Several Inspectors wearing hazmat suits and protective goggles had just slid down on ropes to the halfway point when they were greeted by the pre-arranged crossfire they had set up.

The gun in William's hands displayed terrifying precision, each bullet seeming to have eyes as it drilled into the gaps between the seams of the enemy's bulletproof vests.

The aim was to destroy the steam-powered backpacks on their backs.

With several sharp cracking sounds, the off-balance Inspectors crashed heavily to the ground.

Before they could recover from the violent impact, a black afterimage had already sliced into the landing zone.

Lin Jie merely utilized the instantaneously explosive grip from the soles of his [Gravity Dancer] boots, combined with a low-center-of-gravity slide step, to precisely sever the Achilles tendons of the two nearest enemies.

The screams that were about to erupt from their throats were abruptly cut off.

Because Lin Jie's second strike had already pierced the nerve plexus near their vocal cords.

Toxin rapidly spread, locking the excruciating pain within their bodies.

The remaining three Inspectors attempted to counterattack.

They drew the revolvers at their waists, but in this kind of close-quarters chaotic combat, the long barrels and heavy hazmat suits became fatal burdens.

Marcus transformed into an out-of-control steam tank and charged over.

He swept out with the thick back of his axe, the massive kinetic energy directly shattering one Inspector's sternum, slamming both the man and his gun against the rock wall.

"Leave one alive."

Lin Jie's voice rang out coldly.

Marcus's movement came to an abrupt, forced halt in mid-air. His fist, which had been aimed at the last enemy's head, veered a few inches off course and slammed heavily into the man's shoulder instead.

The sound of fracturing bone echoed through the empty hall.

The fight ended within ten seconds.

In this underground space that had lost its visual advantage and possessed complex terrain, the Inspector Squad, reliant on stacked equipment, simply could not contend with this group of true hunters.

"Clean it up."

Lin Jie flicked the blood droplets off his blade and turned to look at the stone platform located at the center of the hall.

That was the real focal point.

Silas was kneeling before the stone platform. The shepherd's condition was at its worst possible point. His complexion showed the gray pallor of severe blood loss, his breathing was hoarse.

But he was still clutching the lead-lined crate with a death grip.

"Open... it."

Silas said to Julian beside him.

Julian quickly used tools to pry open the lead seal on the crate.

As the lid was lifted, a faint, charred scent diffused into the air.

The crate was filled with black-gray powder.

Within that pile of ash, one could vaguely make out some wood grain that had not been completely incinerated, with dark golden patterns still visible upon it.

Even reduced to charcoal, these wooden fragments still emanated a heart-stopping sense of solemnity.

This was the ashes of the Round Table.

"Pour it on."

Silas gasped, giving the order.

Marcus stepped forward, lifted the heavy crate with one hand, and poured the ashes inside into a depression at the center of the stone platform.

The moment the ashes made contact with the stone platform, the Celtic runes that had lain dormant for a thousand years suddenly lit up.

An eerie blue flame rose without warning from within the stone platform.

It had no temperature, but as it burned, it emitted a buzzing sound similar to the resonance of metal.

The ashes rapidly dissolved within the blue fire, transforming into wisps of silver smoke visible to the naked eye.

This smoke, as if alive, snaked and burrowed into the rock wall behind the stone platform that appeared perfectly seamless.

*Crack—*

A deep, muffled sound of a mechanical latch engaging came from deep within the rock wall.

Followed by the roar of grinding stone.

The seemingly monolithic rock wall began to slide apart to both sides, revealing a vast, pitch-black, deep space that exuded an ancient, musty odor.

"The door is open."

Julian pushed up his glasses, his voice trembling slightly with excitement.

"This is the true face of Tintagel."

Lin Jie, holding the hurricane lamp, was the first to walk inside.

Passing through the heavy stone door, the scene before them suddenly opened up.

An underground temple of a scale that left one breathless.

Giant granite pillars supported a dome thirty meters high. Each pillar was carved with intricate spiral patterns and mythical beasts from Celtic mythology.

