The goal will come soon, before the bell rings at sunset when the door of the sun closes.

Not at this sunset, just at another sunset, the sun always goes down anyway.

He began to wipe the butt of his gun, ready for the upcoming show.

A trap is planted every other zhang, and every aisle of the auditorium is paved.

His traps had been slightly improved, and the steel lotus flowers were different from the blood-soaked meat grinders used in the piano room before. The cutting of the blade had been replaced by a brilliant explosion, and the puff of colored smoke was enough to overwhelm the crowd.

There were a few corpses lying in the audience, arms hanging limply down the side of the aisle, all guards who prevented him from setting up the stage, but he made them part of the stage background.

He wiped the butt for the fourth time, and only after the fourth wipe could he confirm that it was clean.

A single piece of dust can cause a delicate firearm to malfunction, and in order to ensure that the show is foolproof, he must make sure that it is wiped clean before each use, and only after the fourth wipe can he confirm that it is clean.

Anyway, now it's clean.

It must be clean four times.

Perhaps his behavior may seem a bit one-size-fits-all to outsiders, but only a picky person can do a good job in this special profession. It is a relief for the customer and a relief for the prey.

There were a total of four bullets in the gun.

Each one is infused with magical energy, each one is comparable to the sword of a Raslane monk, each one makes his art flow, and each one is a masterpiece. It can turn into thick smoke, and these smoke can make the adherent manifest in the dark.

His patrons are generous, but shouldn't the best painters be paired with the best brushes? The same goes for inks, and you have to choose the best.

These intricate bullets came from the Kashuli Arsenal, a purple magical liquid condensed in a clear syringe.

He hid the magazine in his shoulder armor, wore it on his shoulders, and covered it with a cape, which is why he looked high and low shoulders.

Artists always have to be unique in order to gain the attention of others.

He had wiped it clean, but the gun was in his right hand, and the temptation was too strong.

He only felt alive when the guns were spewing out.

He knew he shouldn't have done it, but he unfolded the black eelskin bodysuit anyway. He stroked the surface of his leather jacket with the fingertips of his left hand, the slippery leather surface made him breathe rapidly.

A tight leather mask, placed on the piano, looked at him with a smile.

He put on the black hood, covered his hair and ears, picked up the leather mask, and then couldn't help but slide the mask onto his face.

The mask obscured his right eye and mouth, restricting his breathing and eliminating his depth perception.

It's heart-warming.

The purpose of wearing a hood is to allow others to see only his mask when looking at him from any angle, and not to be distracted by his abrupt features. Everyone wears masks, and his workmanship is better, and it would be a pity not to be seen clearly.

Skinny tall Kada?? Ember walked gracefully around the piano, holding an iron staff that seemed to have another mystery inside. Hit the stage floor with your cane vigorously, rhythmically tapping the floor – three times in a row, then a fourth.

It's creating a strong sound, and he uses the echoes in the theater to confirm how well the performance sounds, and the theater always puts a lot of effort into that, and he's happy with the answers he hears.

A perfect piece of work is not only a striking color composition, but also a sophisticated plus point, because his work is always fleeting and short-lived. Only he and his prey himself can appreciate the wonderful beauty of the moment.

Beauty, that is, pain.

And art is worth the pain.

Just as he put on his shoulder armor, the bell rang, the bell he had hidden at the foot of the piano, pulled by a thin line that stretched down the hallway.

It seems that the audience is about to be in place.

He calmly straightened his mask, lifted his cloak and sat down in front of the piano, the instrument he had spent weeks practicing, and now he would use the sound of it as the beginning of a grand performance.

With his leather-gloved hands, he began to play a soft prelude with full concentration, and a cold light was hitting him through the gap in the ceiling, like a spotlight on the stage, and the audience came at the right time.

The door of the corridor was suddenly violently breached, and heavily armed shield-wielding guards, covering their companions behind them, rushed into the audience first.

Then there were guards armed with Hextech guns, with searchlights on the heads, and beams of light quickly scanned the audience, making the air instantly agitated.

The guards wore prominent night vision goggles and gas masks, the berets on their heads were inlaid with the family crest of Philos, and the protective gear on their bodies also emitted the unique blue glow of Hex crystals, which was more than just armor.

Surrounded by guards, Camille wore a sleek, tight gray tuxedo, his right hand propped up on his slender waist, close to the winch on the side of his leg, and could launch a deadly hook at any moment when he leaned down.

Her face was expressionless and imposing, her eyes were level with her eyes straight ahead, and the moment the door was breached, she saw Ember playing solo on stage.

I really hope that his trickery can buy him a little respite.

The guards swarmed Camille into the theater, shooting as they approached Ember as they scanned around for any dark corners where they might harbor accomplices, but they were left alone.

Ember used a bit of magic in the trap to hide them completely, blending perfectly into the background and turning into pieces of iron scattered among the ruins.

These discordant sounds didn't affect Ember's playing, even if the blinding light swept over the corners of his eyes and the threat of death enveloped him, it didn't affect him for half a minute.

If the show is interrupted, he will be very... Very annoyed.

He saw the target's face, sharply contoured and symmetrical. It's a boring and cliché drawing, and if you take it off, the mask you make is sure to be bad.

Symmetry was so boring that he had to make her face ...... More interesting.

The guards approached the stage in three ways, occupying three aisles, leaving no retreat for Ember to escape.

He counted his steps and finished the opening recital with the piano down.

The stage is ready, the curtain is raised, and the actors are ready.

Performance, begin.

Just then, one of the guards stepped on the trap he had planted, and the slowly turning petals immediately snapped together and clamped tightly around the guard's ankles.

In a panic, he jerked his feet hard, but he seemed to be stuck in a quagmire, unable to extricate himself.

The vortex of magic swirled beneath his feet, bursting with deep fear.

The audience is also an actor, and even through the ugly mask, Ember can feel the fear overflowing from his face.

Fabulous! Extraordinary!

You will be poetic......

You're going to be stunning......