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Qiluo Ling looked at the man in the photo, a familiar face with dark brown hair, deep-set eyes, brown eyes, and that memorable hooked nose.
Wasn't he the Devil's Messenger she had seen in her dreams?
Qiluo Ling was taken aback, as she had always thought that the Devil's Messenger only existed in illusions, never realizing he actually existed in real life.
In the photo, he wore a tight-fitting uniform, gloves, and leather boots, looking sharp and elegant. What caught her attention the most was the black cross medal on the left sleeve of his military uniform.
Qiluo Ling found it strange because she recognized that cross medal as a symbol worn by Nazi officers during World War II. Who exactly was he?
"What do you think, Miss Qi?" The man looked at her with a natural expression.
Qiluo Ling did not answer immediately; she was deep in thought.
Who was Mr. Kledinska? Why did he show her a photo of the Devil's Messenger? What was Mr. Kledinska's relationship with him? What was his purpose?
To find out all these answers, she would have to follow this bodyguard-like driver. Meeting someone she didn't know seemed to entail great risk, but upon reflection, the risk should be proportional to the reward; this venture was worth taking. Compared to the life-and-death trials she had already faced, she believed she could adapt and respond with ease.
Qiluo Ling silently returned the photo to him, looked up at him, and nodded. She followed him into the car.
The sports car drove out of the airport and headed south. The acceleration of the car was particularly fast; it felt like a burst of flames racing forward, giving her a momentary sensation of weightlessness.
The sports car traveled along a wide and clean avenue. Through the bright windows, she saw classical European-style old houses on both sides. Qiluo Ling caught sight of the ancient city of Warsaw, still as beautiful as a fairy tale after its phoenix-like rebirth.
The man seemed to sense her thoughts and explained, "These buildings that look like they are from hundreds of years ago are actually from the 1950s. The German Army turned this place into ruins. So these buildings were rebuilt on their original sites according to how they looked before they were destroyed. It is said that before the Nazi prepared to bomb Warsaw, the Polish began preserving architectural blueprints for future reconstruction. The entire rebuilding project encapsulated the wisdom and efforts of all Warsaw residents; people collected architectural plans everywhere and depicted the original buildings from memory. After completing their daily work, they voluntarily came to participate in the reconstruction efforts amidst the ruins."
In her heart, Qiluo Ling silently admired this indestructible spirit of Poland.
After twenty minutes, the sports car stopped in front of a villa. They must have arrived at their destination.
A man dressed in a black suit with a bow tie, resembling a butler, politely opened the car door.
Qiluo Ling got out of the car and slowly walked out.
This was a villa; to be precise, it was a mansion.
Outside the villa is a vast lawn, with the grass neatly trimmed. In the center of the lawn is a large pool platform, elegantly designed in a pure French style.
The most beautiful feature is undoubtedly the central building, a stunning villa. From a distance, it resembles a king's palace, a exquisite piece of art.
The villa has three stories, with four spire-topped towers at each corner. The walls are white, and the roof is also white. Tall oval-shaped floor-to-ceiling windows are adorned with flowing white curtains.
The butler led her to the living room on the first floor, asking her to sit for a moment while informing Mr. Kledinska that she had arrived. Qiluo Ling placed her backpack on the spacious sofa in the living room. She stood up and carefully observed the interior design and furnishings.
Several portraits of people hung on the walls of the main hall. The figures in the portraits wore exquisite and luxurious clothing, both men and women, with varying expressions. The emotions captured in the portraits conveyed subtle nuances that photographs could not replicate, undoubtedly crafted by renowned artists. Among them was a portrait of a middle-aged man from Demonic Music Messenger.
Qiluo Ling paused here, gazing intently at his portrait.
A slight sound came from behind her; she turned around to see an official pushing a wheelchair into the living room. An elderly man sat in the black wheelchair, covered with a thick blanket on his lower body, presumably Mr. Kledinska.
The elderly man in the wheelchair appeared to be in his seventies and was unusually thin. His complexion was pale, almost translucent enough to see the blue veins beneath his skin. His face was lined with wrinkles, his eye sockets deep-set, and he had a prominent nose that bore some resemblance to the unforgettable face in the photograph.
“Miss Qi, hello, it's nice to meet you for the first time. I am Mr. Kledinska; I wanted to see you,” he smiled slightly, his voice somewhat low.
“Miss Qi, please have a seat.” He gestured to the sofa beside him. “Would you like something to drink? Wine or coffee?”
“Coffee would be fine,” she replied.
The official-looking man left the living room to prepare coffee in the kitchen. Mr. Kledinska silently observed her with an intriguing gaze.
She felt somewhat uncomfortable and couldn't think of how to initiate conversation, so she remained silent.
The elderly man broke their silence by saying, “Before we begin our formal discussion, I hope you can show me your butterfly mark.”
Qiluo Ling chuckled self-deprecatingly and nodded.
She had grown accustomed to such scenarios; it seemed that in everyone's eyes, this butterfly mark was of utmost importance—it was the only thing that could confirm her identity; apart from it, she herself appeared insignificant.
Following his request, she placed her right arm on the coffee table once more. The elderly man moved his wheelchair closer to examine the birthmark carefully from the side.
"Do you mind if I touch it with my hand?" the old man asked cautiously.
Qiluo Ling nodded slightly.
Then, he extended his right hand and gently touched the Butterfly Birthmark, as if trying to find some evidence at a crime scene. After touching it, he remained expressionless and did not speak.
Qiluo Ling withdrew her right hand, and he glanced at her hands again.
"Your hands are naturally suited for playing the piano," he praised.
Qiluo Ling was silent for a moment before asking the old man, "Why do you want to see me?"
"Because you have a certain connection with me, no, it's your family that has some connection with mine. To be precise, it's your family that has a certain connection with my family."
"My family and your family?"
"Yes. You've seen the photo, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have."
"I believe you should know who he is, right?"
"Yes, I've seen him, in a dreamlike state."
He smiled with satisfaction.
"Do you know his identity?"
"He said he is the Devil's Messenger, conveying the message of Devil's Music, while also protecting my safety."
"Yes, that's correct. That is the mission of his soul."
"Are you saying that he is no longer in this world?"
"Of course, you have seen his photo. He was the head of the Security Service of the SS in Germany during World War II. He passed away in 1939."
Qiluo Ling suddenly remembered the information about Devil's Sorrow from the Council of Colleagues.
"What was his name?"
"Heinrich."
"What relation is he to you?"
"He is my uncle."
"He is your uncle?"
"Yes. The portraits you saw on the wall are all portraits of my ancestors."
"Oh, but I have seen the file regarding his death. He didn't commit suicide to the music of Devil's Sorrow and then was judged to death by Demon's Fire, did he?"
"Yes."
"Then how did he become a messenger of Devil's Music?"
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