Chapter Text

1.

Leonard Mitchell followed Captain Dunn Smith into a cramped apartment on Iron Cross Street. The place was old, poorly lit, and the wooden floorboards creaked ominously underfoot. The rooms available for rent were shockingly small, divided only by thin wooden partitions into inner and outer sections. In the outer room, a folded single bed was pushed against the wall. A rudimentary stove stood on the other side. There was no washroom.

The caller was one of the tenants—a poor underage girl. The deceased was her brother, Klein Moretti, a history graduate from Khoy University. He was scheduled to interview at Tingen University in a few days, possibly becoming a lecturer and lifting his family out of poverty.

…If he hadn’t died tragically yesterday.

Leonard glanced at the bloodstains scattered across the gray wall and casually picked up a notebook lying open on the table. On the last page, a line written in Hermes script read:

“Everyone will die, including me.”

Just as Leonard was about to flip through the notebook for more clues, a low but distinct sigh echoed in his ear. The sound seemed to reverberate in his mind, sending a chill down his spine.

“Who?!” Another voice, older and more familiar, rang out in his head.

Leonard snapped the notebook shut and turned around.

Captain Dunn was inspecting a brass revolver. He noticed Leonard’s gaze and looked up with a questioning expression.

No one else was there.

Leonard looked down at the notebook in his hands, uncertain. The room was too quiet, and with the captain so close, he didn’t dare speak aloud.

“Don’t be nervous.” The first voice spoke again, with a hint of helplessness and amusement.

“I mean no harm to either of you.”

Leonard’s hand froze slightly as he mechanically flipped through the notebook. He heard the voice again. For a moment, he wondered if he was going mad or losing control. Having one unknown entity inside him was already absurd—how could there be a second?

The usually enigmatic and composed old man didn’t speak immediately. Leonard’s gaze fell heavily on the messy handwriting, his heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum, threatening to slam right into his gut. Whether the silence was out of caution or fear, it represented a power he couldn’t resist.

He suddenly wished he were truly insane—that both voices were figments of his imagination. That would be better than carrying two ticking time bombs inside him.

The younger, gentler voice sighed again.

“You may call me The Fool. My presence in your body is a terrible accident. Please don’t mind me—I’ll find a way to leave as soon as possible.”

“The Fool?” The older voice sounded more alert.

Was there something wrong with that name? Leonard wondered. Though not particularly elegant, it might refer to the Fool card—number 0 in the tarot deck invented by Emperor Roselle. Or perhaps it had another meaning?

“Leonard.” Dunn’s voice snapped him back to reality. His captain glanced at the notebook Leonard had been flipping through for a while

“Did you find any clues?”

Leonard opened his mouth, a bit flustered. He had flipped through the notebook several times but hadn’t absorbed anything.

The voice seemed to notice his awkwardness and offered a timely suggestion

“Klein Moretti’s death may involve extraordinary factors.”

Leonard repeated the words without thinking

“Klein Moretti’s death may involve extraordinary factors.”

After saying that, his mind finally began to function again, shifting away from whether he was insane and who the new “tenant” was. He opened the notebook and pointed to the final line written in Hermes script.

“We can’t rule out a connection to the Antigonus notebook.”

Dunn pondered for a moment.

“Take it back. Let Old Neil and Daly try some spirit channeling and divination.

He put away the brass revolver and instructed Leonard to do the same. After a final sweep of the apartment, confirming there were no other suspicious items or signs of the Antigonus notebook, they left and returned to the Blackthorn Security Company.

The follow-up work was tedious. As with the Welch case, Old Neil and Daly found no clues in Klein Moretti’s death. Except for one obvious point—Klein died at home, unlike Welch and Naya, who died in the former’s villa. It seemed the notebook had deliberately led Klein away before killing him.

Dunn held a brief meeting with the Nighthawks and quickly shifted the investigation’s focus to where Klein had gone and what he had done after leaving Welch’s villa and before returning home.

Since then, the two voices in Leonard’s mind had remained silent. He harbored doubts he couldn’t share with anyone and received no answers from the two intruders—after all, he couldn’t trust entities that had invaded his body uninvited.

After finishing his fieldwork, Leonard handed over his shift to Frye and spent the night guarding Chanis Gate. He didn’t leave the Blackthorn Security Company until dawn.

Perhaps too much had happened that day. Even under the Goddess’s blessing, Leonard didn’t sleep well. He only woke from his dreams when the sun rose. Sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt unbuttoned (he hadn’t even changed clothes from the day before), breathing shallowly. His green eyes were unfocused as he ran a hand through his messy black hair, trying to shake off the strange lingering feeling.

“What’s wrong?” The voice that had been silent for nearly a day asked, with a hint of concern.

Leonard got up and shuffled toward the washroom in his slippers. After a night of mental preparation he had decided: he would get used to having that second voice around. After all, people had to make compromises in life.

“I had a dream,” he said.

The voice chuckled softly, confused and teasing

“Even Sleepless dream?”

Standing before the mirror, Leonard buttoned a few buttons and picked up his toothbrush cup. He didn’t answer the sarcastic question.

“A strange dream,” he said. “I dreamed Klein Moretti didn’t die.”

The voice paused.

Leonard assumed the voice hadn’t immediately recalled who Klein Moretti was

“The tenant from yesterday’s apartment,” he explained, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush.

“I dreamed that when the captain and I arrived, he was still alive. He welcomed us. He seemed to have lost his memory and didn’t remember what had happened. We asked some routine questions and then left.”

A bizarre, fragmented dream. Leonard thought.

First, in such extraordinary incidents, it’s normal for all involved to die. Klein Moretti was an ordinary man with no powers—there was no reason he should’ve survived.

Second, Leonard had no personal connection to Klein, so it made no sense to dream about him afterward—unless he simply felt sorry for someone who lost his family and future at a turning point in life.

Third, Nighthawks rarely dream due to the Goddess’s blessing, and even when they do, they usually remain lucid. But last night, Leonard hadn’t realized he was dreaming and sensed nothing unusual.

Still, the dream didn’t seem to hold any mystical significance. It felt like a replay of Leonard Mitchell’s day—nothing special from start to finish.

Leonard’s hand paused.

No, there was something.

He looked up at the familiar green eyes in the mirror.

Only two things in the dream differed from reality:

One, Klein Moretti was still alive.

Two, the voice calling itself “The Fool” hadn’t appeared in his mind that day.

-tbc-

Chapter Text

2.

The Fool sat on the high-backed chair at the end of the long bronze table, gazing at the coin facing up in his hand. After a long moment, a soft chuckle echoed in the vast, silent gray fog.

Fate's grafting had been reversed. Due to those Outer Deities he had truly returned to the past—specifically, to the day after the birth and erasure of the Zhou Mingrui version of Klein.

Because the "history" that formed the foundation of his existence had vanished, his current state hovered somewhere between “existence” and “non-existence.”

Klein flicked his fingers, skillfully flipping the coin between them.

At least he still retained his Old One status. With the Outer Deities’ powers blocked by the barrier for now, simply maintaining his existence wasn't an issue.

What was troublesome, however, was that all three Uniquenesses had returned to their respective owners of this time period, along with the Sequence 1 Beyonder characteristics of the Apprentice and Marauder pathways. Only the Seer pathway’s Sequence 1 trait, originally belonging to the Fool’s Curtain, remained with him—perhaps because that Curtain’s fate was always meant to belong to him, only forcibly severed by the Goddess. Now it had returned to its rightful owner. But even so, with his unstable state of existence, he couldn't wield angel-level power. At best, he could only safely use Sequence 8 to 7 abilities—anything higher risked destabilizing him further.

Regaining his full strength as the Lord of Mysteries meant he urgently needed “anchors.” His instability stemmed from the irrationality of his existence: Klein Moretti had died the previous day, and the consciousness of Zhou Mingrui, once hung upon the Sefirah Castle, had been erased by “Them” at its very root. So, from any angle, the being called Klein Zhou Mingrui Moretti should not exist on June 29, 1349. History and destiny were denying him. But if more people witnessed him, believed he was the current Lord of the Sefirah Castle and the present Lord of Mysteries, he could, in theory, overwrite reality and escape this paradoxical state.

Click—the coin conjured from gray fog was tossed into the air again, the shimmer of stars dancing on its edges until it was caught once more.

— Heads.

Beyond anchoring himself, he also needed mid-to-low Sequence Seer pathway potions.

The Sequence 1 to 9 Seer pathway traits he now held all originated from the Curtain and were tainted with the spiritual branding of the Celestial Worthy. If he recklessly used higher-level powers, it would be the equivalent of hand-delivering a fully-geared character to the Celestial Worthy’s respawn zone—the Old One who got eliminated in the first timeline would probably laugh himself awake from his slumber.

But obtaining potions was even more difficult than securing anchors.

Klein put away the coin and sighed.

Zhou Mingrui no longer existed. Klein was dead. What remained was a bodiless, wandering soul. The only person he could speak to was Leonard, and yet he had to figure out how to deal with Ince Zangwill and Sealed Artifact 0-08, all while hunting for high-level potions and suitable anchors.

The situation was a bit bleak, but he couldn’t help chuckling slyly. Right now, his dear poet had both a former Old One and a Sequence 1 angel living in his body, like personal grandpas-on-call. Truly, the main character of the era.

That small burst of mirth swept away the lingering confusion and unease. Klein waved his hand, summoning a fountain pen and a few sheets of parchment onto the table in front of him. He decided to revisit his earliest habits: list out everything he needed to do.

Just as he pressed the pen to the page, he hesitated. There was too much—he didn’t even know where to begin.

Looking up at the long, empty table, he quickly jotted down three words: The Tarot Club. He wasn’t going to change their destiny. They had become his strongest anchors, and from them, he had found the power to defy fate. Besides, this time, Mr. Fool wasn’t just some charlatan pretending to be divine—he was a true ancient god, rising once more. Klein chuckled at himself.

