Silence.
A deathly silence.
The words Iseryon had casually tossed out were pinned like needles into the hearts of everyone present.
“They... have something better?”
Guardian, Rogge, and even Cecil felt their heads ringing.
It was a deduction they almost didn't dare look at directly.
The husk of the Goddess of Slaughter beneath the Hope County Branch was already enough to give those old fogies at the Seventh Agency headquarters a massive headache. If there was another, even stronger one out there?
Good Lord.
The world might as well just reset itself then.
“This needs to be reported to the Council immediately,” Deputy Manager Rogge said, taking a deep breath, his voice sounding a bit dry.
“This is no longer a public security case our branch can handle. This has escalated into a matter of national security, even a question of human survival.”
“No.”
Cecil and Guardian spoke almost simultaneously.
Their voices overlapped with a shared, unwavering resolve.
Guardian turned his head, his single eye fixed on Rogge.
“The discovery of the divine husk has already been reported to the General Bureau through regular channels,” Guardian analyzed coldly, his tone carrying a heart-chilling edge.
“What does that mean? Rogge, use that waterlogged brain of yours.”
“It means that through the layers of the bureaucratic system, this intelligence has already become common knowledge.”
Guardian paused.
“However, based on the report Cecil brought back and the various anomalies of that deacon in black...”
“We are certain there is a mole at the top.”
“And their rank isn't low.”
The power structure within the Seventh Agency was incredibly complex. If even the General Bureau was no longer safe, then every effort they made now might be under enemy surveillance.
“Perhaps the mole is among us right now?” Iseryon said playfully.
After speaking, he looked at Guardian, Rogge, and Cecil with great interest, savoring the moment their expressions turned unnatural.
“Relax.”
Iseryon chuckled and reached out to pat Guardian on the shoulder.
“Just a joke.”
“Who knows, maybe I’m the mole?”
Guardian didn't find the joke funny at all and glared at him.
Cecil, on the other hand, gave an awkward, bitter smile.
“Sir... please don't joke like that.”
She knew very well that anyone could be a mole, except for the ancestor standing before her.
Iseryon. That surname was written large in the supernatural history of the Kingdom of Velen.
The man before them was not only one of the ten remaining special-class investigators in the Seventh Agency, but he was also a core member of the Iseryon family—an ancient mystic family that had stood firm for two millennia.
A true noble of the supernatural world.
Of course, compared to his family background, his combat record was even more terrifying.
“White Lion.”
A title built upon the bones of countless cultists and those who had lost control.
A genuine Scale Seven “Saint.”
Thirty years ago, during the “Red Terror” that swept across the kingdom, instigated by the Slayers, he hadn't been a Saint yet; he was just a mid-level investigator who had recently reached Scale Five.
In that blood-soaked war of extermination, he had single-handedly sealed off three escape routes for the Slayers.
In just thirty years, he had crossed the threshold that most people couldn't touch in a lifetime, reaching Scale Seven.
He was now one of the strongest humans standing at the peak of the pyramid.
That rate of advancement had left Guardian—who had also participated in that same war—feeling nothing but envy in the dead of night.
Thirty years ago, Guardian was already a Scale Four elite. Thirty years later, Guardian had barely managed to raise his level by one scale despite risking his life. Meanwhile, the man before him had soared through two major scales like he was on a steam airship.
That was talent. That was bloodline.
In short, for this Mr. Iseryon, his joke was indeed not funny at all.
After all, his family was not only one of the founding families of the current Seventh Agency oversight system, but they were also the only terrifying power in the kingdom that still possessed the complete inheritance of a “Mage Tower.”
In the epics, the Iseryon family had even produced a Scale Nine “demigod” two thousand years ago.
Although that demigod eventually vanished into the long river of history and did not survive to the present day, that foundation was enough to allow him to walk with his head high in any official institution.
“I suggest,” Guardian said, ignoring Iseryon’s bone-chilling joke.
“This matter can be reported directly to the Council through the top-secret channel.”
“But we must forcibly retain this god's husk. We will not transfer it.”
Guardian’s single eye turned toward Iseryon.
“We need a reason, and we need security.”
“Therefore, I must ask Mr. Iseryon to temporarily stay at the Hope County Branch as the guardian of this special-class containment object.”
Iseryon arched an eyebrow but didn't speak.
Guardian continued, “What we currently cannot figure out is the opponent's thinking.”
“Is there a connection between the deacon's true identity and Luke?”
“Everything is a mist.”
“Since the enemy wants us to notice this place, we will do the opposite and stay put.”
“The enemy is in the dark, and we are in the light. Lying in wait is currently the choice with the lowest cost.”
Deputy Manager Rogge finally recovered from his shock. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and added, “Don't forget, the General Bureau is currently overwhelmed with the affairs in Moon Bay.”
“The pollution in that place is intensifying, and various factions are planting their own moles inside.”
“At such a critical juncture, where the enemy actually wants this divine husk to appear has become the biggest mystery.”
Cecil frowned, beginning to deconstruct the situation following this logic.
“If we look at it purely from the perspective of the man in black...”
“The ‘indifferent’ attitude he showed at the scene might be a high-level psychological suggestion.”
“He killed all the Slayers but left the divine husk and guided us to notice it.”
“There is a possibility that he wants to use our hands to move this long-dormant divine husk back to the General Bureau.”
“After all, while the security level at the General Bureau is high, there are also more ‘leaks.’”
Cecil paused.
“However, since this divine husk has been hidden in Hope County for so many years without issue, it at least proves one thing.”
“And that is that keeping it here for a short time will definitely not be a problem.”
Guardian nodded in deep agreement.
“Good.”
“Since the general direction is set and Mr. Iseryon has not objected...” Guardian glanced at the man who was currently examining the divine husk.
“Next, we need to summon all investigators for a formal meeting to review every detail of this operation.”
As they passed through the multiple stone doors and left the underground space, Iseryon intentionally fell back a few steps.
As if by chance, he moved closer to Cecil.
“I heard you took on a student recently?”
Iseryon’s voice was very low, carrying a hint of interest that Cecil couldn't quite decipher.
Cecil was stunned for a moment, her pace faltering slightly. “You mean... Charlotte?”
“I also heard that the girl is exceptionally gifted.” Iseryon tilted his head. “She saw the ‘Goddess of Magic’ before she even started her training?”
Cecil was slightly startled and looked at him in surprise.
“Your information is quite up to date,” she replied curtly, using his famous nickname. “Mr. ‘White Lion.’”
Iseryon curled his lip and gave a casual, unrefined nod.
“It’s alright. Professional habit.”
“I also heard something even more interesting.” Iseryon stopped walking.
“That ‘mountain of flesh’ at the convent that gave you all so much trouble...”
“Was it actually handled by a Scale Three kid?”
Iseryon smiled like a fox.
“What was his name again?”
“Elias?”
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