Night Journey

Chapter 165 The Spark of Memory
The ruins, washed by the rain, emitted pungent white smoke, and the firelight twisted and flickered in the water curtain, casting two figures in an intermittent light.

The battle erupted the moment the two sides spotted each other.

The Ragefire revolver in Cillian's hand roared continuously, and with each pull of the trigger, the muzzle exploded with blinding flashes of light.

The steel-core warhead tore through the rain, whistling sharply, and aimed precisely at every possible point of impact for Dekar. Rubble exploded beneath the warhead, sparks and fragments flew everywhere, and the murky water was plowed into short, deep furrows.

Even though Decal was injured to some extent by the collapse of the observation deck, his figure still moved like a ghost amidst the hail of bullets.

With years of combat experience, he could simply turn slightly to the side and let the scorching bullets graz his body, or duck at the last second and let the bullets whistle and cut off a few strands of gray hair that were wet with rain.

"Is that all you've got, Reverse Falcon?"

Dekar's hoarse voice cut through the rain, carrying a hint of mocking gasps.

"This is rather disappointing!"

He suddenly raised the flail, the metal sphere at the end drawing a heavy arc in the rain. Inside the sphere, the burning incense was activated by the source energy, suddenly spewing out thick, inky smoke.

The smoke clung eerily, ignoring the torrential rain and the raging wind, swirling and churning, forming an ever-expanding, semi-transparent, dark gray fog around Dekar that enveloped his figure.

Before the war, Cirion searched for records related to Decal and tried to extract information from Rolf, but to no avail.

The nature of his destined path to oblivion made Dekar's actions extremely secretive, leaving very few substantial records, especially after he became the head of the city guard, he was even less likely to personally go to the front lines of battle.

This flail is one of Dekar's hidden powers, a source weapon of unknown power.

At this moment, with his continuous supply of energy, thick smoke continued to billow, and the area of ​​dense fog expanded accordingly.

Cillian quickly backed away, knowing he wouldn't rashly rush in without knowing the flail's abilities.

"What? Are you scared!"

Decal initiated the offensive, striding towards Cirion.

Cillian swung his hand, holstering the empty revolver back into his waistband, and then gave a sharp jerk of his right hand.

hum-

The lockblade emitted a sharp metallic buzzing sound, and countless limbs instantly awakened.

The long, narrow blades, gleaming with a menacing light, unfolded and extended as if alive under the infusion of source energy.

It was no longer in the rigid form of a longsword, but transformed into a wildly dancing silver serpent. As Cirion's arm swung, it tore through the rain with a sharp, piercing whistle, whipping, cutting, and stabbing wildly in the wind.

This was Ciri's first battle after taking control of the Chainblade. He didn't feel the awkwardness of using this Source Contract weapon for the first time; instead, he felt the familiarity and joy of a beast acquiring its claws.

Silver streaks wove a deadly net through the rain, mist, and thick smoke. Each blade reflected the firelight of the ruins and the pale color of the rain, whistling wildly as if trying to slice through space itself.

Faced with this raging storm of silver snakes, Dekar remained completely calm.

He seemed to be able to predict the trajectory of each blade tearing through the air. Under the cover of the thick fog, he moved lightly, the tip of the sword grazing his nose, the airflow blowing his wet hair. The blade swept past his waist with a whoosh, but only tore through a wisp of remaining smoke.

Decald darted and weaved in the Dance of the Blades, his movements so fluid they were almost uncanny, as if he were not dodging slaughter but performing an elegant dance.

Ciri gripped the chainblade tightly, and section by section of the blade retracted, transforming into chaotic flashes of cold light that erupted once more.

Decal quickly advanced, his body surging with immense source energy.

The source energy intensity, almost identical to that of Rolf, made Cirion momentarily dazed.

Rank four?
The next moment, he regained his senses. Dekar was still at Rank 3, but he had reached the limit of his rank and could advance to Rank 4 at any time.

Looking again at the city of Hel under the vast rain curtain, Cillian recalled the conspiracy Rolf had mentioned.

Each of the different destinies has its own unique advancement mechanism. Once Dekar successfully allows the power of Nirvana to devour the entire city of Hel, he will break through the shackles and reach the fourth rank, or even climb to a higher rank in one go.

Everything must end here before his plot succeeds.

Decal swung his flail and calmly knocked away the falling chain sword.

"Just like in the records!"

While Cirion was observing him, he was also observing Cirion, or rather... the Reverse Falcon.

Based on the city guard's accumulated records over the years, Decal had already meticulously sketched out the image of this formidable enemy in his mind.

Whether it was the extremely penetrating Raging Revolver or the treacherous Chainblade, Decal had already prepared countermeasures.

The only thing that made him slightly uneasy was that he couldn't determine Ciri's rank.

