CHAPTER 623: VALENTINE’S DAY SPECIAL: A MIDSUMMER DREAM (1) (6K)_2

Achievement unlocked.

Solo break-in robbery.

Liszt slipped through the window into a study filled with an array of shelves and books, the kind you couldn’t finish in a decade or two. The owner must be quite the artistic show-off. He glanced around.

His gaze finally settled on an Imperial Concubine Chair.

His attention was completely captivated.

That head of vibrant, fiery red hair captured every strand of moonlight pouring through the window. The flutter of her lashes silently slayed the dying dusk, ushering in the desolate night.

As for those eyes, they were a labyrinth of emerald pupils drawing in the drowning starlight; at this moment, any gemstone became a mere counterfeit.

She lay on her side with one hand under her head, reading by the candlelight.

A silk robe that flickered like the remnants of a black moth’s wings wrapped around forbidden curves, either too ample or just enough to grip, as the moonlight fulfilled its creation purpose on those long, slender legs and ankles—a vibrant colonnade uplifting all revolts and oracles about beauty.

Liszt felt no wicked thoughts; he momentarily forgot about plundering. Damn, it’s an artwork.

She had long been aware of the uninvited guest.

She closed the book, stood up, and at her fingertips, an eddy of energy formed while blood-red light surged throughout the room.

The red-haired woman scrutinized this clumsy thief, with a solid build and decent looks, but alas, he had a scar-faced visage.

Liszt then snapped back to reality, realizing his predicament.

"White Hair, Ladybug, Glasses, get your asses up here!"

Liszt looked out the window.

What the hell!

Emiya Kiritsugu face!

No shadowy figures below the castle, damn it! What to do!

"A wise decision to escape is your only choice for survival. Think about your last words. I’m just a weak woman, a newcomer here. Without claiming some lives, I can’t establish myself."

Facing a desperado armed with a murderous weapon, this young woman displayed a calm far beyond her age. Her voice was sultry and mature, but her tone was stern and lethal.

Liszt’s throat moved, and despite the squandered jade, he had to stab this woman. His wrist flipped swiftly, but under the pressure of the crimson energy body, the room seemed like Purgatory, and the air felt like concrete, rendering his limbs completely immobile.

The red-haired woman hooked her finger, causing the energy to ripple, easily snatching the blade from his hand and placing it against Liszt’s neck.

The blood-red in the study dissipated, leaving only the flickering candlelight.

Liszt had just one thought.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t win.

He had to use that!

But would that work?

At this moment, facing the crisis of life and death, Liszt’s Inner Freedom ran at its limit, triggering the only time he entered the ZONE supercompute mode in his life so far.

In the Supercomputer Space, the same scenario was simulated countless times.

No one dislikes flattery, but to this supremely beautiful woman whose ears had long worn out from compliments, anything said now would lead to decapitation.

Going to a movie on a first date is the dumbest choice because the boring two hours hardly encourage interaction, and the relationship can’t grow at all; even sitting in a café for mere chatting would be better.

Due to the objective existence of things-in-themselves, people are always bound by their sensory logic. Two people can never truly understand and feel each other, not even by putting themselves in the other’s shoes. You can only create intersecting spirals, leaving an imprint in the other’s heart.

The crucial thing is for interactive experiences to become part of the memory’s foundation. A memory foundation doesn’t grow robust just by lasting; it can’t just be built upon whether adding a brick to the high rise or bringing breakfast every day—repeating it billions of times is useless. You’d just be a pitiful cement mason. It needs to be intense! Even if it’s traumatic! To elevate the skyscraper!

At this moment and at this juncture, only leaving the most violent, craziest memory can ensure survival.

This is undoubtedly a tremendous challenge.

In this critical situation, any traumatic memory will lead directly to decapitation. It has to be positive!

What exactly!

Think quickly!

No way at all!

In the midst of panic, Liszt spotted a piano covered with a dust cloth within the study, recognizable just by its silhouette.

Mind Control, at this moment, perfectly interprets and sublimates to become the Supreme Emperor Technique!

Seeing the red-haired woman about to act, ready to slit his throat.

"I have a last word, and you need to listen carefully because it’s very important—it might concern the entire East Sea art world’s fate."

Liszt steadied himself, feigning calm as he spoke.

"Let’s hear it."

But the red-haired woman didn’t relax the knife pressing against him, not thinking it was very important, yet a bit puzzled. Words like fate were thrown around. Was this person... an avant-garde performance artist, the rather obnoxious kind?

Liszt was immensely thankful. During his North American Li Xunhuan days, he’d intensely played some instruments: rock to tame femme fatales, folk to tame demure blues to tame maidens, parties to tame fairies, and classic style to tame foreign beauties.

Earth indeed had its own Chief of Witch Hunting Secret Department, wrecking wildly, smashing, shattering, jade fragments, and great applause!

"Do you understand musical scores? When sailing for years, I composed many pieces out of boredom, but I am illiterate and remember only the melodies, not how to write the music score. If you could, I’d like to leave these pieces behind. When I say ’maybe,’ it’s because I’ve never performed them for anyone before, so I’m unsure how they’d turn out."

Liszt spoke seriously. With skills from another dimension spanning thousands of years, could you resist?

Considering the Western Continent’s minstrels and composers, damn, their skill level is extraordinarily high, not inferior to those of the mid-eighteenth century masters. My meager level couldn’t make a mark.