Chapter 157 : The Successor’s Will
Chapter 157: The Successor’s Will
Countless mysterious forces surged forward, all descending upon the Bronze Armor Statue.
But instead of suppressing it, these forces seemed to activate it. The rubies on either side of its snake head began to glow, and its mouth slowly opened, as if ready to spew forth that oxidizing rust that could corrode all things.
“Don’t move…”
At that moment, the Drunkard bellowed in a low voice, “It will absorb your spiritual power and convert it into its own energy…”
Everyone around had already been gripped by terror, and upon hearing this, they all froze in place.
Even the one who had lifted the Drunkard high, about to smash him down onto the Bronze Armor Statue, suddenly paused mid-motion.
It seemed the statue had only received a limited amount of spiritual power and was still inactive. At this moment, lacking full energy, it didn’t waste any, only continued tightening its grip around the throat of the Sparrow in its right hand, inch by inch, turning her entire face purple.
What was even more disturbing was that not a single investigator nearby—including the Red Trench Coat—dared to intervene.
All eyes were fixed, blankly, on the Sparrow clutched in the statue’s hand, watching as she slowly lost all signs of life.
In the final moment before death, her ears rang with a deafening roar, accompanied by endless hallucinations:
“I don’t care about your messed-up reasons. If you’re willing to shoulder it, then I’ll come to you.”
“You’re willing to carry it… but can you bear it?”
“……”
Han Su and the Ghost Princess’s voices intertwined in her fading consciousness, becoming a single final thought before her awareness vanished:
“What did I even do…”
“……”
Under the gaze of all, she died silently. Until her life faded and even her spiritual power was absorbed by the Bronze Armor Statue, only then did the rubies at the ends of its snake head gradually dim.
Then, its five fingers slowly relaxed.
Plop—
The Sparrow’s limp body fell to the floor.
Only then did the Red Trench Coat rush forward, cradling her in her arms, quickly retreating while chanting Zero Sequence Spell No. 8.
She attempted to bridge spiritual power to summon some mysterious and unknown entity to heal the Sparrow’s wounds.
But it had no effect.
Even if Spell No. 8 could invoke a mysterious force to repair wounds, it only worked on the living—those still spiritually active. The moment the Sparrow was removed from the Bronze Armor Statue, she had already lost her final breath.
Her wide eyes stared blankly, her face purple, tongue protruding, frozen in an expression of terror, despair—
And regret.
…
All the surrounding investigators were similarly stunned. The Drunkard only freed himself after the Bronze Armor Statue went still.
He moved his arms but said nothing.
“What happened?”
The commotion quickly alerted others. Security at the entrance and people from the third floor came rushing down.
When they saw the Sparrow lying in the Red Trench Coat’s arms, cold sweat broke out on their backs. Some rushed to check her injuries, others grew alert—but none dared touch the Bronze Armor Statue, nor did they understand what had occurred.
After all, it was just an art piece.
“Has that guy returned?”
The Drunkard’s pupils constricted at once, and his first thought was Han Su.
But when he turned, Han Su had been gone for over an hour—nowhere to be seen.
“It was this thing…”
Seeing that the Sparrow was beyond saving, the Red Trench Coat stood up in a fury, glaring at the Bronze Armor Statue:
“Was it controlled to kill the Sparrow, or does it have some inherent evil?”
“How can something like this exist in the Lilac Courtyard?”
“……”
“Silence!”
Just then, a deep voice rang out. Everyone turned their eyes.
From another elevator, the female security guard pushed a wheelchair out—and seated upon it was none other than the owner of the Lilac Courtyard.
Unless necessary, he never left the east wing. But now that he appeared—and given his standing in the field of Esotericism—everyone quieted down slightly, looking to him for an explanation.
“It moved… it moved…”
The Old Man of the Lilac Courtyard’s eyes gleamed with excitement, carefully observing the Bronze Armor Statue, which had returned to its original pose—hand pressed against chest—after killing someone.
That pose—it only appeared when a true master had driven the Living Bronze Puppet.
“I won’t allow any Disaster Management Bureau personnel to die in the Lilac Courtyard.”
Excitement surged in his heart. He glanced at the lifeless body of the investigator’s assistant, then suddenly realized something and spoke with a grim, stern tone.
Those nearby sighed in relief, thinking he was going to investigate the matter.
But then he barked:
“So, she didn’t die here. If there’s a problem, you explain it to the Disaster Management Bureau yourselves!”
“What?”
Both the Drunkard and the Red Trench Coat’s expressions changed dramatically, staring at him in disbelief.
“Has the Old Man gone mad?”
At the same time, as word of the incident at the Lilac Courtyard spread and chaos erupted, all the investigators from the Disaster Management Bureau who heard the owner’s statement showed expressions of shock.
