Night Journey

Chapter 163 The Day of the Storm
On the day of the victory speech, the rain became exceptionally heavy, pounding against every inch of the city and creating a deafening roar.
The water level rose rapidly, and the muddy water in the low-lying areas submerged the curbs, reaching knee-deep, washing up debris and fallen leaves. Cars broke down, their tires half-buried, and white smoke billowing from under the hoods.

"I'm already regretting setting the date for today. Why is it raining so hard?"

Paul was breathing heavily, gripping Wenxi's wrist tightly with one hand and protecting her shoulder with the other.

The two trudged through the torrential rain, the rain stinging their skin like needles. Wenxi's thin shirt was already soaked through, clinging to her body and outlining the curves of her slender waist. Paul's arm muscles were tense as he struggled to open the umbrella.

The umbrella was whipped around by the gale, and rain streamed down his forehead, blurring his vision. Wenxi nestled against him, her steps unsteady, splashing water with each step she took into the puddles.

They arrived at the Ink House with difficulty, and were greeted by warm, dry air, mixed with the aroma of charcoal and coffee.

The bar was empty except for Martin, the bartender behind the counter, who was quietly wiping the glasses. The dim wall lamps cast soft shadows, making the empty tables and chairs cast long shadows.

After weathering the storms and hardships of the outside world, this heartwarming scene is incredibly relaxing.

"Hello, everyone."

Martin greeted the two men and remarked, "You are the first guests at the Ink House today."

Paul and Wensey exchanged a glance and then laughed helplessly.

The two shook off the rainwater and borrowed a towel from Martin to wipe their wet bodies.

Paul couldn't help but complain, "Didn't the stargazers say the rain would lessen a lot in the next few days?"

“The predictions of stargazers are not always accurate,” Martin cautioned. “Even the fortune teller can be wrong sometimes.”

"is it?"

Paul found it unbelievable, but didn't investigate further.

The Weaver of Fate is an unattainable giant, while I am just an ordinary person.

He gently dried Wenxi's hair, his fingers running through her wet strands. Wenxi couldn't help but giggle, leaning back slightly, her chest heaving.

"It's so itchy!"

She twisted her body as she spoke.

After getting themselves ready, the two sat down at the bar and stared blankly at the door.

Raindrops pattered against the window, making a dense, rhythmic sound. Outside the dark room, everything was shrouded in a gray haze, the rain and mist like a veil obscuring the street scene.

Paul's fingertips unconsciously caressed the back of Wensey's hand as he murmured.

"With such heavy rain, will everyone still make the appointment?"

Wenxi leaned on his shoulder, her cheek pressed against his arm. "It's okay if you don't agree to meet me."

She looked up and sighed.

"It'll be just the two of us enjoying this time. Oh, and we can bring Martin along too."

"Then thank you both."

Martin walked over and brought over two hot meals.

"Consider it my treat, as a reward for the first batch of guests."

"Thank you!"

Vancouver residents cheered with joy.

As the three chatted and laughed, Martin brought out a radio, tuned it, and placed it next to the bar.

I glanced at the time; soon it will be time for the official victory announcement.

While we were waiting, the door to the ink room was pushed open, bringing in a gust of cold wind and the fishy smell of rain.

Their gazes swept over, and a familiar figure appeared. He was soaked to the bone, his raincoat dripping with water, and his boots leaving dark marks on the floor.

"Hello everyone!"

Elton greeted him.

……

The icy rain lashed at Bill and Veran's raincoats like whips, and the rushing water churned, almost overflowing the riverbank.

"Damn it, why do we have to go out to work in this awful weather?"

Bill wiped the rain off his face, his voice sounding particularly aggrieved.

A heavy oil canister lay at his feet, its murky liquid flowing into the surging gray river as he poured it out.

Bill then cursed.

"At this time of year, I should be lying in my cozy bed, drinking beer and eating fries!"

Vilan pursed his lips, remaining silent, and focused on working with the spirit craftsman beside him, adjusting the angle of the pouring pipe to ensure the solution could be mixed more evenly into the rushing water.

There were many more busy figures around, their figures blurred in the rain and mist.

Why...why...do we...have to suffer like this?!

Bill grew angrier the more he thought about it. Looking at his mud-splattered boots and soaked uniform, a nameless rage surged within him.

