Phainon walked through the crowd in the military district.
The soldiers, seeing his gaze, all dodged and dared not meet his eyes.
They subconsciously stepped aside, clearing a path.
Awe, mixed with unconcealed fear.
Phainon paid no attention, directly pushing open the door to Gepard's office.
Inside the office, Gepard stood with his back to him, his tall figure casting a suppressing shadow under the light.
On the table were four freshly issued wanted posters, so abstract in style that they made one's eyes twitch.
Phainon glanced at them.
Even with his memories of thirty million reincarnations, he still felt a long-lost shock, named 'abstract'.
He said nothing, merely leaning silently against the door, like a statue merged into the shadows.
A silent atmosphere began to brew.
Finally, Gepard broke the silence first.
He suddenly turned around, his voice hoarse from effort, "Don't you want to ask something?"
Phainon's gaze moved from those artistic wanted posters to Gepard.
"Do you want... an autograph?"
"Enough!"
Gepard roared, slamming his fist on the table, pointing at the four portraits:
"Dan Heng, March 7th, Stellaron... they have been personally designated as wanted criminals by The Supreme Guardian! As their accomplice, why are you still here?!"
Phainon's tone was calm, yet like a sharp scalpel, it precisely cut to the core of the problem.
"So... I'm not a wanted criminal yet?"
Gepard's breathing suddenly hitched.
"...Indeed."
He admitted the fact with difficulty, as if his throat was clutched.
A slight curve appeared at the corner of Phainon's mouth.
"Currently... only you know my... identity."
These words, like an invisible mountain, pressed down on Gepard's spine.
He recalled The Supreme Guardian's command, and the duty of the Landau family.
But in his mind, another scene uncontrollably emerged.
That apocalyptic beast tide, that man descending like a deity, transforming despair into a rain of blood and flesh.
That collapsed abyss, where he, by himself, saved dozens of his comrades from the brink of death.
Hundreds of vibrant lives continued to exist because of him.
This time, and the only time in his life, he would betray his own principles.
"You may leave."
His voice was full of fatigue and struggle.
"Leave the Iron Guard outpost, find your companions in the Underworld, and then, never return. Otherwise, I will personally arrest you."
[Current Emotion: Joy (The show begins! The show begins!)]
"Hehehe..."
A suppressed yet light laugh suddenly echoed in the office.
Hearing this laugh, Gepard froze, March 7th's reminder, "If he laughs, nothing good will happen," echoing in his ears.
"What are you laughing at?"
"I said... my current identity... is a Silvermane Guardsman," Phainon's tone shifted, "However... I have a way."
As his words fell.
He slowly raised his hand, took off his golden mask, and casually pushed back his black hood.
The moment his face was fully exposed to the light.
Gepard's pupils suddenly constricted to pinpricks!
What kind of face was that?
Snow-pure white hair fell softly, two unruly strands of ahoge on top, completely different from his usual aura of a god of slaughter!
His features were handsome, every contour perfect and flawless.
Especially those eyes.
Icy blue eyes, clear to the bottom.
But upon closer inspection, there was not the slightest ripple in his pupils, only a dead stillness.
This face was beautiful to the extreme, and cold to the extreme.
Gepard felt himself suffocated by this extreme beauty and extreme sense of incongruity.
Phainon looked at his shocked expression, his icy blue eyes curving slightly, as if smiling.
"Look... the person on the wanted poster... is him."
His finger gently tapped the abstract portrait.
"And standing here, accepting your questioning... is a Silvermane Guardsman, codenamed 'Flame Reaver'."
Phainon's voice was soft, yet every word was incisive.
"Captain... tell me... are they... the same person?"
Gepard felt his brain turn to mush.
The face before him and the abstract 'three-clawed' wanted poster on the table kept overlapping and separating in his mind's eye.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Logic, duty, reality... everything gradually disintegrated under the gaze of those icy blue eyes.
Finally, he regained his composure, squeezing out a few words from his throat with difficulty.
"The Supreme Guardian... Cocolia wants to see you."
"Oh?"
Upon hearing this, the faint smile on Phainon's face suddenly deepened.
The grand stage was finally beginning.
He agreed without the slightest hesitation, "Alright... the show... is finally about to begin."
Then, under Gepard's stunned gaze, Phainon picked up the mask from the table.
He turned and pushed open the door, walking out.
Leaving Gepard alone, slumped in his chair, feeling his worldview being repeatedly rubbed into the ground.
[Joy Collected: +15]
...Outside the door.
Pela paced back and forth, clutching a stack of documents, the sound of her high heels tapping the ground urgent and chaotic.
Meteorites, the abyss, that man... countless chaotic images crashed in her mind, her dam of reason teetering.
She had to get a clear answer!
She desperately needed an answer.
Creak—
The office door opened.
That familiar black-robed figure, which made her heart stop, emerged from within.
"Mr. Flame Reaver!"
Pela almost instinctively cried out.
However, when she saw the other person clearly, she suddenly froze.
Phainon had not yet put on his mask, his appearance fully visible.
Pela's breath completely stopped at that moment.
Her brain's CPU completely shut down!
She had countless times imagined the face beneath that mask.
Perhaps it was the resolute look of someone weathered by hardships, or a scarred, fierce countenance, or perhaps just an ordinary face.
She had envisioned ten thousand possibilities, but she had never thought it would be this one before her eyes!
That face condensed all the beauty and poetry in the universe, so handsome it was ethereal, inspiring awe.
At this moment, Pela felt as if she had stepped from the real world into the opening CG of some otome game.
The man before her was the ultimate capture target with the most magnificent character design, the most complex background, the strongest combat power, and also the most dangerous.
Yet, this 'male protagonist' was wearing the 'Flame Reaver' outfit, a symbol of destruction and ill omen!
This extreme contrast, like a heavy hammer, shattered Pela's last shred of rationality.
Her cheeks uncontrollably flushed, her heart pounded like a drum, and even the fingers holding the documents trembled slightly.
Phainon looked at her complex expression, a mix of seeing a ghost and seeing an idol, and tilted his head.
He raised a hand and tidied his slightly disheveled collar.
"These clothes... are a bit dirty."
He spoke calmly, his voice not loud, but clearly audible to Pela.
"I'm going to change."
With that, he brushed past the petrified Pela and walked directly towards the military district's changing room.
[Joy Collected: +20]
...A moment later.
Cocolia's office.
The door was gently pushed open.
A figure walked in.
He was not wearing his iconic black robe, but had changed into a white outfit.
Unfortunately... the Iron Guard uniform didn't have a yellow and purple color scheme.
The white clothes on him, far from adding any martial air, instead made his face appear even more otherworldly, like a divine statue mistakenly fallen into the mortal realm.
Cocolia slowly turned, her cold gaze falling upon the newcomer.
"You are... the Flame Reaver?"
Phainon nodded slightly, his icy blue eyes calmly meeting hers.
In his pupils, reflected an evil spirit continuously whispering in her ear.
He spoke indifferently, his voice not loud, "You can call me... Khaslana."
The moment his words fell, deep within Cocolia's mind, the will of the Stellaron let out a greedy and excited shriek.
[It's him... it's him...]
A satisfied smile slowly bloomed on Cocolia's face.
"Very good! Khaslana."
She gazed at him, gazing at the final piece of the puzzle to achieve the 'new world'.
"Do you want to know the truth of this world?"