The Prisoner was certain soone else still existed within this hall, because that very "soone" had ripped away his [Silence] camouflage!
Rewinding a little— back to the mont the Prisoner had made a fool of Yu Mu and strode laughing toward the exit.
The instant his hand closed around the door handle, a flash of inspiration struck. A far more brilliant idea blood in his mind.
He realized he didn't actually need to leave.
The one who should leave was the loathso Zhen Yi— not the universally beloved Prisoner.
So he changed his mind.
He wanted to stay and observe— to see what kind of changes this so-called diocre Person Society would undergo once it lost its master of atmosphere, and how much more intelligence would trickle out.
Besides, he had a vague feeling that these weren't the only people in this venue.
He and Cheng Shi had reached the sa conclusion: sothing was wrong with this hall!
In truth, it wasn't just the two of them. When Hu Wei had scrambled to leave so urgently the mont "Zhen Yi" started counting down, it wasn't necessarily pure panic— he simply hadn't wanted to stick around and invite new trouble.
So everyone had been thinking the sa thing. What none of them expected was that "Zhen Yi" would strike first!
Returning to the Prisoner: at the very instant he pulled the door open and was about to step through, he used [Silence]'s talent to "silence" every line of sight in the venue, erasing himself from everyone's perception.
Then he quietly shut the door, slipped into the nearby rubble, and beca a silent intelligence-gathering device.
[Silence] players excelled at precisely this, and he walked farther along [Silence]'s path than anyone else alive.
In that single instant, the Prisoner had fabricated the illusion of his departure— shifting from the spotlight to the shadows. From the loudest "cicada" who'd already left the diocre Person Society's stage, he beca a silent "mantis" who'd circled back for an encore!
When he overheard Qin Xin and the Blind One's conversation, he realized the secrets buried beneath this diocre Person Society ran far deeper than he'd imagined!
He'd "accidentally" learned that Qin Xin commanded an organization dedicated to protecting goodness. He'd "accidentally" discovered his brother-in-law really was his brother-in-law. He'd "accidentally" found out said brother-in-law was apparently formidable beyond asure. And he'd obtained the best possible confirmation of [Prosperity]'s fall.
Beyond all that, he'd also detected that after Qin Xin and the Blind One left, sothing else in the hall still hadn't departed!
After all, he "understood" [Silence] best— and right now, it wasn't "silent" enough!
So he didn't rush to leave. He waited patiently. What he hadn't expected was that this wait would produce yet another unexpected acquaintance.
Another mantis, just like himself, quietly materialized in the hall under the Prisoner's gleeful observation.
Lao Deng!
The Chosen One of [Ti]— Lao Deng!
This "friend" whom he'd nearly led down [Silence]'s path once upon a ti was now muttering his "award acceptance speech," blissfully unaware that the Prisoner had been recording every word of those sowhat cringeworthy declarations from beneath the rubble.
The Prisoner was having the ti of his life. He was confident that the next ti he encountered Lao Deng, he could push him even further down [Silence]'s road. But at the peak of his delight, the unexpected happened.
So inexplicable force suddenly tore away his [Silence] cloak, abruptly exposing his presence to the other's senses.
Lao Deng was a Chosen One— an assassin, no less, the class most attuned to environntal awareness. He detected the presence imdiately and snapped into combat mode.
What he hadn't anticipated was that this "fellow mantis" hiding even deeper than himself was the Prisoner!
That Prisoner who silenced everyone he touched!
In that instant, Lao Deng's face looked like he'd been chronically constipated.
And the mont the Prisoner called out "give
a hand," Lao Deng decisively chose to exit the stage, because fighting the Prisoner was utterly pointless.
It was like the frustration of being conned by Zhen Yi— brawling with the Prisoner only made things worse.
At least after being swindled, you could comfort yourself that the fraudster's technique was simply too sophisticated and you hadn't been careful enough. But against the Prisoner?
You couldn't exactly bla yourself for not talking fast enough.
What tornted people was never the Prisoner's fists— it was the Prisoner's tongue!
The man was terminally chatty. The verbal fabric he wove was so dense and airtight it could suffocate you!
And so the Chosen One of [Ti] opted for a tactical retreat.
After Lao Deng departed, the Prisoner's expression turned uncharacteristically solemn.
He knew the mont had finally co to confront the true mastermind behind this diocre Person Society.
But no matter how he "called out" to the hidden figure within the hall, the venue remained utterly silent. Apart from the echoes of his own voice, there was not a single response.
Silence and noise reflected off each other in that mont.
The Prisoner shouted until his voice went hoarse. Still, no one acknowledged him.
He decided the other party probably didn't want to see him. And so the thoroughly bored Prisoner shook his head with a sigh and ultimately chose to leave.
This ti, he truly left.
Because even without a direct response, between his own observations and the conversations he'd overheard, he'd already ford a guess about the hidden figure's identity.
What he wanted was an answer, not an actual exchange. And so, satisfied that he had his answer, the Prisoner made his exit.
Shortly after his departure, yet another change swept through the diocre hall.
A drastic change.
Gold faded from gilt. Jade lost its luster. Chairs crumbled to rot.
Everything that had been resplendent within the hall began to distort and warp once every last attendee had truly vanished.
It was as if an invisible hand had peeled a high-saturation filter from the space. Before long, the entire venue lay in desolation.
Glory dimd. Splendor could not endure. Beneath the gold and jade, it seed, had always been nothing but rubbish.
Now, looking around the hall, beyond the demolished stage and passageway, all that remained were weather-eaten, rotting chairs, weed-choked stairways, and the mottled, faded do above the stage.
And then, from atop that rust-streaked do above the stage ruins, a crimson curtain unfurled downward.
The instant that blood-red fabric descended, it transford into a rolling wave of cloth that surged outward in every direction. Before long, it had wrapped the entire hall in its embrace.
Then...
With a sharp whoosh, the entire venue vanished from the Void.
At the sa ti, on a stage sowhere in reality, a man in formal attire cradled a glass ball— mottled and decayed— and carried it to the stage's edge. With great care, he placed it on a shelf already crowded with glass spheres.
He polished the dust from its surface with an exquisite silk handkerchief, replaying scene after scene of the brilliant performance that had just unfolded on this stage. A satisfied smile crept across his face.
"Behold— the performances of the diocre are always so magnificent."
He set the glass ball down precisely, then retreated step by step to center stage. Facing the empty audience seats below, he bowed deeply and murmured:
"The curtain falls. The show ends."
The mont those words faded, the stage's red curtain descended, enfolding his entire figure behind it.
But a golden card clattered out from behind the curtain, landing squarely at center stage.
The spotlight dimd ever so softly. But before the light vanished entirely, its faint glow still revealed the detail inscribed upon the card's surface.
At its center were three small characters: "diocre Person Society." And the card's number read precisely...
No. 11.
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