Beneath London's Waterloo Station lies a little-known abandoned branch line.

There are no busy steam locomotives here, nor hurried travelers rushing about.

An inconspicuous maintenance manhole cover was pushed open from below.

Lin Jie climbed out first.

His body was covered in mud, his trench coat soaked and clinging to him.

William and Julian followed closely behind; their condition was no better than his. The long slide through the pipes had severely worn their clothes, their faces etched with exhaustion.

"We're here."

Lin Jie surveyed his surroundings, confirming this was a safe blind spot.

"This is the exit."

This was the endpoint guided by the Gray Lady.

Standing beside a cast-iron pillar less than ten meters away from them were two people.

One was of medium build, wearing a well-tailored gray woolen coat and holding what looked like a very expensive walking stick.

He wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, looking like a banker who had just finished work in the City.

Wang Qingnian, head of the I.A.R.C. North American Affairs Liaison Office, and one of Lin Jie's earliest allies in London.

And standing beside him was an exceptionally tall man.

That man wasn't wearing formal attire but was wrapped in a somewhat tattered-looking cloak, his entire body hidden in shadow.

Yet, the mountain-like, steady aura emanating from him made William instinctively tighten his grip on his gun.

"Long time no see, Mr. Lin."

Wang Qingnian walked over with a smile, his expression as amiable as ever, as if this were just an ordinary business meeting.

"It seems you've just crawled out of hell."

"Pretty much."

Lin Jie wiped the mud and water from his face, not wasting words.

He pulled from his chest the obsidian box wrapped in layers of oiled paper.

This contract, which determined the fate of the Association, now lay quietly in his palm.

Wang Qingnian's gaze fell upon that box.

He took half a step back and gave a slight bow towards the box.

It was a reverence that came from the heart.

"Sir Henderson has been waiting for this."

Wang Qingnian's voice turned serious.

"The situation in Geneva has reached the edge of a cliff."

"The hawk faction's proxy is making their final power play. If this protocol cannot appear at the Round Table meeting within two days, it will be too late."

"Two days?"

Julian glanced at his pocket watch.

"Even on the fastest train, getting from London to Geneva takes four days."

"And right now, all transportation lines are being monitored by Ackerman."

"How do we get it there?"

"That's why I brought him."

Wang Qingnian pointed to the tall, silent man beside him.

That man slowly raised his head, revealing a face covered in tattoos that looked somewhat ferocious.

His skin showed an abnormal bluish-gray hue, like rock struck by lightning.

"Let me introduce you."

Wang Qingnian said.

"This is 'Messenger'."

"Though he has no ranking on the Hunter Ranking, in certain special circles, he is priceless."

"His Grotesque Armament is [Hermes' Sandals]. Not the low-grade stuff that just makes you run fast."

The man called Messenger extended a rough, large hand.

Lin Jie looked at that hand, then at the box in his own hand. This was the final baton in the relay.

He had completed the infiltration, the seizure, and the extraction. What came next was beyond his capabilities.

That was a battlefield belonging to politicians and rule-makers.

Lin Jie placed the box into that large hand.

"Deliver it. Tell Henderson, this is what we sent on Merlin's behalf."

Messenger nodded, tightened his grip on the box, and then his body began to blur.

Like a drop of ink dripped into clear water, rapidly spreading and fading.

In the blink of an eye, the tall figure vanished into the air, disappearing into thin air.

"Where did he go?" William asked in surprise.

"Geneva."

Wang Qingnian adjusted his glasses, a gleam of light flashing in his eyes.

"That's the power of an Armament."

"As long as there is a 'destination' and 'cargo', even across thousands of miles."

"He will definitely deliver it."

"Though the cost is great. Using this ultra-long-distance ability once consumes at least half a year of his lifespan."

Lin Jie fell silent for a moment.

Everyone was burning themselves out for the future of this world.

"Let's go." Wang Qingnian made an inviting gesture.

"We can't stay here long. I've prepared a safe house in an inconspicuous tailor's shop nearby."

"There's a telegraph there connected to Geneva. We can hear the results of that... trial in real time."

...

Geneva, I.A.R.C. Headquarters.

The magnificent ancient castle standing by the shores of Lake Geneva was now shrouded in an atmosphere of grim solemnity.

