Bologue left, and with the door shutting tight, the assistant arms that pretended to be busy all halted in mid-air. Then, Lebius's gaze shifted from the door and fell upon the door beside his desk.

Behind this door was Lebius's bedroom. Being a workaholic, he had always lived in the office, and typically, the room behind the door was inhabited only by him.

But now, with Bologue's departure, the door handle was gently twisted open, and a tall figure walked out from Lebius's bedroom.

"You could very well craft a direct promotion path for Bologue instead of guiding him through subtle hints like this."

Lebius gazed into those golden eyes, his tone unchanged, devoid of any inflection.

"That won't do. You've said it yourself; he's a sharp guy. Too much interference would only raise his alertness."

The man pulled over a chair, sitting in front of Lebius. His tall stature was a poor fit for the chair, more like being forcibly wedged into it.

"What kind of reaction does a person have when they realize their entire life has been lived according to a pre-written script?" the man continued to ask.

"Anger, madness, hysteria?" Lebius answered coldly.

The man asked again, "Hmm... if it's Bologue, what do you think he'd do?"

This time, Lebius was silent, stumped by the man's question. Lebius tried hard to envision that scenario happening, but his impoverished imagination couldn't sketch such a scene, nor could he judge Bologue's behavior.

Lebius shook his head, "I can't think of anything."

"Indeed, I can't think of anything either. Such unknowns, prone to losing control, we should avoid as much as possible," the man smiled, "let him realize these things a little later, if possible."

"..."

Lebius responded in silence.

"Don't be like this, Lebius, I don't want this either," the man said helplessly, "We're all just pieces on the board, mere players in the grand script."

Lebius said, "Are you saying you don't know the full story either?"

"More or less."

The man thought for a moment, "The person who knows the full picture should only be the director, as for his thoughts? I've been unable to fathom them for many years."

Feeling the man's casual nature, Lebius sighed, remembering being summoned by the Decision Room and then roped into this mysterious, extraordinarily long-term operation.

Meanwhile, the man before him was appearing more frequently in his view.

The man noticed Lebius's disdainful gaze and deliberately expressed a bit of unwarranted sadness, "You seem to dislike me quite a lot, Lebius."

"No... I just can't stand the smell of smoke on you, Minister, you reek like a box of burning cheap cigarettes, even an old smoker would choke from it. I feel like my lungs are aging faster."

Lebius fanned the air near his nose; he was quite an exquisite, clean person, and had always struggled to get along with Nesanel's casual nature.

Nesanel nonchalantly replied, "How could it be? You're a Negative Power User, your body beginning to undergo Etherealization, so no ordinary disease will come upon you; the only possible cause would be organ aging."

Sometimes Lebius felt Nesanel was quite similar to Palmer; in some ways, both were exceedingly unconventional, indifferent to others' opinions.

Lebius said, "You came here, not just to chat about these things with me, right?"

"Certainly, mainly to help you avoid his gaze."

Nesanel's eyes glimmered with light. A peculiar power had always interfered with reality, distorting the forces surging within the Cultivation Room.

"He cares a lot about Bologue, repeatedly applying to us, eager to share Bologue's perspective," Nesanel looked at the floor and the hotel deeply buried beneath, filled with daylight, "We refused, but he won't take it lying down."

The glow once again fell on Lebius, and he continued, "I came here to shield his prying eyes, to conceal the conversation between you, me, and Bologue.

No matter how honest, friendly, or non-threatening he seems, it doesn't change the essence of him being the Devil."

Lebius nodded silently, agreeing with Nesanel's words. If possible, Lebius wished never to be entangled again with the existence of the House of the Rising Sun, yet that was merely a fanciful illusion, as the shackles were fixed on each other's bodies from the start, to be broken only by death.

"I've never been able to understand why the Tyrant was housed within the Great Rift, but as for him? Letting him lurk in the depths of the Cultivation Room is like a bomb planted on our hearts."

Thinking about sharing a room with a Devil, Lebius felt chilling disgust.

"He's merely our disguise."

Nesanel offered no further explanation and continued discussing other topics.

"Tell Bologue to be careful afterward; this guy may only like to nest within the House of the Rising Sun, but you're aware of his obsession with 'sight'."

"What do you think..."

