Belle sent a message saying that she had given Grandpa Rhode a copy of the recording, and the old man was overjoyed, even asking her to help take a photo of him in front of the Hollow.
Most importantly, Mr. Rhode had already agreed to make his granddaughters' final recording public. Even if this meant his quiet life would be shattered, his granddaughters' reputations would finally be restored.
Ignis forwarded the message to Nicole, and the leader of the Cunning Hares replied with a simple "no problem" sticker.
"Rain will upload the prepared video soon. Just wait and watch."
The Salamander leaned against the outer wall of the truck's cargo bed and let out a sigh.
To be honest, he disliked Nicole's approach. She tore open an old man's wounds and displayed them raw and bleeding before the public, all to seize absolute advantage in public opinion. Yet he also understood that this method was the most effective—capable of destroying a company's commercial credibility and inciting widespread boycotts against both the artists it represented and the products they endorsed. Once such a wave began, no matter how thick their skin or how hard their knees, they would have no choice but to apologize and pay compensation to salvage what little reputation remained.
But now that Grandpa Rhode himself had agreed, there was nothing more to say.
The Salamander glanced toward the intersection. The person he was waiting for still hadn't appeared. Strange—it was already past the agreed time.
He opened KnockKnock. The mouse avatar had sent him a long list of supplies late last night, along with a meeting location. The Salamander found that location deeply unpleasant—it was on the infamous Fourteenth Street in the Janus Quarter, tucked away in a dead-end alley that was all but invisible.
Because everything had been so sudden, Ignis couldn't find a driver willing to bring him here and then leave on their own. In the end, he had dragged Billy in as a substitute. Fortunately, the robot was a true homie—he didn't ask what all these supplies were for or why they were coming here. He simply drove him over and left as instructed.
Several groups had already cast curious looks in this direction. A fully loaded truck, no driver, and only a single giant standing guard—on Fourteenth Street, where gangs were everywhere, that was enough to spark plenty of bold ideas.
Yet Ignis's imposing physique and calm, almost gentle expression kept most people at a distance. Still, after sitting here all morning as if in open provocation, he had clearly drawn the attention of several larger factions. The Salamander had no desire to clash with the local gangs, but with dozens of people already gathering, it seemed they were just waiting for a leader's signal.
Not wanting trouble, the Salamander simply went back to scrolling through his phone. Rain's edited video quickly caught the attention of netizens. In the days prior, the hired commenters she'd deployed had already stirred curiosity about the accident from two years ago. Rain's video itself was simple: it showed the old man working two jobs, described how he had lost his granddaughters, and laid out the fact that a predatory agency had demanded breach-of-contract payments from him. At the end, it played the sisters' recordings—both the ones where they guided others to escape, and the final message they left for Grandpa Rhode before being consumed by the Hollow.
Although part of the traction came from Rain's hired accounts, the video still went viral at astonishing speed. Nicole had gambled correctly. Her attempt to steer public emotion was a complete success; before long, the trending topics were flooded with content related to this video. A major corporation oppressing an ordinary citizen—worse, the only surviving relative of two heroes—ignited public outrage instantly.
Within minutes, news broke that Nicole herself was giving an interview. The pink-haired woman spoke eloquently before the media, demanding that the Ballet Twins' Agency return the breach-of-contract payments fraudulently taken from Grandpa Rhode over the past two years, pay additional compensation, and restore the reputations of Augilia and Augetta. The cunning rabbit even shed tears on camera, recounting in detail how painful the old man's life had been these past two years, how deeply he missed his granddaughters, and how the greedy agency had squeezed him dry, circling him relentlessly and stripping him to the bone.
The leader of the Cunning Hares called out to the public, declaring that heroes must not be made to bleed and weep, nor should their only surviving family member be harmed by unscrupulous corporations. She further announced that the Cunning Hares had received Mr. Rhode's authorization and would help him reclaim all the money and honor that rightfully belonged to him.
