Chapter Seventy-One: The Two-Faced Bishop

Norway, Core Laboratory of the Aurora Ocean Research Institute.

Watching Zhao Zhenhua, who had fallen into slumber within the medical pod after exhausting the last remnants of his strength, Lin Feng and Xiao Ran wore expressions of grave solemnity.

The small data chip in their hands, barely the size of a fingernail, seemed at this moment to bear the weight of a scientist’s thirty years of regret and integrity—a burden so heavy it could crush a mountain.

The “Terminus” program was the only “Spear of Godslaying” in their possession, capable of halting the [Apocalypse] project.

And Zhao Zhenhua’s blood-stained final request had added an even heavier, absolutely uncompromising objective to their already perilous international mission: to rescue the hostage, Zhao Siyuan.

“We must contact the [Disciple] immediately.”

Xiao Ran’s tone brooked no argument. She knew well that Zhao Zhenhua’s “death” would not escape the notice of the “Phantom” organization; time was slipping away.

Lin Feng nodded.

He moved to the corner of the lab, lifted a disguised alloy panel from the floor, revealing beneath it a device of extraordinary complexity—resembling some ancient astrolabe or compass.

This was the fruit of thirty years’ clandestine collaboration between Zhao Zhenhua and the [Disciple], two top physicists who had secretly developed, using “Phantom’s” resources, the world’s only super-spatial communicator based on quantum entanglement—a device utterly immune to eavesdropping or tracking by any means.

Lin Feng took a deep breath and, following notes left by Zhao Zhenhua, inserted the “Terminus” program chip into the central slot of the compass as a secret key.

He then entered a string of gravitational wave constants—so intricate as to defy imagination.

A low hum resonated.

The compass activated. On its crystalline surface, a deep, swirling vortex of energy appeared, composed of countless blue points of light, rotating like a miniature nebula.

Moments later, a voice emerged from the spinning nebula—a heavily encrypted, voice-distorted elderly tone, thick with a German accent, cautious and probing.

“...Is it the ‘old friend’?”

This was the sole codeword agreed upon between him and Zhao Zhenhua.

Lin Feng leaned in, voice calm and steady.

“‘Old friend’ has found peace.”

“I am here... to complete his redemption.”

...

The other end of the communicator fell into a long silence.

Clearly, this unexpected reply had shocked the high-ranking [Disciple] bishop, filling him with disbelief and suspicion.

At last, through the spinning nebula, a face appeared—elderly, its features obscured by streams of flickering data.

“...Why should I trust you?”

The [Disciple’s] voice was icy, suffused with the scrutiny and vigilance of a ruler.

“Zhao’s body—I know. But his will is harder than steel. How did you make him talk?”

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“Or perhaps...” His tone hinted at lethal danger. “You were sent by the ‘Godfather’ himself. This is merely another bloody test of my dwindling loyalty.”

Faced with this nearly insoluble suspicion, Lin Feng merely smiled.

He leisurely took out his military tablet, fingers moving swiftly and elegantly across its surface.

“It’s simple.”

He aimed the tablet’s screen at the communicator’s receiver.

“—Bishop, the third layer ‘Cerberus’ active defense protocol on the periphery of the ‘Castle’ headquarters of ‘Phantom’ in Berlin was personally designed and coded by you three years ago, correct?”

“I heard you once boasted it was your perfect masterpiece. Unless God Himself descended with the code of Creation, no mortal could cross it without triggering an alarm.”

On the other end, the [Disciple’s] voice betrayed a touch of pride—unique to top scientists.

“...So what? What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing much.”

Lin Feng’s lips curled into a supremely confident smile—bordering on arrogance. He pressed the “Enter” key lightly.

“Now, look again.”

...

Berlin, Germany.

In a massive underground command center, hidden beneath the city like a steel fortress, an impeccably dressed elderly German man sat upon his “throne,” speaking with the mysterious figure in Norway in a conversation on the razor’s edge between life and death.

He was one of “Phantom’s” three bishops, the [Disciple]—Klaus Schneider, master of the organization’s science and logistics.

At the moment Lin Feng’s casual words rang out, his vast main screen—displaying real-time security status for the “Castle”—suddenly emitted a faint, barely audible sound that sent a chill through its designer:

A “permission change” alert!

He snapped his head up, staring at the screen.

On the backend core code of his “Cerberus” defense protocol—a “perfect mathematical artwork” he had written himself, billions of lines of code—someone had left, in an incomprehensible, gold-shining line of code that seemed to appear from nowhere, an elegant yet outrageously audacious...

“Graffiti!”

[—God said, ‘Let there be light.’ And there was light.]

[—‘Zhurong’ sends you greetings.]

Klaus stared at the words, and for the first time, the eyes that had always seemed to pierce the truths of the universe betrayed an awe-struck shock, as though witnessing a miracle.

He knew better than anyone!

The other party had entered, without triggering any physical or logical alarm, without alerting the omnipresent AI surveillance of the “Godfather”—as if strolling through a garden...

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It meant that the other party could, at any moment, utterly “destroy” this place in the same manner!

This was not a hacker.

This was... a god.

“...Who... who are you?”

For the first time, the [Disciple’s] voice was tinged with uncontrollable shock—and a hint of genuine reverence.

Lin Feng’s voice came through, as calm as ever.

“A person who can help you, and help Mr. Zhao, rescue Zhao Siyuan.”

...

Trust was forged in the most unreasonable way possible—by sheer overwhelming strength.

The final plan was swiftly established between them.

“...Three days from now is the last toast before the global launch of the [Apocalypse] project,” the [Disciple’s] voice grew grave.

“The ‘Godfather’ and the other two bishops will attend in person. It is the moment of greatest security—but also when vigilance is at its lowest. This will be... our only chance.”

“I will use my authority to arrange for the two of you to infiltrate the banquet disguised as my privately dispatched sommelier and security assistant from Munich.”

“...Miss Xiao Ran, I entrust Mr. Zhao’s daughter, Siyuan, to you. I will transmit her location and a map of the castle’s interior.”

He paused, his tone becoming solemn, as if entrusting something more precious than his own life.

“And Mr. Lin Feng... your task is harder than scaling the heavens.”

“You must, without alerting the ‘Godfather’s’ omnipresent, godlike awareness, infiltrate the main server room on the thirty-third underground level of the castle—a room physically isolated from all networks.”

“There, accomplish your ‘work’.”

“Understood,” Xiao Ran replied, cool and resolute. “This mission needs a codename.”

Lin Feng looked at the screen, at the dazzling Baroque banquet hall layout just transmitted by the [Disciple], and smiled.

“...Let’s call it [The Last Waltz].”

“We’ll dance at the enemy’s ball...”

“...and dedicate to them a dance of mourning.”

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