Months had passed, and the ruins of Shadow Marsh Castle had been cleared away. The Gothic spires still pierced the sky, but its interior had been completely transformed. Cold, smooth alloy walls replaced the ancient, weathered stone surfaces, while the air was filled with the scent of disinfectant and the faint hum of precision instruments. The hall where bloody weddings were once held was now the main hall of the "Shadow Marsh Neural Rehabilitation Center," housing victims who had suffered severe neurological trauma during the Blackthorn Family's past "business activities."

Viola Sterling stood on the observation gallery on the second floor of the main hall, looking down at what lay below.


She wore a sharply tailored black high-necked dress, her hair meticulously pinned up, her face pale, but her gaze cold and calm. She was the nominal chief advisor and primary benefactor of this place, but in reality, its controller.

Her gaze didn't linger on the patients receiving treatment but turned toward a heavy isolation door at the end of the corridor.

Behind the door was the center's only special ward not open to the public.


The door slid open silently. Inside, the room had soft lighting with constant temperature and humidity, with only a massive and sophisticated life support system running quietly. At the center of the system was an enormous glass life pod that resembled a work of art. The pod was filled with light blue nutritional fluid and neural regulators.

Lucas Blackthorn floated inside.


His eyes were tightly closed, his expression so peaceful it was almost eerie, as if he were merely sleeping. Various thin tubes connected to his body, maintaining his metabolism. Around the life pod, countless rare White Roses were carefully arranged, layer upon layer, almost engulfing the capsule. The cold technology and the exquisite flowers of life created a strange and frigid scene.

White Rose. The name he had chosen for his daughter.

Viola walked to the life-support pod, silently gazing at the lifeless face inside. No hatred, no satisfaction, only an endless void.

Revenge was complete, power had shifted, but an immense emptiness surged like a tide.

She reached out, her fingertip gently tracing the cold glass wall of the pod.

"Maintain 'lockdown' status. Continue attempting to decode the deep neural memory patterns, priority: financial authorization protocols." She spoke clearly into the air, her voice calm and unwavering, as if issuing a routine scientific directive.

She maintained his life, not out of mercy. This was a warning, a living specimen displayed to all potential enemies, declaring the fate of those who resist. More importantly, Lucas's brain, despite his consciousness completely dissipating under the impact of an extremely high dose of Pandora and the Neural Burning Protocol (medically termed "irreversible total brain function loss," but in this world where technology blurs boundaries, its bioelectrical activity had not completely ceased), might still conceal unlocked final authorizations or secrets. His body was the biological lockbox of the ultimate secrets of the Blackthorn Empire that she still needed to crack.

She turned and left, the heavy isolation door silently closing behind her.

She walked alone out of the rehabilitation center, along a path on the cliff edge, toward the raging Storm Sea below. The sea wind was fierce, pressing her black skirt tightly against her body, making it flutter loudly. Huge waves roared as they crashed against the reefs.

Viola stopped at the edge of the cliff, gazing at the churning, dark green massive waves below. Her eyes seemed somewhat vacant.

After standing still for a long time, the sea breeze appeared to grow more violent, and a strong ray of sunlight occasionally broke through the clouds, illuminating her pale face.

She slightly narrowed her eyes, almost unconsciously, in a near-murmuring tone tinged with a hint of lingering habitual dependence, softly said:

"Time to shade the roses..."

The moment those words fell, she herself was suddenly stunned. Her body stiffened imperceptibly.

That phrase... was an old habit from countless afternoons past, something she used to say to Lucas.

A cold chill instantly replaced that moment of confusion. Her gaze became sharp and icy once again.

She slowly raised her right hand. In her grip was that teardrop-shaped "Eternal Diamond" made from her daughter's ashes.

She didn't hesitate for a moment, swinging her arm forcefully forward and hurling the diamond down toward the roaring Storm Sea!

That point of cold light traced a brief arc in the air before being instantly swallowed by a massive dark green wave, vanishing without a trace.

It was severed.

The last tangible obsession.

Just as she completed her throwing motion, the black dress pressed tight against her by the sea wind was momentarily lifted upward by her movement, briefly revealing a small patch of skin above her right calf.

There, a fresh, recently healed linear scar was clearly visible. Beneath the skin around the scar, extremely fine, unnatural metallic glints and outlines of micro-interfaces could be faintly discerned—these were the new biological interface and stabilizer she had surgically implanted herself to address severe neural damage and aftereffects after her near-death experience in the Neural Corridor following an ultra-high dose of Pandora. It not only helped stabilize and control her damaged nervous system, but perhaps... also concealed potential connections to other things.

The hem of the black dress quickly fell back down, once again concealing the scar.

Viola Sterling took one last look at the diamond-devouring sea, her gaze as still as the abyss. She slowly turned around, her back to the Storm Sea, walking step by step toward the ancient castle that had been completely repurposed.

She was no longer anyone's weapon, no longer anyone's avenger.

She is Viola Sterling, the new master of Shadow Marsh, the founder of the Neurological Rehabilitation Center, and the de facto controller of the remnant forces of the Blackthorn Empire.

She has ascended to the pinnacle of power paved with blood and bones, lonely and cold.

And inside that life support pod filled with white roses, Lucas Blackthorn floated silently. Medically, he was in an irreversible state of complete brain function loss, his consciousness dissipated. The life support system maintained his body's biological functions. But in this world where technology blurred the boundaries between life and death, especially the program set by Viola that continuously scanned and attempted to "parse" his deep neural memories, those constantly fine-tuned neuromodulators... could these interventions, under some extremely minute probability, be unconsciously nurturing some kind of defective, plant-like neural activity substrate? Moreover, could that new interface Viola had implanted in her own leg someday, in a way she never anticipated, form an unexpected connection with this life support system?

Was the rose life support pod an eternal prison, a living code box, or an extremely slow and unconscious neural culture dish?

This question, like a bubble slowly rising in the cabin, silently disappeared into the cold liquid.

Viola's footsteps were steady as she walked toward her chosen future, filled with thorns.

The sound of waves behind her was like an eternal requiem played for days gone by.