“Call me Mr. Crow, little friends.”
A mild, elderly voice came from beneath the mask.
However, his movements were agile and powerful, with glossy fur that didn’t resemble an old man’s at all.
“Mr. Crow, pleased to meet you.”
As Ashley replied, she glanced around. Contrary to her expectations, the hall wasn’t spacious. Weight-bearing pillars stood every few steps, blocking the line of sight and spatial extension.
The light was dim, and monstrous carvings on the upper parts of the bundled columns loomed faintly, permeating an eerie, sinister atmosphere. The beasts’ heads were inlaid with ruby eyes, as if surveilling the guests from different angles.
In the center was a basilica-style rectangular passage laid with a dark, heavy, luxurious carpet, leading from the entrance to the space formed by four bundled pillars at the far end.
This was a reception room furnished with antique sofas, Rococo black velvet footstools, rosewood tea tables, and a gilded marble fireplace adorned all over with reliefs. Neatly cut logs were piled messily behind a copper-gilded beast sculpture firewood rack, burning steadily.
Amber and Chloe were overwhelmed by the ceremonial grandeur of the luxurious setting and appeared extremely reserved.
Even Ashley didn’t relax casually but seriously inquired about the surgery arrangements.
Mr. Crow sat upright meticulously, showing no casual attitude just because he was at home, nor any condescension toward the three lolis due to his age.
Ashley vaguely sensed that this was a deadly elegance honed through years of immersion in conspiracies and schemes.
Aside from the bird-like ear holes and the pitch-black crow feathers covering his cheeks and head, the black leather gloves on the hands folded over his knees were also suspicious.
Ashley understood that a person like this wouldn’t show any obvious signs until the moment he made his move.
Mr. Crow was very accommodating and agreed to perform surgery on Mavis without mentioning any conditions.
“Such a minor surgery doesn’t require the Scripps Family to make a house call. Hand it over to one of our group’s medical institutions.”
Mr. Crow shook a bell, summoning a servant to arrange Mavis’s hospitalization.
After swiftly handling this matter, he asked about Yinsu Helin.
“Are you friends?”
“Of course, like sisters. Our first encounter was at the Red Rock Outpost. Yinyin identified a fugitive’s biological information and fell into danger. I stepped in to save her, and afterward, we adventured together, growing fond of each other…”
Ashley told a half-true, half-fake story without batting an eye.
Though Mr. Crow was cunning and experienced, he had never encountered someone who could infuse all their emotions into a lie. Every micro-expression and body language built the stage for that fabricated encounter, and it was remarkably bold.
“A beautiful and pure friendship is enviable.”
He nodded slightly, flipped his palm, and like magic, a black embossed invitation appeared in it.
“Since you’re Yinsu Helin’s friend, you’re an honored guest of the Scripps Family. Next month, we’ll host a salon for friends and family at the Miskatonic Vineyard. Please grace us with your presence if you’re available.”
Ashley instantly noticed the inconsistency in his logic—at first, visiting as Yinsu Helin’s friend had gotten her the cold shoulder, but invoking her status as the Trial Judge’s disciple had earned her hospitality and an invitation to the party. Yet the invitation was under the guise of ‘Yinyin’s friend,’ and only for her; Amber, also a disciple, wasn’t included.
His two shifts corresponded to her two identity changes: friend—disciple—close friend.
Ashley’s mind raced… Old man, are you scheming against me?
“I’ll definitely come if I have time.” She reached out and took the invitation.
Next month was the month of Molting, the third month of the year, symbolizing rebirth, plants sprouting, and stepping into a brand-new era.
–
Mavis’s treatment was arranged at Fountain City’s most renowned hospital—the Sinai Medical Center. The Scripps Family graciously dispatched a medical consultant. Though there was no discount, they exerted every effort, and the post-surgery results were excellent.
Supported as she walked down the gentle slope at the hospital entrance, a fresh, slightly cool breeze blew in her face. Mavis felt as if the clouds had parted and the fog had lifted, granting her a new lease on life.