Inside the Round Table Hall of the Supreme Council, the air was frozen solid.

Beneath the massive circular dome, twelve high-backed chairs symbolizing the highest authority surrounded the legendary Round Table.

Though that table was merely a later replica, the authority it represented still made the entire inner world tremble.

At this moment, seven people sat around the Round Table.

At the head was a middle-aged man wearing a deep crimson velvet robe, countless medals hanging on his chest.

His hair was meticulously combed, his chin adorned with a finely trimmed goatee, his eyes sharp as an eagle's.

He was the current "Lancelot", the highest proxy of the hawk faction on the Council.

"Gentlemen."

Lancelot's voice echoed through the hall, carrying an aggressive arrogance.

"We have wasted too much time already. The riot in Tintagel proves my point."

"Those cowards who shout 'coexistence' and 'understanding' all day are pushing this world towards the abyss."

He pointed at the empty chairs.

"Not only has Sir Henderson been grossly negligent in management, but he is also suspected of harboring those dangerous 'Awakened'."

"That Easterner named Lin Jie, and that traitor named Merlin, are both calamities he has indulged."

"They attempted to destabilize the Projection, tried to let those monsters we sealed away for millennia return to the world."

"This is a crime against humanity."

Lancelot's hand slammed heavily on the table.

"I propose we immediately strip Henderson of all his positions and honors."

"Designate him and all his faction members as terrorists."

"Authorize Ackerman's Inspector Squad to pursue and purge them indefinitely."

"Seconded."

A fat man sitting to his right immediately raised his hand.

"Seconded."

An old man in military uniform also nodded.

The power of the hawk faction was displayed in all its glory at this moment.

They controlled the narrative, they controlled the rules, they even controlled the interpretation of truth.

However.

They overlooked one thing.

Just ten minutes ago.

Inside the heavily guarded house arrest residence by Lake Geneva.

Two guards stood like iron towers blocking the study door.

Standing before them was a young woman in silver-white light armor who appeared somewhat slender.

"Step aside."

Her voice was light, like a piece of cold ice.

"This is Sir Lancelot's order," a guard raised his rotary machine gun, the barrel beginning to warm up and spin, "No one is allowed..."

The voice cut off abruptly. A silver flash streaked through the air.

It was the slender sword in the woman's hand.

It was like a moonbeam you couldn't grasp, precisely slicing into the sole gap at the neck of the guard's armor.

The two guards collapsed with a heavy thud before they could pull the trigger.

Percival flicked the blood droplets from her sword tip and pushed open the door.

Inside the room, Sir Henderson stood before a dressing mirror, leisurely adjusting his bow tie.

He looked at the young knight who entered, a smile of expectation appearing on his face.

"You're late, child."

"A bit of traffic on the road, Sir."

The woman sheathed her sword, her gaze firm and sharp.

"But we can still make it for the final vote."

"Then let's go."

Henderson picked up the walking stick on the table.

"Let's go tell those young people what the true spirit of the Round Table is."

"Boom!"

A loud crash.

The heavy oak and bronze-cast council chamber doors were violently slammed open from the outside.

All eyes focused on the entrance.

A group of people stood at the doorway.

At their head was an old man whose clothes, though somewhat wrinkled, still maintained a noble bearing.

His hair was gray, his complexion somewhat pale from the long house arrest, but his back was ramrod straight.

Sir Henderson.

Behind him stood several fully armed hunters.

And a tall, young woman wearing silver-white light armor.

She held a slender knight's sword in her hand, its tip still dripping with blood.

That was the mark left from breaking through the guards' blockade just moments ago.

She was Percival, the youngest current member of the Round Table Knights, and the only female member.

She had only succeeded to this position three months ago, always seen by the hawk faction as a controllable vase.

But now, she stood by Henderson's side.

"Lancelot."

Sir Henderson strode into the meeting room.

"Who are you judging?"

"Judging those who have bled and sacrificed to protect this world?"

Lancelot narrowed his eyes.

"Henderson."

He sneered.

"Prison break? This will only add to your charges."

"Guards! Seize him!"

But no one moved.

Because the man named "Messenger" had, at some unknown time, appeared beside Henderson.

He was still wrapped in that tattered cloak, holding the obsidian box in his hands.

