I’m the Mysterious Leader of the Salvation Organization

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Chapter 156: Final Movement

After the battle concluded, the Night Watchers wasted no time resting. Instead, they plunged into an overwhelming wave of post-war responsibilities.

This flurry of activity was expected to persist for about a week. Afterward, some Night Watchers would receive brief but precious vacations, accompanied by substantial bonuses—perhaps better described as compensation.

“Bai Yan may have died.”

Alan heard the news in his office. The bearer of this grim message was none other than his teacher, Lin Bian.

Lin Bian’s expression was detached, his demeanor hardened by years of witnessing countless comrades fall. To cope, he had numbed himself with alcohol.

Alan, however, sat frozen in his seat.

After what felt like an eternity, he nodded faintly.

“I understand.”

Lin Bian studied his student’s face and recognized a difference—Bai Yan was more than a colleague to Alan. He was a friend, perhaps even his closest.

Uncharacteristically empathetic, Lin Bian offered a rare attempt at comfort:

“I’m sorry… but life is unpredictable, and it always has been.”

“We are powerless against death. All we can do is think more about the living.”

For the first time in what felt like years, teacher and student found common ground.

Alan gazed at his mentor for a long moment, gave a single nod, and left without a word.

At noon, Alan climbed to the rooftop of the Demon Hunt Agency. Cigarette in hand, he sought solace amidst the city’s cold winds.

Pale, trembling fingers retrieved a cigarette from the pack. He lit it, placing it between his lips, and inhaled deeply.

He had lost count of how many cigarettes he’d smoked this month.

The rooftop, a no-smoking zone, had its rules. But Alan didn’t care. At this moment, the last thing he wanted was interference.

If someone—be it a colleague or the director himself—dared to stop him, he was prepared to unleash his frustration.

Fortunately, no one came.

So, he smoked one after another until his lungs rebelled, and his chest tightened with violent coughs.

“Cough, cough, cough…”

Tears streamed down his face, a mix of smoke irritation and pent-up grief.

He sobbed silently, shoulders shaking until the tears gave way to dry heaving.

Afterward, he composed himself, washed his face, and headed to the twelfth team’s office to retrieve Bai Yan’s belongings.

Bai Yan had no family. Alan felt it was his duty to arrange his funeral.

But when Alan entered the office, he was greeted by an unexpected presence.

An elderly woman sat in Bai Yan’s chair, her expression calm and knowing.

Miss Witch.

Merete Chambers met Alan’s surprised gaze with a faint smile.

“You’ve come, Alan,” she said, her voice deliberate and measured.

“I have good news for you. That man, Bai Yan, is most likely alive.”

She paused, allowing the words to sink in.

“But I must also tell you the bad news—he likely deceived you.”

Merete anticipated disappointment, perhaps anger, in Alan’s response.

Instead, she saw only a flicker of hope.

Despite the possibility of betrayal, Alan’s face reflected nothing but joy.

Merete’s sharp eyes narrowed. She flicked the tips of her white hair with her fingers, pondering his reaction.

“It cuts deep, doesn’t it?”

On the streets of Tatsumi City

“Demons!”

“There are demons in this city! We must protect ourselves!”

“Yes! We need to stand up like Babel Tower! Tatsumi City residents must fight for their safety!”

A procession of angry citizens marched down the streets, their voices echoing with frustration and fear.

The residents had finally reached their breaking point, awakening to the chaotic reality of their world.

In the crowd, Pastor muttered under his breath, his white hat shielding his face.

Moments earlier, he had met with “Profligate” from Babel Tower in a nearby coffee shop.

The outcome of their deal was a bitter one—Pastor had forfeited the Civilization-level Relic, “The Eye of Ebimetheus,” and released Mary Scatino at “Profligate’s” request.

Pastor knew he had no choice.

Now, standing amidst the throng of protestors, he reflected on the conversation, replaying “Profligate’s” words:

“You must share a blood bond with her. Why else sacrifice so much for her?”

Pastor left the crowd quietly, boarding a train bound for a parallel space.

At Tatsumi City station, he spotted Scatino—a tall woman with golden hair and a somber yet elegant presence.

Relieved, Pastor approached her.

“Scatino,” he called softly.

She turned at the sound of his voice, her face lighting up with a smile.

“Mr. Adrian! You’re safe!”

Pastor nodded, cutting the reunion short.

“You must leave. Board the next train to Heart City. Seek out the martial arts master of the God Fist Society and use my name—they’ll help you. Stay hidden and avoid interference.”

Scatino listened intently, her eyes filled with concern.

“I’ll wait for you there, Mr. Adrian. Please… stay safe.”

Pastor smiled faintly, holding her gaze.

“I will.”

The train departed, taking Scatino to safety.

Moments later, Pastor stood alone.

A voice, cold and merciless, broke the silence.

“Did you kill those Blood Clan members?”

Pastor turned to face the young girl, his expression calm.

He knew the Babel Tower had reported him to the Blood Clans. He also knew his fate was sealed.

Pastor made no attempt to flee.

As a slender arm pierced through his chest, his vision blurred, and blood pooled at his feet.