Nicole Demara—you really are a born liar, a true performance artist.
Watching Nicole on screen in formal attire, solemn and righteous, the Salamander nearly laughed out loud. Just last night, after calculating the compensation and her own share of the profits, she had been so delighted she almost fell off the couch.
This woman truly had too many faces. Fortunately, she wasn't an enemy—but his… family?
As the Salamander pondered whether Nicole counted as a friend or something closer, his Lyman's Ear caught the sound of approaching footsteps.
In a flash, the giant drew the lever-action shotgun from behind his waist. Click. The trigger guard snapped into battery. The gang members trying to approach froze in place. They had intended to rely on numbers to seize the truck's cargo from this lone giant—never imagining he was carrying something that looked less like a gun and more like… a cannon.
Gangs did have firearms, but something of this caliber was beyond anything they'd seen. Even the leader was momentarily stunned.
"I'll say this once," Ignis said calmly. "Get out of my sight, or be prepared to turn into charcoal."
Bang. The Salamander pulled the trigger. Burning ether fuel and steel shot carpeted the ground, making it painfully clear that the massive bore was no toy. Ignis slowly worked the lever; the extractor spat out a shell casing modified from an autocannon round, and the feed spring chambered another.
The warning couldn't have been clearer. Gangs excelled at bullying the weak and fearing the strong, and this giant was clearly not someone they could afford to provoke. He had even shown restraint by not firing directly at them.
The leader raised his hands toward the Salamander hurriedly and quickly led his pale, trembling men away.
Ignis watched them leave. No one dared linger at the intersection anymore, yet irritation gnawed at him. He hated this place. Where exactly had Jane gone? She had never missed an appointment before—why was she so late today?
Could she be in danger?
There were rumors among the Blood God's followers of a fallen Space Marine Warlord—Dominus Invictus—whose helmet could pierce all disguises and lies. Could it be that this Rat Thiren using a false name had been exposed by Khorne's foul sorcery and already killed? And that the one messaging him now was actually Razor, setting up an ambush?
The thought made the Salamander break into a cold sweat. He wasn't wearing power armor. Even with a Thunder Hammer and a Storm Bolter, facing a Bloodletter would be questionable at best. Still, he didn't want to abandon this opportunity so easily.
He decided to wait another thirty minutes. If Jane still didn't appear by then, he would leave on his own.
The Salamander fully unfolded his superhuman senses, remaining alert to every fluctuation around him. Bloodletters rarely moved quietly—these daemons of Khorne loved to roar on the battlefield, proclaiming their arrival before plunging into a frenzy of slaughter.
Yet what he heard in the end was a set of familiar footsteps.
The woman slipped out from a narrow alleyway, dressed in a tight-fitting outfit that clung to her already striking figure. Heavy makeup covered her face, her nails meticulously done, and she swayed as she walked toward Ignis—looking exactly like a fallen woman of the district.
She said nothing, pulling open the cargo bay door and slipping inside, then curling a finger at Ignis in a silent beckon. The Salamander couldn't make sense of what she was playing at, but followed her in anyway.
The moment Ignis entered the truck, Jane pulled the door shut. Darkness swallowed the space. There was barely any room left inside; The Salamander could only sit pressed up against her.
"Sorry I'm late." She wrapped her arms around the Salamander's arm, just like those women really did. Ignis tried to pull free, but the cargo bay was packed to the brim—there was no room to move. Without hurting her, it was impossible to withdraw his arm.
"I've got the goods. When are you leaving?" Despite Jane clinging to him with an air of dependence, Ignis did not let his guard down.
This woman was far too cunning. He had no idea what she was plotting.
"Don't rush. If I step out too quickly, you'll become famous on Fourteenth Street," she teased softly, rubbing herself against his arm.
That's not right. Razor was supposed to be corrupted by Khorne—had this Thiren been turned by Slaanesh instead? But the sacred mark on Ignis's cheek gave no response. That meant this farce was entirely her own idea, without the taint of any Chaos God.
