“All the students from Eden are trash!”
Old Bloom sneered softly, his eyes filled with a coldness like rust.
“The blood of restlessness naturally flows in the bones of jesters.”
“Klaus,” he no longer looked at Roman, but turned to the person on his right, “did you use what I asked you to prepare?”
The man was thin, wearing reflective oilskin overalls, with an old riveter’s tool bag slung over his shoulder. A healed knife scar was visible near his ear on his left cheek, noticeable only when one got closer.
His name was Klaus Iserman. He was once a city security officer but was dismissed for violating gun control laws and privately modifying source stone firearms. After his dismissal, he became an underground arms dealer and has now fully committed to the cult.
Klaus, the arms dealer, showed a half-smile.
“The military-grade ‘Falconer’ source stone long rifle is indeed better than the Type I police gun used by law enforcement.”
“According to the coordinates given by the cult, I successfully hit that Winged Cat in the suburbs of Hamburg.”
“After being hit, it fell to the edge of the urban area, causing a small commotion.”
He narrowed his eyes, licked his teeth, and his tone carried a hint of coldness:
“Unfortunately, the gun’s secondary barrel kinetic burst was too strong, attracting the attention of the nearby Mechanical Church.”
“At the time, I couldn’t confirm if it was killed on the spot…”
“But even if it miraculously survived—it’s impossible for it to still be delivering the letter on the original route.”
Old Bloom spoke softly.
His voice was like a file sharpening an old blade, deep and with a metallic fatigue:
“As long as she doesn’t have the letter, there won’t be any flowing data for admission certificates from Eden.”
“We—still have time.”
Saying that, he looked at the house across the street again.
The second-floor windows of the Hermann Family house were tightly shut, and the rust stains on the wall snaked down the drainpipe, looking exactly like a sickly vein.
The house was as quiet as a dead well.
Old Bloom’s lips curved slightly:
“Act tonight under the cover of darkness.”
He turned his head to look at the two people beside him and slowly said:
“The civilian guns in your hands are modified parts with altered gun patterns, not in the security department’s trace sequence.”
“This small-caliber source stone gun, if used on a small scale, won’t immediately trigger the city’s gun ban.”
“But don’t be careless.”
“The source gun’s vibration structure will still produce localized machine soul fluctuations. Once the fluctuations spread to nearby church nodes, they might be monitored by a Machine Priest.”
“Remember—act cleanly and decisively. Absolutely do not attract the attention of the Mechanical Church or the security officers.”
Hearing this, Roman, the infected person standing on the left, nodded and instinctively reached down to touch the civilian gun at his waist.
On the other side, Klaus, the arms dealer, also reached out, stroking the source stone pistol wrapped in its leather holster, his thumb slowly rubbing the grip as if feeling a familiar warmth.
He twisted his lips, revealing a cold smile.
“In this house… besides the target, there are others.”
He said, raising his chin and gesturing with his eyes towards the Hermann Family’s kitchen window.
“Should we—clear them out too?”
As he spoke, he made a quick, decisive throat-slitting gesture, with no hesitation in his eyes.
The air seemed to freeze instantly.
The wind stopped for a beat.
Old Bloom didn’t speak, just pondered for a moment, then lightly tapped his cane on the stone ground, making a “thump” sound.
Then, he slowly nodded.
“Be careful.”
“Don’t make too much noise.”
“Keep the sound inside.”
“Don’t leave bodies in the house.”
Klaus grinned, revealing a row of yellowed teeth:
“Understood.”
“Tonight, we’ll make it spotless.”
Night fell faster than usual.
The streets of Bella Berlin seemed to have had their lights turned off by someone, and Kreuzberg District was completely submerged in a thick layer of grey shadows.
At a street corner on Schleyerhof Road, Zieg stood quietly in the shadow of a twisted maple tree. His deerskin cloak concealed his entire silhouette, with only his silver-grey hair gently swaying in the evening breeze.
He didn’t speak, simply slowly unshouldering the long instrument case from his back.
“Click.”
His fingertip landed on a hidden mechanism on the case.
The next second, the seemingly heavy instrument case suddenly split into two, the lid opening to the left and right, and the internal mechanism sliding automatically.
Inside the opened case lay two long swords, one silver and one steel, each with a different luster.
One was entirely silver and gleaming, its blade slightly curved, emanating a flowing coldness like water in the darkness; the other was deep steel-colored, its blade line sharp and straight, like a keen tooth hidden in the night.
Zieg lowered his head to check the position of the two swords, not making a sound.
Heidewig, the Winged Cat, was curled up in his cloak-wrapped embrace, only its head peeking out slightly, its nose twitching gently with the night wind, and its tail hanging at Zieg’s waist, tapping silently.
“Hey.”
“You’ve been acting all mysterious from day to night.”
“And now you’re still sneaking around near someone’s house… What exactly do you want to do?”
His Cat Eye glowed with an amber cold light, like two polished crystals.
Zieg didn’t answer.
He simply slowly drew the steel sword from the sword case.
“Clang.”
The sound of the blade sliding out was faint, yet it was incredibly abrupt in the dead silence. A cold gleam cut through the night, like some dangerous entity about to be unsealed, beginning to breathe.
The boy stood up, his figure tall and straight, his cloak falling to the ground like a black bird spreading its wings.
His mismatched eyes slowly lifted.
“What I do later.”
“Don’t be too surprised.”
Heidewig’s body stiffened, and its ears twitched, as if some whisper of wind had seeped into its bones.
“…Did you find something?”
He lowered his voice; his intuition told him—danger was closer than he thought.
Zieg didn’t respond, simply drew the silver sword out as well with his other hand.
He held both swords crossed in his hands, weighed them slightly, and the blades hung steadily, tracing a half-arc close to his instep.
His movements were so fluid, not like a twelve-year-old child, but more like an executioner who had experienced countless purges.
The wind brushed the eaves, and his tone was as light as if discussing the weather:
“The wind is strong tonight.”
His tone was flat, as if an offhand remark.
But his next sentence made Heidewig’s fur stand on end.
“It’s suitable for some people who think they’re well hidden…”
“—to disappear from this world.”
When the last word fell, Zieg’s voice was already as cold as a snow-blade against a throat, devoid of emotion or fluctuation.
As if this was just a natural triviality in life.
And Heidewig, the entire Cat, completely froze, its tail no longer wagging, its four paws as if nailed under the cloak, daring not to move.
Not because of the words.
But because—of the calmness after that declaration of killing.
It was like saying:
“It’s going to rain tomorrow.”
“The food is a bit salty.”
And when these sparse, ordinary words now became:
“—I have to kill a few people tonight.”
This was what was most unsettling.
