Chapter 1473: The Courier

Avoid the courier.

The pale, eerie carvings on the lamppost glowed with an unnatural whiteness, stark against the black iron, almost painfully bright. The surrounding fog drifted and swirled slowly, thick and chaotic. In this silent, dead city shrouded in mist, those simple letters suddenly felt profoundly sinister—so much so that both Sparrow and Night Owl shivered involuntarily.

Yet neither of them stopped. They quickened their pace toward the southeastern district. The dim yellow streetlights traced a faint, continuous path through the fog. Faint glimmers spilled from the buildings lining the street, barely illuminating the dark road that seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance.

Sparrow lowered her voice, though she wasn’t sure why—perhaps not wanting to disturb some unseen presence lurking in the fog. “The courier… you mean the one who went missing days ago?”

In Prandel, the “courier” hadn’t been seen for a long time.

Unlike ordinary messengers on the continent of Loren, the courier in this mage kingdom held a unique and mysterious role. They traveled between inland cities and border towns, wielding incredible power and special clearance.

Within the Violet Realm, cities were isolated from one another, separated by endless forests and labyrinthine wilds. These barriers made it impossible for outsiders to pass through border towns into the interior. Even locals rarely left their own cities unless necessary. The courier was the vital link—the bridge connecting these isolated cities.

They delivered letters, transmitted orders from the City of a Thousand Towers to every frontier outpost, and opened “passages” through the endless forests and mazes, ensuring merchant caravans could travel smoothly between cities.

Each city in the Violet Realm had exactly one courier. Despite being just one person, they bore the entire burden of communication for their city. They moved through this mysterious land in ways outsiders couldn’t comprehend, seemingly able to appear instantly anywhere within the kingdom, carrying countless letters and delivering them accurately and on time. To outsiders like Sparrow, the Violet Realm was a land of endless enigmas—and the courier was the most incredible and inexplicable of all.

Sparrow guessed the courier must be an unimaginably powerful spellcaster, master of secret arts unknown to the outside world—a living embodiment of the kingdom’s deep magical heritage.

But the courier responsible for the Prandel region had long since vanished. In fact, in Sparrow’s memory, the strange phenomena that began to plague the Violet Realm started shortly after the courier disappeared…

Sparrow and her colleagues had tried to investigate the courier’s whereabouts but found nothing. The disappearance had left no trace, and the locals seemed to accept it as normal—some even forgot their kingdom ever had a courier, much like Torig forgetting his uncle who lived in Palasanto.

On a nearby lamppost, pale letters appeared: “It’s him.”

“Why avoid the courier?” Night Owl asked, eyes scanning the fog-shrouded shadows. The shopkeeper’s warning sent chills down his spine. Though he saw no tangible monsters or enemies in the mist, he felt a creeping malice closing in, lurking just out of sight, watching through the shifting gray-white fog. “Is the courier hunting us ‘outsiders’? Is he connected to this fog?”

They passed the outer edge of the inner district, where a wand shop usually bustling with customers now lay under an eerie silence. A faint, dim glow seeped from its windows and door, spreading like liquid through the mist. The wide display window seemed crowded with shadowy shapes. Sparrow glanced toward the shop but quickly looked away.

On a lamppost beside her, sharp pale letters flashed: “The courier isn’t hunting you. The courier is cleansing everything here.”

For some reason, the letters no longer looked carved but seemed to emerge directly from the iron surface, forming swift, spoken sentences.

Ahead, the fog revealed a sloping road leading out to the outer district. The seemingly endless street finally ended. In the swirling mist, Sparrow spotted a dark carriage parked silently by the roadside. No driver sat upon it, but a shifting black smoke roughly shaped like a horse hovered before the carriage. Loose harnesses hung on the smoky form, reins floating as if held by invisible hands.

As Sparrow and Night Owl passed, they couldn’t help but glance at the silent carriage. Suddenly, a faint light flickered inside the blackened cabin, followed by shadowy shapes emerging from the glow, like sludge coating the rough glass on the carriage’s side.

Their hearts tightened. They quickly averted their gaze. Then, on a nearby wall, pale letters appeared: “Hide!”

Without hesitation, Sparrow and Night Owl darted into the narrow gap between two buildings, using a protruding corner to shield themselves.

Sparrow’s heart pounded wildly. She wanted to ask what had happened to the superior who could only communicate through these cryptic messages, but she forced herself silent. Then, from the alley across the slope, a tall, slender figure materialized.

In this silent, empty city drowned in fog, another person appeared—besides her and Night Owl.

The figure emerged from the mist, revealing details: a somber, classic long coat and a black top hat popular among the Violet Realm’s bourgeoisie. In one hand, he carried a lantern glowing the same dim yellow as the streetlights; in the other, a long cane. Sparrow recognized him—the courier of Prandel.

Before the strange phenomena began, the citizens of Prandel called him Mr. Christo. As a mysterious courier in the enigmatic Violet Realm, Mr. Christo was actually quite decent. He had even accepted Night Owl’s invitation once, sharing stories over drinks about the City of a Thousand Towers and his busy yet interesting life as a courier.

He was a friendly, polite man—almost the only source of information about the inland customs for outsiders like Sparrow and Night Owl. But now, seeing this familiar face brought no relief.

Because the shopkeeper had warned them: avoid the courier.

They held their breath, watching the tall, thin figure step out of the alley. Mr. Christo paused at a street corner, seemingly checking the house numbers, then turned toward a nearby building. Calmly, he approached the door, hung his lantern on his cane, and knocked on the faintly glowing door.

The door opened silently, dim light spilling out like liquid onto the stone steps. But no one came out. The house was empty.

Mr. Christo showed no reaction. He pulled a letter from his coat and handed it toward the empty house.

