Chapter 1256: 1254: The Real Spoils of War

Chapter 1256: Chapter 1254: The Real Spoils of War

Truly, a life riddled with misfortunes.

In just a few seconds, Brain Fork Brother, who had briefly attained a moment of peace, was already covered in a layer of glistening white frost.

Even though his brain anomaly kept him tough and silent, his ordinary human constitution wouldn’t hold out for long—he might succumb to death within moments.

Realizing this instantly, Amila quickly called out to stop the volunteer.

Thankfully, the other party didn’t fall into the typical intoxication that comes with newfound power and immediately heeded her suggestion.

The ice-cold aura radiating outward dissipated swiftly.

“How about we head outside to talk?”

Seeing Brain Fork Brother’s breathing gradually steady, Amila sighed in relief and made the suggestion without hesitation.

The situation had spiraled out of control multiple times today; staying here any longer would be far too dangerous for this pitiable man.

“Alright.”

Fu Qian, of course, had no objections, and after a brief moment of thought, Reginald also nodded in agreement.

In the next instant, he stepped forward, grasped the Brain Fork, and began to slowly retract it—just as calmly and steadily as when he had inserted it.

No blood flowed out. In fact, the instant the Brain Fork was fully removed, the laceration of flesh healed itself at an alarming speed.

The man’s body quivered, his breathing turned rapid, and he looked as if he could awaken at any moment.

“Let’s go.”

Reginald tucked the Brain Fork away without even sparing a glance at it.

Amila lightly nodded toward Fu Qian, signaling him to follow.

The sound of their deliberately softened footsteps echoed faintly as Fu Qian found himself sandwiched in the middle, the group slipping away quietly into the outside world.

…

The night remained dark and impenetrable—after all, only a few minutes had theoretically passed.

However, for a team that had ventured there and back, it could be said they had returned laden with spoils.

“So, is this about the time when Sect personnel are at their most alert each day?”

Gazing at the star-studded sky, Fu Qian casually posed the question.

“Not necessarily. After all, within the church, the starry sky is kept perpetually clear no matter the time of day.”

Amila, not entirely understanding why Fu Qian would care about such a thing, still answered nonetheless.

“Of course, many people do develop habits like these—seeking insights during the night.”

“Makes perfect sense; darkness sharpens clarity of will… So, are you going to report this now?”

Fu Qian nodded repeatedly before abruptly shifting the tone of his question to one brimming with anticipation.

“I can hardly wait.”

… So *that’s* why you’re curious about whether Sect members stay alert at night?

Amila froze for a moment before piecing together Fu Qian’s train of thought.

Someone is working the night shift, which means you can immediately report this and quickly arrange for more amusement for yourself, right?

Nearly unwilling to even dignify this line of thought with a response, Amila turned to glance at Reginald.

There it was—a faint trace of exasperation on his face.

Evidently, this volunteer, who seemed hell-bent on courting danger with every breath, was beginning to wear even him down.

“There are indeed higher-ups working at night, but my report won’t be finalized until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Even so, faced with Fu Qian’s barely-contained eagerness, Amila resolutely refused to match his reckless pace, her expression turning stern.

“Considering your cooperative behavior, we won’t insist you report to the Sect during this period. However, you must not stray far from your residence. I’ll have some police contacts keep an eye on you there.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind some enforcement—”

However, as Fu Qian began to voice his opinion on her concession, he was abruptly cut off.

“Additionally, I need to especially warn you: although both I and Lord Reginald guarantee that the Hunters won’t give you trouble, if you misuse the gift you just received and cause harm, the Hunters will immediately target you, and we won’t be able to help. Understood?”

Amila ignored Fu Qian’s words entirely, delivering her warning with uncompromising seriousness.

“Understood.”

Sensing the unwavering determination of both professionals before him, Fu Qian let out a sigh tinged with mild regret.

“Good. Let’s escort you home first.”

Finally satisfied, Amila nodded her approval.

…

“Go on. Your landlady seems to be sleeping soundly; she won’t notice a thing.”

Before long, the group stopped silently in the shadows. Amila gestured for Fu Qian to enter.

But oh, how naive you are.

Looking at the familiar building before him, Fu Qian quietly thought to himself.

The perception of Sect personnel might indeed be sharper than ordinary individuals—but not sharp enough.

The woman lying inside was indeed Mrs. Harper, but didn’t you notice her breathing was *too* steady?

Though merely an ordinary person, far from sharp in either hearing or sight, the power of critical thinking should not be underestimated.

It was clear that Mrs. Harper held some conspiratorial views about this city—quite unlike the typical hobbies pursued by retirees.

And unfortunately, the old woman happened to be right.

Her current reaction indicated she had already noticed his absence.

Feigning sleep to deal with potential threats.

As expected, the moment he entered the house, she wouldn’t “wake up.” She would, however, quietly make a mental note of tonight’s strange occurrences.

And indeed, she didn’t stir.

Returning to his room without hindrance, Fu Qian sighed, forgoing sleep to instead fish out a broken pocket watch from his pocket.

He knew all too well that Amila and Reginald had yet to leave from downstairs.

But that didn’t matter. A man in good spirits with a new prize at hand—it would be unthinkable not to examine it thoroughly.

This was the true prize of the day.

…

Fu Qian traced the edges of the pocket watch, scrutinizing every minuscule trace on its surface.

The last time he had seen it, it still held within it the substance known as “Dragon Blood.”

That’s right—Fu Qian recognized this pocket watch. He even knew how it had ended up in its current state.

Inside the World Within the Painting, the Baroness in charge of the city’s security squad had stolen this object from the Seven Lights Church before he descended to the underground to seek the Witch. She had shattered it and made him drink the Dragon Blood inside.

Finally, after all his efforts, he had obtained something truly meaningful.

As for why this item miraculously appeared within the Nightmare, conveniently stuck inside his gut and subsequently fell right into his lap?

Of course, there were no such coincidences—this item had originally been discarded on the ground during Reginald’s “purification.”

The Sect’s investigation into the World Within the Painting hadn’t been fruitless after all.

Although it was now a powerless Holy Relic, the mere fact that it had ended up in Reginald’s possession spoke volumes about the insights the Sect had gained regarding its series of victims.

They might not have known its exact purpose, but they knew it was exceptional.

And after Fu Qian repeatedly pushed boundaries and finally exhibited abnormalities, Reginald—finally affected—made the decision to let him carry it as a trophy for observation under the guise of spoils.

This also explained why Amila, typically principled to a fault, seemed somewhat hesitant toward Reginald’s actions.

The apex of control is to let the controlled believe they are the ones in control.

No matter how tranquil things were on the surface, they were dealing with something that even the Pontiff had despaired over—something that left behind neither traces nor memory of its existence. Every ounce of vigilance was required.

The silver lining, however, was that extreme measures had finally borne results.

Before Amila could even finish her report, new resources from the Sect were already being allocated… and yielding dividends.

In the next moment, Fu Qian cautiously pried open the pocket watch’s back cover, his eyes scanning the intricate lines of text engraved within.

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