Chapter 30: Gaze into the Whispers
Although Funis had made full preparations for the confrontation, she was ultimately facing off against an Eighth Sequence while she herself was only at the Ninth Sequence—and the rank of Warden was already far beyond the standard, even capable of effortlessly defeating some Seventh Sequences of the Paths.
While in the “Burst” state, despite Wez’s muscle swell making his build significantly larger, his speed had instead reached an astonishing level.
Had she not cut the steel wires above to bring down those heavy objects as distraction, dodging would have been quite strenuous for Funis.
At this point, Wez could feel neither pain nor fear. Even if bricks shattered his spine or steel pipes pierced his shoulder beam, it made no difference—this guy still charged at Funis with a low growl.
With a light deflection from her short stabbing sword, she parried the folded blade of his prosthetic. She crouched and quickly slipped through the blind spot under Wez’s armpit, evading another grab.
After several rounds of confrontation, her elegant demeanor remained intact, yet Funis herself appeared somewhat disheveled.
Several parts of her formal dress had been slashed open, and her white over-knee stockings were torn at the ankles. Beads of fragrant sweat covered her forehead, and after frequent intense movement, she was breathing rapidly in small gasps.
She was dancing on steel wires every time—if she were even slightly slower, she would be caught. Unlike Wez, Funis did not have a body that could take hits; a single careless blow might have killed her on the spot.
But Funis also noticed Wez’s speed was slowing.
As time passed, the enhancements brought by the “Burst” state were gradually fading; each strike grew duller than the last.
Once she had created some distance, she saw that Wez was preparing for another charge.
Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
Funis silently counted in her heart.
The highest record a Generosity Court apprentice could achieve was only three minutes. The time left for Wez was running out.
“Looks like this is the last one.”
Funis knelt by the edge of the stairs, throwing a transparent fine needle upward, connecting it to the web on the ceiling. With just a light flick from her fingers, rocks and steel objects along a straight path came crashing down.
This technique of manipulating threads and fine needles had been her focus for the past year.
She had learned quickly—within a few months, Chescia had almost nothing left to teach her. What followed were countless private repetitions and practice.
With the right positioning and angle, densely woven threads could bear far more weight than one would imagine. Constructing traps that would fall with a flick like this was not impossible.
Even offering everything to Michael had only returned a mortal flesh. The Warden’s limit ended here.
Piles of broken walls and steel crushed Wez solidly underneath. His exposed muscles heaved like waves, but it was merely a futile struggle. He no longer possessed the brute strength he had at the start—the “Burst” state was dissipating.
Two minutes and forty-eight seconds.
Funis finally let out a breath of relief. She sliced the steel wires wrapped around her hand and slowly stood, waiting to observe Wez’s next change.
The snake-like bulging veins gradually receded. His blood-flushed red skin paled towards a sickly white, even his heavy breathing weakened. Everything seemed to foretell the end of this battle.
Two minutes and fifty-four seconds.
The girl dusted off her dress and arranged the silver strands by her shoulder. She sheathed her stabbing sword and gripped her revolver, then stepped lightly toward Wez.
“You won’t live much longer anyway. Tell me the warehouse location, and I can make your end less painful.” Funis spun the chamber and walked up to Wez, whose head was the only thing sticking out.
With the revolver pointed at his head, Wez looked drained, as if clinging to his final breath. Just breathing triggered fits of coughing.
Yet even now, he suddenly grinned insidiously.
The rubble shifted. His deeply buried right arm suddenly burst free from the crushing debris. The metal arm bones had been burned red from within; even the surrounding air scorched, and dangerous amounts of high-temperature steam continually leaked from the fissures.
The pressure gauge embedded in his shoulder was clearly visible at this distance.
280%
Severely over the safe limit!
And still rising rapidly!
The metal arm suddenly bent at a grotesque angle, revealing its palm to Funis—hidden within what was usually covered was a double-barreled chamber.
To be blasted by a steam boiler or shot through the forehead—or both.
In that instant, danger returned.
