"We can see that ten minutes after the explosion, the humanitarian organization, Star of Life, has already arrived at the scene of the disaster."
"A total of one hundred and thirty-two people have been killed in this attack, with the number of injured tentatively estimated at over two hundred. The chairman of Star of Life has promised to exert every effort to rescue the wounded and will provide psychological counseling for the survivors after the event to help them move past the trauma."
"Board member Mr. Diesel Winter is suspected to have been killed in the attack."
"The perpetrator, Von Jay, currently remains at large. tuners are intensifying their search efforts and have completely blockaded the city."
"The Ascetic Sect has claimed responsibility for this terrorist attack."
Smoke filled the screen, dust swirled through the air, and rubble and debris were scattered across the entire street. Ruins were burning, with billowing thick smoke obscuring the sky.
Cries for help, the sound of crackling fire, and wailing sirens collectively composed this world of suffering.
Iron and blood, fire and destruction.
Buildings were shattered within the flames, and the cries and howls of the people intertwined, resembling a living purgatory.
If this were a painting, its base color would certainly be gray, evoking feelings of oppression and despair.
"Found one! We found someone!"
Amidst the ruins, a figure in white shouted. Several other figures sprinted toward him; they were all members of Star of Life, the red cross insignias on their shoulders identifying them as the rescue angels dispatched by Life Daybreak Company to every hive city.
Inside the Art Academy.
"Diesel was a practitioner of the artistic path who made many contributions to the development of this cause. He was a respected colleague and my friend."
Speaking to the camera was a man with a thin face and sunken eyes. He wore dark red clothing with a popped collar that brought to mind a vampire duke. His skin was morbidly pale, and his words were as flat as water, as if he were merely stating a commonplace occurrence.
"I will investigate this matter thoroughly and bring him justice, as well as justice for all the people who suffered in this event—"
"Mr. Divine Comedy, wait..."
The reporter wanted to say more, but the shout of a tuner came from the side. Several tuners carrying riot control weapons stepped forward.
"Back away! Maintain your distance!"
"Belvedere, you damn hypocrite! Isn't it true that you and those lunatics from the Ascetic Sect conspired to stage this attack?"
Someone in the crowd shouted loudly.
"Who doesn't know that your philosophy has always clashed with Diesel's? He was always advocating for the abolition of the orphanage system. Don't be fooled by these guys' high-sounding words; this is a calculated political assassination!!"
"Who said that!?" The majestic aura of a tuner shook the area.
"Find that person who's spreading groundless rumors!"
A small old man shoved through the figures in front of him, weaving his hands through the gaps between people. He hunched his body, struggling to dive his head into the surging tide of the crowd to avoid the gaze of the tuners behind him. His stooped form looked comical and ridiculous at that moment.
"He's over there, don't let him get away!"
Several tuners shoved aside large swaths of people, giving chase at high speed.
For a moment, the scene was chaotic, looking like a total farce.
The man with the sunken eyes watched that figure disappear into the distance. He said nothing, merely turning around as if he had grown weary of the spectacle. With a wave of his hand, the tuners beside him stepped forward to block the swarming reporters.
Beside the ruins, the search and rescue continued. From time to time, figures in white could be seen carrying stretchers past, the people on them emitting bouts of painful groans.
In the crowd, a black-haired girl wore the pure white uniform of an investigator. Her eyes resembled beautiful red agate. She was reporting something through her Gingko Curtain while reaching out toward those groaning in pain.
Green light, brimming with vitality like tender sprouts, grew from beneath their skin. Formless, delicate leaves pressed against their wounds.
Under the soft green glow, the agony on the faces of the wounded eased significantly.
"Investigator Bai, it has been a long time. Did the association notice the recent events as well?"
Hearing another's voice, Bai Nian'an looked up and nodded after recognizing the newcomer.
The youth was very handsome, with a sunny and outstanding appearance, radiating the unique temperament of a noble. His silver-gray paladin armor made him stand out in the crowd, drawing many gazes as soon as he appeared.
