CH791 · Rewrite
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Chapter 791: A Coming Crisis in the Dreamland

“What is that light?” Phyllis asked.

“I don’t know. It’s probably returning magic power to this world.” Roland dusted off his hands. “We need to leave immediately. If someone finds us here, there will be trouble.”

“But isn’t this man our enemy?”

“Yes — but in this age, not everyone has the right to kill him. A special organization and its licensed staff handle the arrest and punishment of people like him.” As for Fallen Evils, Garcia had told him that martialists with hunting licenses from the association were legally permitted to kill them. Those licenses extended further still — to any Awakened suspected of harboring evil intent. Roland suspected that if this were ever made public, it would spark a considerable outcry.

“What a strange age,” Phyllis said.

They walked out of the KFC and found the street calmer. The appearance of the Fallen Evil had frozen everyone inside McDonald’s; its sudden departure had released them, and the relief was palpable in the way people’s shoulders dropped and voices rose again.

Roland spotted Zero the moment she broke through the crowd toward him. Her hairband had slipped; long white ruffled hair tumbled loose to her shoulders. People tried to stop her — this little girl was weaving through them with the adroit ease of someone who had spent years slipping through impossible places. When she reached Roland, anxiety gave way in an instant to delight.

The delight lasted about three seconds.

She straightened, cheeks flushed, breath still uneven, and shouted: “Why did it take you so long? Even a tortoise runs faster than you, uncle!”

Roland bent and touched the top of her head. “Sorry to make you worried.”

She gritted her teeth. “Who was worried about you? This is her first time in the city. What if we’d gotten separated by the crowd?”

Despite everything she said, she didn’t pull away from his hand.

It took Roland considerable effort to explain what had happened — he invented something vague about being caught in the chaos of the Fallen Evil’s attack, nearly unable to escape. Zero listened, grew calmer, and eventually let it go.

The rest of the day was smooth. He took the girls shopping for clothes, then brought them to a hotpot restaurant for dinner — the unique combination of strong flavors and cheap ingredients made it an easy choice. He ordered potatoes, starch noodles, and lotus root slices: filling, economical, almost impossible to eat too much of. Phyllis kept her eyes watering throughout the meal, chopsticks moving with a devotion that was either deep feeling or spice-induced tears. At the end she picked up the pot and drank directly from the red oily broth. The table around them went silent.

They returned to the tube-shaped apartment building at nine o’clock. When they climbed to the eighth floor and turned toward Roland’s apartment, they found Garcia blocking the hallway.

She had the look of someone who had been waiting a long time.

Has she been here since I hung up the phone? Roland’s lips went tight. “Look — I did go out with a relative today—”

She cut across him. “Can we talk now?”

Her tone was sharp enough that Phyllis frowned. A small burp escaped before the ancient witch managed: “Please mind your attitude. He’s this world’s lor—”

“Ahem.” Roland stepped forward quickly. “It’s fine. You two go inside. I’ll be back shortly.”

He had spent hours expecting Garcia’s fury — a proud woman stood up with a flimsy excuse had every right to be livid, perhaps permanently. That she had waited here instead told him something about how short-staffed the association truly was.

He followed her into Room 0827. She didn’t invite him to sit. She turned and said: “Have you made your decision? Or was this afternoon an excuse to reject joining the association?”

Her eyes moved across his face as though reading text.

Roland shrugged, walked to the sofa, and sat. “Do you have any water? Ice water would do.”

He was fairly certain he saw a vein throb at her temple.

Garcia drew a breath through her teeth. “I’ll get you some.”

“Thank you.”

He took a slow sip and asked: “I’ve been seeing more Fallen Evil incidents in the news recently. We even encountered one today near Green Valley Park. Is the association having trouble?”

Garcia’s brow furrowed. “You were near Green Valley Park this afternoon?”

“You know about it?”

“Yes. Someone called the police, but these situations fall to us. All nearby martialists were notified — I was one of them.” She paused. “The Fallen Evil was already dead when we arrived. Its Natural Core was gone. Someone else acted first.”

Roland kept his face neutral. “Who?”

“I’m not permitted to say.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t be telling you anything about the incident at all. It’s the association’s business. As for your question — yes. We are in trouble. The Erosion from the alien world is accelerating. This world is approaching a major crisis.”

“The Erosion.” Roland held the word in his mind. “What kind of crisis?”

“No one knows exactly. Perhaps our world will be destroyed. Perhaps everyone loses their minds and becomes a monster. This is why the association needs more people willing to stand and fight. It has nothing to do with gender, race, or nationality — everyone who has awakened with the Force of Nature carries this responsibility.” Her voice rose slightly. “As martialists, we may die in the fight against the Erosion. But that is our duty. I understand if you feel fear, or hesitation. But if we refuse — who else has the power to protect this world?”

Roland said nothing for a moment. In any negotiation, the correct move was to conceal difficulty, minimize risk, make the offer sound clean. Garcia had done none of that. She had laid out every danger with the matter-of-fact directness of someone who hadn’t thought to do otherwise. He understood, now, why so many Awakened chose to fight alone rather than sign on with the association.

Heroism was poor currency in this age. Most people placed their own lives first.

He had, too. Two months ago he had been calculating rewards and reputation, weighing the association’s value in purely practical terms. That calculation hadn’t vanished — but it had grown more complicated. As one of the creators of this world, he had questions the association couldn’t answer without him. The source of the mutation. The nature of the Erosion. The truth behind the Bloody Moon and whatever it was doing to both worlds.

He intended to find all of it. The association was simply the best door currently open.

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