He could make early contact with the City of Silver, but that would have to wait until the rules of the Tarot Club were firmly established—perhaps around the third or fourth meeting. Then he could introduce new members. With the gray fog and his current status, using paper figurines should be enough to lift the curse over the City of Silver—though only once.

As for Moon City, he couldn’t yet travel to the Forsaken Land of the Gods, so they would have to wait.

Then came the deaths of Old Neil, Kenley, and the Captain. All of them were deeply tied to Ince Zangwill and 0-08. Dealing with that would require a very thorough plan—something to consider later.

Next, Klein hesitated before writing down Benson and Melissa. Klein Moretti was already dead. He probably shouldn’t try to contact them. But neither could he stand by and watch Melissa and Benson continue to squeeze into that cramped apartment on Iron Cross Street, unable to afford better clothes or food, much less university tuition. (Bias was, after all, a central part of being human, and Klein had no intention of shedding it to become some lofty, emotionless god.)

Right now, he didn’t have a suitable identity (he didn’t even have a body) and helping them unnoticed would be harder than killing Ince Zangwill. If he could earn Leonard’s trust, he wouldn’t mind asking him for this small favor. After all, he trusted Leonard’s character. Though he often ridiculed the guy internally, Leonard wasn’t some naive fool who trusted everyone—he only acted that way toward Klein because of unconditional trust. Given Klein’s current state, winning that level of trust again wouldn’t be easy.

Leonard had no real desires to exploit. He lived freely and easily—at least, he had before the spawn of an evil god descended upon Tingen and he sacrificed everything in pursuit of vengeance. In most circumstances, that was a good thing. Klein sighed. If the apocalypse hadn’t needed a Lord of Mysteries and Klein hadn’t needed Leonard, he would’ve happily let the guy stay carefree and foolish forever—just a poet who couldn’t write poetry.

Klein twirled his round-bellied fountain pen, staring at that name—deep in thought, or maybe just spacing out—then resumed writing.

Mr. Azik.

He wrote the final name. Azik was more like a mentor or elder to him than anything else. Fortunately, this situation was easier to handle. He could ask Leonard to mail a few letters, providing Azik with clues about his past. As a Sequence 2 angel, Azik wouldn't be troubled by the attention of the Church of Evernight or other observers.

After finishing his list, Klein returned his focus to Ince Zangwill. He carefully unraveled every detail of 0-08’s manipulations from memory—he had done the same in the previous timeline, driven by vengeance. Every detail was etched into his mind. With a bit of divination, he quickly outlined a preliminary plan.

The first goal: kill Ince Zangwill.

The second goal: secure 0-08.

He hadn’t decided whether to stop Adam from ascending this time. Technically, Adam made a decent god and wasn’t a bad teammate when fighting against the Outer Deities. But regardless of that decision, gaining control of 0-08 was essential.

One thing was certain: Leonard couldn’t keep 0-08.

It was a bomb that would attract Adam.

Once he acquired 0-08, Leonard needed to sacrifice it to the Goddess immediately. Perhaps that moment could be used to have a deeper conversation with her—maybe even reach a new understanding.

Klein set down his pen. The parchment now full of words ignited silently in his hands. Flames raced across the page, transforming every word into brilliant crimson. The blazing colors drifted down from his fingers, swirling in the air before burning to ash—only a few glowing embers landed on the bronze table, like lonely snowflakes on the verge of melting.

The Fool leaned back in his chair.

A vast, ancient temple stood tall amid the endless, quiet gray fog. Crimson stars dotted the deep sky, their light flooding the center of the temple and bathing the bronze table in a celestial tide. As the starlight slowly receded, two shadowy figures appeared silently on the chairs below the dome.

Startled and confused, the two exchanged a look. They quickly realized what had happened and turned simultaneously toward the head of the table.

There, a figure with indistinct features sat calmly—his form veiled in gray mist, seemingly watching them.

The two rose instinctively and faced the mysterious figure.

“Sir, where are we?”

“What do you intend to do?”

They asked in unison.

“Just an attempt,” the man chuckled. “Don’t be nervous. Please, have a seat.”

Audrey took a gentle breath, offering a flawless, polite smile, though clearly nervous.

“Sir, is the attempt over? Might you permit our return?”

“Of course,” Klein nodded. “If you make a formal request, you can return this very moment.”

Relaxing a bit, Audrey’s face brightened with curiosity and excitement. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she subtly examined the vast and ancient palace.

“This truly is a marvelous experience…” she murmured. “I’ve always dreamed of something like this—I mean, I adore the mysterious and the miraculous. What I mean is… Sir, how can I become a Beyonder?”

Klein chuckled—he had almost forgotten how green Miss Audrey had once been.

“Join a legitimate church,” he said, “or an official or hidden organization—like the Loen military, the Moses Ascetic Order, or the Psychology Alchemists. But I suggest avoiding the hidden ones; most worship dangerous entities. If you’d rather not join any group, you could seek out potion formulas and ingredients on your own and advance independently. That path is freer, but without guidance, it’s far more dangerous.”

He tapped his finger lightly on the table.

“That’s what I wanted to test,” he said, smiling at Audrey, who was now deep in thought. “I want to establish a regular gathering here. You can exchange information, knowledge, and materials. I will be the witness.”

Alger lifted his head slightly, showing interest.

“What do you gain from this?” he asked respectfully.

“Some help,” Klein replied. “At some point, I may need assistance from you. Rest assured, it will be something within your capabilities. In the meantime, I’ll provide this gathering space—and some valuable knowledge and experience.”

“And how should we address you?” Audrey asked.

“You may call me... The Fool.”

He wasn’t planning to teach them ritual magic right away or tell them his true name—not yet. If they knew The Fool was a god, they’d likely flee in panic. Even children knew not to casually recite the name of a non-recognized deity.

Justice wanted to become a Beyonder. The Hanged Man needed money and advancement materials. They would definitely come back. Once they trusted The Fool more, then he’d reveal his true name.

The Fool slid a set of tarot cards across the table. The cards fanned out smoothly, face-up.

“Choose your codename,” he said.

Audrey already had one in mind, but out of caution and curiosity, she examined the cards.

Then she noticed something strange—the deck wasn’t complete. Of the 22 Major Arcana, two were missing: The World and The Star, in addition to The Fool, which was already taken.

She glanced toward the empty seats at the table.

Perhaps… there were other members who had already been chosen?

-tbc-

Chapter Text

3.

Leonard sat on the sofa, looking somewhat troubled. He leaned his head back, a black-and-white photo pinched between his fingers. He bent it slightly with his ring finger, gave it a gentle flick, and the photo spun once with a soft whoosh before being caught again by his pinky.

“Ugh.” He sighed, raking a hand through his already messy hair as he glanced at Rozanne. “Old Neil called in sick again?”

“Yes,” Rozanne replied. “He said he’ll be in tomorrow.”

Since it was Neil who had accepted the case, Leonard resigned himself with a grunt and stood up. “Guess I’ll have to do this the dumb way.”

“Why not ask me?” A soft voice echoed in his mind. “I can help you find Elliot.”

It had been two or three days since he last heard that voice. Leonard paused mid-step, staring out into the rain-soaked street and muttering under his breath, “You can?”

“I was once a Seer-pathway Beyonder. Finding people like this is far easier for me than it is for you.”

“Why help me?” Leonard asked as he grabbed his umbrella and stepped into the pouring rain. The heavy downpour muffled his voice, cloaking the world in silence—except for the voice in his mind, which only grew clearer.

“Well, since I’m currently ‘lodging’ inside you, helping you is also helping myself.”

Before Leonard could frown and raise further doubts, the voice added,

“Or, to put it in simpler terms—we’re making a fair trade. I help solve your problems, and in return, you offer me some minor assistance.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Write a letter.”

“It’s for someone who has lost their memory—poor guy—and it contains clues about his past. The recipient is a faculty member at Khoy University.”

Leonard’s frown deepened. That didn’t sound suspicious, but considering the voice belonged to some high-sequence being currently parasitizing him, the lack of suspicious details felt… even more suspicious. Why would such a being care about a professor at Khoy University having amnesia?

“I swear, what I’m asking won’t endanger anyone.”

The voice remained calm and sincere.

“Honestly, your constant suspicion is starting to hurt my feelings.”

Leonard’s expression froze. Against his better judgment, he felt… a bit guilty? The guy had been unfailingly polite, never angry, never forceful—even though Leonard had questioned him repeatedly. If he really was what he claimed—a lost soul forced to parasitize someone just to stay alive—then, yeah, that was kind of pitiful.

Don’t fall for sweet talk, Leonard, he warned himself. First rule of mysticism: never trust any unknown entity or apparent kindness at face value.

“If it’s just sending a letter, I can agree to that,” Leonard said at last. “So how will you find Elliot?”

“I’ve already divined his location.”

“Hire a carriage and follow my directions.”

Rainy days made finding a cab difficult. Leonard stood at the curb with his umbrella, raindrops splashing into puddles at his feet. The street was mostly empty—only the occasional packed public carriage or hurried pedestrian dashed by.

Across the street, the warm light of a gaslamp glowed dimly beneath an awning, softened and blurred by the mist. Leonard gazed at it, distracted.

“Why me?” he asked quietly. “What is it that you need from me?”

The voice didn’t answer right away. Instead, it asked:

“What did Mr. Zoroast say to you?”

Zoroast? Leonard blinked, realizing that must be the old man’s real name. Did these two know each other? Strange… The old man hadn’t acted like he knew the voice’s identity—more like he had guessed something about it.

“He said he was badly injured and hiding from enemies,” Leonard replied. “He thinks the Church of the Night is a safe place to lay low.”

“Did he say when he’d leave?”

Why is he the one asking the questions now? Leonard thought, but he answered anyway.

“He said he’d leave when he recovered.”

The Fool laughed softly—Leonard’s ears turned slightly red. Yeah, he knew that was a meaningless promise. No timeframe. Just vague words. But what could he do? They never asked his permission when they came in, and he certainly didn’t get a say in when they’d leave.

