musicians of old

Chapter 914 Not to be investigated further
The next moment, the blade slightly moved away from the neck.

“Two hundred seconds,” Pogrerich said.

“Killing him beforehand might not be useful. The dangerous elements’ ‘final power’ is conceptual pollution and secret history parasitism.” Fan Ning frowned, but still said this.

The originally planned time for performing the "tragedy" at "noon" was a good one or two hours, but now "noon" has not yet fully arrived.

Although Fanning's questions were very direct, rigidly setting a three- or four-minute time limit might not be enough.

The knife was never completely removed from Mr. Wax's shoulder. It was clear that while Pogreridge was ruthless in his killing and purges, he was also cautious, stern, and patient in suppressing his true adversaries in the shadows.

“One hundred and ninety seconds left,” Pogrerich said.

Having failed to achieve the desired outcome of the negotiations, Fanning was no longer wasting time.

He began by confirming a premise: "You must be Scriabin K., the worm scientist from History 0."

The emphasis was not on the name or title, but rather on "the 0th historian".

Although the other party just mentioned "Brezhnev of the former Soviet Union," this does not necessarily mean that the facts are strictly true.

Perhaps the "former Soviet Union" also exists in multiple timelines in later generations. Fanning felt that he was currently experiencing multiple perceptions of "noon," and there might even be some "post-apocalyptic secret realm" era similar to the modern blue planet of the 0th history.

"In that sense, thirty to forty percent, yes." Mr. Wax's first answer was somewhat unexpected.

“Thirty percent to forty percent?” In the dimly lit confessional room of the monastery, Fanning frowned as he confirmed the figure.

“That’s a very high proportion.” Father Squiaben, sitting in the shadow of the oil lamp, said, “In terms of the chaos of this world, or the degree of ‘uniqueness’ mixed in the long river of history, if we can have this proportion, we can even say that it is ‘almost’ pure.”

"What is the lowest percentage of those who can be considered as this person?"

"One-tenth, 10% of the source tracing results. Ordinary people in general circumstances, academic viewpoints in the field of secret history."

During the time the two sat and talked, Dean Bogle's figure remained standing by the confessional door, like a statue in the darkness and silence.

Fan Ning pondered for a moment, then asked, "What exactly is the pathway of crustaceans?"

In the auction hall of the Van der Schaaf Collection, he suddenly rose onto the auction platform, his unfamiliar and unexpected face causing a stir among the guests.

Everyone saw this young man playing with what should have been Nancy's auction hammer, barging into the platform for no apparent reason. He was chatting casually with the chief appraiser, Nikolayevich, in a wheelchair, through the security shield.

The content of his words was unknown, unfamiliar, and incomprehensible, giving people a vague sense of unease.

What struck the guests as even more unusual was that Curator Leridge gestured to stop the guards who were about to approach, and simply stood there, coldly observing the exchange between the two!

"A substandard alternative to the Key of Time, a painful, distorted, far-reaching, and endlessly harmful path." Chief appraiser Nikolayevich closed the collection brochure and sighed deeply. "Regarding the old and new forms, the abandonment and confusion, the involvement and entanglement, the morality of humanoids and non-humans is as unbearable as smuggled cigarettes, the risks as high as roulette, and the efficiency as low as weaving a knot, all for the sake of preserving the few remaining 'uniqueness' and 'personal will' after the reset."

"So who else is currently known or highly probable as a 'shell-like species' and their descendants?" Fan Ning pressed. "You? Vincent? A dangerous element? Someone with a similar surname or birth date who was wrongly killed by the Guiding School over the years? A descendant of someone whose ancestral surname was misplaced? An invisible guide who merged the fragmented 'Secret Realm of Revelation'? Shiran, or Joan?"

“Alle Menschen,” Nikolayevich uttered in Bavarian.

"Everyone?"

“Scale species have long been extinct, disappearing like the dodo bird, but they ‘exist within.’”