He practically growled as he poured the last of the liquid from the tank into the river, the murky liquid instantly swallowed by the gray river water. "Enough talk, Bill."

Vilan finally spoke, straightened up, wiped the rainwater off his goggles, and glanced at his partner.

"If we pull off this big job, we'll be promoted and get a raise in no time. Our mentor will definitely acknowledge our identities then."

"Damn it, shouldn't he admit it?"

Bill was hit where it hurt, and his voice rose a few decibels, filled with grievance and resentment.

"Over the years, we've done so much for him! Infiltrating the city garrison, working like slaves for him, providing intelligence, analyzing those damn spores... and now we still have to do this in this awful weather!"

He kicked the empty oil can, which rolled around in the muddy water a few times with a clanging sound.

Just then, a series of dense and rhythmic footsteps pierced through the rain.

In the wind and rain, rows of open black umbrellas stretched out like a flowing river on land.

In the center of the umbrella formation, Rolf's figure appeared, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. His aged but sharp gaze swept over the messy riverbank and the busy crowd, finally settling on Bill and Weyland.

"Commander... Chief of Staff, you've arrived."

Bill, his earlier complaints gone, fawned over him, "We've almost finished handling things here, just waiting for your command..."

He didn't continue speaking, but instead viciously slashed his neck with his hand, his eyebrows dancing with excitement.

Rolf didn't waste any words and gave the order directly.

"Notify other waterways to expedite the work and complete the dumping of these solutions as soon as possible."

He paused, his gaze falling on the magnificent silhouette of the city center shrouded in rain and mist.

"Also, notify the Lighthouse to prepare to light up the torch array."

A spirit craftsman who was coordinating the process paused for a moment, then spoke up instinctively.

"Chief, this is daytime; there's no gray area here..."

His tone was puzzled; lighting the torch lighthouse required a huge amount of soul essence, and operating it during the day would be a huge waste.

Rolf offered no explanation, but simply turned his head slowly and gave the spirit craftsman a cold stare.

The eyes behind the glasses were so cold, almost blending into the rain.

The spirit craftsman quickly lowered his head, his voice becoming extremely respectful.

"Okay... okay, Chief of Staff, I'll go and inform them right away."

……

De Karl was dressed impeccably, his body clad in a solemn black suit, his chest adorned with medals that embodied all his past glories.

He didn't like such extravagance; the last time he dressed so formally was at his inauguration ceremony as the director of the city sanitation bureau.

The corridor leading to the observation deck was shrouded in a somber atmosphere, with numerous city councilors standing solemnly on both sides.

Their gazes, whether filled with awe, scrutiny, calculation, or simply numb obedience, fell upon De Karl as if they were real, penetrating his expensive clothes and touching his skin.

De Karl walked steadily, deliberately slowing his pace, allowing the feeling of being the center of attention to settle and ferment with each passing second.

He liked the feeling of being in the spotlight; it was a tangible proof of power, standing above the raging torrential rain and the masses.

But at this moment, what De Karl enjoys more is... a sense of control.

It was as if the observation deck at the end of this corridor was the heart of Hull City, the throne he would ascend.

De Karl glanced at the speech in his hand one last time, then let go and discarded it like a piece of waste paper.

We arrived at the huge curved glass curtain wall of the observation deck.

Outside, a torrential downpour raged, the rain pounding against the glass, forming rapids that blurred the city's outline.

Dekar looked down at the city of Hel, ravaged by the torrential rain, at the tiny rooftops that resembled grains of sand, the scattered lights struggling and flickering in the rain and mist, and the low-lying areas on the distant streets that were faintly visible, submerged like a swamp.

at last……

He leaned closer to the microphone, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

"cough……"

A soft, metallic, crackling electrical sound suddenly rang out.

Through radio, through loudspeakers scattered throughout the city, through the cold lenses of cameras set up nearby, and through every available means of communication.

The ominous "thunder" was amplified and spread indiscriminately, reaching every corner of Hull City shrouded in torrential rain.

It reached... Cillian's ears.

"Has the audition started?"

Ciri looked up at the towering beacon of light, his soul burning within him, his blood scorching.

Stepping into the misty rain, a wave of heat surged forth.

(End of this chapter)