musicians of old

Chapter 935 "Regulation Above All Else"

“A lie? How could this be, Mr. Fanning?” “Carolne, I’m sorry. This… I didn’t expect this.”

In the audience, Sheeran and Roy turned pale, and Joan put down her flute, pressed her lips together, and remained silent.

"That's it, I knew it all along."

The church tilted and sank inch by inch, but Fanning just smiled.

Ironically, every encounter was a scheme orchestrated from above and a game of maneuvering by a few key apostles. However, Fanning had indeed foreseen this long ago—no, not foreseen it, but knew it clearly. During his initial exploration of the Aberration Zone, Fanning learned that Joan's "Shaping Chant" had almost inadvertently "replaced" his unborn self, and because he suspected she might have been infected by the "worms," ​​he persuaded her not to come with him into the Lighthouse. Not to mention the various metaphors and corroborations in the multiple "noon" timelines during the "Tragedy" symphony.
"You know!?" "Then, these...we..." Sheeran and Roy were taken aback.

"Alright, so what?" Fan Ning said calmly with a gentle smile. "It's still you guys. The old world is gone, so why care about those 'external identities'? Look at me, I've even destroyed the 'old days.' Whether it's the 0th history or the later 'noon,' it's all the same thing. This guy is just good for nothing now."

"What a pity, what a shame, what an infuriating thing, what a lamentable thing." Mr. F's expression, which had been clenching his teeth, slowly relaxed. Those inexplicable transcendental visions that vaguely connected to the performance scene of "The Secret Realm of Apocalypse" were indeed instantly dissipated under his control. "In this historical process that is even more absurdly wrong, I really can't do anything more meaningful with this 'Secret Realm of Apocalypse.' Let it start over, let it end, let it sink, let it begin again. So irrational, so much trouble."

"So!! Lord Pogrerich!!—" But the next second, the man's voice rose even higher, sharper and more ruthless!

Suddenly, fleshy bulges appeared on the altar, gluing the performance seats, music stands, and the three principals together!
Sheeran's knuckles, pressed against the strings, turned white from excessive force, her body stiffening and arching unnaturally. Joan's flute notes were intermittent, her gaze shifting between clarity and confusion as she struggled against the increasingly loud blasphemous whispers in her mind. Roy's body trembled violently, the "starlight" around him flickering rapidly, and the chorus he was leading was completely swallowed up by the whispered, didactic chanting!

Pogrelic was standing not far away, but the sudden change that occurred was almost entirely spontaneous, rather than something external attacking him.

"What are you doing?!" Fan Ning's voice carried an uncontrollable rage for the first time, like a muffled thunder before a storm.

"Your Excellency Director!" Mr. F's face rose and fell with the rushing river, his threatening tone shifting between low and high, as if he were suffering from the most severe form of schizophrenia. "I'll give you a choice: step down from this stage and leave through the gate!"

Pogorelich, who was called out, twitched the corner of his mouth slightly.

"Do you know what happens to people who threaten the Special Patrol Bureau?" His calm tone carried a slightly strange undertone.

"Step down from this stage, exit through the gate! Now! Act now!" The layers of roaring voices continued to surge forth. "Leave this sinking ship and return to your old world, which is destined to crumble but may still linger for a while! It wasn't easy for this church to become what it is today, so I can allow you to take some of the ashes of 'Ember' with you in the process! Otherwise!"

"These three beautiful ladies, who made immense contributions to musical performance, will be the first 'paint' to dissolve before this church sinks! Do you hope to work so hard only to end up with nothing, or at least—"

Pogrelic made a move.

His face remained expressionless, and he didn't even glance at the river where Mr. F was looking; he simply drew his sword.

This time, it wasn't the kind of sharp edge that's concentrated in a single line and carries a cutting intent; instead, it directly unleashed a flat, cold fan-shaped surface.

"Snap!!"

