soul-searching ceremony."

He spoke softly.

"They have nowhere to escape."