250, A Curse? (The fourth update, ha)

That night.

Church Headquarters of the Dusk Bell.

After leaving the church, Hannibal wiped the corners of his mouth with a clean napkin and carelessly tossed it into the trash can.

Though a middle-aged man, his charm was undiminished in a suit, and he exuded a lethal attraction.

Mature and stable, extremely elegant.

He gave off an exceptionally pleasant sensation.

Then, he casually hailed a cab, "To the airport."

Sitting in the back of the car, Hannibal closed his eyes to rest for a moment, seemingly in a very pleasant mood, the smile never fading from his face.

An hour later.

The cab stopped at the airport.

Hannibal took out his wallet from his pocket and opened it. Inside the wallet's compartment, besides the plane ticket and cash, there was also a photo of a man with an indifferent face.