Act 2: Angel Cry

Foreword:

Think like a wise person, speak like an ordinary person.

Dale Carnegie | How to Win Friends and Influence People

[Part 1: Nightmare]

The scent of grass seeps from the soil. It is the clear rainwater of early August in the height of summer, the fields beside the farm, the bright and intense sunshine, and the unique fragrance left on the clothes rack and undershirts in the small yard after sterilization and mite removal.

Mali Pero was completely paralyzed. He stood frozen in front of the house's gate, his eyes wide open, his face filled with disbelief.

Because he shouldn't be here.

--He should be in the capital, in the Rowena City in Barikstan, outside the Lionheart Stadium in the most bustling and vibrant Forty-One District, on a commercial street adorned with flowers, checking into the Roman Holiday Hotel.

The psychedelic space-time made him somewhat nervous, yet he couldn't help but fall into the illusion.

How long has it been since I went home? How long has it been?

Six months or a year? One year and six months?

He couldn't remember when he last stepped into his home, and had almost forgotten the details of its furnishings. Only the livestock and fields around him felt so familiar—these were the only things Mali Pero cherished as he grew up.

He vividly remembered the days when he and his brother Groba went out to herd cattle together. In their childhood, these were some of the few times the two brothers had free time, when they could escape their parents' control and fully express their nature.

"Elder brother."

A shout woke Mali.

"Brother! Brother! Wake up! Brother!"

The old cow in the shed let out a restless growl, which made the blood-sucking horseflies stomp their hind hooves and lash their tails against the wooden fence.

The second call spurred Mali forward, bringing him back to his senses and guiding him further into the house.

That's Little Groba's voice! It's his little brother's voice--

--Mali Pero, his brow furrowed, finally overcame his fear and headed towards the farmhouse.

He struggled to move, deeply resisting the idea; even just standing outside the door, he could smell the cigarette smoke on his father.

Growing up with Mali Pero, accompanied by loud coughs, snot, and saliva that came out with sneezes, the filthy and bacteria-laden mucus emitted a foul stench, often accompanied by her father's curses and harsh words.

He remembered that the sound grew increasingly harsh and louder.

He knew that once his son grew up, his father's words would no longer carry weight.

The father needs a louder voice, a harsher whip, and a more lethal technique to choke him, seize his Vital Point, and make him obey.

Two men living in the same room have nothing in common except for their similar appearance.

--Mali Pero and Conde Pero were such a father and son.

"Brother! Mali! Mali!"

Groba's calls grew increasingly urgent, seemingly urging Mali on.

Until Mali Pero slowly pushed open the door, sunlight streamed into the foyer through the crack, illuminating the shoe rack and carpet, spreading inwards like golden soup, about to overflow into the house and sweep away all the stench.

In the restaurant, beside a pristine white tablecloth, Nana, the mother, arranged the dishes on the table, glancing back at her eldest son.

Conde Pero sat leisurely in a rocking chair, holding a newspaper and dangling a cheap two-dollar cigar from his lips. He didn't light it, just indulging in the craving for the tobacco.

Neither of them spoke. Following the sound, Mali looked towards the kitchen counter, and that one glance nearly scared him to death.

The range hood made a rumbling sound as it worked, and the boiling water in the large soup pot bubbled and spewed bright red foam. The grease and foam released an enticing aroma, and a pair of swollen arms, already limp from being cooked, emerged from the yellowed spice leaves of the stew in the pot.

Half of the torso remained on the cutting board, the blood already cleaned up, placed together with the blood-draining basin.

Little Groba's head, still shaved, was pale and hung beside the cupboard along with his thigh.

The head, with its cracked lips, bleeding nose, and dry eyes, along with half a neck and a festering throat, together issued a warning to Mali Pero.

"Brother, I'm already dead!"

"Don't believe that guy! My parents killed me! He's after the great hero! He's after the gunsmith!"

"Run! Brother! Run!"

"That guy's name is Pei."

Before he could finish speaking, a large, rough hand gripped Little Groba's face tightly, shoving knuckles into his mouth and completely silencing him.

"Groba!"

Startled awake in his hotel bed, Mali Pero sat bolt upright, his bare back drenched in cold sweat.

The sheets and blankets were soaked with sweat, and the air was filled with a sour, foul smell.

He clutched his forehead, feeling a splitting headache, gasping for breath, as if his heart was about to burst, muttering to himself as if possessed.

"Grobaba Groba. My only brother. My most important brother."

"Really? Is this true?"

Outside the hotel suite's floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of Lionheart Stadium shone brightly. The skyscrapers on both sides of Lionsgate Avenue cast countless lights in the dark void, and even double-layered soundproof glass couldn't block out the sound from the bar street.

Here, the lights are dazzling, and the atmosphere is one of extravagance and decadence.

