The word left the old woman’s mouth like a curse, her voice rasping with disdain, materializing on the 8th underground floor of a C.I.B. branch headquarters.
She stood there, her wrinkled, sagging skin practically hanging off her bones, looking as if she had one foot in the grave. Her gaze swept across the floor, locking onto the curse users, who were regrouping into two around her.
Then, she turned to the group that had summoned her and scowled, "You had one job. Everything was laid out for you, yet you still failed." Her voice dripped with disappointment before it twisted into cold fury. "I don’t care that you failed. But how dare you expose my new identity? Do you have any idea how much we had to sacrifice to her?"
A sharp intake of breath echoed from the agents as they recognized the identity of the old woman.
"Madam Director?" Matthew’s voice barely came out, her tone laced with horror.
The old woman before them was the former director of the bureau—a legend who had retired when Matthews was still a trainee.
Around her, the other C.I.B. agents stood frozen in shock, their expressions shifting from confusion to dread. It wasn’t just her presence that unnerved them—it was what she represented.
She was one of the curse users from the most unstable and darkest period in their country’s history. She single-handedly helped lay the groundwork for most of the things they now take for granted, which back then one would not even dream of.
There was never a moment in their lives when they questioned her loyalty, not even now. And yet, seeing her , it was clear—she had fallen for the cult’s conspiracy. Enjoy new adventures from NovelHub.Côm
Tears welled in the eyes of agents who had never so much as flinched under extreme physical and mental conditions. The thought that the cult had desecrated their hero’s memory and that they using her body to destroy what she fought to build was infuriating and heart-wrenching.
Standing at the forefront, Matthew clenched her jaw. The morale of her unit had taken a severe hit as they weren’t just facing an enemy; they were facing a legend.
Just then, the ex-director tilted her head slightly, taking in their expressions. Then, her lips curled into a smile.
"It’s a pity," she mused. "But I’ll just have to kill you all so no one can breathe a word about what happened here."
Her gaze shifted slowly from the cultists to the agents. Then, with deliberate slowness, she lifted her frail-looking foot and stomped on the floor—Thud!
Even though it looked like nothing more than a fragile old woman tapping her foot on the ground in a tantrum, the impact sent ripples spreading across the concrete floor.
The waves were very defined; one could see them and feel them under their foot. The glass walls of the holding cells, which had withstood the previous battle among numerous sky-tiers without a scratch, began to crack.
With each passing ripple, the fractures deepened, spreading toward the columns and walls of the floor. The entire structure began to tremble violently. The agents’ eyes widened in shock as they saw that the walls and columns were designed with curse suppressors in them, making them capable of withstanding a few death blows from void-tier curselings or curse masters, wobbling like rubber all from a single stomp of the former bureau director. No one had ever doubted the ex-director’s strength, but seeing it in person was an entirely different kind of terror.
"Fall back! She’s trying to bury us alive!" Matthews’ voice cut through the chaos as she barked the order, her urgency undeniable.
Even though she did not say it, it was clear to everyone who heard that if they could escape, they should. Even if it means leaving the rest of them behind, as someone had to make it out of here and warn the mortal world that their former director has been compromised.
Though the ex-director had been retired for almost half a century now, her influence still held immense weight within the government. If the cult were able to successfully make use of her identity, it could spell disaster for the government and the country.
As Matthews’ words rang out, the old woman smiled. Her loose, sagging skin trembled with the movement, a grotesque reminder of the age-worn shell that housed a monster.
And then the agents realized the ripples weren’t just affecting the building; they were affecting the space itself. As the helplessness of their situation descended upon them, and for the first time, despair began to creep in. They weren’t alone; the cultists who summoned her for help also dispaired, knowing the reinforcement they called was burying them with their enemies.
But just as the weight of hopelessness threatened to crush them, two figures materialized five feet from the old woman. One was an old man in white PJs, gripping a younger man dressed head-to-toe in plant-like armor.
The moment the old man’s walking stick touched the ground, the ripples stopped, and the building stabilized. The tide of battle had shifted in a fraction of a second. He threw the man he was holding at Matthews and ordered, "Leave her to me. Go secure the holding cells and the intruders."
Then, locking his eyes on the former director of the curse investigation bureau, he said, "Old friend, let me give you peace. I know you would have done the same for me."
"Fuck!" the old woman spat, her voice laced with frustration as she locked eyes with the old man standing before her.
His presence alone confirmed the worst—she could no longer keep the Samsara Cult’s possession of the former C.I.B. director a secret. But that wasn’t the only reason for her anger. Today, they had lost their biggest source of income, the Operation 9Ks.
In their efforts to recover and salvage what remained, they revealed themselves and suffered significant manpower losses. Today, they had suffered their greatest loss since the Samsara Cult undertook the mission that the Immortal Sect had failed to achieve.