Anya recounted in detail, her tone taking on a distinctly different quality.
Ethan could tell this was her relaying soone else’s words.
Most likely, it was what his father, Alberto, had said.
Ethan did not interrupt her, listening quietly.
"True nas are an ethereal existence. The Old Continent generally believes that true nas co from divine grace, are the descent of divine power, a bestowal of authority; while the New Continent believes true nas co from everything, true nas are the manifestation of the world’s truth, the concrete form. My true na is such."
Anya paused here, explaining.
"I am Al, and all this was told to by Al."
"So what is my father’s true na?"
Ethan’s true na seed like a combination of the two theories, his true na indeed ca from the divine, or perhaps he was a deity himself.
At the sa ti, his authority also truly manifested the world’s truth.
Anya recited sothing in a language extrely complex, Ethan didn’t understand, so Anya quickly switched to words Ethan could comprehend: "In common language, it translates to the Unifier of Violence, that is, the Leader."
"What about Joan and the others? Are they all leaders?"
"I’m not sure about Joan, but Fred was previously a ruffian, a user of violence, that is..."
Anya recited another phrase in that complex language.
"So it sounds like a ruffian is a level below a leader?"
"That’s right."
"Then what true na is above the leader?"
"It is said to be the Apostle of the Underworld." This ti Anya did not use that complex language to articulate the true na represented by the Apostle of the Underworld.
It should be, albeit just his father Alberto’s speculation.
The Apostle of the Underworld, Sandro?
"Why did my father tell you these things?"
It couldn’t have been that he anticipated today Ethan would ask these questions.
"Al thought I had a chance to beco a true na bearer, to see the truth of the world..."
As Anya spoke, her tone shifted again, returning to the tone of recounting.
"Anya, you are a very simple person, with only one thing in your heart, this is good, my grandfather was such a person. He walked on the path of black mud and thorns single-mindedly back then, which led to the Bolita Clan. Do not change yourself. Soday, if you hear a voice calling you, you’ll be able to see the world’s reality and achieve your true na."
Anya said no more, clearly this was all Alberto had said.
From these words, obtaining a true na seems incredibly mysterious, yet Alberto said it was how his grandfather obtained his true na, without ntioning himself.
Combining that with what Emilio said tonight when Joan was killed, Ethan could deduce that true nas seem to be inheritable.
The conversation ended there as the car drove through the night of revelry, finally stopping in front of a residential area.
This was Wenster’s South District, a middle-class residential area within the city. The Cabreya family hadn’t risen for many years, hadn’t yet made a complete fortune, and unlike the Bolita family, they couldn’t buy a villa in the East District. What they earned over the years barely afforded them a standalone house with a garden in the South District.
That house stood as if a crouching beast in the darkness at this mont.
The South District was ultimately just a gathering place for the middle class, the streetlights were not well maintained, nearby streetlights were all broken, and no one repaired them, leaving it pitch dark, allowing Ethan’s car to remain hidden within.
The only light ca from the Cabreya house, with so dim lights at the door, perhaps lanterns, and guards with guns visible at the entrance, securing it with chains to prevent vehicles from coming in or out.
Ethan could feel flashes of malice in the darkness, it was apparent that the area was heavily guarded.
Amidst these malevolent forces, there was one particular strength, akin to a firefly in the dark, blinding—Fred.
Ethan sensed it clearly, even more clearly than at the North Sea Star, he vaguely felt as if he had grown stronger.
At the sa ti.
Inside the Cabreya family’s standalone house.
The living room.
Deliberately, no large lights were turned on. Several n with tired faces were puffing smoke at the table illuminated by a few lanterns.
Then, a person erged from the darkness, sitting in the second seat, looked at a drunken young man in the main seat and said, "The latest news, he will et with the heads of all families at the Bolita Company tomorrow."
Upon hearing this news, the young man, who seed tense as if holding his breath, completely relaxed and even chuckled, "So nothing will happen tonight, right? Fred?"
"In theory, yes. Even if he killed Joan, he previously didn’t touch the family business at all, so he doesn’t have many people available. Even if he wants to hold a eting tomorrow, not many people are likely to attend. I’ll make so more calls; things aren’t that bad yet."
Fred sat in the dark, unclear whether he was comforting the young man or himself.
"That’s great, Fred. Having you here is wonderful, truly. Otherwise, I really wouldn’t know what to do."
The young man was, of course, Palon, Joan’s only brother.
In truth, just over an hour ago, he was drinking with several new coquettes from Great Lake City at a bar, still reckoning how to bed them tonight.
Then a phone call almost made him wet his pants.
His brother was dead.
Instantly, he felt like dying himself, he knew too well how much dirty work he had done, his brother was dead, he couldn’t even imagine how those enemies would deal with him.
He was nearly devastated when he returned to their South District ho, only to down three glasses of gin to barely sit there smoking.
Fortunately, there was Fred.
The man his brother trusted most.
He brought a bunch of gunn to guard the house like a fortress.
"Listen, Palon, you must pull yourself together, now at the most crucial mont, stop drinking, go wash your face, I’m going to make so calls, then we need to talk about the succession ceremony tomorrow, you must take over everything from your brother in the shortest ti, and then we strike back."
"No, Fred, let go, at least for now, okay? My head is a ss, I need a drink, and then a good sleep, tomorrow, let’s talk tomorrow. You said it yourself, that guy has no power, he will take a long ti to gather forces."
Palon held his head, pleading.
"Alright, go sleep, we’ll talk tomorrow, but tomorrow you can’t drink anymore."
Fred, with so reluctance, waved his hand, letting soone take Palon to rest, as he himself got up to make phone calls.
Yet, as he rose, he felt sothing was amiss, walking uneasily towards the window to glance outside.
The outside was pitch black, nothing at all.
It must have been an illusion.
Ethan, that kid suddenly killing Joan must have been out of desperation, he couldn’t possibly have the nerve to launch an attack tonight, could he?
"Truly a dreadful era."
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