Sparrow saw the letter vanish into the fog the moment it left his fingers. Then, a nearly pitch-black “flame” erupted from the base of the house, engulfing it almost instantly—along with a string of connected buildings nearby. In the silent, black fire, the houses dissolved like morning dew, and one by one, nearly transparent figures emerged, sinking slowly into the ground.

The figures had no faces, resembling shapeless human smoke wrapped in bandage-like cloth—images Sparrow and Night Owl had seen in some imperial encyclopedias on supernatural phenomena.

The entire scene lasted less than fifteen seconds before the black flames receded as swiftly as they had appeared. When the fire died down, Sparrow’s eyes widened.

The row of houses was gone—not just burned, but utterly erased. No debris, no ashes remained. Only bare stone and earth lay where the buildings had stood.

She suddenly recalled the shopkeeper’s words: the courier is cleansing everything here.

Now she understood.

The tall, thin figure moved again. Mr. Christo silently approached another house nearby. The chilling scene repeated—he knocked, stood before the empty building, handed over a letter to an unseen recipient, and black flames surged up, erasing several houses in mere seconds.

As this continued, the gray-white fog on the slope thickened.

The courier moved on, like a mindless machine executing his task with ruthless precision. One house after another—one area after another—vanished after his letters were delivered. Sparrow’s heart pounded harder.

At that moment, she finally understood why the shopkeeper had suddenly left those words on the window, urging her and Night Owl to leave immediately.

If the courier had come to that shop, if he had knocked on that door, if he had delivered his letter…

Though Quèfēng didn’t fully understand the mechanics behind it, she was almost certain that whether that door would open or not was beyond her and Yèxiāo’s control.

At this moment, Yèxiāo was breaking out in a cold sweat. He watched nervously as the tall, slender figure moved through the mist, silently hoping it wouldn’t come their way. At the same time, he kept a close eye on the nearby walls and ground, alert for any new instructions or warnings from the “store manager.”

Perhaps fate was on their side—the tall, slender figure didn’t approach them. It seemed he wasn’t methodically “destroying” everything in order, but rather, like a courier, was strictly fulfilling his duty, delivering letters to their intended addresses. After another burst of black flames erupted, he suddenly changed direction and strolled unhurriedly toward the inner district.

Quèfēng and Yèxiāo both exhaled in relief. But just as they were about to pause and plan their next move, an inexplicable chill ran down their spines—from behind!

Quèfēng whipped around and was stunned to see a tall, slender figure standing deep in the narrow gap between buildings, as if it had just materialized out of thin air, silently watching her through the swirling fog.

That was… another “Mr. Christo”!

Almost immediately, from a nearby alley just a stone’s throw away, yet another tall, slender figure emerged slowly.

There wasn’t just one courier. In this eerie night shrouded in thick fog, countless “Courier Christos” were on the move—and they had finally spotted the unwelcome visitors in the mist.

Suddenly, a pale, chilling word appeared on the nearby wall: “RUN!”

Without hesitation, Quèfēng and Yèxiāo burst out of their hiding spot. Their hearts pounded harder than ever before, their speed faster than it had ever been. Like two arrows, they shot onto the street. Behind them, several tall, slender figures silently emerged from alleys, cracks between buildings—even seemingly from the air itself. One after another, their emotionless yet bone-chilling gazes fixed on the intruders’ backs.

In the next instant, the “couriers” began to advance toward Quèfēng and Yèxiāo. Their steps appeared slow, but with each footfall, they seemed to teleport, suddenly appearing just behind the two agents—and closing in fast!

Without a second thought, Quèfēng pulled a crystalline grenade from her gear, quickly gauged the trajectory and timing, and hurled it behind her.

A thunderous explosion shattered the dead silence of the night. The blast sent dirt and debris flying skyward, and two of the “couriers” were caught in the shockwave.

As the smoke cleared, the two tall, slender figures still stood where they had been, but flickered violently like disrupted projections, seemingly paralyzed for the moment.

Grenades weren’t always effective against supernatural phenomena—but this time, it seemed to have worked.

Yet a problem loomed for Quèfēng—

As two MI6 agents on a covert mission, how could they possibly be carrying so many grenades?

As if to make matters worse, new shadows began to materialize in the air along the sides of the slope.

The “couriers” had been alerted… and were converging here.

Quèfēng and Yèxiāo exchanged a glance.

In each other’s eyes, they saw the same resolute determination.

“You’re faster,” Yèxiāo said quickly. “You run ahead, I’ll cover the rear and hold them off—”

“You’re not strong enough to hold them for long,” Quèfēng interrupted swiftly. “I’ll cover the rear, you—”

Yèxiāo’s panic flared. “This isn’t the time! We have to get the message back! You—”

His words were cut off abruptly by a sharp, piercing whistle that sliced through the air, breaking the tension between the two agents.

Through the whistle, a blindingly bright, almost searing orb of light tore through the thick fog on the slope. Like a fortress cannonball, it streaked over Quèfēng and Yèxiāo’s heads, crashing mercilessly into the growing cluster of “couriers.” The next moment, Quèfēng’s eyes went blank as she saw a mushroom cloud rise in the distance…

The buildings near the blast instantly turned to steam and dust. Yet, strangely, neither she nor Yèxiāo felt the expected shockwave or gust of wind—there wasn’t even a breeze in the night sky.

All the terrifying force of that strike had been perfectly contained within the explosion’s radius.

The two agents came to an abrupt halt, turning their heads toward the source of the attack with a mix of suspicion and alertness. There, standing in the middle of the slope not far away, was a figure.

An old man.

An old man wearing a bathrobe, a nightcap perched atop his head, standing barefoot on the ground.

His face was the picture of utter confusion.

(End of chapter)