When Cillian first clashed with Rolf, all that appeared before him was a fully armed Domination Armor. But even a Domination Armor should have some source energy reaction, not just nothingness.

He was puzzled for a while until he left the mansion and casually took the gray-white shawl off the clockwork servant.

It's hard to imagine that this grayish-white shawl, seemingly pieced together from countless feathers, is also a Source Contract Armor, named the Secret Feather Robe. Just as Cillian predicted, the Secret Feather Robe can largely conceal an individual's Source Energy reactions. It was thanks to this Source Contract Armor that Rolf was able to silently patrol the city of Hel.

At this moment, it was precisely because of the Secret Feather Robe that Cillian concealed his second-rank power, causing Dekar to misjudge his true strength.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps was like a rapid drumbeat.

He had assumed that the dark, thick fog was some kind of power domain, and that Dekar would use it to wage positional warfare. However, Dekar charged out with the swirling fog and aggressively approached.

He swung the heavy flail high into the air, the thorny incense sphere tracing an almost frozen trail of dark light, as if even the air itself was being crushed by its weight.

boom--

The flail missed the swift Cillian, instead slamming violently onto the scorched ground.

In an instant, gravel, mud, and burning bricks exploded violently in a radial pattern like bomb shrapnel, instantly creating a shallow crater.

At the same time, the moment the flail hit the ground, the dense fog accumulated inside the sphere surged, expanded, and exploded!
Using the force of the shockwave, it spread out instantly, greedily lunging towards Cillian, who was right next to it.

The dark, thick fog, like a viscous tide, washed over Cillian's knees, waist, abdomen, mouth, and nose.

Even though he immediately held his breath, a cloyingly sweet yet pungent odor, carrying the strong smell of decaying corpses, still entered his nostrils and went straight to his brain.

"Damn..."

Cillian's vision began to distort and break down.

Dekar's figure suddenly split and overlapped, turning into three or four afterimages with ferocious faces and different postures, which frantically shook and jumped on his retina.

The flames on the ruins turned into green grease, the rain lines twisted into countless wriggling, transparent maggots, and what was worse, the ground beneath his feet undulated like ocean waves, and he even felt as if he were falling into a bottomless abyss.

With all his might, Ciri staggered and rolled backward, managing to break free from the thin mist.

The chaotic hallucinations dissipated, the distorted senses returned to normal, and the rain poured down on my face without any cover, bringing an almost redemptive chill.

"Ha ha……"

He gasped for breath in the biting cold air, and when he looked at Dekar again, the thick fog swirled around him like a nightmare.

"Does it interfere with the senses and cause hallucinations?"

Cillian roughly figured out the flail's abilities.

It can generate hallucinogenic fog that affects the senses through the combustion of source energy. Once generated, the fog will remain in one place and will not be fluid, making it difficult to be dispersed by strong winds and rain.

Looking back at where Dekar had been, the thick, gray fog was gradually thinning. Without further replenishment, the fog would gradually evaporate over time.

Based on all of the above, Cillian also speculated that the hallucinogenic effect of the fog was directly proportional to the dosage.

Just being slightly affected caused such a terrible reaction; if one were to become completely engulfed by it, they would probably lose consciousness or descend into madness.

Cillian could already picture the scene from that night: when no one was on guard, the hallucinogenic fog spread silently, and by the time the staff realized the danger, they had already been dragged into a frenzied hallucination.

Then... without any resistance, they allowed Dekar to strip away their memories, falling into an unawakened coma.

A distorted electronic sound rang out from beneath the six-eyed winged helmet.

"Is this how you attacked the city guard bureau?"

Decal did not respond, but instead gave a sinister sneer and snapped his fingers provocatively.

In the noisy world, the snap of fingers pierced through the rain like ice shattering.

Something invisible was ignited.

It wasn't a real explosion, but a fuse that ignited a rapid progression along the spiritual path.

A surge of energy exploded from Dekar's fingertips, roaring and rushing along the path of the thick fog, devouring his mind.

Before Ciri could even take a proper step back, excruciating pain pierced his skull.

That was the terrifying power emanating from the colossus, the Lord of Sleep, the Path of Destiny, which transformed into a phantom poison, drilling into the nerves and piercing the mind.

Ciri had never truly faced the power of Nirvana. No matter how vigilant he was, he was still caught off guard when it finally descended upon him.

In an instant, my vision was shattered by a ghastly white light, and a thousand icy spikes of pain exploded deep within my brain. My memories, like rotting flesh being gnawed by maggots, peeled away piece by piece.

Two seconds? Three seconds?
Cillian's memory was brutally severed. The previous frame showed the mud waves stirred up by the flail hitting the ground, and the mist surging like living things... When he opened his eyes again, there was only a blank space.

In the dizzying disorientation of his cognition, the flail was already pressing against his throat.

(End of this chapter)