“Thank you… Ashley…”
The innocent girl was easily moved, a strong urge to repay the kindness surging in her chest.
“We’re partners, no need for thanks. Let’s work hard together!” Ashley said with a smile.
“No matter what happens, I’ll support you.” Mavis declared resolutely.
Though saying this now was a bit late—Ashley was already Letisia’s disciple, and power would whitewash everything—the curator girl acted first and spoke later. In the most difficult times, she had stood firmly by Ashley’s side in support.
The museum closed for three days to repair the damaged walls and windows. Mavis stood before the deformed doorframe and clicked her tongue.
“Was that really me who did it? So scary, like a rhinoceros.”
“A thirsty rhinoceros is like that, heh heh.” Chloe laughed.
She was still writing the serialized reports on “Museum Night of Terror,” and the feeling of hogging all the traffic alone was fantastic.
Thanks to the key bet, the newspaper had come back to life.
The smashed storefront was renovated, gas lamps puffing to illuminate the Fountain News sign, making the front as bright as day. Advertisers with checkbooks in their briefcases came one after another.
–
Ashley and Amber arrived at the Training Base. This time, she passed the physical test with ease, and her scores were exaggeratedly high, already meeting combatant standards.
“Why did you improve so fast?” Amber asked, puzzled.
“Because my teacher gave me special training.”
“You’re lying again, right?”
“Yes!”
The Blue-Haired Loli admitted it openly, saying shamelessly with a roguish face:
“Anyway, I’m already a little dog. A few more lies don’t matter.”
“Why throw in the towel like that!”
After shouting, Amber paused, seeming to realize something. She reached out tentatively.
“You’re admitting you’re a little dog? Paw!”
Ashley averted her gaze, fidgeted for a moment, then quietly extended her small hand.
Amber gasped in surprise, hurriedly grasped that tender, white little paw, her heart trembling as she let go like she’d been shocked.
Ashley withdrew her hand, pretending nothing happened, looking sneaky.
Then, the two awkwardly chatted about unrelated topics, both fully aware.
–
Physical fitness was enhanced with light points, achieved in one go, but the cultural exam required rote memorization.
Especially human history—no, it should be called humanity’s history of misfortune.
Comparing the original and annotated versions of ancient history, Ashley found it wasn’t credible chronicle but a mythic epic.
The gist was that humans in this world were originally blessed children born in the Promised Land, where milk, honey, and rich fat flowed from the earth. Everyone ate their fill all day without ambition.
Seeing this, the Creator God angrily sent a great flood, killing every creature with flesh and breath. This was the First Apocalypse.
After the flood, survivors emerged from hiding to find the fertile fat diluted and washed away, milk and honey thinned. The miracles of the Promised Land had been ruthlessly stripped by the creator.
The flood destroyed the world but also brought new hope. People found delicious fish and shrimp, sweet taro, wild rice, and water chestnuts in lakes and rivers. Clear water, though not as rich as milk, quenched thirst and could be mixed with mashed plant roots to brew fine wine.
Labor and leisure balanced.
But some insatiable ones weren’t content. Lazy idlers wanted easy days, ambitious ones sought to restore past glory.
Gradually, a notion spread, growing rampant: The flood only took surface nutrients; vast mineral deposits remained deep underground.
Though sages warned of God’s wrath returning, they chose the wrong path.
Twelve city lords who betrayed humanity secretly developed twelve keys to unlock the corresponding nodes of “God’s Lock.”
Their followers sprouted black fur, scales, and claws, waged war, seized resources and slaves, and built drills towering to the heavens.
After a thousand days and nights of drilling, the mantle broke open. What erupted wasn’t milk, but scorching, viscous blood like magma!
God’s wrath descended again!
Bones littered the ground, blood rivers surged, the firmament shattered and crashed to earth. The Second Apocalypse began.
