musicians of old

Chapter 913 Clearing the Place
The complex and unsettling fragrance in the air vanished.

Instead, a relatively "clean" gas, with the smell of dust and stone, was produced.

The terrifying sound that oscillated between deathly silence and screaming was no longer in my ears; only faint air currents and whispers remained.

Fanning looked up.

At first, his eyes held a hint of doubt and confusion.

What happened before?
Climbing and navigating through the "circular ruins," experiencing countless fleeting moments, before finally ascending the tower for final preparations.
No, no.

It seems that many other things have happened inexplicably as well.

Fanning kept his eyes fixed on the sky.

The light was dim and scattered, but much more normal than "some terrifying scenes from deep memories." The rust-red fog was thicker at the top, and in the deep space directly above, there was a sprawling "garbage dump," with thousands of tiny black dots, almost human-shaped, converging towards it.

Slightly to the side of the horizon, a blurry orange patch of light hung quietly there; perhaps it was the sun.

Judging from the height of the illumination, it was around eleven o'clock.

Fan Ning's thoughts became more chaotic and bewildered, and his eyes gleamed with a light as if he were "trying to grasp something." He stared at the huge, blood-red "scratches" at his feet—a six-pointed star symbol that carried a sense of strangeness, unknownness, and the terror of nothingness.

And sheet music scattered and piled up everywhere.

What happened before?
Fanning stopped dwelling on the "thing" and began searching through his occult knowledge and musical memories.

Hidden knowledge, spiritual knowledge, the "gate of lamplight and shadow," the "gate of enlightenment," the "gate of swirling fire."
Having mastered the three levels, the key to the next level has been formed, and it is about to advance to the state of the Executor.
No, no.
Divinity, true knowledge, universal compassion, the "Gate of the Moon".
and also
"The Gate to the Polar Night"?
Right of way for wounds, four levels of order? Five levels of order?
Then--

Symphony No. 7 in E minor!
Fan Ning's gaze fell on the dazzling "star map" on the lantern in his hand, and he finally understood what had happened.

I'm back.

The chaotic feeling of countless substances and concepts being stirred up and scattered during the reset process, as well as the burning pain of contradictory memory fragments being forcibly peeled off and embedded, were like bruises under a newly healed wound, heavy and lingering in the deepest part of his divinity, silently proving the reality of that nightmare!
When Fan Ning looked up again, he glanced at the edge of the platform, further away than the cliff, the lighthouse, and the no-man's-land, where he could vaguely see the still relatively intact world.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at several familiar faces who had already climbed the tower.

Many people were busy with their own tasks, while quite a few were discussing something around a huge wooden hammer they had made themselves.

Finally, Fanning's gaze fell on the man sitting on the ground in the center of the six-pointed star, dressed in a retro blue-black suit.

Pogorelich and Van Ning exchanged glances, and Pogorelich slowly stood up.

"Keng"

The cold, oppressive sound of steel scraping against each other rang out.

The man said nothing, but simply pulled out the "blade" that had been inserted into the center point and strode toward Fan Ning.

He holds the sheath in his left hand and the knife in his right, closing the distance between them.

He then passed by Fan Ning and continued on his way.

“Lord Pogrerich?” Marquis McAdam greeted him in surprise, and several other Bologna School subordinates also turned around and bowed awkwardly.

A sharp knife slices through the air.

Several fine heads flew into the air, and McAdam, the Order Executor, incredulously clutched his "throat."

His entire divine projection burst open with several cracks, like a ripped sack, from which thick, grayish-white light gushed forth!

"Clap."

A drop of colorful "oil" dripped from the tip of the knife and fell to the ground.

Pogrelic never stopped in front of McAdam; his movements and steps were always calm and steady. After swinging his knife, he took a few more steps and then made an upward slash and a diagonal cut.

"Pfft-"

The body of the Holy One Koseli of the Lingyin Discipline Society was torn to pieces.

The priests behind him collapsed, leaving trails of blood that snaked like tiny snakes on the ground. "Crack!!" "Pfft—"

Guido Dalezo's dark, charred remains were crushed by the steel boots, raising a final plume of dark purple dust. Then, "Blade" delivered a simple and brutal thrust, piercing through the abdomen of the nameless saint of the Holy Sun Church.

"Hehe. He."

The intense golden flames burned fiercely, and after the nameless saint's body convulsed violently for a while, he collapsed to the ground as the knife was pulled out.

"Pfft!" "Crack!"

Pogrelic's knife swung, flicked, and slashed, drawing bloody and ruthless lines in the air. Each stroke was efficient and merciless, and the wet, cutting sounds of flesh and bone separating became increasingly frequent.

Those who enforce the order do so as if slaughtering chickens and ducks, let alone some enlightened school mentors, church bishops, or a few bewildered art masters.

In the blink of an eye, more than thirty corpses lay on the tower.

Fan Ning, standing to the side, frowned deeply and remained silent.

If I had experienced similar situations in the past, I definitely wouldn't have been able to maintain this composure, but now I seem much calmer.

Perhaps this is a necessary "clearing" before the "surgery".

These individuals with uncertain contamination factors are merely additional variables identified by this person, and this applies to both sides.

In less than a minute, the key figures of these forces on the tower, these Order Keepers and Enlightened Ones, who were also the former "losers" or "outcasts," were all wiped out by Pogrerich's knife as if they were being cleared out! They couldn't even voice a single dissent, let alone resist!

"boom!!"

Suddenly, another gunshot rang out.

Layer upon layer, faintly visible, they drifted in stealthily from some distant time and space.

It seemed as if some fine snowflakes were falling in the air, or perhaps it was just an illusion of light and shadow.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

The sky suddenly darkened further, entering a state of neither night nor dawn, and the entire tower began to tremble violently, as if an avalanche was imminent.

The world became indescribably eerie and terrifying. More and more floating human bodies converged above the "X-coordinate," and the collapsing, radially shaped "junkyard" began to thicken, expand, and form wrinkles; light and the atmosphere were boiling, the outer old skin withered and shrank, and the inner radiant light began to bloom and overflow incessantly.
Next to the circular ruins, more circular ruins appeared, layer upon layer, nested like phantoms, teeming with people.
Amidst the roaring sky, the remnants of the artifact god placed at the six-pointed star once again floated up one after another.

Pogorelich cleared the area, his steps slightly circuitous, and now he was back near Fanning.

There is one more person.

"Keng"

The cold blade was slowly drawn from its sheath again and placed on the shoulder of the man in the wheelchair, close to his throbbing neck.

“Compared to Brezhnev of the former Soviet Union, you are indeed a more pragmatic and more receptive leader.” Mr. Wax’s state was neither high nor low, but it was clearly different from the first “noon” before the reset.

It's no longer the kind of tension, simmering tension, and hysteria you feel when you personally experience conflict until the very last moment, and you might become a "dangerous element" descending upon the container.

The chief historian of the Special Patrol Office and the designer of the "resistance ritual" seemed to sense something.

For a brief moment just now, the aura surrounding many secret histories underwent a strange change. Some future possibilities were proposed, only to be rejected by another supernatural force.

Sitting here again, he sensed this abnormality, which made some things clear, but seemed to arouse his intense doubts about others.

And other things related to what's behind the curtain high above.

“Thank you, and I’m sorry,” Pogrerich uttered, two words that were concise yet rich in meaning and thought-provoking.

The blade should be gently pulled back.

"and many more."

Fanning spoke up.

Facing Pogrelic's chillingly cold gaze, he stepped forward, his feet treading over a trail of severed limbs and blood:
"I have a few last questions for him."