Chapter 176: The Angel of Death

Chapter 176: The Angel of Death

The grey fog of Ciradyl’s industrial district slipped through the houses, smelling faintly of coal smoke and damp river mud.

Mo Fei, now dressed in a respectable charcoal-grey double-breasted suit with a crisp white collar and a polished silk top hat, walked with a slow step, lost in his thoughts.

The silver pocket watch in his vest pocket ticked as it attempted to remain reassuring in steadiness. In his left hand, he carried a piece of Chelsea bun, eating frequently with every few steps. His right arm, hidden beneath the fine wool of his sleeve, remained tightly bound in bandages, a dull, throbbing ache serving as a constant reminder.

At that moment... To the outside world, the terrifying detective Murphy Law may have vanished, and in his place walked an elegant, somewhat reserved gentleman of the middle class, but even within that, he was still the same person who used to focus on himself and cared only about surviving long enough to return.

What has truly changed? Perhaps the pursuit of power had taught him how easily a person can lose oneself... but watching others die trying had changed him in a way he hadn’t expected. Perhaps, sometimes losing himself wasn’t the only thing worth fearing, but it was also a terrifying thought.

Crunch!

He bit the Chelsea bun and took a carriage, moving through the street, remembering his day when he Ascended... six months back then, he was a university student who never had much time to spend on other things.

He didn’t have time now either, so what had caused him to let go of a bit of selfishness... was it the people who found him?

Mo Fei thought, his fingers tightening slightly around the cushion of the carriage.

After reaching the street where the organization was established. He turned down an alleyway lined with red-brick warehouses, eventually stopping before a three-story building that bore a tarnished brass sign.

This was the public front for the Midnight Wings.

Mo Fei adjusted his top hat, stepped up the stone stairs, and pushed the heavy door open. The familiar scent of aged parchment, black ink, and cheap tobacco greeted him, filled with the same burning scent of lantern oils.

Sitting behind the front reception desk was a young man with messy, dark brown hair that looked as though it hadn’t seen a comb in days. Today, he wore a slightly rumpled white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a loose black vest, and an unbuttoned collar. This was Lionel.

Hearing the door open, Lionel stopped casually tossing a brass coin into the air. He caught it, looked up, and let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh of relief. "Oh, thank the heavens. You’re finally back, Mr. Sherlock." Lionel spoke, leaning back in his chair and propping his boots right up on the polished wood of the desk.

He gave a lazy, charming smile that screamed of unbothered arrogance. "I was beginning to think I’d have to write a formal report to the Church stating my favorite contact had been eaten by a monster. Do you have any idea how tedious paperwork is?"

"The trip was... unusually turbulent, Mr. Lionel." Mo Fei replied, his voice dropping into a polite, guarded cadence. "I see you found time to enjoy some food in my absence."

"Ah, the bakery on Seventh Street. Their mutton pies are such a work of art." Lionel chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair. "The Captain is waiting for you upstairs. He’s been in a foul mood all morning. Old Bai accidentally knocked over a bottle of holy water while trying to converse with his deceased grandmother’s spirit. The captain’s hairline unfortunately receded faster by the minute."

Mo Fei rolled his eyes at his words but nodded slightly.

As Mo Fei turned toward the spiral staircase, Lionel’s voice drifted after him with the same annoying voice. "Be careful, my friend. The wind outside carries the scent of decaying lilies today..."

Mo Fei’s footsteps paused for a second. A warning? Or just Lionel’s usual dramatic flair? Although he didn’t answer and continued up the stairs.

The second floor was quiet, filled with rows of filing cabinets containing confidential intelligence reports. At the end of the hallway stood the heavy mahogany door of the office.

It was a different place. Last time when he visited the Midnight Wings’ headquarters, Benson was sitting in the basement office.

Mo Fei knocked a few times. "Come in." A deep, weary, yet deeply authoritative voice called out.

Mo Fei pushed the door open. Sitting behind a desk piled high with ledger books and official documents was Benson Helbert, the Head of the Midnight Wings.

Benson wore a meticulously pressed black coat today. He had a stern expression, carrying a profound sense of exhaustion and an unyielding, protective gravity. He was a man who stood as a shield between the ordinary citizens of Ciradyl and the madness of the occult.

Beside him, sitting on a stool and squinting through thick, gold-rimmed spectacles at a pile of ancient, yellowed papers, was Old Bai.

