Recipient Forty-Four, Mask Activated?

Pitch-black mist materialized out of thin air, instantly shrouding the entire sacrificial formation.

The sculpture at the center flickered with a scarlet glow, while the corpses on the ground twisted and deformed, withering into mummies. The pooling blood coalesced into demonic, evil symbols upon the ground, burrowing straight into the glabella of the forty-four "cargoes."

A faint, ethereal whispering echoed from the void—bizarre, evil, cold, and mechanical as it repeated monotonously. Though indistinct, it sounded strangely like a pre-recorded audio track...

Over and over, it reverberated endlessly within the minds of the "cargoes," as if branding some intangible yet terrifying power deep into their brains, consciousness, and souls through sheer repetition.

Luo Ji, who was blindfolded, was one of those pieces of cargo.

At this moment, he felt as though his limbs were pinned to the ground by an invisible hand, unable to move a muscle. The cold, wet blood on the ground wrapped around his ankles, arms, and neck like slippery serpents, tightening bit by bit as if attempting to bite through his skin and seep into his muscles and bones.

His glabella felt as though it had been pierced by a venomous fang; a bone-chilling, ghastly cold bored into his skull and drilled into his brain, inflicting a pain and tremor that originated from the depths of his soul.

"It feels like an evil sacrifice. Have we been captured to be used as offerings?"

"Am I going to die?"

Filled with terror amidst the pitch-black despair, Luo Ji heard the voice echoing in his mind.

[Chosen recipient, are you willing to become my believer, to transform into my eyes and ears, and serve as the sword and blade in my hands?]

The bizarre and cold voice shook his skull so violently it felt as though it might split open. Luo Ji wanted to scream in agony, but not a single sound could escape his throat.

The chilling cold seeping into his glabella began to corrode his pupils. Within his darkness-veiled eyes, a patch of black fog suddenly appeared, and Luo Ji felt his consciousness drift away from his flesh, entering a boundless expanse of darkness.

There was no direction and no distance, resembling a flat sheet of black paper extending infinitely in all directions. He had transformed into a tiny ant, and no matter how desperately he crawled, he seemed never to have moved an inch across the paper.

Time lost all meaning here.

Perhaps a second had passed, or perhaps ten thousand years.

Just as the empty, lonely darkness was about to obliterate his consciousness entirely, he heard that voice once more.

Unlike the terror and trembling he felt the first time, this time the exact same voice seemed like celestial music—a ray of light piercing the darkness, bringing divinity and hope.

[Chosen recipient, are you willing to become my believer, to transform into my eyes and ears, and serve as the sword and blade in my hands?]

As long as he could escape this dead and silent darkness, he would be a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand times willing, no matter what this voice asked of him.

Besides, rather than becoming a mere sacrifice, he was being asked to become a believer?

This was already a myriad times better than the endings of the evil sacrificial stories Luo Ji had once heard. Therefore, the "deity" receiving the sacrifice before him must be somewhat lawful and good, right?

Luo Ji experienced an epiphany. Within his mind and soul, he shouted: "I am willing!"

The moment he gave his consent, an ineffable, profound sensation stirred within his soul. From this moment onward, the threads of [Fate] were stitched into his very being.

As if inspired by a sudden flash of insight, Luo Ji blurted out: "All is the bestowal of Fate."

At the center of the formless darkness, a cold iron throne slowly materialized. An unfathomable, majestic figure sat upon it, gradually condensing into a hazy, towering silhouette.

Luo Ji prostrated himself respectfully on the ground, not daring to lift his head in gaze, only daring to cautiously scan his surroundings from the corner of his eye. In the darkness, one by one, his peers—fragile as ants—were all kneeling and bowing toward the central iron throne just like him.

One, two, three... forty-four believers, who seemed to have endured and waited for ten thousand years within the darkness, spoke in unison with reverence: "All is the bestowal of Fate."

...

Outside the sacrificial formation.

The corpses of the smiling, eccentric thugs were sucked dry into fine powder, falling to the ground as a layer of gray ash that mingled with the dried, congealed blood into a murky black slurry.

The forty--four chosen recipients had their consciousness linked to the statue, catching a glimpse of the great silhouette. Their bodies followed instinct, acting like puppets manipulated by strings as they formed a circle and prostrated themselves at the foot of the statue.

Reflected in the pale, ghastly eyes of the man in the black hat was a scene of breathtaking beauty. He murmured softly, "What a truly lucky bunch of fellows."