“I didn’t have much choice either, back then,” the voice said gently. “If I wanted to survive, I had to possess someone—and you were the nearest candidate. If that’s caused you trouble, I’m sorry. I’ll try to make it up to you.”

Again, he sounded sincere. Polite. Gentlemanly, even. Far less cryptic than the old man’s usual ‘don’t ask, won’t tell’ attitude.

“If I had access to a mid- or low-sequence Seer pathway potion, I could recover faster. But you’re in no position to obtain such things legally. That’s okay—I’ll handle that part myself. Once I get a Sequence 5 potion, I’ll be able to act more freely using a homunculus. But fully separating from you… that’ll take longer.”

A half-closed carriage trundled past, its driver’s lantern flickering dimly. Leonard flagged it down and handed over two 1-soli bills.

“How generous.”

The voice chuckled.

“Forward. Take the third street and turn right.”

“To the third block, then turn right,” Leonard told the driver.

He closed his umbrella and climbed into the carriage, watching the raindrops trickle down the window, leaving hazy trails. The voice said nothing more. Leonard sometimes wondered—when these beings like the old man or this one weren’t speaking, what were they doing? Thinking their own thoughts? Or simply watching the rain with him?

The carriage rolled past block after block, eventually stopping in front of a run-down apartment. The kidnappers were just a few regular thugs; under the Midnight Poet’s chanting, they fell unconscious quickly. Leonard broke the lock with a punch, tied them up, and turned toward the confused boy slowly waking up on the bed.

“You... you’re…?” Elliot blinked at him, flinching at first but then breaking into a relieved, stammered smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Leonard said as he tightened the rope. “Your dad sent me. I’m a security officer.”

He sighed as he looked down at the unconscious goons. He really should’ve brought backup—even just someone to call the police. Resigned, he hoisted Elliot in one arm, dragging the three thugs with the other, and headed for the stairs.

“Wait,” the voice said.

“Weren’t you looking for the Antigonus notebook?”

Leonard paused mid-step. “Yeah.”

He instinctively glanced around. The floor had only two units. The kidnappers were using one, the door wide open, groaning thugs tied together inside. The other door was still shut tight.

His spiritual intuition suddenly tingled. The commotion he’d caused hadn’t been subtle, and even the youngest, Elliot, had woken up naturally ten minutes ago. But the neighbors? Still silent.

No one had checked what was going on.

Was that unit… empty?

“Open that door,” said the voice that called itself the Fool.

“There’s a Seer-pathway Sealed Artifact inside. I can feel its presence.”

Leonard shuddered—but didn’t move immediately. He looked down at the boy in his arms. Elliot blinked up at him, confused.

The Fool quickly picked up on his hesitation.

“You can hand the boy over to the police first. Call your colleagues afterward. That room… has no living people in it anymore.”

Leonard made his decision. He carried Elliot down the stairs, dragging the bound kidnappers behind him.

“Old man,” he muttered amid their groaning and shouting, “do you sense it too? The Sealed Artifact?”

The old man inside him was silent for a moment. Then, for the first time in a while, he spoke:

“...I’m not a Seer-pathway Beyonder.”

His tone was hoarse, curt, and somewhat annoyed.

The Fool chuckled and added for him,

“High-sequence Beyonders can sense others of the same pathway. For Seer-pathway, which emphasizes intuition, it’s even stronger. Some high-level Beyonder items will even ‘pull’ others of the same path toward them. We call this the Law of Beyonder Characteristics Convergence.”

Leonard took mental notes. The old man neither confirmed nor denied the explanation. In fact, he’d been oddly quiet ever since the Fool showed up.

“So… what Sequence are you?” Leonard asked casually.

“That…”

The Fool chuckled.

“I’ll tell you later.”

Later? When exactly? Leonard almost asked, but held it in.

“My dear poet,” the Fool said teasingly, “sometimes knowing too much isn’t good for you.”

My dear poet? Leonard grumbled internally. What kind of nickname is that?

After dragging his captives through several streets, he finally found a patrol officer. The cop insisted on taking him in too, until Leonard flashed his Nighthawk credentials. That settled things.

Soon, Leonard was back at the apartment.

“Not calling for backup?” The Fool asked.

“Some weird feeling isn’t enough reason to call HQ,” Leonard replied, glancing around the hallway. “And I don’t usually break into people’s homes without justification.”

He walked into the kidnappers’ room, drew his revolver, and fired a shot at the corner of the shared wall between the two units.

The bullet pierced through the thin apartment wall. It hit something in the floor beyond—something that broke a hidden barrier.

A strong, foul stench filled the hallway.

“Three regular thugs don’t warrant a drawn gun.”

The Fool chuckled again.

“I don’t need perfect justification.” Leonard holstered the gun. His voice dropped.

“The captain won’t question me too hard.”

He smashed through the door and swung it open.

What lay inside was now fully revealed.

The Fool was silent for a moment before sighing softly.

“The Sealed Artifact is gone. Call your colleagues.”

As Leonard turned to leave, the Fool added one final thought:

“In this world, having secrets and power is a good thing. Only by becoming strong can you protect what you want to protect.”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

4.

“Perfect timing, Leonard—today’s lunch, you still haven’t—”

As Leonard pushed open the door of the Blackthorn Security Company, Rozanne stepped out from behind a partition, waving a delivery menu at him.

Leonard raised a hand to cut her off. “I’ve got something urgent. Is the captain in his office?”

Rozanne opened her mouth in confusion, taking a second to respond. “Yeah, he just got back.”

Leonard quickly crossed the space and arrived at the first office on the right. The door was wide open. Dunn Smith and Old Neil were standing at the doorway talking, and both turned to look as Leonard approached.

Leonard froze for a moment, then looked at the grey-haired old man. “Old Neil? Weren’t you on leave?”

“Ah, the usual old man problems—back pain.” Neil chuckled.

“What’s wrong?” Dunn asked. They were standing close to the partition and had clearly heard Leonard’s words.

“I took a missing person case this morning—a businessman’s kid got kidnapped. I found him and the kidnappers in an old apartment,” Leonard said, deliberately glossing over the details about Elliot. “But during the takedown, one of my bullets broke through the wall of the adjacent room and destroyed a spiritual barrier inside. There was a corpse in there—must’ve been dead at least a week. Could be a rogue Beyonder or a dangerous Sealed Artifact involved.”

Dunn frowned. He clearly understood Leonard’s implication.

A high-level Sealed Artifact appearing a week ago might be linked to the Antigonus notebook. Even if not, it was still a serious Beyonder-related incident that required immediate attention.

“I put up a temporary spiritual wall to reseal the place, but it won’t hold for long,” Leonard added.

Dunn nodded. “Kenley should be in the lounge. Go tell him to take over guarding Chanis Gate from Frye. I’ll arrange for a carriage—we’ll meet out front in five minutes.” Then he turned to Neil. “You’re coming too.”

Neil smiled knowingly. “Of course. You’ll need someone familiar with ritual magic.”

Leonard nodded and strode toward the stairs. As he stepped into the dim stairwell, The Fool suddenly spoke:

“That colleague of yours… he carries the aura of the Hidden Sage.”

Leonard’s foot slipped, barely catching the next step in time. He grabbed the handrail, heart skipping a beat. “You mean Old Neil?!”

“Yes. He’s very likely had direct contact with the Hidden Sage.”

“What do we do?!” Leonard kept his voice low, panicking a little. Every Beyonder knew how dangerous it was to be noticed by a god. Once one caught their attention, you could only pray for mercy—and not even the seven orthodox gods ever claimed to be merciful. The insane ones were worse.

“I can’t help him right now,” the Fool said softly.

“Report it. Let the Goddess handle it. The Hidden Sage has lost all reason—if this continues, the only outcome for Neil is eventual loss of control.”

Leonard fell silent. A moment later, he asked quietly, “You said you can’t help him right now…”

“If I were fully recovered, maybe. But that’s not something that can be done overnight.” The voice paused, then added reassuringly:

“Still, Neil is a Nighthawk. The Goddess won’t let him fall prey to a mad god.”

You sure? Leonard frowned, uneasy. Would the Goddess really care about a mere Sequence 9? Especially one who might already be walking the line of betrayal…

He forced himself to stop. He wasn’t devout, but these thoughts were dangerously close to blasphemy.

“Go on—your captain’s waiting.”

The Fool reminded him gently.

Just as Leonard was about to run down the stairs again, he hesitated and asked, “You found the Antigonus notebook. Now you’re telling me about Old Neil. How do you know so much?”

“Mmm… maybe because I’m the ‘protagonist of the era’?”

The Fool said jokingly.

The phrase hit a nerve—Leonard blinked. It was familiar. He’d once thought of himself that way too, back when he believed he was destined for greatness, especially after the old man began teaching him mysticism.

But now, with both the old man and The Fool in his head… he was starting to feel more like a breeding ground for eldritch beings than a ‘protagonist’.

“Old man,” he muttered, lowering his voice, “can you sense anything about Old Neil?”

He already knew the answer. The man had never mentioned it before, and if divine attention could be that easily detected, no one would fear the gods as much as they did.

“Don’t call me that,” the old man snapped. “How would I know anything about the gods?”

“Maybe I can sense it because I’m more familiar with divine observation,” The Fool offered by way of explanation.

“Then let me ask a different question.” Leonard arrived at the Chanis Gate. “What do you want this time?”

“Didn’t I say?” the Fool chuckled.

“Write a letter for me.”

To Mr. Azik Eggers,
In the northwest of Tingen lies a small town called Lamud Town. On the mountain nearby is a ruined castle. Its history and hidden truths may answer many of your questions.
—From a friend currently unable to reveal themselves

Leonard folded the letter and slipped it into a blank envelope. He picked up a stick of sealing wax and pressed down with a plain, unmarked seal.

Neil’s situation had ended without resistance or incident—just as The Fool had said. Neil had wanted to revive his late fiancée, Celeste, and in the process had been unknowingly lured by the Hidden Sage.