Though eroded by time, this magnificent structure still maintained a suffocating sense of oppression.

The air was saturated with a high concentration of spiritual nature particles.

Lin Jie felt the brand on the back of his hand burn as if about to ignite.

He raised the lamp. The light pierced through a millennium of darkness, illuminating the center of the temple.

There stood a solitary, cast-iron throne.

That throne was extremely crude, even rough.

Its surface was covered in reddish-brown rust, as if it were a product forcibly forged together from countless discarded weapons.

And on the backrest of the throne, a sword was embedded.

A stone sword.

The blade was already broken, only the remaining half was wedged into a crevice of the iron seat.

The decoration on the hilt had long since weathered away, its original appearance indiscernible.

Was this the origin of the King Arthur legend?

Was this the holy land that all occult scholars dreamed of?

It looked so desolate, so full of the flavor of failure and betrayal.

"That is..."

Silas, supported by Marcus, hobbled in. He looked at that throne, reverence flashing in his eyes.

"Merlin is within the seams of this space."

Lin Jie walked up the stone steps leading to the throne.

With each step, he could feel the vibration of the Round Table insignia in his pocket.

By the time he stood before the throne, the vibration had turned into a substantial buzzing.

He reached out, his right hand gently resting on the armrest.

[Reverberation Touch] activated.

*Boom!*

But in Lin Jie's mind, a storm spanning fifty years instantly erupted.

The darkness before his eyes vanished.

Replaced by a spacious, bright meeting room filled with early Victorian-era style.

It was the decor of the 1830s.

Outside the huge floor-to-ceiling windows was London's gloomy sky.

And in the center of the room stood a massive round oak table.

Twelve people sat around the table.

They wore the characteristic tailcoats, long gowns, or military uniforms of that era.

Lin Jie's perspective seemed attached to one of them.

He looked down at "his own" hand.

It was a young, powerful hand, wearing a ring engraved with the word "Gawain".

"We cannot do this!"

An angry voice rang out from across the conference table.

The speaker was an old man in a gray robe. Even in this illusory memory, Lin Jie could recognize him at a glance.

Merlin.

Also known as Karl's Mentor, the Oak Sage.

But this Merlin was much younger than the one Lin Jie had read about in the journals. His eyes burned with fury, and he tightly gripped a cane.

"The Projection Plan was to protect the embers of humanity, not for you greedy politicians to build an empire that enslaves our own kind!"

"This is not enslavement, Merlin."

A middle-aged man sitting opposite Merlin retorted coldly.

He wore a crisp Royal Navy uniform, his chest adorned with medals. That was the "Lancelot" of that generation.

"This is management."

"That real world has already been destroyed. The old continent is in ruins."

"This is our only refuge."

"If we don't exert control, if we let those civilians learn the truth, this world will collapse instantly in panic."

"So you want to blockade technology? You want to slaughter those who have awakened?"

Merlin slammed the table and stood up.

"You are falsifying history!"

"You are exploiting the rule loopholes of the Projection, privatizing all power!"

"This is betrayal!"

"Betrayal of the oath we swore before the Round Table!"

"The oath?"

Another woman in an ornate silk gown let out a light laugh.

"Gawain, do you think so too?"

Everyone's gaze turned to Lin Jie—or rather, to Gawain of that year.

Lin Jie felt "himself" stand up.

His heart was pounding violently, deep sorrow and resolve filling his chest cavity.

"This world is fake."

Gawain's voice was hoarse and low.

"We are fake too."

"We are merely ghosts after that catastrophe, hiding in this place, clinging to life."

"If we cannot find a way to repair the rift. Then whether it's ruling or protecting, it's all meaningless."

"I support Merlin."

"We must tell everyone the truth, gather the wisdom of all humanity to mend that rift."

The meeting room fell into a deathly silence.

After a long while, the Lancelot in the naval uniform slowly stood up.

He drew a flintlock pistol from his waist and gently placed it on the table.

The image began to shatter.

Gunshots.