What did he mean?
That we should fabricate a reason for the Sparrow’s death—and not implicate the Lilac Courtyard?
The Lilac Courtyard always had a good relationship with the Bureau. Otherwise, investigators wouldn’t treat this place as a retreat.
Why was he doing this? Not even offering a reason?
“Teacher, this goes against protocol…”
The Drunkard’s face darkened. He couldn’t understand the old man’s behavior. For a moment, he wondered if the man had grown senile.
Acting like this—especially now—would only put him in a very awkward position.
“Protocol?”
The Old Man only gestured to the female security guard beside him and slowly turned around: “And when have any of you followed protocol?”
“Her death has nothing to do with the Lilac Courtyard or this artwork. If any of you insist on taking this item back to the Bureau for investigation…”
“…then go ahead—if you dare!”
“……”
These words left the Drunkard frozen in place. Even the Red Trench Coat abruptly turned and charged toward the Old Man, but with his back to them, he gently tapped his cane on the ground.
The copper ring at the tip resonated with a hum, like an invisible spell was cast into the air—silent but looming.
The entire hall fell into an eerie stillness.
The Old Man said nothing more. He returned directly to the elevator, and once he was out of sight, he became overwhelmed with excitement, his hand trembling.
“Did someone… someone approach the Bronze Armor Statue? Did you… did you notice?”
“Many.”
The female security guard spoke softly, “Ever since you brought the armor here, everyone who passed by would stop and observe, some even touched it. But you wouldn’t let cameras be installed in the hall, so…”
“Of course, no cameras. Of course not…”
The Old Man trembled, “Some things… mustn’t be seen.”
“Then who… who was the last one to touch it?”
“……”
The security guard’s expression tightened, “Three people touched it tonight. Twenty-seven passed nearby.”
“Compared to the previous banquet guest list, seven overlapped. The most important thing is…”
She paused slightly, “One of them… is the child you paid attention to ten years ago—the only survivor of the kidnapping case.”
“He… him…”
The Old Man grew visibly agitated, panting heavily before shaking his head, “It couldn’t be him. He wasn’t chosen.”
“Besides…”
He recalled the investigation from a decade ago, dismissing the thought: “I even found a chance to observe him up close. There was no trace of bronze on him. But… that scar on his body…”
He shook his head slightly, sensing something unusual, but concluded it had nothing to do with him.
The security guard said softly, “Regardless, the person you seek should be on this list. If you want a thorough investigation—”
“No investigations. Banish that thought!”
Her words were immediately cut off by the Old Man’s harsh scolding: “If he doesn’t wish to appear, with my status, I have no right to seek him.”
“But…”
He paused, then muttered, “Why would he kill that Executioner?”
“Could it be…”
“Is the successor expressing his will?”
“……”
“……”
In the hall, the Red Trench Coat gritted her teeth, her expression increasingly furious: “What are they trying to do?”
“Are they just letting my subordinate die in vain?”
The Drunkard couldn’t explain either. He felt his teacher had become strange—too strange. Since the last banquet, his behavior had become increasingly incomprehensible.
He frowned deeply, wanting to speak but unable to find the words.
At that moment, a chill prickled his senses. He suddenly turned his head toward the entrance—and even the Red Trench Coat, still seething with anger, narrowed her eyes sharply and looked out together with him.
Outside the hall, darkness had fallen, so dense that even light couldn’t penetrate. And from within that heavy darkness, the sound of soft footsteps began to emerge—growing louder.
The eerie rhythm sent chills down their spines.
Already on edge, the Red Trench Coat instinctively stood, but the Drunkard suddenly stopped her.
Shhh—
From the darkness, a dazzling beam of light pierced toward the Sparrow’s body on the floor.
The Drunkard swiftly reached out and caught the blade—blood seeped from his palm as he turned slowly.
A figure emerged from the shadows—thin, bald, with crisscrossing scars on his head.
Most notably, a D7 Restrainer—the so-called “dog collar”—was affixed to his head.
“He’s D7?”
Even the Drunkard was shocked.
The figure stepped in, eyes locked on the Sparrow’s body, lips curled in a smile.
“She’s really dead?”
He stared at the Sparrow. When his blade neared her, she didn’t react at all.
He seemed… disappointed.
“He really came looking?”
The Red Trench Coat finally recognized him—belatedly realizing who he was.
The Drunkard, however, felt a flash of relief.
Seeing this D7 code-named The Ripper appear… maybe it was better the Sparrow had died?
He slowly turned to face The Ripper, smiling as he extended a hand:
“Hello, Mr. Ripper. I know why you left the D7 base.”
The Ripper looked at him, his natural smile giving an eerie feel. Then he slowly shook his head:
“No. You don’t.”