"Huh? Then should I start moving my hips and make the cargo bay rock?" Ignis said flatly, already irritated.
"Mmm, that's not a bad idea," Jane laughed lightly. "Didn't expect you to joke around too."
"Why choose this place? It's not safe." The Salamander steered the conversation away—if he didn't, this woman would keep pushing.
"Oh dear, you've gone boring again. Is everything in your eyes strictly business?" She put on a clumsy show of regret, but her grip didn't loosen. "It's because the Mountain Lion Gang has been stirring up too much trouble lately. They've drawn too much attention. Only here do the Public Security and the Defense Force have the fewest eyes."
"Tell me. What have they done this time?"
"They attacked several research facilities and outposts inside Hollow Zero. Took over a hundred hostages," Jane Doe's voice turned serious. "They also hit Markus's armory and got their hands on a massive stockpile of weapons, including a considerable number of autonomous tactical mechs."
"What about the hostages? Did Razor and his honor guard do anything… unusual?" The Son of Vulkan needed to know if sacrifices had already begun.
"…Yes." Jane Doe took a deep breath. "They're conducting some kind of religious ritual…"
"I saw Razor myself—or the thing calling itself Razor. Flames erupted from his hands, without any tools at all, burning several people's heads down to bare skulls. His honor guard divided the hostages into groups of eight, drove them into rooms marked with strange symbols, then beheaded them, letting the blood flow into a pool at the center. The selected guards smeared themselves with that blood."
Her breathing grew rapid, her chest heaving. Ignis could feel her fear.
"And then… one of the honor guards started mutating. He turned into something… similar to Razor."
"How many completed the transformation?" Ignis raised his other hand and gently stroked Jane Doe's head, easing her tension.
"Twenty or thirty… They're planning to attack more outposts. Once all the honor guard have been converted, they'll launch an assault on New Eridu. They're still holding over a hundred hostages, supposedly waiting for some kind of… 'tide.'" Jane Doe recalled the scene—heads scattered everywhere, pools filled with blood.
Even as a criminology expert who had infiltrated countless criminal organizations, she had never witnessed such brutality. This went far beyond the Public Security's classification of the Mountain Lion Gang as a violent syndicate. This should be called… a cult.
And yet their ritual actually caused mutation. New Eridu's history recorded religions, but nothing like this. It was completely beyond her understanding, plunging her into fear. She dared not tell the New Eridu Public Security—this rational city would never believe her. And if an arrest operation were launched now, she knew it would turn into a one-sided massacre.
Those mutated things could kill higher-tier Ethereals head-on. Not every officer could survive facing them.
"I gave you the location. When are you moving?" Jane looked at The Salamander. She could no longer endure the stench of blood permeating the lion's den, nor the piles of skulls stacked outside. These days, the master of disguise had been tormented by fear, unable even to sleep. She feared the day Razor might summon her to one of those blood-soaked rituals—feared becoming a monster herself.
"The hacker is decrypting the data disc. The moment it's done, I'll move," The Salamander said calmly. He guided the Emperor's psychic presence to soothe her emotions. "Markus will send people to support us. Rest assured. Razor and his warp-spawn won't escape."
Exhausted by prolonged tension and sleeplessness, Jane Doe's body had already reached its limit. In the dark, secure space, the accumulated drowsiness surged all at once. She felt a warm force flow into her mind, relaxing her completely.
"You have to hurry… there isn't much time…"
Jane Doe's consciousness sank into darkness. She clutched the Salamander's arm tightly and fell asleep against him.
In the dark, Ignis did not move, maintaining the same posture. He now understood what the Thiren had been through—so he let her rest a while longer.
The only problem was that her disguise today used cheap perfume. In such a cramped space, the scent was sharp enough to make the Salamander's nose itch.
===BREAK===
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