Although Lann’s weight is much more than that of hunters pursuing swift combat, his movements are more agile than those of the hunters in Yan’an.
The decaying beams inside the tower crisscross at varying heights.
Lann jumps down layer by layer, and his extended body finds any reachable handholds to slow his fall.
Finally, after a few easy leaps, he arrives at a broken platform, where there’s a door opened in the wall.
The heavy solid wood door is pushed open, shaking off quite a bit of dust.
It was apparent, this door hadn’t been opened by anyone for a long time.
The scenery beyond the door feels familiar to Lann.
Since this isn’t his first time entering the Hunter Workshop.
The reality almost mirrors the dream realm he was forcibly drawn into, except for its long-neglected decay makes it seem even more rundown than in the dream.
The stone path on the dirt is cracked and disordered, the small church lost a layer of its wall, vines and rust spread over the iron fence.
Many gravestones that were supposed to be standing around have been buried under the remnants of plants, while those plants themselves had been dead for a long time.
The marble pool by the small church is dry, and judging by the cracks on it, perhaps just a gust of wind would shatter it all over the ground.
Everything is heading towards irreversible decay.
...Just like the city of Yan’an.
Lann moves inside, following the memories from the dream realm; aside from the traces left by time, everything is identical, except for the lifelike marionette lady.
She no longer lies beneath the stairs of the small church, but instead lies in a corner within the workshop.
Unlike in the dream realm, Lann doesn’t feel watched when facing her.
The Demon Hunter reaches out and touches her hair, which is silver-white like his own, as real as it appears.
His fingers move down, touching the marionette’s skin, the corners of her eyes, her lips...
The sensation of elasticity and flesh almost made Lann feel she was real.
"It’s too lifelike..."
The more he feels the tactile sensation, the tighter Lann’s brow furrows.
The marionette’s realism surpasses the limits of normal human imagination; she can even manage to have an ’expression’!
Human eyes, a single eyeball cannot make emotional expressions.
The commonly said ’expression’ actually includes a series of tiny muscles around the eyes, combined with the eyeball to perform complex actions.
Not even the human brain controls these tiny muscles; unless exceptionally gifted and rigorously trained, one can’t fake an ’expression with a smile.’
And whoever made the marionette, even incorporated these tiny muscles into the crafting process completely.
Lann hardly dares to imagine how huge and effort-consuming this workload must be.
The Magic World has many marionettes made by warlocks, but they merely assemble materials into a humanoid form, then animate it with magic to carry out commands.
In terms of delicacy, there’s a vast difference compared to the marionette before him.
This level of refinement even allows Lann, through the piece before him, to vaguely feel the emotions of its creator—
A love bordering on obsession.
Sane humans feel fear towards insane humans.
This fear originates from ’encountering someone resembling oneself in appearance but internally transformed.’
Irrespective of whether that insane person can harm you, mere contact stirs a deep-seated, inexplicable rejection.
This also contributes to the common horror scene of lunatic asylums.
The young man grabs the marionette’s hand; the rounded joints contrast sharply with the subtle facial muscles, resembling deliberate rough portions to distinguish between marionettes and humans.
Lann turns and begins searching the workshop for more valuable information.
About blood therapy, about hunters, about the old man Gremman from the dream realm...anything would do.
However, when the Hunter Workshop was abandoned, it was meticulously cleared, which left Lann with nothing.
The marionette silently lies in the corner, watching Lann rummage around the room, and eventually sigh in frustration.
After searching around, Lann notices something noteworthy outside the small church’s door.
This is the second difference from the dream realm, aside from the marionette.
In the dream realm, there shouldn’t be a grave at this location.
Time has caused fallen branches and leaves to cover the tombstone; after sweeping away the debris, the inscription on the tombstone reveals its identity.
A crooked shovel is stuck into the small mound atop the grave, with a few yellowing bones dug out of the ground.
An inexplicable feeling echoes in Lann’s mind, prompting him to pick up what seemed to be a lower leg bone.
The position of the bone is neither the easiest to grasp nor the most noticeable.
And yet, he smoothly and purposefully extracted this particular piece from the scattered bones and soil.
The feeling was akin to riding a bicycle.
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It’s ability has merged into an instinct akin to eating or drinking.
As Lann holds the bone, he quickly realizes it’s the ’new sense’ he just acquired that naturally guided him to pick up this bone.
"Interesting... but what exactly can you do?"
Lann murmurs to himself with curiosity as he gazes at the leg bone in his hand.
The stirring in his mind responds to his question.
Lann merely feels he’d entered the inner realm of the bone with an odd vision.
Inside, there lies a technique.
The Old Hunters skillfully utilized the technique called [Acceleration Technique], a maneuver developed by the first hunter that established the swift and decisive combat style pursued by hunters thereafter.
If this leg bone can be bathed in fresh blood, gaining ’nutrients,’ perhaps it can channel its owner’s technique, namely the [Acceleration Technique].
This maneuver isn’t intentionally left on the bone through some method.
Instead, it’s naturally imprinted on the leg bone over long-term usage, disconnected from the owner’s intention and spirit.
It can be termed as extremely ’pure.’
The information provided by [Spectral Vision] is largely such.
A fatigue sensation echoing from the brain behind his eyes prompts Lann to rub his eyes involuntarily, but he quickly realizes unless he pries open his head, he can’t reach the truly ’fatigued’ part.
"Inner Eye... is aptly named indeed."
The young man mutters sarcastically.
The Old Hunter’s leg bone is tossed from hand to hand a couple of times before being pocketed.
The Yan Nan Hunters’ speeds, exceeding imagination, Lann had seen more than once, and the [Acceleration Technique] surpasses regular sidestep dodges in terms of technical level.
He is very interested in this technique.