Endless Debt-Chapter 833 - 273: The Bird in Flight

Bologue leaned on the Grudge Bite, gradually straightening his body filled with fatigue and pain. Surrounding him were daisies with an orange-red glow, swaying gently in the breeze, creating a soothing rustling sound. Some petals were lifted by the wind, floating into the air like countless fireflies dancing around him.

Scattered gunshots rang out as the hunters hunted down the remaining demons. It wouldn’t be long before they would completely clear the place. Thinking of this, Bologue’s gaze chased the figure that had helped him. At the edge of the sea of flowers, he managed to spot the departing hunter.

Bologue guessed he must be a character from "The Night Hunter," never expecting that one day he would be fighting alongside a character from the book.

Transcending time and space, transcending the barriers of reality and illusion.

The hunter picked up his sword. As if sensing Bologue’s gaze, he turned around and waved at him. He was also curious why this person had a sword just like his, but he had other matters to attend to. Without delay, he continued forward, heading toward the Dawn.

Bologue wanted to catch up with him. The intersection of reality and story excited him greatly, but soon he realized he too had things to do. The hunter had to take care of his friends, and likewise, Bologue had his own friends who needed assistance.

Traversing the luminous sea of flowers, Bologue found Aimou in a cold crater. This time, instead of simply carrying Aimou like cargo, Bologue held her in his arms. Bologue felt it was nothing, as Aimou had helped him a lot, and treating her seriously was no issue. However, Aimou was somewhat embarrassed, fortunately able to control her expression due to her Steel Body.

On the journey ahead, Bologue felt much lighter, the burden on his heart disappearing. Each step carried a sense of lightness. He crossed the corpse-laden ruins and found Palmer near the large library.

This guy looked withered, yet his eyes shone with excitement. Tendrils had dug bloody holes in his ankle and thigh. With timely bleeding control, Palmer was temporarily out of danger, though he staggered as he walked. Bologue had to spare a hand to support him.

The three wounded individuals advanced slowly, reminding Bologue of the three-legged race game. After a long time, they finally re-entered the large library.

The current state of the large library was completely different from memory. In the ruins, only Ewen’s workbench still stood, and the two who had danced atop it had long since stopped. Besides the typewriter, there were only footprints in the dust on the table.

Asmodeus leaned against the remaining walls, arms folded, gazing at the burning sea of flowers in the distance. The arrogant devil’s expression was uncharacteristically desolate, faint lamentations coming from afar.

She needed humanity to understand all this, yet was trapped layer upon layer by humanity.

Bologue guessed this related to the authority Asmodeus wielded. She was originally the Joyful Witch, living off extreme pleasure. If not for the rarity of precious emotions, she might have been a sentimental devil.

Ewen sat down heavily on a chair, seemingly exhausted by the final dance. His breathing turned coarse, hands dropping weakly. Ewen wished to type something on the typewriter, but even this effort was beyond him. Besides thinking and breathing, he was no different from a corpse.

Noticing Bologue’s group’s return, he slightly raised his head, a difficult smile spreading on his aged, withered face, "Is it all over?"

Bologue nodded, setting down Aimou and Palmer, "It’s all over, they’re all dead."

Seeing Ewen in his current state, Bologue couldn’t help but feel a deep sadness, "The story’s ending is quite good, the hunters exterminated those monsters, eradicated them completely."

Having said this, Bologue was filled with melancholy. Every story has its ending, and evidently, this story’s conclusion had come. What would happen next?

Bologue didn’t know, but he felt Ewen should know. This was his story, his victory.

"Did I win, Asmodeus?"

Ewen looked at Asmodeus, his words filled with self-satisfaction, "You seem a bit unhappy; losing feels terrible, doesn’t it?"

Asmodeus withdrew her gaze, her cold eyes landing on Ewen. This mortal had exhausted everything to defy her, his life force rapidly fading. This already aged man seemed to have burned the last of his fuel after the story.

"What does it matter if you won? You’re going to die, Ewen."

Asmodeus said with disdain, "What about those things you stubbornly pursued? Ultimately, don’t you still rely on me, on a devil, to remember everything about you?"

Ewen laughed in response. At this moment, he thought Asmodeus was like a child, losing the game and only capable of bitter words outside of it.

The aged, decaying face radiated a sense of relief. He sighed helplessly.

"Asmodeus, you really understand nothing."

"Look at what that power has twisted you into," his words were filled with compassion, like a priest praying for someone, and then he blessed, "May you, in the days to come, understand all this and reclaim what you have lost."