His body was becoming transparent, a sign his ability was about to end.

But he still persevered, placing that box into Henderson's hand.

Dead silence filled the hall. Everyone stared at that box.

Even Lancelot's face instantly turned deathly pale when he saw the Latin inscription carved on the box.

"What is that?" someone asked, trembling.

"This is evidence." Sir Henderson walked to the Round Table.

He placed the box heavily on the tabletop.

"And this is also the verdict."

He opened the box and took out the yellowed parchment.

The Initial Protocol.

The moment that scroll of parchment was unfurled, an ancient, weathered, and infinitely majestic aura instantly filled the entire hall.

Every word, every drop of long-dried blood on it radiated a suffocating pressure.

It was a resonance of bloodline.

Most of those present, except Percival, were descendants of the Round Table Knights.

Their veins flowed with the same blood, and they bore the same covenant.

"Is this... the original covenant?"

A tremor finally entered Lancelot's voice.

He stared fixedly at that scroll of paper as if staring at a venomous snake ready to bite his throat at any moment.

"That thing should have been destroyed long ago! It wasn't destroyed."

Sir Henderson looked at him coldly.

"Just as justice can never be destroyed. Lancelot, look at the terms on this."

Henderson pointed to the third clause of the protocol.

"'Guardians shall not become rulers.'"

"'The Projection world is humanity's final refuge, not the private property of certain individuals.'"

"'In case of betrayal, the bloodline shall be severed.'"

Henderson's voice grew louder and louder, finally turning into a roar.

"What have you turned the Association into? A tool for your power struggles!"

"You have violated the covenant! You have betrayed our ancestors!"

"Enough!"

Lancelot suddenly stood up, veins bulging on his face.

"That's just a worthless scrap of paper! The world today was built by us! We set the rules!"

"Guards! Kill them! Burn that paper!"

He tried to draw the pistol at his waist, but his hand froze the moment it touched the grip.

Because Percival moved.

The young female knight made a single gesture. She cut her own finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the protocol.

"In the name of Percival."

Her voice was clear and firm.

"I call for judgment."

Everyone could feel that something which had long been dormant deep within their bloodlines was awakening.

It was a chain.

It was a curse.

Lancelot suddenly clutched his chest. His face turned purplish-red, as if someone were choking his throat.

His eyes widened, filled with terror and agony.

"Urgh... ah..."

He tried to speak but could only emit meaningless roars.

Not just him.

The fat man, the old man in military uniform, all collapsed at this moment.

Their bodies convulsed, the fulfillment of a millennium-old vow.

"You..."

Lancelot fell to the ground. He reached out, trying to grasp the protocol.

But his hand stopped an inch away from it.

His pupils dilated.

Though not dead, he had become a cripple, an ordinary person stripped of power and glory.

The hall was utterly silent.

The guards who had been ready to charge in all stopped in their tracks, watching this scene in horror.

Sir Henderson looked at his fallen opponent.

His eyes held no joy of victory, only a deep weariness.

"It's over."

He closed the protocol, and the terrifying pressure dissipated.

"Pass on my orders."

Henderson turned, looking at the dumbfounded guards and staff.

"Strip Ackerman of all his positions. Cease all pursuit operations against the 'rebels'."

"Release all detained hunters."

"And also..."

He glanced at Percival beside him.

"Inform the representatives of various governments that we will convene a new hearing."

"Regarding the future of the Association. Regarding this world."

"We need to talk again."

In the basement of that inconspicuous tailor's shop in London, the telegraph machine rang again.

Lin Jie picked up the paper tape.

On it was only a single short line.

"Dawn has arrived."

Lin Jie let out a long sigh. He leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling.

The dim yellow light blurred in his vision.

They had won.

This long night was finally over.

William put down his gun, pulled a somewhat misshapen cigar from his chest, and lit it.

Julian took off his glasses and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Is it over?"

Julian asked softly.

"No."

Lin Jie shook his head, his fingers rubbing the still-warm Round Table insignia.

"This is just the beginning. We've taken back control, but that doesn't mean the problems are solved."

"The cracks in the Projection world are still there. The threats from the real world are still there."

Lin Jie stood up.

"But at least, we now have a chance to catch our breath."