The Warehouse

The square had completely spiraled out of control.

Thomas's corpse still lay in the exact same spot, but by now, no one could spare a thought for him.

Trampling. Fire. Crying. Chaos reigned in every direction.

The director of the Port Authority stood frozen, his face deathly pale and drenched in cold sweat.

Two officers practically dragged him backward to retreat.

“Hurry! We can't stay here!”

The director seemed to want to say something, but in the next second, a rock flew out of nowhere and slammed hard against a nearby wooden crate.

The wood splintered, frightening him into immediately shutting his mouth.

Several nearby City Hall officials were also retreating under police escort. They had originally come to witness the outcome of the negotiations, but no one expected things to escalate to this point.

The crowd had completely lost all control. Remaining here would yield no other outcome than being trampled to death.

Jonathan kept swinging his truncheon, screaming until his voice was nearly hoarse.

“Get back! Everyone, get back! Clear a path!”

Yet his voice was quickly swallowed by the roaring din. The human wall formed by dozens of patrolmen was repeatedly battered.

Some tripped, some were injured, and some were even knocked flat onto the ground by the furious mob.

The situation was growing worse by the second.

In the distance, the church's carriages finally arrived at the edge of the square.

Several nuns and priests rushed down and began treating the wounded. Temporary stretchers were constantly carried out, and the injured were sent to the church in batches.

Some could still let out soft groans, while others had already stopped breathing.

The air was thick with the scent of blood.

A woman knelt on the ground, weeping bitterly as she cradled a child whose face was covered in blood. An old man kept calling out for his missing grandson, while others desperately pushed through the crowd to search for their loved ones.

Ryan and Simon were also swept up in the rescue efforts.

The two had just carried a worker with a crushed leg to a safe area when cries for help rang out from another direction. They simply couldn't keep up.

The entire square was like a collapsing dam; no matter where they plugged the leak, a new breach would inevitably burst open.

Time ticked by, yet the chaos showed no signs of abating.

And right then, a much more violent commotion suddenly erupted from the west side of the port.

A muffled explosion echoed from the depths of the night, and flames shot violently into the air.

Originally, only a single warehouse had been burning, but now, several neighboring buildings were also set ablaze. The fire spread rapidly along the wooden structures.

The entire warehouse district began to light up, and an orange-red glow illuminated half of East Port as billowing plumes of thick smoke rose into the sky.

As the sea breeze blew, the sweet scent in the air instantly grew several times stronger.

Ryan looked up, staring off toward the blaze in the distance. His brow gradually furrowed.

It was too strange. If it were just a normal fire, it shouldn't be burning this quickly, much less have this kind of smell.

He saw quite a few workers desperately running toward the warehouses with water buckets, and the fire brigade's carriages had also arrived, yet the fire continued to spread.

Ryan suddenly felt an indescribable sense of unease. This feeling had been lingering ever since Thomas collapsed, and now, it was growing stronger and stronger.

He turned to look at Simon.

Simon had just handed an unconscious child to a nun. His overcoat was covered in dust and blood, making him look utterly disheveled.

Ryan remained silent for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“Simon.”

“There's something wrong with the warehouse.”

Simon didn't even look up.

“No shit. I know there's something wrong.”

Ryan watched the churning sea of fire in the distance and slowly said, “I think that's exactly where the source of the problem lies. Thomas's death was too convenient, and the fire started too coincidentally. If someone is pulling the strings behind all of this, the warehouse is the most likely place where they would leave traces.”

Simon finally looked up, following Ryan's gaze toward the burning warehouse district.

The night wind whipped the flames, illuminating his exhausted face.

Then, he looked at Ryan as if he were looking at a madman.

“And?”

“Let's go take a look.”

Simon fell completely silent for a full three seconds. Then, he raised his hand to touch his forehead.

“Ryan, have you lost your mind? Right now, all of East Port is about to blow, and you're telling me to go to the warehouse?”

Ryan didn't back down.

“Thomas's death is too coincidental, and the warehouse catching fire is too coincidental. There must be something going on there.”

“Of course there's something going on. I'm not an idiot,” Simon interrupted him directly. “But there's a difference between there being a problem and going to seek our deaths.”

He pointed toward the distant sea of fire.

“Do you have any idea what might be in there? Cultists, rituals, uncontrolled extraordinary items, or maybe all three. And there are only two of us here.”

Ryan fell silent.

Simon continued, “Most importantly, we've already been exposed. While we stay in the crowd, he wouldn't dare make a move openly, but going to the warehouse is just asking to die.”

This time, Ryan didn't argue, because it was the truth. An Edge-man had died at their hands, and there was no way to keep something like that hidden.

Simon stared at the flames, his eyes somewhat grim.

“That monster didn't just grow like a weed on the side of the road. This is a Soul-Stitching Ritual. Look at that monster. The person behind it must have mastered at least four Principles: Winter, Grail, Moth, and Edge. So this is either the work of a large group of cultists, or the masterpiece of some cult leader who isn't even human. And now, East Port suddenly turning into this—do you think that's a coincidence?”

Ryan slowly shook his head.

“I don't.”

“Exactly,” Simon let out a breath. “Since it's not a coincidence, then the most dangerous place right now is that warehouse. Because if there really is a mastermind behind this, they would have arrived there much earlier than us.”

Another explosion echoed in the distance, and fireballs shot into the night sky, causing quite a few people to cry out in alarm.

Simon cast a glance over, his expression growing even more grim.

“See that? That's no ordinary fire. A normal fire wouldn't burn like that. We have absolutely no idea what's inside.”

He paused, then lowered his voice. “Besides, have you considered another possibility?”

Ryan looked up.

“What?”

Simon sneered, “If I were them, and one of my Edge-men had just died, what would be the first thing I'd want to do?”

Ryan's heart sank.

Simon looked at him and slowly said, “Revenge, or silencing us. They certainly won't be inviting us to dinner.”

The sea breeze swept through, and the sweet fragrance in the air grew even thicker.

The riot in the square was still ongoing. People in the distance were constantly being injured, and more and more bodies were being carried out.

Simon tossed aside the bandages in his hand, lit another cigarette, and took a deep drag.

“So, you're going to stay right here, safe and sound. Help the injured, maintain order, and don't try to be a hero. The less you know, the longer you live.”

Ryan was about to speak, but Simon cut him off with a raised hand.

“Don't say it. I'm not going either. I haven't lived long enough yet. I still haven't settled the score with you for dragging me into trouble last time. If there really is something inside that warehouse this time, then let it stay there.”

“Wait until tomorrow, or the day after. The authorities will definitely send people far more professional than us to handle it. Anyway, anyone who goes in right now is a fool. If you insist on going, I'll just wait outside to collect your corpse.”