Chapter 33 - Tyrant

Chapter 33 - 17 TyrantBologue had not visited the Hesitant Crossroads many times. His knowledge of this place was not much different from that of ordinary people, so locating the Nom Clinic, despite the intelligence indicating its position, proved to be quite difficult for him.

The Hesitant Crossroads seemed to possess a life of its own, with all manner of strangely shaped buildings continuously sprouting. They cavorted along the steep cliff walls like a towering tree emerging from underground, their metal branches spreading with abandon, thanks to the aid of cable cars and elevators.

In this Land of Chaos, Bologue guessed there was no such thing as urban planning, no street signs, no addresses, and certainly no accurate maps.

Gangs, contraband, demons lurking in the shadows, and adversaries unknown to Bologue existed here.

The buildings here changed daily, collapsing and rebuilding, an endless cycle, never tiring.

Chaos was the only order here.

"The air is filled with an evil ambiance."

Bologue sighed. Even with the isolation of the gas mask, he could still smell the strange odors in the air.

Not just the pungent smell of chemical waste, but deeper, darker aromas.

The scent of demons.

That rotten and decaying smell rooted deeply in the land, merging with the thick fog. It's unimaginable how many demons hide in these shadows and things dirtier than demons.

Bologue felt no fear. On the contrary, the pressure within him began to ease, swiftly transforming into an indescribable emotion... like excitement?

Under the lenses of the gas mask, his azure eyes scanned everyone passing by; even Bologue himself didn't notice the trace of glimmer that passed through his eyes, like a hunting beast joyfully returning to the savage jungle.

Entering the Hesitant Crossroads went smoothly, with no obstacles, and the guards at the gate paid little attention to Bologue, as if he were a mere specter.

Bologue guessed this was the effect of the "Concealer." This gray-black trench coat would lower others' awareness, distorting their perception.

The roads inside the Hesitant Crossroads were uneven and extremely narrow. Various shops were stacked together like a High Tower. The neon signs Bologue saw outside emanated from these.

The people on the streets were not many, yet each looked fierce; just now, Bologue noticed a burly man, whose huge physique made the gas mask on his face resemble a mere mask, with exposed arms full of bulging muscles, exuding strength.

It's reasonable to think that in such a hellish place, if you are not fierce enough, you might be tossed into the depths of the chasm below the next second.

Death was common in the Hesitant Crossroads, but people usually wouldn't bluntly say "death," instead, it was called disappearance.

Countless bodies were thrown into landfills every day, merging along with other waste through waste disposal channels, and then cast into the deeper fog below.

Even the bodies could not be found.

Suspended walkways connected various chasms; they crisscrossed, swaying slightly in the Sea of Mist. Nobody knew how long it had been since their last maintenance, making ominous creaking sounds, with pieces of metal occasionally slipping off.

Bologue walked carefully past them. On the elevated walkways, he could see many people lingering around, holding golden coins, whispering something before throwing them into the Abyss below.

Bologue knew a little about this. It was a sort of belief in the Hesitant Crossroads, yet not precisely a belief.

It was known as the existence of the "Tyrant."

Rumor had it that the Hesitant Crossroads was originally founded by the "Tyrant" who constructed this Shadow City in the deep, dark crevices to house those unable to live in the daylight.

Of course, Bologue was unclear of the truth behind all this. The story of the "Tyrant" was one of the well-known urban legends within Opus.

According to legend, residents of the Hesitant Crossroads needed to occasionally throw coins into the chasm's Sea of Mist below as a tax paid to the "Tyrant," who in return would protect them.

Thus, such a scene was common in the Hesitant Crossroads—a group of people tossing coins toward the Sea of Mist below, while those who did not pay tax to the "Tyrant..."

Those who did not pay taxes could not linger long in the Hesitant Crossroads. If they insisted on staying, the "Tyrant's" envoys would appear to drag them into the Sea of Mist.

It sounded like a horror story, yet in the Hesitant Crossroads, this Land of Chaos, anything was possible.

Bologue dug into his pocket and fished out a Weng Coin, tossing it straight into the Sea of Mist below; the coin flashed by and vanished without a trace.

"Just going with the flow,"

Bologue muttered, glancing to the other side. The aerial corridor extended to the horizon's edge, where chaotic buildings grew wildly on the surrounding cliffs.

Nom's Clinic was hidden among them; despite having the information provided by Lebius in his mind, it was still too difficult to pinpoint.

Lebius realized this too, mentioning within the intelligence that when Bologue couldn't find the target, he could go to a specific place for directions, which had collaborative ties with the Order Bureau, serving as the one barely trustworthy spot within the Hesitant Crossroads.