Tingen’s most senior Nighthawk didn’t resist, didn’t explain. When his ritual materials and manuscripts were destroyed, all the emotion he had held back finally broke through. The man who had once guided Leonard into the path of mysticism slid to the floor, weeping, begging them to let him and Celeste go. He said he just wanted her alive. He said he wouldn’t hurt anyone. He said he loved her. That he was too weak. That if only he had been a higher Sequence—had more knowledge, more experience—he could have saved her.

The operation ended amid his hoarse sobs. On the ride back, Leonard stared at the sunset outside the carriage window. His shoulder, soaked with Neil’s tears, felt like it was carrying the weight of years of regret and nightmares. A strange familiarity crept over him—as if someone had tied a heavy stone to his soul and dropped him into the dark ocean. There was no light, no air, no way out.

---

The next days blurred together—guarding Chanis Gate, questioning outside agitators, patrolling, tracking the Antigonus notebook… The Tingen team was stretched thin, barely keeping up.

On the last day of July, while patrolling the cemetery, Leonard stumbled across Klein Moretti’s funeral. There weren’t many attendees. Besides the Moretti siblings, only a few neighbors or mentors showed up.

For various reasons, Leonard didn’t turn away. Instead, he stepped forward and gave a proper farewell to the young man he had never met. Melissa, Klein’s sister, didn’t seem to care who Leonard was—she just needed someone to listen. She clung to him and talked about her brother until her grief overtook her, and she began to sob into his shoulder.

It was Benson Moretti, the last adult in the family, who finally came to thank Leonard and led Melissa away. The man was still young, but his hair already had streaks of gray. His face was worn, heavy with sorrow.

When they weren’t looking, Leonard slipped two one-pound notes into Benson’s coat pocket and left the cemetery.

---

A week later, Neil was transferred to the Cathedral of Serenity in Winter County. Leonard, who’d barely had time to sleep at the company, finally carved out a moment to write The Fool’s letter.

“How do I send it?” he asked.

The Fool had left no signature—clearly unwilling to be traced. So regular post was out of the question.

“You can ask Mr. Zoroast for a favor,” The Fool said.

“The old man should still have some spare Worm of Time avatars. Just use one to parasitize a bird, and drop the letter through a window or door crack.”

“Why should I help you?” the old voice grumbled.

“Because we share a common enemy. Isn’t it said that “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”?” The Fool replied calmly.

“Besides, for you, using a Worm of Time to send a letter is trivial. In return, you get a promise—from a Fool. Isn’t that a good trade?”

“What kind of promise can you offer me?” Pallez asked.

“You can keep your Worm of Times. I’ll provide the trait of Amon necessary for your advancement.”

Pallez laughed darkly. “With both of us parasitizing the same boy, that’s a bold claim.”

“Since we both reside here, you should know I’m qualified to make it.” The Fool’s tone was light but confident.

“This is retrieval, not theft.”

Leonard’s hand, gripping the quill, tensed. Pale veins rose on his skin. Even though the two avoided high-level knowledge, what they did say made his head throb. He could barely think.

Worm of Time…

He tried to make sense of the term. It wasn’t something he’d ever encountered in his studies—clearly above what a Sequence 8 could understand. And he couldn’t investigate on his own—both minds in his head saw everything he did.

“Don’t overthink it, poet,” the Fool said gently. “This isn’t something you can touch yet.”

Leonard frowned, frustrated. Just then, a white dove landed on the windowsill, tapping the glass with its red beak.

“That’s the one.” Pallez said.

Leonard opened the window. The dove stepped onto the desk, picked up the envelope skillfully, and took off into the sky.

Leaning back in his chair, Leonard stared at the grey-blue sky beyond its wings, and for the first time in a while… felt tired.

“Will Old Neil come back?” he asked.

“The Goddess will look after him,” the Fool replied.

“If he’s lucky, he’ll be back with a stack of unfinished reimbursement forms before long.”

As Leonard drifted into sleep under the calm of noon, he heard the Fool murmur almost to himself:

“Sleep… It’ll all be over soon.”

The Fool…

That name drifted through Leonard’s muddled, drowsy thoughts. He didn’t want to sleep just yet.

This past month, he’d barely seen Old Neil at all.

And now, a random thought stirred in his intuition—had he ever mentioned Neil’s obsession with reimbursement forms?

–tbc–

Chapter Text

5. 

There was still some time before one o’clock. Klein sat in the high-backed chair above the gray fog, briefly reviewing everything that had happened recently.

Thanks to his intervention, half of Ray Bieber’s self-destruction power had been preemptively stolen by Pallez. Just like in the original development, Sealed Artifact 2-049 and Antigonus’s notebook were brought back to the Chanis Gate and temporarily held.

Triss should have already become a witch by now. Even without Klein’s help interpreting Joyce’s dream, she was still wanted under the accusation of being the mastermind behind the Alfafa tragedy. Before long, she would probably seek revenge on the survivors. Depending on the situation, Leonard could be tipped off to catch her in advance—but ideally, they shouldn’t succeed. Klein tapped lightly on the table. After leaving Tingen, Trissy hadn’t committed any more crimes and had even acted as a double agent to provide him with considerable assistance. Without her resistance, the Primordial Demoness might have truly succeeded in descending upon Backlund. And without her vengeance, stopping George III from becoming a god would’ve been much more difficult.

However, if he really did interfere, it would be hard to hide it from Leonard. And if he were discovered, it would be difficult to explain. The goodwill he had painstakingly built up might reset to zero again. It was best if he didn’t interfere directly. He could only hope Trissy would hold her own.

As for the mission involving Earl Maynard, Leonard hadn’t encountered it—perhaps the captain had assigned someone else to handle it. That commission wasn’t difficult and wouldn’t have caused any major trouble.

Old Neil…

The sound of fingertips tapping against the bronze table spread slowly across the silent divine kingdom, indistinctly seeping into the fog of history.

The day Leonard and the captain went to his door, Old Neil had opened it with a hint of surprise on his face. But upon seeing their solemn expressions and silence, he quickly realized why they had come. He seemed to have expected it all along. Only when they found the stored blood samples did Old Neil suddenly speak. “That is,” he said hoarsely, his lips trembling silently before he forced out the rest with difficulty, “That is… my blood.”

The gray-haired old man seemed no longer able to support himself. He slid weakly down the wall and collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Amid his falling tears, he repeated the words “I’m sorry” in a barely audible whisper—not clear whether it was to his colleagues or to the Celeste he couldn’t save.

Leonard walked over and knelt beside him, gently wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Old Neil was soon taken away by Aiur and the others. They would send him to the Cathedral of Serenity in Winter County before returning to Backlund. Even though Klein had comforted Leonard with great confidence, he wasn’t truly certain that Old Neil would make it back to Tingen safely. Could the mark left by divine attention really be cleansed? Klein wondered. Perhaps if the Goddess protected him a few more years until his return to the source, she’d just send the Uniqueness of the Hidden Sage to Roselle to devour. Let’s see if that would stop it from causing trouble again.

—Wait, Huang Tao is already the Black Emperor now. Then give it to Bernadette instead—as a meeting gift from her Uncle Zhou.

Having casually planned out the Hidden Sage’s ending, Klein perked up and continued his calculations. Soon it would be Selena Wood’s birthday—Melissa’s friend (he might even get to see Benson and Melissa again, Klein thought. The last time he saw them at the funeral, their emotional state hadn’t been great, and he still felt uneasy about it… perhaps only time could heal the pain of losing a loved one). This young lady had once drawn the attention of the True Creator during a divination using the magic mirror. Klein stopped his writing and rubbed his temples with a headache. Perhaps it was because 0-08 was lurking in the shadows, but the crises Tingen had recently faced were getting more and more outrageous. He really wanted to just throw his hands up and let Leonard deal with it—but clearly, Leonard wasn’t ready to handle even a projection of the True Creator yet.

Back then, he himself had only managed to purify the corruption with the Goddess’s help through an altar. The ritual magic of Sleepless was barely passable, hardly enough to rely on in a life-or-death situation. To bet on it now would be outright foolish.

He’d have to do it himself.

He currently had incomplete Sequence 7 strength, but he could leverage his former rank to draw on the powers of the Sefirah Castle. Attaching the gray fog to a paper figurine could theoretically achieve the effect of purification. Klein tapped his pen against the parchment—it would be best to test it in advance to avoid any accidents later… The Tarot Club test would do, he thought. This was also a good opportunity to bring the Little Sun into the club early.

Klein put down his pen and extended his spirituality toward the third crimson star, hearing a familiar voice of prayer.

----

North Borough’s Fania Street, the Wood residence.

Leonard stood in front of the Wood family’s gate, uncomfortably tugging at the double-breasted, high-collared black robe he almost never wore.

“Stop fidgeting. You’re about to rip the buttons off.” The Fool said helplessly.

Three days ago, the pursuit of Ray Bieber had ended without incident, thanks to the secret assistance of Pallez and The Fool. Not long after, the latter made a second request—to have Leonard attend Selena Wood’s birthday party as a priest of the Church.

Leonard was gradually getting used to how this mysterious, omniscient being seemed to know everything, even about matters unrelated to him. He had also started to trust that this strange, powerful presence truly bore no ill will toward him or Tingen (and if he dared to be a little more narcissistic, he might even say that The Fool had an inexplicable kindness toward him). So this time, he didn’t think too much before agreeing.

“Are you sure they’ll welcome an uninvited guest like me?” Leonard hesitated in place, not ringing the doorbell.

“The Wood couple are devout believers in the Goddess. They certainly wouldn’t reject a priest’s visit and blessing.”

Just like every Nighthawk had a police identity and credentials for use at the police department, they also had church credentials for investigations or communication, although rarely used.

Leonard cleared his throat and nervously adjusted his expression before knocking on the door.

It was the start of the party. Mr. Wood, who was greeting guests at the door, opened it and was momentarily stunned to see a handsome, black-haired, green-eyed priest standing outside.

“Good evening, Mr. Wood.” Leonard quickly ran through his lines in his head twice and smiled as he handed over the gift in his hand. “I heard that your daughter, Miss Selena, has a birthday today. The Church asked me to bring a small blessing.”