“Too naive, you brat! Come to hell with me!” the lunatic roared with crazed laughter, using the last of his strength to strike back, all in hopes of taking Funis down with him.
The shot was fired as he spoke.
But he did not see Funis’s forehead burst open as he had imagined.
Sparks flew, and instead, her right sleeve was torn open. The leather ammo pouch strapped to her forearm was flung far away, and a corner of the parchment page stored inside peeked out from the zipper.
Wez could hardly believe his eyes. He had aimed directly at her forehead—how could the shot have veered so wildly?
But soon, he noticed the steel threads webbed between him and the girl. A protective net had already been laid down long before he got close.
“Two minutes and fifty-nine seconds.”
Funis bit through a nearly invisible thread and spoke a number, a time. Until the full three minutes were up, she could not afford to drop her guard.
Even if she dodged the bullets, there was still a steam bomb about to detonate close to her.
Wez started grinning smugly again, his pale and weak smile appearing eerie and terrifying.
Yet Funis’s sharp and grim expression did not waver. She pulled out her stabbing sword and drove it into the joint of the metal prosthetic. A torrent of steam burst from the opening at once.
She raised her foot, using the tall heel of her shoe to press against the hilt. Her snow-white skirt billowed as she pinned it firmly in place.
With both hands on the hammer and cylinder, Funis aimed at Wez’s shoulder and unleashed a ruthless, rapid five-shot burst. A wisp of gray smoke curled from the golden muzzle.
The tearing pain instantly overwhelmed Wez’s nerves and mind—he screamed hoarsely.
The joint connecting the prosthetic to his shoulder was forcibly disassembled by the precise and critical shots. Another pressure release point—this superheated steam now directly scorched Wez’s shoulder and face, causing severe burns.
The sealed environment had been broken. The pressure gauge needle quickly dropped below the danger threshold.
“Three minutes and one second.”
Had Funis hesitated for even a second, such a result would not have been possible.
She was too decisive, too fierce.
Wez, burned to the brink of unconsciousness, had blurred senses. He hadn’t even registered what had just happened—he simply stared dazedly at this incredible girl.
He was already as good as dead.
But Funis still drove her stabbing sword through his temple. White pulp mixed with red blood oozed from the wound.
She took a deep breath, stepped back a few paces, and nearly collapsed backward. She hadn’t even pulled the sword out—her taut nerves finally relaxed.
“I won.”
Even Funis herself could hardly believe it.
A Ninth Sequence without any Transcendent abilities had defeated an Eighth Sequence of the Generosity Path.
Her right arm ached. Looking down, she saw that the bullet which had been deflected had grazed a moderate gash along her forearm. Blood had drenched her right hand.
Her mind went blank.
She nearly forgot what she was supposed to do.
“The warehouse… maybe there’s a clue on him… and Moira…” Funis forced herself upright, swaying as she stepped toward Wez’s corpse.
She stopped.
She turned her head.
It was as if some kind of magic was drawing her in.
Funis’s gaze locked onto the parchment page that had fallen to the ground—a remnant leaf of the Witch Codex, one of the fourteen pages. She had originally planned to return it to the Church when the time was right.
Buzzing.
—Pick it up.
A voice whispered in her ear.
—Pick it up quickly.
The voice grew louder and more insistent.
“I have to pick it up,” Funis agreed to the request in a daze.
She reached out her right hand—the one drenched in blood—and gently let it fall, making contact.
The buzzing in her ears gradually faded, taking all noise away with it.
When Funis picked up the page and raised her head again, she was no longer in that abandoned theater. Thick darkness surrounded her, while galaxies and nebulae swirled beneath her feet.
She saw it, in the distance.
A colossal eye, suspended among the stars.
Unspeakable beings gathered around the eye. They prostrated, they worshipped, they whispered.
Just a moment’s unintentional gaze brought a rush of frenzied, incomprehensible utterances into her mind—her head throbbed like it would split open.
Blood welled up across her retinas, and that blood pooled into distorted, hideous script, writing:
【Original Codex · Chapter of Wrath】
【Activating】