A beautiful, snow-white body emerged from the blankets—a member of Zebra Power's cheerleading squad—only twenty-three years old. On the very first day Mali Pero began to make a name for herself, this cheerleader had already climbed into Mali's bed.

"What's wrong, darling? Did you have a nightmare?" The cheerleader, her eyes alluring, propped her head up against the edge of the bed. She hadn't removed her makeup while she was asleep, and her eyeliner and eyeshadow were already starting to shine.

In Mali Pero's eyes, the young woman's face now looked like a monster, no longer as beautiful as when they first met. Her dazzling golden curls were a perfect breeding ground for filth; she had ingested countless specks of dust during the tour, and now smelled nauseatingly musty.

Love could make Mali temporarily forget these things, allow him to ignore everything, and surrender his body to primal sexual urges. But when he woke up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, he was a completely different person, even though he had a severe case of mysophobia.

"Get off my bed," Mali hissed. "You shameless bitch, get out!"

The cheerleader's face turned extremely ugly as she looked at the tattered strips of cloth scattered all over the floor—the result of Mali Pero's playful and affectionate antics. Her clothes were gone, and now...

Before she could even finish thinking, she had already cursed out loud.

"Are you fucking out of your mind?! Mali Pero! What do you take me for? A whore you can summon and dismiss at will?"

Mali felt himself getting hungrier and hungrier. His eyes gradually turned from dark red to bright red. He used brute force to pull open the curtains, wrapped the cheerleader up like a dumpling, and angrily shouted and shoved her out of the room.

"Do you think I don't know what kind of person you are?!" Mali cursed fiercely before slamming the door shut. "Everyone on the team who's achieved anything has been having an affair with you! In the office! In the locker room! Anywhere! You..."

He felt himself growing weaker and weaker, and finally, he closed the door without even finishing his sentence.

Back in his room, to combat the hunger gnawed at by his blood-soaked body, he needed to get to work immediately.

--This is a technique taught by the gunsmith instructor in class: when our thoughts are confused and our brains are out of control, we can control our brains through physical labor that involves rational logic.

He cleaned up all the filth on the floor, sent the dirty sheets to the washing machine, and lowered the air conditioner to 18 degrees Celsius. The cold air took away the sweat from his body. After taking a shower, he sat cross-legged by the window, completely naked, and finally felt a sense of freedom.

Storm Eye: "I don't understand."

The monster inside him returned to his side.

"--Why did you send her away? You're clearly very hungry; I can feel your hunger."

[Part ② Indirect Investigation]

Mali Pero didn't reply; he simply stared blankly ahead, gazing at the magnificent nightscape.

The Storm Eye continued speaking and offering further advice.

"Sooner or later, you'll have to swallow human flesh willingly, and I think this is a good opportunity."

"This woman is a seasoned socialite, a nightclub regular. She enjoys a life of debauchery and can change boyfriends several times a month. Even if she suddenly disappears and dies on the street, few people would care."

"Our room offers excellent privacy, and there are no security cameras. If you'd like to dine here, I think it would be perfect—you can enjoy the night view while savoring its essence."

Mali Pero still hasn't responded. He drank way too much at last night's celebration and barely remembers what happened, including his intimate encounter with the cheerleader.

"Want me to help you remember?" Storm Eye kindly reminded him, "You were calling out Yukiko's name while you were holding this woman's waist, and you staggered into the room drunk."

"There's a powerful mental inertia binding you, like how after achieving success, you always have to take care of your wife who shared your hardships—you still remember Yukiko, which is a good thing."

"After all, she is your [mother], the one who transformed you."

"At first I was quite excited, I thought you would treat this cheerleader like Yukiko and turn her into a celebratory snack."

"What a pity."

Mali Pero spoke up--

"Is Groba dead?"

The Storm Eye acted almost without hesitation, lying with an air of self-righteousness, without batting an eye.

"What nonsense are you thinking? This child is perfectly healthy. I was just hoping to use him to blackmail you. How could I possibly throw away such a useful hostage?"

Mali Pero then asked, "Really?"

Storm Eye: "Really, if you don't believe me, open your palm and look into my eyes. Look into my sincere eyes."

When Mali Pero opened her palm and saw those large, watery eyes, she felt nothing but terror.

"In my dream, Groba told me to run away quickly because my parents had killed him!"

"My only younger brother died at the hands of my parents."

"Why? I don't understand. Why? Why am I having this nightmare?"

"I want to see Groba."

The Storm Eye, somewhat embarrassed, then quickly stated its terms—

"--Then this deal is negotiable. If you can defeat the Fairy Tale Kingdom and [accidentally kill] a contestant in live-fire rules, preferably a student of the Gunsmith, I will agree to your request."

Mali Pero: "Why? In the beginning, you just wanted me to beat them."