Blood stained the Round Table.

The sacred covenant turned into the bloodiest civil war under the clash of interests and ideologies.

Gawain fell into a pool of blood. His vision gradually blurred. The last thing he saw was Merlin, with a few survivors, crashing through the window and leaping into the Thames outside...

*Hah!* 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Lin Jie abruptly withdrew his hand.

He gasped for breath, cold sweat soaking through his back.

The real sense of suffocation and despair still lingered in his nerves.

This world... was indeed fake.

And the I.A.R.C. Council had chosen to conceal it.

"What did you see?"

Julian's voice pulled Lin Jie back to reality.

"War."

Lin Jie straightened up, his gaze turning unprecedentedly cold.

"A war that never ended."

At that moment, an extremely faint sound of footsteps came from the direction of the temple entrance.

*Tap, tap, tap.*

Lin Jie quickly turned around, [Silencer] held horizontally before his chest.

William and Marcus also swiftly turned their gun muzzles.

At the entrance that had just been blasted open, the dust had not yet settled.

A tall, slender figure slowly walked in.

It was a woman.

She wore an exquisitely tailored deep purple velvet gown, the hem embroidered with intricate silver patterns.

On her head was a black veil-trimmed bonnet. In her hands, she held a delicate silver metal case, the kind used for needlework.

Her appearance was utterly incongruous with this underground battlefield filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood.

Like a noblewoman who had just attended a soirée, mistakenly wandering into a slaughterhouse.

But upon seeing her, even Silas, who had been in a semi-conscious state, widened his eyes, a trace of despair flashing in his pupils.

"Vera..."

Silas murmured.

"Vera the Seamstress."

"Ranked fourteenth on the Hunter Leaderboard, one of the Association's top-tier trackers."

The woman stopped, gently opened the metal case in her hands.

Inside, arranged neatly, were dozens of silver needles of varying lengths, glinting coldly.

"What a dreadful night."

Vera's voice was very soft, carrying a lazy huskiness.

"Leaks everywhere, cracks that shouldn't be appearing, everywhere."

She lifted her head, looking at Lin Jie through the veil.

"Are you the little mouse that has torn the entire net into disarray?"

"Lin Jie."

Lin Jie did not answer.

His intuition was screaming alarms.

The oppressive feeling this woman gave him had already surpassed that of the camera-wielding Galliard.

"Move!"

William knew deeply that against an opponent of this caliber, the first move meant life.

*Bang!*

The Winchester spat fire.

Simultaneously, Marcus roared, charging forward like a tank, the battle axe in his hands whistling through the air as it cleaved towards Vera's head.

Vera drew a long needle from the case.

That needle was about thirty centimeters long, thin as a strand of hair.

Her wrist gave a light flick.

The movement was too fast to see clearly.

*Ting.*

The long needle left her hand, embedding itself in the air in front of Marcus's charging path.

Something bizarre happened.

Marcus, who had been charging at full speed, suddenly felt his body lose control.

His original plan was to make an emergency stop three meters before Vera, then utilize the length advantage of his axe for a sweeping strike.

But at that precise moment, his legs defied his brain's command, continuing to stride forward frantically.

His body was like a train that had lost its brakes.

"Stop! Damn it!"

Marcus shouted in terror, but he couldn't stop.

He watched helplessly as he charged past Vera's side, charging towards a stone pillar deep within the temple.

*Crash!*

A loud boom.

Marcus slammed hard into the stone pillar.

The massive kinetic energy even caused the pillar to shake. The battle axe flew from his grasp, and his entire body slid down like a pile of mud, blood spraying from his mouth.

And the bullet fired at Vera was also intercepted in its trajectory by another long needle.

The bullet did not stop.

It just... kept flying.

Even though it had already passed through the position where Vera stood.

Vera gently closed the case's lid.

She looked at the stunned group, a faint smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

"I told you."

"This world is full of cracks, and I am here to sew them all up."

She drew three more long needles, holding them between her fingers.

This time, the needle tips were aimed at Lin Jie.