"Don't mind me. Not long ago, I was participating in the academy's opera rehearsal, 'The Last Queen and Her Knights of the Round Table.' I've been preparing for it for a long time. Perhaps you'll see my performance at this year's academy gala."
As he spoke, the youth scanned his surroundings, shaking his head with considerable regret. "What a pity. The designs of many buildings on Flower Language Street possessed great artistic depth. The old architect, Master Neil, passed away just a month ago, and now they've been destroyed in this attack. Even if they're rebuilt, they won't have their former height or soul, will they?"
Noticing that he was indifferent toward life and instead placed his regret on the architecture, a flash of displeasure crossed Bai Nian'an's face, though she said nothing.
Lancelot Withered-Flower, the student council president of Starry Art Academy and the second son of the Withered Flower family. He had displayed proud artistic talent since childhood and grew up with the family's resources at his disposal. He had created countless works; listing them all would take half a day.
He was a favored child of heaven in the eyes of many, an existence whose very back was hard for others to even glimpse.
His talent was not limited to academic achievements; he was also a grade 3 paladin. One had to realize that at barely twenty years of age, the number of people who could reach the level of grade 3 was countable on one's fingers; there were no more than ten in the entire Star of Art.
Those blessed by the Starry Night were also cursed by it. The vast majority of people were born with abilities above grade 1, and during their childhood, they could grasp their class traits, condense a mimicry, and promote to grade 2.
However, the threshold of grade 3 alone—the deep exploration of the self—was something ninety percent of people could not cross in an entire lifetime.
Undoubtedly, the youth's future was incredibly bright. After graduating from the academy, he would enter the Starry Gallery as the student council president and become one of the lawmakers of this world of ice and snow.
Even if he wanted to leave the Star of Art, his identity as the legitimate second son of the Withered Flower family would serve as wings to help him fly to higher and brighter places.
Bai Nian'an did not enjoy dealing with such noble scions, even if these family members were rarely reckless or overbearing and were mostly witty and polite in conversation.
But their socialization was often accompanied by motives and interests; interacting with them always felt like being part of a scheme. The reason he appeared here and approached her was most likely because of her status as a member of a family within the Order Court.
Growing up in a family environment herself, her upbringing still compelled her to respond politely:
"Recently, the association noticed abnormal fluctuations in the spiritual energy of the Star of Art. Fearing it might be a sign of a high-risk urban eldritch creature's birth, they sent me here to conduct a simple investigation."
"Indeed, many strange things have happened in the Star of Art lately. The number of the depleted in the Keyboard District is clearly higher than before. The number of urban legend incidents reported this month alone has exceeded ten; such things didn't happen in previous years," Lancelot said.
"And those damn Ascetic Sect members." When talking about the Ascetic Sect, Lancelot's gaze turned significantly sharper.
"To think even Mr. Diesel met with misfortune because of them."
"The number of terrorist attacks launched by those lunatics is also far higher than usual. To think they actually call such things art; it truly defiles this temple."
Lancelot's knitted brows smoothed out again.
"This feeling of an impending storm is quite terrible, isn't it?"
Bai Nian'an did not respond, her ears automatically ignoring Lancelot's self-talk.
She tapped her fingers on the Gingko Curtain, and after sending all the necessary report information to her superiors in the association, she was about to turn away when the youth's voice came again.
This time, upon hearing Lancelot's words, she slightly clenched her fists.
"Your sister, that investigator who caused trouble a few days ago... I heard she received severe internal punishment from the family. Has she been 'grounded'?"
The peaceful smile on Lancelot's face seemed to hide a sharp blade that stabbed straight into Bai Nian'an's heart.
She stopped in her tracks, her face darkening.
"With such a severe punishment, it seems the Order Court really lost a lot of face this time."
"That is none of your business." Bai Nian'an looked back at the youth, her gaze freezing cold. "Mind your own affairs, Second Young Master of the Withered Flower family."
Lancelot watched the girl walk away, a barely perceptible arc appearing at the corners of his mouth.
"She's angry, which means the direction of my guess was correct."
Then, he showed a look of helplessness. "'Second Young Master'? Really, quite the sharp words."
Rate on N.U.