Storm Eye: "You didn't initially intend to meet Little Groba."

Mali was speechless.

Storm Eye pressed his advantage. "And killing isn't that difficult for you, is it? I was very satisfied with your performance against Fiego Sebasti. Those four poisoned bullets were your murderous intent—they don't lie."

"I," Mali Pero said evasively, her eyes darting around, "Feel very hungry. I feel... I feel like I'm out of control."

"You'll be eating human flesh sooner or later," Storm Eye continued. "Otherwise, the holy blood within you will go out of control, you'll be utterly defeated, you'll die with your eyes wide open, and the Vita Imprint will kill you without the Gunsmith collecting your head."

There seemed to be no turning back. Mali Pero had escaped her father's control and her family's control. But like most people who leave school, the treacherous society was full of countless cages and obstacles. These could be companies, labor dispatch agencies, or all sorts of rules and contracts— Mali encountered the most terrifying thing: a human flesh trade.

In his nightmare Little Groba cried out to his brother with all his might, issuing a warning.

But the little angel's broken body and tragic death terrified Mali.

Humans are always weak and tend to believe in the bright side.

Pellegrini's "Storm Eye" gave him a life he never dared to dream of before, abundant material wealth, and a high social status. His heart had long begun to waver—he could get all these things in exchange for just a bite of human flesh.

The boundary between good and evil is gradually becoming blurred, which is also Pellegrini's specialty as Immortals.

The ideas that tempt people to depravity don't need to be profound, and the words spoken don't need to be complicated.

--Simply a series of simple clashes between material and spiritual needs, or a comparison of high and low quality of life, can corrupt a person's soul.

At this moment, the gunsmith returned to Morning Light County.

In the sweltering summer heat, he wore a hat and a mask, looking like a criminal, unable to show his true face—if he were recognized by the local defense forces and the people, it would inevitably alert the enemy and scare them away.

At a breakfast shop near the West Suburbs Park, he ordered two baskets of steamed dumplings and chatted familiarly with the owner.

"A few days ago, some college students from the capital came here. Brother, I have a few questions for you."

With that, the gunsmith handed a wad of change to the shopkeeper, along with two packs of cigarettes.

The shopkeeper's expression softened, and after accepting the cigarettes, he refused to take any money.

"Sir, are you here to investigate a case? No money needed! I'll cooperate as much as I can!"

The Department of Transportation can access Mali Pero's ticket purchase records.

"--Four days ago, two university students from the capital city, a Scottish lad with red hair and a Japanese girl, came to the West Suburbs Bus Station together. Do you remember them, boss?"

The breakfast shop owner immediately began to ponder, trying hard to recall what had happened in the previous few days.

"Oh! There are two of them, sir! They're going to the West Suburbs Park to watch the sunrise."

Thank you.

Jiang Xueming took back the change, immediately got up and left.

Upon arriving at the park's ticket office, and walking along the tree-lined paths, one could feel a peculiar spiritual pressure even from several hundred meters away—a characteristic of Spirit Calamity.

Without hesitation, Xue Ming immediately followed the clues and went inside.

Arriving at the side of the corridor again, the swing in the distance swayed in the hot monsoon, and I saw a familiar figure squatting by the cobblestone path. That person was an old acquaintance of ours.

Jason Megan crossed her arms and pursed her lips as she examined the traces at the murder scene.

Jiang Xueming: "You're here so fast? Even earlier than my wife?"

Jason raised his hand to indicate, "The boss's Summoning Bell is the most important thing. I'm relatively close by, so I came right away."

Jiang Xueming squatted down next to Jason: "Where is your waiter?"

"I came alone," Jason explained. "They have to stay at the Kurbo Gold Mine; someone needs to watch over the site."

As he said this, Jason reached out and shoved Jiang Xueming, causing the chef to tilt his head to the side and vomit on the spot.

"Vomit!----"

Once the still-nursing lapis lazuli wolf cub regained its spirits, it chatted idly with Jiang Xueming.

"Boss, how did you find this place?"

Jiang Xueming: "We found this place by following Mali Pero's route."

Jason: "I watched the game and knew something was off about this kid. Didn't you go to his house?"

Jiang Xueming: "We shouldn't alert him. If his family members are already under control, things will get complicated."

Jason asked in surprise, "How did you get the ticket records? The people at the Transportation Department know you're checking travel itineraries; anyone with a brain knows this is going to be a big problem! What about maintaining secrecy?"

"I didn't check directly." Xue Ming said, sounding a little embarrassed.

Jason immediately pulled out his notebook, ready to study. "Can it be investigated indirectly?"

Jiang Xueming explained in detail the method of indirect ticket checking.

"Wear a mask, go to the office building at the bus station, and go inside with a gun."

Jason Megan put away her notebook.

"Okay, I understand, no need to say more."