This unfamiliar and ancient expression seemed even more profound in the dimly lit confessional room.

Fanning nodded, then asked, "Now, there's a problem with the 'glow,' with some unclean, heterogeneous colors appearing in the refracted light." "If we could 'filter' it out—I mean, go up there and 'filter' or 'block' it long-term, effectively, holistically, and continuously, instead of using scattered artistic inspiration to purify the toxic blood that has already been transported to various parts of the world's surface—like putting a pacemaker on the 'tricuspid valve' of a malfunctioning heart, could the problems of the abnormal areas and the 'worms' be eradicated?"

Father Squierben remained silent for a moment.

Actually, the time limit has been exceeded; Fanning's confession or inquiry has gone too far.

But Dean Bogle's figure still stood at the door of the confessional.

“It should be possible, thank you.” Mr. Wax, sitting in his wheelchair on the tower platform, gave this response after a long silence.

The answer was not irrelevant; it was clear and relevant.

Fan Ning initially felt reassured, but for some reason, another sense of unease quickly arose.

The sunlight was intense inside the glacier, and the ground shook violently. A group of local gangsters dressed in orange mountaineering suits surrounded Fanning, Ruoyi, and Qiong.

Even though an avalanche was already on the road, hurtling towards them like a diamond dust storm, these people didn't seem to have any intention of taking cover.

"Would you mind asking one more question?" Van Ning asked Leridge, who was wearing a cashmere coat and was the leader of the group.

The other person took off their sunglasses, breathed on them to dry them, and said, "Go ahead and ask."

The yellowed old photo with Srciabin.KI's signature that Joan held in her hand was once again clutched by Fanning.

Fanning pointed towards the summit of the secret mountain "L-Peak" in the distance, then, as if speaking to himself, asked the man in the wheelchair under the coniferous forest in the photograph:

"What should we do about the corpses at that higher up, the so-called 'gathering point'?"

"."

Mr. Wax on the tower suddenly changed color, as if the question had instantly shattered all his "pretended calm," and the real, indescribable fear deep within his heart had come alive!

"Master Fanning, wasn't the previous affirmative answer enough to awaken a glimmer of hope for the 'New World'? If you can truly purify the 'Radiance,' that's enough, because actually—" He seemed to still want to explain something seriously, but in the end, a kind of agonizing fear and madness finally prevailed, and he laughed uncontrollably and nervously, "Digging deeper... Hahahaha, why dig deeper? The oracle of the sun must have some truth to it. That 'Gate of the Dome,' something even He fears, shouldn't be investigated too deeply. Hahahahahaha."

The Sun's Fear. Is the "Dome Gate" so long that it cannot be explored further? Fanning's expression grew increasingly grim.

"Everyone is a snail, everyone is a snail! Knowledge! Beautiful knowledge! Hahahaha!"

Mr. Wax's words became incoherent and unrecognizable. In a sudden and rapid change, his entire body seemed to be "strangled" by something unseen!

The force of that "thing" was far beyond human comprehension. Under the violent squeezing and tightening, Mr. Wax's intracranial and intraocular pressure instantly overloaded. His two eyeballs and the nerve tissue behind them drooped out quickly, like toothpaste being squeezed out, and took on a strange color!

This turn of events was clearly extremely painful. Before Pogrerich could even make a move, Mr. Wax himself lunged at the "blade" on his shoulder, and the sharp edge of the blade severed his head.

"thump--"

The corpse tumbled and fell from the wheelchair.

A chilling crawling sensation instantly spread through Fanning's spine.

The horrifying scene I had experienced deep within the void was being replayed before my eyes in an extremely similar way.

The inside of this wax snail was completely hollowed out, with a cluster of colorful, ring-shaped creatures wriggling and intertwining inside. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a large number of snails infected with "double-disc flukes" with extremely shriveled and withered shells and extremely swollen and enlarged eyestalks!