The weak door lock couldn’t stop the cultists of the Calamity Corpse Sect.
With a simple touch from his mutated black hand, No. 2 shattered the lock cylinder.
A sticky, wet liquid clung to the doorknob and was quickly air-dried by the cold, turning into a strange layer like dehydrated... human skin?
If Feng Mu were here, he might recognize that wet liquid as the corpse oil shed when Calamity Corpses are burned.
"Are you sure the target lives in this room?"
The receiver pushed open the bedroom door, observing the room for a while, frowning slightly.
The dust on the desk suggested there used to be a computer there, and the clothes in the wardrobe were pushed aside, indicating that other things were originally piled inside but are now missing.
The receiver crouched down suspiciously and pulled out a rusty iron nail from the corner of the wardrobe.
He compared the rusty nail to the wardrobe, finding the size didn’t match at all.
Seeing the rusty iron nail in the receiver’s hand, No. 2 suddenly recalled sothing. Although he felt it was just a quirk of the target and not important, so he didn’t note it down.
But seeing the receiver’s puzzled expression, No. 2 considered whether he should ntion the target’s quirk after all.
One minute later.
The receiver figured out where the rusty iron nail ca from, feeling even more puzzled: "Liking to touch iron, what a peculiar habit!"
Admittedly, it might just be a peculiar habit. In these stressful tis, various strange habits can be understood.
Besides, as a cultist, the receiver’s perspective transcended common worldly views. He had seen plenty who liked to touch corpses, let alone iron.
In the receiver’s understanding, a quirk is an uncontrollable illness.
For example, No. 2 couldn’t help playing with ants, and the Left Priest in the cult had to sleep holding a corpse; these were uncontrollable. Trying to forcibly control or stop them might pause it for a while, but would surely result in a stronger rebound afterward.
For example, playing with ants might rebound to eating ants, and sleeping with a corpse might rebound to sleeping with a rotting corpse.
Of course, these weren’t really issues; only...
"Although the Black Core looks like a cracked stone or sothing like a fruit kernel, many in the cult also think so, but actually..."
"Once, when I was delivering sothing to the lab, I accidentally stumbled across the component analysis of the Black Core, and found the main component was iron, so the Black Core should be classified as an iron tal!!!"
The receiver’s pupils contracted as he mumbled,
"Since he likes touching iron, then he should also like touching the Black Core, right?"
The receiver jumped up, as if a lightning bolt crossed his mind, pacing around for a few seconds, his face changing several tis.
Suddenly, he turned his head and stared intently at No. 2, asking a question, "What was Feng Mu’s emotion when selling you the Black Core?"
Seeing No. 2 didn’t understand, the receiver added, "I an, after you gave him the money and took the Black Core, did he show any reluctance, anger, or restlessness?"
While speaking, the receiver suddenly grabbed the ant stick from No. 2’s hand, whose pupils instantly shrank to pinpoints, his expression freezing, showing intense emotional fluctuation in his eyes.
"Like the emotion you’re showing now," the receiver explained.
No. 2 struggled to look away from the receiver’s hand, replying hoarsely, "No."
The receiver pressed on, "Not even a hint?"
No. 2’s mory was good, though his mind wasn’t, and he replied, "No, he took the money, smiled, happy."
The receiver pondered briefly, then handed the ant stick back to No. 2, who quickly clutched it.
The receiver toyed with the rusty nail in his hand, scratching it back and forth on the desk’s surface, drawing a lopsided stick figure.
His grotesque face twisted into a chilling smile: "Wrong, it’s all wrong, hehehehe—turns out the answer was at the very beginning!"
"An ordinary cremator, hehehehe—fooled everyone, no, no, I shouldn’t underestimate a cremator."
"After all, many people’s identities are disguised, like Zhang Hao, who seems like just a black-market trader on the surface, while I appear to be rely a truck driver, hehehehe—"
As for a cremator, a bottom-level Blank Person, where did they get the power to kill and rob? Yet, that beca irrelevant.
In this city, or rather, in Lower City’s world, the glowing facade conceals darkness and mystery lurking everywhere.
Mutations, evil sacrifices, infections, parasitism, evil paths, corruption... these things are like devils hiding in everyone’s shadow, ready to grab your ankle and drag you down.
When you finally crawl out, who can really see what you’ve beco?
After all, turning on the light can only illuminate the dark but can’t dispel it; a world without the Sun is an exiled, eternal black abyss.
No. 2 couldn’t understand what the receiver was muttering about, but he comprehended the other’s unusually excited expression and the desire to kill soone.
So he stamred, "W-w-what’s wrong?"
The receiver’s laughter was hoarse: "Feng Mu is the La Monster, they are the sa person!"
No. 2 seed struck by lightning, standing frozen in astonishnt, shaking his head forcefully: "No, no way, two people, Zhang Hao..."
The receiver cut No. 2’s words off impatiently, interrupting his foolish doubt: "You were deceived, Zhang Hao was deceived, you were all tricked by Feng Mu."
"The La Monster was sothing you heard from Feng Mu, the text ssage was seen on Feng Mu’s phone, even the confirmation from the crematorium’s security only indicated Feng Mu being taken away by thugs."
"But from beginning to end, you have never actually seen the La Monster, have you?"
No. 2 was dumbfounded, his brain heating up from overworking.
The receiver, too lazy to explain further, confidently declared: "It’s all deception, an illusion, from the start it was just Feng Mu, just him alone, he is the La Monster, and our Black Core is with him."
No. 2 gave up on thinking, choosing to trust the receiver’s judgnt, gritting his teeth: "Liar, damn it, chop him up, gouge his eyes out, kill, I’ll do it!"
The receiver was pleased, patting No. 2 on the shoulder: "He’s moved and hidden. We must find him first."
"Where to?" No. 2 spoke while realizing only now that Feng Mu no longer lived here, preparing to leave.
The receiver stopped No. 2’s rashness, turned off the light, gesturing for No. 2 to sit with him on the bed.
In the dark room, the eerie voice echoed throughout.
"Don’t rush, let’s wait; he moved out, but his family still lives here."
"If we can’t find him, we’ll use his family’s lives as interest for the stolen Black Core, heh—"
"Let’s wait quietly for his family to return, shh, don’t make a sound!"
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