“Praise the Goddess! You’re too kind—please come in!” Mr. Wood, flattered, drew a crimson moon on his chest and hurriedly took the gift, warmly welcoming the Goddess’s messenger. “It’s our greatest honor to have you here.”

“The Church has always remembered your generosity and devotion,” Leonard said. He rarely played this kind of religious charlatan role, and the arc of his smile was a little stiff—but thankfully, Mr. Wood wasn’t rude enough to stare at his face too long.

After a few pleasantries, Mr. Wood had to leave to greet other guests (before leaving, he regretfully expressed that he must hear more of the Goddess’s teachings later. Leonard, who had long forgotten what he learned in church school, nearly lost control of his expression). Leonard quickly scanned the guests and whispered, “So? Nothing seems out of place.”

“Look again,” the Fool said. “Pay attention to the guests.”

Leonard thought there must be some threat or clue among them, so he carefully studied each person. After circling the living room three times, he finally heard the Fool sigh softly.

He finally caught on. “You’re looking for someone?”

“Mm.” The Fool neither confirmed nor denied. “Go upstairs,” he said. “The birthday girl, Selena Wood, recited the honorific name of a non-ortodox deity during a mirror divination a few days ago. If we wait any longer, she might be possessed or manipulated by an evil god.”

Leonard’s laid-back demeanor turned serious. He instinctively looked up at the wooden ceiling, but there was no sign—he couldn’t sense anything yet.

“You should’ve let me bring backup,” Leonard muttered. “I’m not sure I can handle this alone.”

“And how would you explain to your colleagues that you knew in advance about a random young lady’s situation?”

Leonard was speechless.

“Don’t worry,” the Fool said with a chuckle. “I’ll handle the purification. You just need to find a way to get Miss Wood into a room alone and set up a wall of spirituality.”

Leonard’s expression turned odd. He asked earnestly, “How am I supposed to get an underage girl alone into an empty room?” That sounded way too creepy.

“Ahem,” the Fool stifled a laugh and cleared his throat. “That’s up to your charm, Mr. Poet.”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

6.

Leonard paced anxiously in place for three minutes. He couldn’t come up with a perfect excuse in that short time, nor could he bring himself to say something as suspicious and terrifying as, “I need a room to bestow blessings on your daughter,” to Mr. Wood. In the end, it was the ever-considerate Fool who saved him again.

"Here's the plan: climb up from outside to the second-floor balcony. I’ll use an illusion to create an excuse for the others to leave the room. You’ll pull Selena into a dream on your own."

He didn’t dare use the illusion directly on Selena—she was already tainted by the True Creator. A low-level illusion might not fool her, and if it failed, it would tip her off. If a fight broke out, the others in the room would be in danger. There was no way they could protect so many civilians while fighting. Using the illusion to move the others away was the safest approach.

Leonard had no objections. He quickly made an excuse to go to the restroom, climbed out the window, and looked up to measure the second floor’s height and Selena’s room location. He quickly figured out the route. Stepping onto the window ledge, he jumped, grabbed the second-floor railing, and flipped himself up in one smooth, practiced motion—like someone who’d done this kind of thing many times before.

He landed silently on the balcony and peeked inside through the gap in the curtains. Inside, four or five girls sat with the door and windows shut, the room dimly lit. A girl with deep burgundy hair sat in the center, holding a mirror. From Leonard’s angle, he couldn’t see her or the mirror’s face, but the moment his gaze drifted toward it, his spiritual intuition buzzed violently—like countless invisible, twisted things were pouring out from that mirror.

He quickly averted his eyes, not daring to look any longer.

At that moment, the girl closest to Selena made a small listening gesture. Soon, she stood up, patted Selena’s shoulder, and said with a light laugh, “It’s about time. We’ve prepared a surprise for you. You’ll need to close your eyes and wait for a bit.”

The other girls followed suit.

Selena hesitated but closed her eyes. “Like this?”

“Yes,” the girl said. “Just five minutes. No peeking.”

As they spoke, they opened the door and filed out. Once the room was closed again, Leonard placed his palm on the sliding door and gently pushed the glass aside without making a sound, slipping inside.

From his pocket, he pulled out a silver ritual dagger and quickly sealed the room with a spiritual wall.

Selena seemed to sense something. She tilted her head slightly in confusion, instinctively about to open her eyes—when a deep, magnetic voice began softly chanting:

" Oh, the threat of horror, the hope of crimson cries."

Before her eyes could fully open, her eyelids grew heavy with drowsiness, as if she could fall asleep at any moment. But the mirror in her hands suddenly turned ice cold, the chill stabbing into her flesh like knives.

"Ah—!!" the girl screamed. Her eyes flew open, now completely black, with no whites left—just a swirling void of chaos.

“One thing at least is certain—that this life flies.”

Leonard sped up his chant, but the girl was faster. She sprang from the chair, her fingertips sprouting long, white claws as she swiped at Leonard’s face.

Luckily, he was watching closely. He jumped back two steps, narrowly dodging the blow that could’ve taken off half his head. The room was cramped, filled with furniture, and his opponent, though just a regular girl possessed by a hidden being, still left him little space to maneuver. For a Darkness pathway Beyonder used to close combat, the environment was stifling.

He had no choice but to focus all his attention on the Midnight Poet’s incantation.

" One thing is certain, and the rest is Lies.”

Leonard backed up to the dressing table, grabbed a nearby chair, and used it to block the now-beastly, black-furred, double-thick claw.

—If Miss Wood knew that just casually chanting an evil god’s honorific could turn her into this mess, she’d probably be careful with her words for the rest of her life, Leonard thought irreverently.

"… The Flower that once has bloomed forever dies."

Selena Wood’s movements finally began to slow. Her eyes half-lidded, face twisted, she seemed to be fighting a wave of crushing sleep.

"Grab her," said The Fool.

Leonard quickly restrained her mutated arm, twisted it behind her back, and pinned her to the floor. The next instant, he heard a soft whoosh, like wind, in the spiritually sealed room.

A gentle yet irresistible force brushed against his back. He saw feathers gathering—six pairs of massive, translucent wings forming around him. Each feather was either swaying in random gusts or squirming like worms, writhing with chaotic energy.

The wings closed in tighter, enveloping Leonard and Miss Wood in a delicate embrace, then slowly faded into nothingness.

Just before the power disappeared completely, Leonard felt something tug on his collar. He looked down and saw the last feather hooking onto the edge of his tight collar, twisting his skewed white button to the front, fastening it firmly against his Adam’s apple. Only after it was perfectly aligned did the feather stretch out and vanish into thin air.

It took Leonard a few moments to realize that Selena Wood was now sleeping peacefully. Her right hand had returned to normal, and her breathing was slow and steady. The mirror she had been holding lay shattered on the floor.

He let go, exhaling in relief—only to feel a strange, wordless sense of confusion. His thoughts were like a chain slipping off its gear, sluggish and stuck.

"It’s time to go," said The Fool. "The others are coming."

Leonard didn’t have time to dwell on it. He hurriedly cleaned up the broken shards, lifted the spiritual wall, and left Selena untouched. He climbed back onto the windowsill, closed the door, and slipped back into the party crowd.

Soon, a shout rang out upstairs—“Selena fainted!”—causing brief chaos at the party. Amidst the panic, the handsome priest solemnly informed the host that his daughter had attracted a spirit due to her obsession with the occult. The priest claimed to have performed an exorcism, warned against reciting the names of non-orthodox gods, and then used the commotion to slip away.

One block away, the upright, dignified priest immediately yanked open his suffocating collar, undid two buttons, and turned his sacred outfit into a wrinkled mess hanging loosely on his body.

Only then did Leonard breathe a real sigh of relief. He absentmindedly touched his throat, which had been rubbed red by the fabric.

"You’re not worried about embarrassing the Church of the Night like this?" the Fool teased. A priest walking the streets disheveled like that would be the laughingstock of every church the next day.

“You’ve got a point,” Leonard muttered. Then he reached up, unpinned the black moon pendant from his chest, and declared righteously, “There. Now I’m not representing the church anymore.”

The Fool burst into loud laughter in his head.

---

"This is the Tarot Club’s new member—Mr. Sun," said the Fool, introducing him to Justice and The Hanged Man. "He comes from the City of Silver in the Forsaken Land of the Gods. That place has been cut off from the history of the northern and southern continents for three epochs. He doesn’t know much about the outside world or its history. If you have anything you want, you can exchange basic knowledge and history with him."

Klein was already an Old One. He no longer worried that his Tarot Club members chatting freely would reveal something problematic, and he didn’t have the time to be Derrick’s personal encyclopedia. Letting Audrey and Alger gradually teach him about the outside world was beneficial for both him and City of Silver.

Might as well write ‘please tutor Mr. Sun’ on his face.

The Forsaken Land of the Gods? City of Silver? Audrey had never heard those terms before, but she noticed the Hanged Man’s reaction—he seemed deeply shocked, even a bit nervous and afraid.

Maybe The Hanged Man knows something, she thought. Even though she didn’t fully understand the implications, the idea of a place that had been severed from the rest of the world’s history for three epochs was enough to suggest unimaginable mystery. The Tarot Club had only been around for a short time, and now they had a member from such a unique background. Audrey felt proud. As a founding member, she needed to step up so she wouldn’t fall behind.

“Mr. Fool!” Derrick stood up. Though he was still puzzled by the introduction and curious about what the “northern and southern continents” meant, he hadn’t forgotten the most important thing—after The Fool responded to his prayer and sent an angel to suppress his parents’ curse, he’d only left the time of this meeting and said nothing else.

Derrick had waited anxiously for a whole week for this opportunity.

“Mr. Fool, thank you so much for your help!” Derrick bowed deeply to the head of the long table. “The City of Silver hopes to once again receive the protection of your angel. What price must we pay for it?”

The Fool raised a hand and gestured downward. “Sit,” he said. Once Derrick respectfully and nervously took his seat again, Klein continued, “No need to rush to talk about cost. First, listen to what I can offer the City of Silver.”