Old Bai was the squad’s senior expert. His white hair told his experience without needing words; his cuffs were stained with black ink. He was a veteran who had survived decades in the underground, and as a reminder for Ascended, it was a feat that usually meant one was either incredibly lucky or deeply unhinged to actually live that long.

"Sit, Mr. Sherlock." Benson called out, gesturing to the leather chair opposite him. He rubbed his temples, his voice carrying the weight of a captain who hadn’t slept in three days. "Lionel told me you were in a trip. Your spiritual frequency feels remarkably depleted. What happened out there? And your arm... you are covered in bandages."

Before Mo Fei could formulate a carefully filtered answer, Old Bai suddenly let out a wheezing gasp. The old man slammed his palm onto the desk, causing his spectacle to dangle wildly.

Mo Fei raised his hand toward Old Bai to ask what happened, but the old man stepped back and muttered. "No..."

Benson’s expression instantly sharpened, grounding Old Bai’s rising hysteria.

"Calm down, Old Bai. Take your medicine. What happened?" Benson asked softly but firmly. He turned his intense, protective gaze back to Mo Fei.

Old Bai chuckled nervously and answered with a soft murmur. "A roach entered my sleeve; my apologies."

Mo Fei maintained his calm exterior, though his mind was racing. He needed to extract information about the Angel, Aiziq, without revealing anything.

"I fell from a ship... on the hard ground..." He explained with his straight expression and sat down. "However... Upon returning to the Ciradyl port, I crossed paths with an individual who troubled my spirituality."

Benson leaned forward, his gloved hands intertwining on the desk. "Go on."

"He was a brown-toned man with long black hair, seeking directions to the Lakeview Institute of Arts. Though I don’t know his name, he wore a blindfold and casual clothes of a professional. His spiritual presence was extremely suffocating; as a low-ranked person like me, I couldn’t tell what he was."

Old Bai’s expression shifted slightly as he finally recalled it. "I may know about someone with this description."

"Who?"

"I have heard that a war occurred between Angel of Deaths for the highest position eighty years ago... one of them went to slumber after defeating three Ordinal Two Angels and one Ordinal Three Angel. Obtaining the true Embodiments of Gravewalker Authority." Old Bai walked toward one of the books in a wardrobe and put it on the table.

Benson glanced at the book, his weary expression remaining steady as he remembered. "The war... are you sure about Old Bai that he is truly Him?"

"Not sure..." He opened the book and began to read through the description. "The Angel of Death, in the Bible of Death, the Lord of the Underworld’s Chariot..."

Old Bai’s voice grew increasingly raspy, matching the brittle rustle of the turning pages. He traced a faded, silver-inked symbol of a cracked skull wrapped in vines. "According to the secret archives salvaged from the Kemetian Empire’s collapse 1200 years ago and after the divine war eighty years ago, the Victorious One, the Ruler of that empire, absorbed the fragmented Embodiment of his fallen brethren, falling into a chaotic, centuries-long slumber to resist the madness of the Eternal Choas. He was known as the Golden-Eyed Shadow, the Eternal Sleeper... His name is still unknown, but the description matches with yours."

Old Bai squinted through his gold-rimmed spectacles, shaking his head. "When an Angel awakens from a prolonged slumber, their humanity is often eroded by the remnants of the ancient deity’s will. They wander without purpose. They forget who they are..." Old Bai shuddered, hurriedly pulling a small amber vial from his vest and swallowing two blue pills. "Always keep the rule of Cosmos in mind. Things of the same source will always attract one another. Ciradyl will become a city of the dead overnight."

A rule... Mo Fei understood what it meant. Things with the same source would be too close to its source.

Benson stood up abruptly, his black coat cutting a silhouette against the gas-lit office. The fatigue in his eyes was replaced by the cold resolution of a Midnight Wings protector.

"Mr. Sherlock, your report is invaluable. If a high-ordinal entity is indeed wandering the Lakeview streets, this matter exceeds the jurisdiction of the Midnight Wings. I must immediately contact the local Diocese and request a Sealed Artifact to monitor the area."

Benson looked deeply at Mo Fei, his gaze lingering on the tightly bound bandages on his left arm. "For now... Your spiritual frequency is dangerously close to collapsing. Please, ensure you go home safely, consume your soothing medicines, and pray to the Great Mother."

"Wait, Captain..." Mo Fei called out, slowly standing up and looking directly in his eyes. "Please, I would like to meet Him first alone."