Chapter 64: The Pursuer

Hesta’s muscles tensed all over again. Whenever she encountered an opponent whose strength vastly outmatched her own, her body would involuntarily lock up—on that final night at the monastery, it was precisely in this state that she had watched helplessly as a Chelate severed Sister Gelding’s right hand; and during her first encounter with the Grandguinot brothers, Calvin’s overwhelming pressure had likewise left her unable to move.

Hesta suddenly clenched her teeth, the fury born of her own impotence igniting instantly.

Why...

Why couldn't she move?

Beneath the dim red lights, the Chelate across from her showed no expression of joy or excitement. It looked like a painfully thin adult male, its gaze carrying a misanthropic, listless air.

The moment its eyes met Hesta’s, the Chelate emitted a puzzled, low murmur.

It closed its eyes, sniffed the air in the corridor earnestly, and then scratched its head a few times in bewilderment.

"...You don't smell like her. Why?"

The Chelate’s voice was devoid of emotion, sounding almost feeble, yet Hesta distinctly felt an unprecedented threat emanating from it.

"Oh, I see," the Chelate clicked its two pincers together. "You haven't undergone the secondary awakening yet, have you?"

The girl’s face had completely drained of color. "What... have you done?"

The Chelate let out a very light chuckle, a smile that looked almost bashful.

"What could I possibly do to a Quick-silver Needle..." The Chelate glanced sideways toward the safe room. From its angle, it could still see Turan lying flat on her back. The girl lay in a pool of blood, unmoving.

The Chelate withdrew its gaze, its expression turning hazy for a moment, as if sinking into memories.

"She took the initiative to find me, saying she wanted to improve her bullet time. I felt like that sort of thing might be interesting, so I went along with it for a while... but I got bored of it quickly enough."

It lowered its head to look at its own hands, then walked over to Hesta and skillfully retrieved her phone from her pocket, snapping it in two.

"When it comes down to it, it’s my own fault. Ever since my hands turned into this, doing anything is inconvenient, so nothing is fun anymore..."

The Chelate remained expressionless. Even though Hesta hadn't asked anything, it rambled on about a lot of things. Everyday routines, training details, and various complaints, delivered in a flat voice carrying a hint of resentment.

Yet very soon, its murmurs stopped as abruptly as they had begun—the Chelate suddenly realized something, lowering its gaze to study the girl who was even thinner and smaller than Turan.

"You... why aren't you running?"

Hesta could not explain it. She felt as though she were trapped in an invisible ice chamber, her stiff limbs firmly anchored in place, and she had no idea how to break free from this cage.

The Chelate circled around Hesta once.

"Have you also grown tired of the game of chase?" the Chelate whispered with a frown, before shaking its head. "No, you mustn't grow tired... This is already my only amusement."

It retreated to the entrance of the safe room and asked in a consultative tone: "Look, I’ll give you ten more seconds. You run, I chase. How about that?"

It turned its back.

"Ten, nine, eight..."

Hesta’s entire back was soaked in sweat. A bead of cold sweat traced half her face from her temple and smashed against the floor.

"Seven, six, five..."

Her heart hammered wildly, beating so violently that it made her somewhat dizzy.

The scene before her shifted from red to a pulsating deep purple, and the silhouette of the Chelate blurred into overlapping shadows.

"Four, three, two..."

Amidst the supreme terror, Hesta’s hand suddenly twitched. Everything seemed to gradually ease up, and she instinctively reached for the gun at her waist—after all, just a few minutes ago, those two firearms had given her a taste of absolute control and power.

In that instant, the faces of many people flashed through Hesta’s mind, some good, some bad. All the past drifted past like an uncatchable river, leaving only old Charlie’s words ringing like thunderous warnings—

"You must remember, you must, must remember."

"Never draw your weapon in a dangerous place."

"Run, run as far as you can, and let those who run slower than you die in your place."

"Never let yourself fall into a situation where you have to face an enemy alone, understand?"

"One."

The Chelate turned around, the puzzlement in its eyes slowly shifting into annoyance.

"Are you playing with me..." The Chelate’s voice abruptly rose into a terrifying roar. "I told you to run, didn't you hear?"

The Chelate violently lunged forward at Hesta with blistering speed, moving like a bullet fired from a barrel. Yet once more, Hesta felt as though everything before her eyes... had slowed down.

This scene felt intimately familiar to her—on that night in the monastery, when Irma’s dagger was raised high before her, she had also felt time and the space around her freeze at that exact moment.

The Chelate, which had previously been nothing more than a blur, now took on sharp, clear outlines. Hesta saw its hardened pincers thrusting directly toward her heart.

She stared intently at the trajectory of the blade and leaned backward, dodging to the side against the wall—

The Chelate lunged past empty air, stumbling a few paces before managing to brake to a halt a short distance behind Hesta.

The entire sequence flowed as smoothly as moving clouds and flowing water. Not far away, the Chelate let out another puzzled, low murmur and turned its head.

Hesta looked down at her own hands and feet.

Just now... did she...

Dodge it?

"How... did you do that?"

The relentless sweat had streamed into Hesta’s eyes, stinging sharply, but she did not dare let down her guard. She held her breath and stared with utmost concentration at the enemy before her.

She felt her previously racing heart beginning to calm down, and her breathing returning to a steady rhythm—this was not her first time experiencing this sensation, but until this very moment, until she had relied entirely on her own strength to evade a fully charged strike from a Chelate, she had truly perceived the unusual nature beneath this tranquility.

The Chelate charged at her viciously once more. Hesta dodged again, and this time she did not linger, instead breaking into a frantic sprint straight ahead.

The Chelate paused for a fraction of a second, then burst into an excited, booming laugh, launching into the chase it had so desired.

Most of the paths leading to the functional areas were already sealed off, leaving Hesta with only a single main arterial corridor. A sudden thought struck her, and she shouted at the top of her lungs: "Chelate—the Chelate is with me!"

Hesta glanced at her watch. Exactly 19 minutes and 57 seconds had passed since Sean had dropped out of bullet time.

Sean’s restriction duration was...

22 minutes and 6 seconds.

Hesta tightly furrowed her brow and stopped shouting, realizing the futility of it.

Soon, she spotted Sean ahead, staggering and supporting himself against the wall—Sean understood the meaning of the alarm and had heard Hesta’s shout, but there was truly very little he could do.

He had no idea where this path led, nor if there was any chance of survival, but he knew the savagery of the Chelate, and he knew that he was currently hanging by a thread between life and death.

Sean’s legs trembled and grew weak. Every two or three steps, anxiety caused him to stumble and fall to the ground. He had no time to ponder whether this snail-paced escape was in vain; he simply refused to sit and wait for death.

His only hope was that the Chelate would remain fixated solely on Hesta. As long as it was lured away by Hesta and paid no attention to him on the roadside, he would be safe for the time being...

Therefore, when Hesta dashed past him like a gust of wind, Sean’s heart leaped into his throat.

Ten-odd seconds passed. No one gave chase.

Sean’s face slowly twisted into an expression of horror as he waited. He dared not look back, but a shadow had already been cast upon the ground right beside him.

Sean could no longer produce a voice; he wept in silent agony, with only a faint wheeze squeezing from the depths of his throat.

"Save me... someone... save me...

"Karl... Karl...

"Mom..."