He tapped his fingers lightly on the table and asked, “What you just said—was that from your Chief?”

Derrick flinched slightly, then leaned forward and answered honestly, “Yes. That is the Chief’s will.”

The Fool nodded. He knew Derrick couldn’t keep secrets from the six-member council, and he had planned to make contact with them sooner or later—so he had deliberately left Derrick without any instructions to hide the matter.

“I understand,” he said. “When you leave the Tarot Club, inform your Chief and the council of this promise—I will lead the City of Silver out of the Forsaken Land within three years.”

Derrick Berg nearly leapt from his seat. He blurted out, “Really?!” trembling uncontrollably, his eyes filled with hope. He forgot all the old warnings about looking upon gods and stared directly at The Fool. “We really can leave?! What do you need in return? We’ll do anything!”

Klein didn’t ask him to sit this time. He leaned back in his chair and sighed internally. Derrick hadn’t changed—always offering up his full hand during a negotiation.

“Faith,” he said. “I won’t force all of City of Silver to convert, but I need you to spread my name and ensure the city allows its residents to convert.”

Justice and The Hanged Man exchanged glances, both seeing a flicker of alarm in each other’s eyes. They had suspected from the honorifics used in the last meeting that the Fool was a deity—but having it confirmed still left them shaken.

Derrick, however, was stunned. He didn’t accept immediately. Everyone in the City of Silver had worshipped the Creator from birth. Even though He hadn’t responded in ages, they never considered abandoning their faith. On the contrary, they clung even tighter, hoping for His return.

But what if that faith could never save them?

"You can take your time to think about it," said Klein with a soft chuckle. "Even if no one in the City of Silver converts, I’ll still lead you out of the Forsaken Land."

“I will,” Derrick replied. He bowed deeply. “Your will is my will.”

Then he paused, hesitant, before asking, “May I know… our original Lord… why did He abandon us?”

“Because He went mad,” The Fool said with a shake of his head. “Madness turned Him into an evil god.”

–tbc–

Chapter Text

7.

This Tarot Club meeting lasted noticeably longer than the previous two, thanks to Mr. Sun’s arrival. Even though The Hanged Man and Justice didn’t say much, they still gained a wealth of arcane knowledge just by listening to his conversation with Mr. Fool. Justice, in particular, managed to trade for the formula of the Psychologist potion. While she was thrilled about the acquisition, she also felt a twinge of anxiety and dread at the thought of increasing the debt she owed to Mr. Fool.

Since the Tarot Club’s inception, Mr. Fool had granted them countless invaluable pieces of knowledge and intelligence—secrets of the acting method, potion formulas, information about hidden organizations and even mysterious entities. And aside from today’s ‘faith’ request to Mr. Sun, he had never asked Justice or The Hanged Man for anything in return.

The most expensive thing in the world is what's given for free. Audrey believed this deeply. As newly initiated Beyonders stepping into the mystical world, they seemingly had nothing worthy of pleasing a god—but if Mr. Fool had drawn them into this divine meeting, he surely had a reason. He must want something from them.

She only hoped the price would be one she could afford to pay.

“Miss Justice,” Mr. Fool suddenly said before the gathering ended. “Stay behind. I have a task for you.”

Audrey’s heart skipped a beat, and her stomach clenched—but it also felt like she’d finally heard the sound of a judge’s gavel. A strange relief followed.

“By your will,” she answered respectfully.

Once the other two vanished in streaks of red light, she looked up and realized—this was her first time alone with Mr. Fool above the gray fog. That realization made her even more tense.

“No need to be nervous,” said Mr. Fool with a small laugh. “It’s just a small matter.”

He snapped his fingers, and a plain envelope appeared on the table. The seal was open, revealing a folded letter inside. The front of the envelope bore a line of recipient names and an address.

At Mr. Fool’s signal, Audrey reached forward and opened the letter to read.

It was written in the voice of a lawyer, addressed to Benson Moretti and Melissa Moretti. It explained that their brother, Klein Moretti, had left a large sum of money in an unregistered account before his death. The letter stated he had asked the lawyer to manage and invest the funds, and if more than a month passed without contact, the money was to be transferred—along with any earnings—to Benson and Melissa.

At the bottom was the anonymous account number and password.

“Miss Justice,” Mr. Fool said once she finished reading, “How much liquid capital do you have on hand?”

Audrey quickly ran through the math in her head. After paying The Hanged Man for the potion and formula, her available funds were limited. And if she wanted to avoid drawing suspicion, she’d have to be discreet with any transactions.

“About 5,000 pounds,” she said. “But if I paid it all at once, it might raise questions. To keep it discreet, the most I can manage is 2,000 pounds a month.”

Mr. Fool nodded. “That’s enough. The cost for the acting method, the Sequence 8 Telepathist formula, and the future advance for the Sequence 7 potion and Sequence 6 formula comes to 6,000 pounds in total. You don’t need to pay it all upfront. Invest 5,000 pounds with someone trustworthy, and deposit the remaining 1,000 pounds—along with any returns—into the account.”

He tapped the envelope with a finger.

Audrey nodded. At that rate, she could settle the full amount within three months. As long as her digestion kept pace, nothing would stand between her and advancing to Sequence 7. She felt a surge of excitement at the thought.

“Then, memorize the contents of this letter,” Mr. Fool continued. “Recreate it in the real world and deliver it to the address listed—using the most discreet and undetectable method possible.”

His voice was slower than usual, and his tone more serious. Audrey could tell this task mattered greatly to him.

“All right,” she replied.

“If you forget any part of it, you may pray to me for guidance,” Mr. Fool added. Then he looked her in the eyes. “There are two things you must remember—”

“First: Once you leave the gray fog, everything in this letter is a secret. You must swear to keep it. You are never to mention, investigate, or look into this account, the address, or the names listed.”

“Second—this is only advice—you should still look for traces of the Psychology Alchemists, even though I can provide formulas for the Spectator pathway. They are closely tied to Backlund’s nobles and the royal family.”

Audrey was startled. The Psychology Alchemists had ties to the royal family?

“Of course,” Mr. Fool said generously, “if you manage to obtain future potion formulas from this organization yourself, you may exchange the two I promised for something else—such as a request for my help.”

Help from a god. The thought made Audrey’s mind buzz. But she quickly sobered, reminding herself that 6,000 pounds meant nothing to a deity. Asking for divine intervention to protect or kill someone was unrealistic—it would be limited to minor blessings or subtle assistance at best.

Audrey rose and gave a deep, respectful bow. “I understand. I will act according to your will.”

She left the gray fog with a long exhale of relief. The task might be simple, but its significance was anything but. This only confirmed what she had begun to suspect: every member of the Tarot Club, no matter their current Sequence, likely had some value in Mr. Fool’s eyes. This was no random gathering.

Audrey understood her own strengths: the noble status, the power and wealth that came with being the daughter of Earl Hall. That was what she could offer.

Mr. Sun’s uniqueness had been obvious in today’s meeting as well. His homeland in the Forsaken Land of the Gods had a rich, hidden history—and unlike the Northern Continent dominated by the Orthodox Churches, his people could bring Mr. Fool an abundance of faith.

She still didn’t know the Hanged Man’s background, but it surely held something exceptional too.

Audrey couldn’t help but feel relieved—at least the price she had to pay was one she could afford. And Mr. Fool’s demands weren’t high. In fact, he seemed gentle, patient, and merciful—for a god.

Still, despite how “simple” the task looked, Mr. Fool’s solemn demeanor showed just how much this meant to him. She had to treat it with utmost care.

So who were the three names mentioned in the letter? Audrey found herself wondering—before she quickly cut off the thought.

Do not pry into gods. Do not pry into gods…

---

Leonard had his legs kicked up on the coffee table, flipping through a report. According to the data recently handed to him by his captain, deaths in Tingen had skyrocketed over the past two weeks—more than five times the usual number. Even though most deaths were attributed to illnesses or accidents, the sheer volume had raised serious suspicions within the police department about supernatural involvement.

“Old man, what do you think?” Leonard asked mentally. It was Monday afternoon. Around this time, The Fool always seemed to disappear. Leonard didn’t bother trying to contact him and instead turned to the other resident in his head.

He now fully believed that the old man genuinely feared The Fool. Even after they had agreed to work together against Amon—whoever that was, and apparently terrifying enough to unite both of them—the old man still kept quiet whenever The Fool was around.

“It’s likely,” said Pallez lazily. “Many Beyonder advancements and ritual promotions require blood sacrifices. Certain cults use mass death to please their evil gods.”

Leonard frowned. “So how do we find whoever’s behind this?”

Since Old Neil’s passing, the Tingen team had lost their only support-class member. Their captain had already sent two requests to the Church of the Night for reinforcements—but the reply said support-type Beyonders were scarce everywhere. The earliest they could expect help was in a month.

“If you ask me, your best bet is to find a Seer or a Diviner. If you can’t, well—the same report’s been sent to the Church of the Storm and the Church of Steam. Let them handle it.”

Pallez had always believed in minding his own business to survive longer.

But Leonard didn’t put the report down. He wasn’t ready to give up. “There’s no other way?”

“Then stop asking me,” Pallez grumbled. “Ask your Fool instead.”

“Ask me what?” another voice chimed in, cheerful and warm.

Pallez vanished like a mouse spotting a cat.

Leonard opened the report again. He knew he didn’t need to explain. The Fool often seemed to know everything happening in Tingen—possibly even beyond. That last thought was unnerving.

“You’re looking for Trissy,” said The Fool suddenly, as if just realizing something. “I know where she’s hiding.”

That was the catch. The Fool knew—but Leonard couldn’t just recite the answer. As the Midnight Poet, he clearly didn’t possess the gift of divination.

“Then let’s make it an anonymous tip-off,” The Fool suggested, amused. “A kind, passing wild Beyonder decided to rid the world of an evil.”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

8.

With three consecutive gunshots, the figure of a woman standing at the edge of the balcony materialized out of thin air. The bullets tore through her, leaving gaping holes in her body.