Maan Bin stood nearby, the fanaticism in his eyes slightly diminished, replaced by his usual calm composure: "To be bestowed upon is a stroke of luck—you no longer have to live a mediocre, muddled existence. Yet sometimes, I wonder if living on like a walking corpse might not also be a kind of luck."

The man in the black hat chuckled. "You're the one who picked out the cargo. What are you pitying?"

Maan Bin replied, "Just speaking on a whim. Besides, the standards for this batch of cargo were set by you."

Pausing for a moment, Maan Bin added: "Indigenous people of the Ninth District, blank slates from the lower classes, age restricted to those before the college entrance examination, inferior bone structure and aptitude, and so forth. I merely followed your standards, using Zheng Hang's death as an excuse to round up a batch of suspicious students."

The man in the black hat could tell Maan Bin was fishing for information; with the other man's intelligence, he had likely guessed quite a bit. But he would not answer.

Ever since the organization suffered heavy losses and underwent restructuring in the year 228, all team and member operations had adhered to a strictly confidential security mechanism.

This meant that apart from the supreme Chief Arbiter and the Thirteen Seats, any other team or member could only know the specific part they were responsible for during each respective stage of an operation.

This was what [Fate] called—no one may gaze upon the entirety of Fate.

The man in the black hat ignored Maan Bin's probing and merely smiled. "Everyone mistakenly assumes you are hunting for the real culprit, believing your target is a specific murderer on the list, little realizing that it is all a smokescreen. Everyone on that list was a pre-designated target."

Maan Bin glanced sideways at the man in the black hat, noncommittal. "What you see is merely the first layer of the smokescreen. There is a second layer: me making a fuss to eliminate Boss Zheng and plotting for advancement... well... a certain insidious, limping murderer perceives precisely this layer."

The man in the black hat remained unfazed. "A word of warning: apart from the limping murderer you mentioned, there is also a dark-faced fellow from the Calamity Corpse Cult who has been watching you from the shadows these past two days. However, before the operation, I had someone lure him away."

Maan Bin frowned. "It's all thanks to the trouble caused by that mysterious limping murderer. Come to think of it, since you're already here, why don't you help me clear up these troubles all at once?"

The man in the black hat refused decisively. "This cargo is merely a small link in my operation. Now that everything is confirmed without error, I must leave. Your problems can only be resolved by yourself."

Maan Bin's expression darkened slightly.

The man in the black hat remained expressionless. "You have concealed yourself well, and the current trouble is but a minor annoyance to you. But if I were to solve your problems for you now, it might seem effortless at present, but there is no guarantee that someone won't piece together the clues later and bring down a fatal danger upon you."

Maan Bin knew this logic well enough, which was why he had framed Boss Zheng, going to great lengths to use the police force to eliminate Boss Zheng and seize control of the Green Wolf Gang.

He did this not only to weave a smokescreen and fulfill the organization's mission, but also to ensure that the strength he displayed never exceeded the scope of an ordinary gang.

It was just that now, with the dust about to settle and recalling Xiao Wu's death, a trace of sorrow welled up within him.

Maan Bin touched the dense crusts of dried blood on his head and sighed, "Xiao Wu is dead."

The man in the black hat kept silent, likewise recalling the 117th Squad that had just gone offline. He replied with a hardened tone, "Trading death for concealment is an unavoidable necessity. Perhaps tomorrow you and I will die as well, but our remains will ultimately pave the stairway leading to the sky."

Maan Bin raised his head, his gaze seemingly piercing through the walls to look upon the gigantic, hideous entity shrouding the sky, a faint glimmer of hope and hatred flashing in the depths of his eyes. "Hmm."

The man in the black hat glanced down at his watch and murmured, "It's almost time. The bestowing ritual is coming to an end. Take this batch of recipients and leave shortly; once I clean up the traces, I will be off."

Maan Bin nodded. "What is my next mission?"

The man in the black hat shrugged, knowing little himself, and simply replied, "Go rendezvous with your superior. You and this batch of recipients are the first seeds planted by the organization in the Ninth District, and henceforth you will all report to your superior."

Maan Bin's expression tightened slightly. He had no idea what kind of person this new superior might be.

The man in the black hat relayed the rendezvous location and time to Maan Bin, thereby concluding his task of inspecting the cargo. He let out a long breath of relief; at least one of the tasks on this trip had been successfully completed, and next, he needed to head over to the Expeditionary Corps.

In a pleasant mood, the man in the black hat thought for a moment and gave Maan Bin a slight heads-up: "As for your superior, I am not entirely sure myself. I only just received the information; his codename is [Mask]."

Maan Bin licked his lips and repeated the word under his breath: "Mask?"