The trajectory swept rapidly across several sections of the orchestra, seemingly creating a considerable degree of diffusion in the light and shadow, but the other musicians who were enveloped were actually unharmed, except for the three principals.

Time seemed to have been sliced ​​into an absolute blank frame by this one stroke.

Smooth brown hair, a key necklace in the living room, a violin "Sol Ruby", a red trench coat, a belt, a broken cello string and fingers, a purple dress, purple flat shoes, and a fallen "Star Trail" flute.

Everything vanished like bubbles with a pop, leaving not even a trace of embers to cherish.

Clean, efficient, and thorough.

“Pogrerich! You…” Mr. F’s voice, which floated out from the water, sounded as if he had been choked.

The diseased "tricuspid valve" above the dome suddenly fell into a state of "dazed" pulsation, and not a drop of blood was left on the tip of Pogrerich's "blade".

"."

Fan Ning's figure, suspended in mid-air, seemed to freeze for a moment.

In the depths of those eyes, which had originally held divine compassion and reflected all the chaos and destruction inside and outside the church, something seemed to shatter suddenly as the three wisps of light dissipated, and then abruptly sank into a bottomless abyss.

Pogrerich didn't even glance at Fanning, turned, and descended the steps. Church rubble fell, teetering on the brink of collapse. His legs stepped into the river, and the tip of his blade, carrying a strong sense of suppression and threat, pointed in the direction where Mr. F's face had "surged" earlier, then pulled back, splashing a small patch of water.

He then continued walking along the watercourse toward the gate, casually severing several pieces of the obstructing "intestinal limbs" along the way.

"You...killed them?"

From behind, Fan Ning's voice finally rang out, each word deliberate and terrifyingly soft.

For some reason, Fanning himself was "not very satisfied" with his reaction. He always felt that it shouldn't be like this, that it shouldn't just be like this, but that's how it was.

"I said, you killed them?" He squeezed out the words again, one by one, through gritted teeth.

Pogrelic didn't turn around as he walked, but he did speak.

"Are those 'them'?" His voice was flat, slightly rhetorical, as if to reveal an objective natural law: "When the threat and variables reach a certain level, whoever needs to be killed, will be killed."

Fan Ning nodded repeatedly.

You will regret this.

I told you, you'll regret it, and I promise you will.

There seemed to be some open words, some sounds. They were extremely soft and faint, yet they sent chills down one's spine, as if one were in hell.

But in reality, that was just another ripple in the depths of Fanning's pure "Purely numb" inner world.

Leaving aside how much the witness "Director" could "regret," these pioneers who have reached the sixth level of the Order in this world probably wouldn't have any "regret."

Furthermore, what does "afterwards" mean? What does "making one feel a chill all over one's body" mean? And what is "hell"?

“Very good, very good,” Fan Ning simply nodded repeatedly.

Pogorelich finally stopped and turned around.

We've already gone quite a distance.

For the first time, Pogrelic truly looked at Fanning in the air, but there was no apology, no explanation in his gaze, only an almost cruel scrutiny, urging, and explanation.

Yes, at most it can only be considered a final "explanation," it doesn't even deserve an exclamation mark.

Two divine gazes clashed sharply.

"There will always be a large number of fools in this world who get caught up in such trivial matters because they are themselves insignificant, but you should not be among them. Fan Ning, the very act of merely offering these redundant explanations is an insult and disrespect to you."

“Control is paramount. As a collaborator, please take back control of the music you have neglected for dozens of bars.”

"..." Fanning stared intently at Pogrerich.

“I’ve told you some things before. The situation above requires a greater price to pay. Even if a more appropriate form of payment has emerged, it still won’t be paid by you.”

"What do these things amount to? They're laughable."

"You only need to remember one thing—"

Pogorelich turned around and continued straight ahead.

"The principle of 'Ashes' is above all else, including mine."

Before Fanning could fully process the meaning of her words, her figure in a dark blue dress had already leaped from the end of the church entrance, instantly swallowed up by the turbid torrent and the pale interplay of light and shadow!