Cracks spread rapidly, and within moments, she shattered completely, collapsing into a pile of coarse silver mirror shards.

Mirror substitute, Klein thought. Just like the paper figurine—both were very practical skills in the lower and mid-sequences. Her reaction was quick. No wonder she had been able to successfully escape back then from the encirclement of the Captain, Leonard, and Frye back then. At the time, he hadn’t been involved in that battle—his Sequence had been too low, and he was on a support path. But now, he had the chance to witness how it all had unfolded.

Dunn understood that the real body was still somewhere in the house. He quickly put away his revolver. "Leonard, stay here. Frye, go around to the back door." As soon as he spoke, he leapt from the balcony onto the flowerbed below, grasped the second-floor balcony edge, and vaulted up, intending to search the upstairs from the outside.

Leonard took a step back, positioning himself to keep both the massive altar in the living room and the upstairs balcony in view, ready to assist his teammates at any moment.

Just two or three seconds later, he caught the sound of frantic footsteps. Leonard snapped his head toward the rear of the altar. A woman came stumbling down the stairs, paused to bow to the statue at the center of the altar, then swiftly extinguished the candles.

The ritual was interrupted mid-ceremony. A flood of spirituality and a disturbing, corrupt aura surged outward, like a storm suddenly sweeping through the room.

Leonard's chant was cut off by the spiritual turbulence. The vines beneath his feet grew wild and tangled around his ankles. A shadow streaked toward him on the wings of the storm.

Even without looking, Klein could feel the intense and malevolent curse that clung to it.

Leonard struggled against the vines, about to raise his arm instinctively.

"Don't touch it," Klein warned.

Leonard's body froze almost involuntarily. He actually stopped as ordered. At the same time, a crisp snap rang in his ear. A bright flame ignited the rose that had somehow blown into the room. Its stem and petals withered instantly in the fire. The ashes and glowing embers brushed his sleeve before drifting to the floor.

Klein chuckled quietly to himself. Just over a month ago, Leonard had been on high alert, treating his every move with suspicion, as if he were plotting something sinister behind every action. But now, the man followed his orders without hesitation. That’s the thing about the poet—he’s too trusting. Fortunately, both he and Pallez bore Leonard no ill will. Otherwise, this guy might’ve been sold off without even knowing it.

Unaware of Klein's rude inner commentary, Leonard refocused. Confirming that The Fool had intervened, he ignored the vines at his feet and the burning rose. His right arm snapped up, gun aimed directly at Trissy standing behind the altar.

Trissy had just retrieved the statue of the Primordial Demoness and hadn’t yet managed to activate her invisibility. If she were hit now, she really might be captured and thrown into Chanis Gate.

Why? Klein hesitated for a moment. Last time, Trissy had escaped from this very place. Was it because he had helped Leonard remove that curse that things had changed now?

But he couldn’t let Trissy fall into the hands of the Church of Evernight.

Just as Leonard pulled the trigger, he heard a second finger snap beside his ear. A muffled grunt escaped from the witch. His vision suddenly went dark as gray fog appeared out of nowhere, veiling everything before his eyes. The eerie haze lasted no more than two seconds, but by the time his sight cleared, the witch had vanished once more, leaving behind only a puddle of crimson blood. His shot had been fired hastily and had failed to hit a vital spot.

Leonard held his gun steady, scanning the surroundings cautiously. The violent gusts had shattered the front windows and door of the villa. If the witch was careful enough, she could have already slipped away right under their noses, using her invisibility.

"What happened?" he asked in a low voice, puzzled. The fog clearly came from The Fool too. He instinctively believed the god had acted to save him—just like every time before. Something in those two seconds must’ve been beyond his ability to perceive. Perhaps the strange idol, or perhaps the wound on the witch.

But The Fool said nothing.

Leonard’s heart sank. An answer he didn’t want to face emerged from the silence. This wasn’t the time to dig too deep. Suppressing his doubts, he asked instead, "How do I find her?"

Still no answer.

But Leonard knew—he was still there.

Damn it.

By now, the Captain and Frye had arrived. There was no movement around them. The target had clearly escaped. Leonard looked up, his expression dark.

"She got away."

Dunn sighed and patted Leonard on the shoulder. From his perspective, this youngest team member had had a smooth ride since joining. A little setback might not be a bad thing.

"At least we succeeded in disrupting the ritual," he said reassuringly.

The post-operation investigation took quite some time. After a brief strategy meeting back at Blackthorn Security Company, Dunn decided to give Leonard and Frye a short leave.

"You’ve worked hard," Dunn said, interpreting Leonard’s silence as a sign of disappointment.

"Get some rest. Report back to Chanis Gate by noon tomorrow."

Leonard accepted the gesture. He knew he wasn’t in the right mental state to work. What he needed most was a private place to ask the questions that had been weighing on him.

He turned the key halfway in the lock, pushed the door open, hung up his coat, and locked the door behind him. He’d been staying at the company these past two days. The curtains were drawn, the windows shut tight, and the apartment smelled of stale air.

He stood in front of the sofa. He didn’t open the windows or sit down.

He drew in a deep breath, hoping to calm himself. It didn’t work.

"You let her go, didn’t you?" he said. Hours of pent-up fury burst out like a shaken soda bottle popping its cap.

"Why?!" he shouted. The sharpness of the question scraped against his lungs, leaving a dull ache. "You know how many people she’s killed?!"

The voice in his head remained silent.

If it chose to, it could be as quiet as if it didn’t exist at all.

Leonard’s mouth twisted bitterly. His chest rose and fell. His breathing went from rapid to numb. When all the fizz was gone, all that remained was still, flat water. His emerald eyes dimmed, swirling with a heavy, murky gray.

"I see."

His raspy voice echoed through the living room, falling flat and empty.

"I shouldn’t have expected anything from you."

That so-called Fool had done too much for him lately. Too many things that a real Nighthawk would’ve done. It had given him the wrong idea.

Leonard stepped over the low coffee table, tossed his vest onto the sofa, and walked toward the bedroom.

He’d gotten too relaxed. Too reliant on those things.

"She’s still useful," said the voice as he opened the bedroom door. It sighed, as if offering an explanation. "She won’t be a threat much longer. But for now, keeping her alive can save many others."

Leonard didn’t respond. He flopped onto the bed and closed his eyes. Sleepless didn’t need much rest and were good at controlling dreams, but their sleep was usually deep and restful. He didn’t care about light or noise—he could sleep anytime. But this time, sleep refused to come.

Strangely, he was still furious. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder—if The Fool really wanted to let Trissy go, then he shouldn’t have given him her pathway and leads in the first place.

If not for that, the Nighthawks wouldn’t have located the cunning witch so quickly. That large-scale curse ritual might have succeeded. More people might have died. They wouldn’t have been able to save the survivors from the Alfafa.

Leonard shifted under the blanket, frustrated and restless. For once, he understood what true insomnia felt like—he felt like a salted fish left out to dry. The salt was slowly soaking into his brain, trying to stop his thoughts from leaking out, but only making everything more of a mess.

In that sense, he supposed he should thank The Fool.

But he let Trissy go.

Maybe The Fool hadn’t lied. He didn’t want the ritual to succeed. He wanted to save the Alfafa’s survivors. So he gave Leonard the intel. But he also didn’t want Trissy captured. She could save more lives alive than dead. So he let her escape.

Leonard turned again, quietly, subtly. It reminded him of childhood naptime under the watchful eyes of a nun. Half the kids had no intention of sleeping. The room would be filled with the rustle of sneaky movements.

It was hard to believe—a woman who coldly orchestrated the Alfafa massacre, a Witch of a heretical cult, someone born to sow chaos and disaster—might one day save many lives.

And why should he believe that man?

Leonard thought his brain was almost thoroughly marinated in salt. His frustrations and thoughts blended with the haze of sleep into a messy paste.

The Fool could’ve been lying all along.

…And he couldn’t even bother to explain.

As he hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, he heard the soft creak of the window being pushed open. A cool breeze slipped in through the crack, carrying away the staleness and stuffiness of the room. Then someone drew the curtains shut, completely blocking out the noon sunlight from outside.

–tbc–

Chapter Text

9.

Leonard opened his eyes from a tangle of dreams. The room was dim, and a few strands of dusky evening light streamed in from beneath the gently billowing curtains.

"You seem to have slept for quite a while," Klein said softly, a trace of worry hidden in his tone. "Aren’t Sleepless supposed to only need one or two hours of sleep each day?"

Leonard silently sat up in bed. Klein noticed a small but unusual gesture—Leonard lifted his left hand, turned it over to look at the back, then used his right hand to hold his left index finger. A moment later, he lowered both hands and glanced at the clock on the desk.

A little after 5 p.m. He had slept for nearly four hours.

"He’s right," Pallez chimed in for once. "Over the past two months, you’ve been sleeping more than usual."

That was exactly what Klein had been worrying about. Back in Tingen, he’d witnessed the work habits of the Sleepless—they often only needed an hour or two of rest in the lounge to stay energetic all day. But recently, Leonard seemed to be spending more time asleep than in the last timeline. Klein was concerned this could be a bad sign.

"When did it start? The day I appeared?" Klein asked. Two months ago had been a very delicate point in time. Was it his presence that brought about the change? Was Leonard’s mind unable to bear the burden of a remnant deity’s influence? Or was it something else?

"Nothing to worry about." Leonard scratched his head, cutting them off. "Just been a bit tired lately with everything going on."

He was lying. Klein could tell.

Even with no one else present, Leonard’s gaze habitually shifted to the right, his thumb rubbing at the knuckle of his index finger, and his tone was just slightly off. It was the same behavior he showed whenever he was hiding something—nothing major, usually, since if it were really important, Leonard would have prepared a better excuse. (Though that didn’t help much when facing a former deity with Clown and Faceless powers.)

In the past, Leonard typically kept small issues to himself because he didn’t want to trouble Klein and preferred to solve them on his own. Klein often pretended not to notice. But that wasn’t the case anymore.

