The operation began faster than Bologue had anticipated. Just the day after Bologue inford Palr of his intention to join the Suicide Squad, a phone call from Geoffrey awoke him. The matter was urgent, and by the crack of dawn, Bologue and Palr were already fully ard and aboard the subway.
Inside the Order Bureau’s exclusive ard subway, the swaying car was occupied only by Bologue and Palr. The atmosphere was sowhat quiet as both were busy checking their weapons to ensure they were in peak condition.
Palr first polished his Storm Feather, an alchemy armant from Fuen, which was currently his primary weapon. Next was the revolver nad Thunderclap that had been with Palr for a long ti, complented by expensive alchemy warheads.
In the past, to save on expenses, Palr would only carry a small number of alchemy warheads. However, this ti, he seed to empty his pockets, carrying only deadly alchemy warheads.
Aside from these two regular weapons, Palr had sothing new— a tourniquet on his wrist, which looked sowhat worn out, exuding a lingering scent, like a mix of blood and disinfectant.
A dice pendant was attached to the tourniquet.
Since visiting the Joyful Garden, Bologue had been averse to such things, but Palr couldn’t get enough of them.
"Punk decoration?" Bologue asked, knowing Palr’s penchant for such niche items.
"No, it’s a Contract Object," Palr replied nonchalantly.
Bologue gave Palr an extra glance.
"Distributed by the Order Bureau. I’ve seen it on the list for a long ti, but I didn’t have enough rit to apply for it back then. Later... I felt there was no need, until now."
"What’s its ability?"
"Very simple. Roll the dice, and it distorts reality according to the value rolled. The higher the number, the luckier; the lower the number, the unluckier."
Palr raised his hand, shaking the dice before Bologue, "This thing suits my Blessing well."
"You’re a thoroughbred gambler now," Bologue comnted simply, not giving much opinion on Palr or the Contract Object.
"We’re all gamblers, putting our lives on the line, only nobody admits it," Palr muttered, "For so supposed dignity... like in gangster movies, killing is just killing, making it elegant is just pretentious."
Bologue felt that Palr had matured a lot through this experience.
He said softly, "Either win or lose."
"I will keep winning," Palr insisted.
"You’ll have a day when you lose everything."
"The day I lose is the day I die. I know it well... everyone has a death day," Palr covered the tourniquet with his sleeve, concealing the dice, "But you won’t die. Even if you lose, it’s only temporary. You’ll win it back."
"But losing doesn’t feel good," Bologue nodded, "Let’s hope we keep winning."
The tremor of the carriage subsided, and they reached their destination. The casual atmosphere completely faded away, and they tensed up entirely.
Palr instinctively placed his hand on the grip of his gun at his waist, maintaining high alert, ready to draw his revolver or throw a flying knife in case of ergency.
Bologue did the sa, one hand on the hilt of his sword at his waist, the other lightly resting on the axe handle protruding from behind.
Eternal Bite emitted a cold tallic chill, while the wooden handle of the Hand Axe gave off an eerie warmth, as if a fire quietly burned, waiting to be soaked in blood.
The murky air of the Great Rift filled his nostrils, and Bologue thought, soon the space would be heavy with the scent of blood.
A few minutes later, Bologue and Palr arrived at the eting point.
Bologue suspected he had gone to the wrong place.
Fog billowed around, rusty aerial corridors vaguely visible. This place, ant to have a decayed and lifeless atmosphere, unexpectedly had a red carpet laid on the desolate, muddy ground.
Tables covered with white cloth sat on the red carpet, topped with desserts, wine, and burning candelabras.
Bologue wondered if he was here to fight or attend an open-air banquet.
Looking around, others were already present, making Bologue and Palr appear late.
Off to the side of the open-air banquet stood a group prepared for battle, incongruous and ready for action. Bologue first saw Lebius and Geoffrey, then he noticed a man in red light armor with a smile on his face, holding a goblet.
Everyone was in a battle-ready posture except him, who, despite wearing armor, behaved whimsically as though intoxicated. It was a private party for him. It was Bologue’s first ti seeing this stranger, but he instantly recognized him by his back.
The Sixth Seat: Red Dog.
Red Dog seed to notice sothing, turned his head, and saw Bologue and Palr. After a brief glance, he happily raised his glass, "I rember those two faces, they’re your team mbers, right?"
Lebius did not respond.
Bologue was aware of the animosity between Lebius and Red Dog, surprised by Lebius’s calm deanor. But recalling their conversation on the street, Bologue thought that Lebius’s current composure was instead indicative of an approaching storm.
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