Chapter Forty-Six: Someone Must Take the First Step

In a haze, he recalled distant memories.

In his previous life, he had worked in a similar line of duty: not confronting the supernatural and the bizarre, but facing ruthless and dangerous criminals. In the end, his identity as an undercover agent was exposed, and he died heroically in a struggle with the criminals.

On his deathbed, as he looked back on his past, he felt no regrets.

When he first joined the force, his mentor, assigned to him by the department, took him on his very first day to attend a colleague’s funeral—a colleague who, it was said, had been ambushed in a rented apartment in a border city, stabbed three times in the back by a fugitive, and died in the line of duty despite all efforts to save him.

He had been mentally prepared for the high fatality rate of the profession during his years of study, but witnessing the deceased’s wife clutching the coffin and wailing in agony at the funeral still shook him to his core and filled him with grief.

Perhaps seeking solace, he had subconsciously asked his mentor:

“Since you knew how dangerous this job was, why did you choose it in the first place?”

“No matter how perilous the task, someone must do it,” his mentor replied, gazing at the coffin and the widow who seemed on the verge of fainting from grief. “If we don’t, then who will?”

His mentor was a chain-smoker, never seen without a cigarette. Yet, from the moment they entered the funeral hall, the cigarette lit between his fingers remained untouched.

And that sentence, he remembered for the rest of his life.

Coming to this world and becoming an agent of Section Six, walking at the very frontlines against the mysterious, fighting against madness, aberrations, lower races, and the wills of deities, was not merely for a living, but because of the conviction rooted in his previous life.

His sister, Rinna Tsukimiya, and countless others—those he knew and those he did not, even the two billion citizens of the entire Far North Metropolitan Circle—had now been marked for vengeance by the witch, their fate hanging on the precipice of darkness and death.

I must save them.

I never considered myself a hero; I am but an ordinary, insignificant person. I stepped forward not out of glory, but because if I did not act, no one would.

Chen Zi’ang opened his eyes on the bed, his first reflex to reach for the Mandragora Sword at his side.

But instead of the hilt, his hand met the soft, springy skin of a thigh.

“Senpai, you’re awake?” Rinna Tsukimiya asked in surprise.

Chen Zi’ang withdrew his hand quickly and, somewhat embarrassed, asked, “Sorry… Where am I? How long was I unconscious?”

Glancing around, he quickly realized he was in a room at the hot spring inn. Outside, a blizzard howled, snow lashing at the window panes.

“I brought you back to the inn,” Rinna replied softly, entirely unbothered by sharing a bed with her senior. “You weren’t out for long—less than two hours.”

She handed him his phone, which displayed the time: 3 a.m.

“What about the witch?” Chen Zi’ang asked gravely. “And the ghouls?”

“The witch escaped,” Rinna replied. “The nightmares are chasing her, but it doesn’t look promising.”

“Some of the ghouls were killed; the rest fled into the underground mines.”

Nightmares? Rinna recognized these lower races from Enlank Ancient City? No, that wasn’t the point now. What mattered was the witch, Miyue Nishikawa’s whereabouts…

As Chen Zi’ang tried to sit up, someone pushed the door open—it was Intelligence Officer Riko Suikaze.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she said in surprise, then, with a meaningful look, continued, “Instead of the witch and the ghouls, shouldn’t we discuss those nightmares and where they came from?”

“These nightmares aren’t under my control,” Chen Zi’ang replied after a pause, carefully choosing his words. “They’re mortal enemies of the ghouls.”

“They took the divine relic,” Riko said sternly. “You’d better make sure your information is accurate, otherwise, if something like that falls into the hands of other lower races with ulterior motives, this incident will take on a very different character.”

Chen Zi’ang was silent for a moment, then said, “I’m confident.”

The Ghoul King had killed him through the relic, but the Lord of the Abyss brought him back to life. The two deities were indeed sworn enemies.