"He can't catch Bologue's attention, but he can have others watch him... he has a lot of followers, even though he never actively responds to their calls."

Hearing this, Lebius gave a slight bitter smile. The Devil of the House of the Rising Sun has always been lazy, so lazy that he doesn't even care about his followers. Yet, the more indifferent he is, the more frenzied and passionate those chaotic, distorted folks become.

"Alright, I understand."

"Oh, and there's one more thing."

Just as the conversation was about to end, Nesanel changed the topic and continued talking with Lebius.

"What is it?"

Lebius looked at Nesanel expressionlessly, trying hard to ignore the awful smoke smell emanating from him.

"I personally ventured deep into the Great Rift in search of the King's Shield Guard," Nesanel nonchalantly revealed the startling news.

"Although I couldn't find their trace, I did discover some details..."

Nesanel thought for a moment and then revealed a cunning smile.

"I think I know who the Shadow King is."

...

On his way home, Bologue kept pondering over what Lebius had said to him. There was no need for him to trouble himself with irrelevant matters; he just needed to focus on his own power and push the potential of the Summoning Hand to its limit.

This brought significant inspiration to Bologue. He sat on the sofa, picked up a metal ornament, and with the infusion of Ether, randomly shaped and twisted it.

In the past, Bologue used Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid for shaping to pass the time, but during the Time Axis Disorder event, the Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid was completely consumed by the Immortal Heart, leaving Bologue without this powerful Alchemy Armament.

According to Geoffrey, the lost Alchemy Armament would be replenished by the Sublimation Furnace Core, but even after such a long time, the replacement had not arrived yet.

With Aimou around, Bologue didn't think Belli would skimp on it, and he even felt a subtle sense of anticipation, like awaiting his own promotion ceremony.

"Xilin Kagader..."

Bologue lay horizontally on the sofa, contemplating this deceased individual.

He tried to imagine the life of Xilin, born into a royal family, destined for a brilliant life, yet during his childhood, he fell victim to the Blood Red Night. He should have lived a puppet-like life under the dominion of his father, the King of Slaughter, but on an unclear date, he gained the power to change his destiny.

From the hands of the Devil.

Now, with the death of Overlord Xilin in battle, this power, through time's transformation, fell into Bologue's hands, merging with his soul.

"Could this be part of some grand conspiracy? Or merely a coincidence of fate?"

Bologue whispered, unable to come up with an answer.

The one who could decipher this for him would probably have been Overlord Xilin, who knew everything, but he already died many years ago.

As Bologue was pondering this, he suddenly sensed a cold gaze upon him. He quickly sprang from the sofa, clutching a fruit knife, and stood alertly.

As an employee of the Order Bureau, residing outside the Cultivation Room had another major drawback: the difficulty in ensuring personal safety.

Within the Order Bureau, such cases were frequent, where an employee's residence would be exposed and then attacked by enemies.

Bologue had worried about such occurrences, but he soon realized that his main concern should be not damaging the furniture because, as an Undead, he would give all uninvited guests a crushing welcome.

Clenching the fruit knife, Bologue followed the unsettling sensation in his heart, slowly moving towards the door, his muscles tensed, eyes seemingly able to pierce through steel, staring into the layers of obstacles and the shadows beyond.

Lowering his breath, Bologue understood the importance of gaining the initiative, which is why he didn't release Ether, simply waiting for the opportune moment.

In the moment when everything fell silent, Ether surged forth.

In an instant, intricate light trails covered Bologue's arm, extending onto the fruit knife. Under the rapid Ethereal Amplification, Bologue easily pierced the knife through the door panel, and then the slender metal extended further in his hand, like a continually elongating spike, penetrating everything in its way.

Stepping forward, the security door split open on both sides, clearing a path for Bologue. He expected formidable enemies outside, yet all that awaited him was an empty corridor.

The extended spike embedded into the ground, raising a slight cloud of dust, as if it was Bologue's illusion, finding no one outside.

Bologue hesitated for a moment, as his always-prided intuition seemed to have failed, but he didn't let his guard down. He thoroughly surveyed to ensure no threats were present before returning to his house and restoring the security door.

After Bologue left, the shadows in the corner began to writhe and boil, with excited yet fearful breaths echoing continuously.

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