Buzz—
Accompanied by the distortion of space.
In the Night Doctor outpost outside the city, Sir Aiwen, his entire body emitting a green glow, appeared in the open space with the unconscious Lynn and the battered Hei Xianyue.
"Sir Aiwen?! Lynn?!"
The mont he saw the spatial fluctuation, White Night imdiately rushed over swiftly, knowing it was Sir Aiwen's return.
And he imdiately saw the unconscious young man and the Miss Puppet supporting him.
"What on earth happened..."
White Night and the surrounding Night Doctors were all greatly shocked.
Sir Aiwen slowly put on his gloves, focusing intently as he said, "Don't worry, he just fainted from exhaustion. He'll be fine after so rest. The main concern is this young lady; her injuries are severe and she needs treatnt as soon as possible."
Hei Xianyue calmly supported the unconscious Lynn, turned her head, her sidelong glance reflecting Lynn's unconscious face. After pausing quietly for a few seconds, she gently shook her head.
"No need. I will take care of him until he wakes up."
She said softly.
She then politely declined the assistance offered by the surrounding Night Doctors, stubbornly supporting Lynn as she staggered towards the direction of the tents.
Her retreating figure carried a kind of stubborn obstinacy.
It seed that, apart from her employer, she harbored a subtle rejection towards everyone else.
But everyone still anxiously crowded around, accompanying them all the way to a temporarily set-up ward, placing him on the sickbed. Several professional Night Doctors imdiately began diagnosing Lynn.
"The body is sowhat weak, ntal energy is completely depleted. Aside from so superficial wounds, there's nothing seriously wrong."
"But there are intense curse fluctuations within his body, all seemingly mind-affecting thought curses. However, their impact on vital signs doesn't appear significant."
Several professional Night Doctors seriously began suppressing the curses within Lynn's body.
But clearly, the effect wasn't very good.
White Night frowned, looking at Lynn's sowhat pale face lying on the sickbed. His fingers clenched with a crackling sound, and a hint of anger flickered in his eyes.
Although he didn't know the specifics of what happened, seeing his only clansman in such a state, how could he not be angry?
"Sir Aiwen."
He turned and left the tent, looking solemnly at the floating ghost, frowning as he asked:
"What exactly happened? Lynn... how did he get injured like this?"
Sir Aiwen floated above the ground, looked up at the chaotic black mist in the sky above the Cursed City, rubbed his temples, a trace of bitter smile and sigh appearing at the corner of his mouth as he said:
"What if I told you he almost killed the God of All Machines, would you believe it?"
White Night was instantly shocked.
He thought Sir Aiwen was joking with him, but when he looked at his expression, there wasn't the slightest hint of playfulness on his face.
It was as if he was truly stating sothing that had happened.
White Night was imdiately shocked and horrified.
This felt even more absurd to him than hearing the sky had fallen, because what was the God of All Machines?! That was the Sovereign of the chanical Cult, a supre Root-level existence!
How could Lynn possibly...
Sir Aiwen raised his head, with a certain inexplicable emotion, slowly saying:
"Do you rember that summoning magic circle I gave you?"
White Night nodded, looking towards the formation he had previously inscribed on the open ground to summon Lynn, frowning. Because earlier, he had felt that for Lynn's current rank, possessing such a complex magic circle was clearly a very unreasonable and bizarre thing.
"Right, Sir Aiwen, this is also sothing I wanted to discuss with you. Earlier, we had already inscribed that magic circle according to your command, but during the summoning... an accident occurred."
The summoning failed.
He wasn't clear about the exact situation.
That magic circle just kept glowing, the targeting incantation was completely correct, and it devoured the massive amounts of resources and offerings they had prepared in advance.
But that magic circle was like a bottomless pit, consuming a colossal amount of materials, yet showing no reaction.
Only after their materials were completely exhausted.
Did that magic circle slowly lose its radiance.
Sir Aiwen's gaze flickered slightly, saying softly, "When did this happen?"
White Night frowned, saying, "About ten minutes ago."
"Ten minutes ago..." Sir Aiwen raised his head, the light screen he had seen in the Cursed City at that ti, the spreading purple magic circle, appearing in his eyes.
And the ti that light screen dimd coincidentally matched exactly with the ti this summoning magic circle failed.
Without a doubt.
There must be so connection between the two that they don't yet understand.
It's even highly possible.
That the appearance of this summoning magic circle inadvertently triggered so mysterious chanism, which caused Lynn to briefly enter that abnormal state.
The vague figure he had seen in the light screen once again surfaced in his pupils.
His wrist trembled slightly.
He had actually arrived on the scene at that ti, but the mont that light screen lit up, even he was stunned in place, because even he had never felt such an overwhelming aura.
He felt a tremor.
Was that Lynn?
Or rather.
If that complete version of the Violet magic circle were used for summoning, what kind of existence would be summoned?
He didn't dare to think.
He only knew that after he reversely deduced that magic circle from him, he vaguely felt that sothing seed to be starting to turn, bit by bit, under the pull of fate.
For so reason, he suddenly thought of an ancient fairy tale that was widely circulated during the early days of their civilization.
[If this winter lasts too long, will you be afraid?]
[If this winter lasts so long that it can never pass in a lifeti, so long that you can never see the dawn of spring, will you be terrified?]
[No, I won't.]
[Because, you see.]
[No winter is so long that it cannot pass.]
[Because there will always be a crow that quietly descends on a winter night, and gently leaves when it brings us the first warm breeze.]
[It always holds a torch, watches over our years, and treats us with gentleness.]
...
anwhile, on a wasteland thousands of kiloters away.
"Drip—drip—ding-da—"
On the desolate plain, a music box gently played a light, cheerful, and lingering lody.
It was placed on a large rock. The music box was very ancient and simple. Inside the opened box, a red-and-white-clad, comical clown puppet rhythmically turned a small chanical crank in its hand in ti with the music playing inside the music box.
Eerie and exquisite.
The clown's comical smile and chanical movents inside the music box seed exceptionally incongruous with the lodious music.
No.
A music box placed in a desolate, uninhabited wasteland itself gave people an extrely absurd and bizarre feeling.
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