He had prayed to the Lord of the Abyss through the Shadow Cloak, and the ones who came to his aid were the Nightmares from the Enlank Ancient City. They were, without doubt, the Lord of the Abyss’s followers.

This wasn’t hearsay but events that had truly occurred, so his deductions were well-founded.

The relic of the Ghoul King, now in the hands of the Nightmares, was effectively under the Lord of the Abyss’s control. Whether it was destroyed or used for some other purpose, it no longer concerned the Far North City.

“Good,” Riko didn’t press further but said, “Then next, we need to coordinate our stories.”

“Our stories?”

“You don’t think the Public Security Bureau would be oblivious to such a major incident, do you?” Riko retorted.

“In fact, the section chief just called,” Rinna added. “They’re sending more agents to Hiyori Town as we speak.”

“At the bus terminal, we purchased tickets to Hiyori Town,” Riko said seriously. “The time and bus number are all recorded—there’s no hiding that. The Oversight Department will definitely find out.”

“How about this: We say we came to Hiyori for the hot springs and just happened to run into the witch, Miyue Nishikawa, and her ritual?” Rinna suggested. “And then we stopped her?”

“That won’t work,” Riko vetoed.

“Why not?” Rinna asked.

“Because no one would believe Riko would come all the way here for a hot spring,” Chen Zi’ang said helplessly. “Everyone knows she’s interested only in matters related to the supernatural.”

“There’s no need to hide the first half of the incident,” Riko continued. “The main participants—Naoya Yasui and your detective agency boss—are both reliable witnesses.”

“But the second half—how we stopped the anomaly—needs to be handled very carefully,” she added, her meaning clear.

Chen Zi’ang nodded solemnly; he completely understood.

He hadn’t brought a body camera, and while Riko had surveillance equipment, she was knocked unconscious midway by Nishikawa, who was disguised as the innkeeper. Thus, nothing useful was recorded.

In other words, there was no evidence for what had transpired—only the testimonies of Chen Zi’ang and Rinna Tsukimiya. Such reports would never pass the Oversight Department’s scrutiny.

The parts involving the Ghoul King and Nishikawa did not need to be concealed—the Public Security Bureau needed to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

But the Nightmares must not be mentioned—otherwise, Masami Majima would seize the opportunity, perhaps even accuse Chen Zi’ang of colluding with lower races or being contaminated, and demand he prove his innocence. Voluntarily raising this would be asking for trouble.

Thus, what happened to the divine relic—namely, the old book brought by Naoya Yasui—required a “reasonable and uncontroversial” explanation.

Riko’s question about his confidence wasn’t just about the Nightmares’ loyalties; she was also asking whether the old book could be discreetly resolved. As long as the matter itself had a clear and conclusive outcome, the official report could be tailored accordingly.

“Don’t worry,” Rinna said suddenly. “Even if Masami Majima wants to make a big fuss, Eikensuke Baba will suppress it.”

“How do you know?” Chen Zi’ang asked in surprise.

“While you were unconscious, Baba was worried the section lacked the manpower to handle the anomaly, so he called to end our suspension and asked us to help,” Rinna replied with a cold laugh. “Now, after the fact, he’ll be even less likely to investigate—”

“Because that would undermine his authority!” Chen Zi’ang was struck by inspiration. “If we resolve the incident and earn credit for it, Baba can use the opportunity to rescind the original suspension order, and everyone will find it perfectly reasonable. No one will question it.”

“But if he then turns around and launches an investigation, people will think he’s ungrateful and cannot be trusted!”

“Baba is already called ‘that big idiot’ behind his back—would he really care about being called untrustworthy?” Riko said skeptically.

“He would,” Rinna replied with a smile.

Even if Eikensuke Baba didn’t care about his reputation within the Bureau, he could not ignore how the Security Committee’s higher-ups might view him if word of this reached them.

And as for whether the matter would reach the Security Committee… If he doubted that, then he clearly didn’t know the true power of the Tsukimiya family’s eldest daughter.