So it probably wasn’t anything truly dangerous. Otherwise, Leonard would have reached out to either Klein or Pallez for help. Of course, it was still possible that some subtle threat had escaped the awareness of a Sequence 8 Midnight Poet. Either way, it warranted careful observation. Klein decided it was best to be cautious—anything that diverged significantly from the previous timeline was worth extra attention.

While he was still speculating, Leonard had already washed up quickly, changed into a fresh shirt, and was heading out.

It had only been four hours since he returned home, but it had been three full days since he last went to work.

"Your Church of Evernight sure is intense..." Klein let out a long sigh. Even the Goddess would cry if she saw these working hours. Klein might just call for a revolution.

"Intense?" asked Leonard.

"I mean," Klein paused, choosing a simpler explanation, "you’re working when others are working, and still working when others are resting."

He had seen the work ethic of the Sleepless before, but never really considered whether the familiar faces he often saw were just early risers—or if they simply never went home at all.

At least the captain and the others had families. Klein thought of how he only learned much later that Leonard had grown up in a church orphanage and didn’t have any family of his own. Maybe that’s why he was more willing to trust and rely on the mysterious Pallez, despite the risk.

"Oh." Leonard casually hailed a carriage and stepped into it, lowering his head. "You’re talkative today," he said. Like a guilty cat acting especially affectionate, brushing up against you to make sure you wouldn’t stay mad about that broken vase from yesterday.

"Fine," Klein inhaled and sighed again. "I apologize for what happened yesterday. I can’t promise I won’t do it again, but can you forgive me?"

That was way too shameless. Leonard, who had been about to brush the whole thing aside with some kind words, now found himself choking at the sheer audacity. His gaze went blank. Who taught this man to apologize?

"Can’t forgive me?"

The deep and mysterious image of The Fool seemed to leak out of his mind like sand, replaced by a cat crawling out of the shadows, rubbing against his pant leg, flopping onto its back, demanding belly rubs.

Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose and gritted his teeth. "I can."

"Good." Klein replied, clearly pleased. He smoothly shifted topics. "So, you’re heading to the office now? Don’t you have any personal matters to take care of?"

Leonard hesitated. He seemed to think about it before answering, "Does reading poetry count?"

"If it’s just for digesting the potion, then no."

Though in the last timeline Klein had spent most of his time struggling to survive or seeking revenge, he still believed that everyone needed a bit of personal life and small hobbies. Even just to preserve one’s humanity. Strictly speaking, making money could be considered one of his hobbies—whether as a Seer, a detective, or an adventurer, earning cash was always satisfying. Well, except when playing the role of a generous rich man.

"Do you enjoy writing poetry?"

He had a rough idea—Leonard probably hadn’t been that interested in poetry at first. Initially, he’d done it just to act as a proper Midnight Poet. Later, to awaken the world. And once The Fool had returned, he should have been free to stop writing. Yet somehow, he kept at it, and even seemed to find a bit of enjoyment in the process.

"The old man said ages ago—I’m not talented." Leonard leaned against the window, propping up his face. Even with the acting method, becoming a proper Midnight Poet had been a real headache. Early on, the old man had been quite concerned about his progress, but after reading a few of Leonard’s painfully forced poems, he got so mad he didn’t speak to him for a week. "And I never know what to write."

He wasn’t the sentimental type, didn’t have much to describe or celebrate. He couldn’t very well write an entire poem just to sing the praises of a street vendor’s Desi meat pies, could he? The Northern Continent probably wouldn’t appreciate poetry that reeked of fried oil.

"You never know until you try." Klein’s laugh was light and warm, like a breeze brushing past Leonard’s ear and scattering into the bright, open street. "You might just become the first poet of the Northern Continent to become famous for writing about Desi pies."

---

"Next week, Duke Negan will host a social ball at his estate in Queen’s District," The Fool leaned back in his chair, speaking calmly after the others had completed their greetings.

"Qilangos is expected to infiltrate the event."

Aside from Derrick, who looked completely lost, both Alger and Audrey were visibly stunned, though for very different reasons.

Alger was the first to recover. Just last week, he’d asked Miss Justice during the Tarot meeting to help track down Qilangos. He’d been planning to check in on the progress today. He hadn’t expected The Fool to hand him the full intel directly. Without hesitation, he rose and bowed.

"Thank you very much for your help, esteemed Fool. I don’t know how to repay your generosity."

The Fool raised a hand to gesture for him to sit. "It’s just a free piece of intelligence." He turned to Audrey. "Miss Justice, Qilangos will be using Creeping Hunger at the ball, posing as another noble using Faceless abilities. Since you’re a Spectator, I hope you’ll identify him and discreetly alert Duke Negan. Once Qilangos is dead, half his bounty will be yours."

Audrey pressed her lips together in surprise but didn’t respond immediately. She sensed The Fool wasn’t done. Sure enough, he turned next to Mr. Hanged Man.

"Mr. Hanged Man, you’ll be in Backlund next week?"

"Yes," Alger replied.

"Find a man named Azik Eggers from Tingen, currently staying at a hotel in the Hillston District of Backlund. Deliver this letter to him."

The Fool raised his hand, and a blank white envelope appeared in front of Alger.

"If he agrees to the deal, take him to Duke Negan’s estate on the day of the ball. He’ll kill Qilangos and return Creeping Hunger to me. You may keep any other Beyonder characteristics or items."

"If he refuses," The Fool paused, "then invoke my name during the ball. I will kill Qilangos myself. In that case, the reward remains the same—Creeping Hunger."

Alger didn’t dare get greedy. He respectfully replied, "Since it would be you who kills Qilangos, the items are naturally yours. I would gladly offer additional payment for your assistance."

Klein chuckled lightly and shook his head. He no longer needed Roselle’s diary. If they kept owing him like this, the debt would pile up endlessly.

He tapped his fingers against the table, thought for a moment, then said, "You should still have one of the primitive island coordinates. Offer that in exchange."

Alger swallowed his excitement. "Praise your generosity and kindness."

Klein was quite satisfied. Given his current state, using the gray fog to kill Qilangos wouldn’t be easy. If Azik was willing to help, Klein would offer more clues in return. If not, he’d force himself to act. Getting Creeping Hunger early was critical to preparing for the descent of an evil god’s spawn and dealing with Ince Zangwill.

Since Azik had gone to Lamud Town ahead of time, the incident with the wraiths never occurred, and Klein had missed out on Sealed Artifact 3-0782. The abilities of the Priest of Light within Creeping Hunger would be an excellent substitute.

Once Alger retrieved Creeping Hunger, Klein would seal it and have it sent directly to Leonard. With the combined powers of the Blood Vessel Thief, Creeping Hunger, and Saint Selena’s Ashes, he hoped to handle the spawn of the evil god without revealing himself.

The recovery of the Antigonus notebook, the corruption affecting the captain, Lanevus’ escape—even Azik would be staying in Backlund. Klein had no plans to call him back to Tingen early. For now, everything remained on course, just as 0-08 had planned.

Until the day they lured Megose into the Blackthorn Security Company.

Until Ince Zangwill arrived to claim his prize.

-tbc-

Chapter Text

10. 

Early on a weekend morning, a tightly wrapped box was delivered to Leonard’s doorstep. The box was metallic in texture but not made of any common metal found in the market. It seemed to be made of some kind of spiritual material, wrapped with a strange spiritual barrier. When Leonard went to pick up the mail that morning, he completely overlooked the package due to its size. It wasn’t until The Fool spoke up that he realized it was there.

“Is this yours?” Leonard’s expression was somewhat subtle. The sender’s address was written as Backlund. But The Fool didn’t even have a body—how was the mail arranged? Leonard had no idea.

“Is it your potion?”

“No,” the voice replied. “It’s for you.”

Leonard was stunned and then heard The Fool continue, “Inside is a Beyonder item from the Secrets Suppliant pathway, or rather, a Sealed Artifact.”

Leonard carried the box back. He had heard of the Secrets Suppliant pathway before. “Is it something from the Aurora Order?”

“Maybe related, but I traded for it from somewhere else.”

Leonard still didn’t understand. “Why give it to me? How am I supposed to seal it?”

“The box is already sealed by me. As long as you don’t open it, it won’t cause any trouble.” The Fool sighed softly. “But you must carry it with you. One day soon, you will need its power.”

Leonard Mitchell stopped dead in his tracks. From The Fool’s words, he sensed a faint but dangerous omen.

The Fool was unwilling to say more. Doubtfully, Leonard placed the small box into his gun pouch.

---

Unexpected to Klein, Lady Sharon did not kill Member of Parliament John Maynard. Perhaps because no one informed the captain about the acting method this time (obviously, Leonard still had concerns since he lacked divination ability and couldn’t be sure if the acting method really worked without side effects). His digestion progress stalled, but even without Kenley’s death, it was enough to satisfy Ince Zangwill’s needs.

On the day Megose entered the Blackthorn Security Company, Kenley and Royale went to the countryside to investigate a ghost haunting case—taking sealed item 3-0782 with them. The church’s bishop was out preaching in the rural areas, and Seeka needed to guard the Chanis Gate.

Watching Megose sit on the sofa, Leonard instinctively put his hand into his gun pouch and felt the square metal box, finding a bit of reassurance amidst the frenzied spiritual screams—not because of the sealed item he had never seen, but because The Fool had anticipated this day long ago.

“Watch her. I’ll find the captain,” Leonard whispered to Frye.

The pale-faced undertaker now looked even more pale, almost greenish. He nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on the somewhat nervous pregnant woman.

“What is that thing?!” Leonard asked urgently and quietly after stepping behind the partition.

“The offspring of the True Creator.” The Fool’s voice was calm as usual, making Leonard instinctively feel somewhat at ease. “Open the seal on the box and put on that glove. After informing the captain, go to the Chanis Gate to retrieve sealed item 2-105 and give it to Frye. It’s a sealed item from the Marauder pathway. Ask Mr. Zoroast to parasitize it with a Worm of Time to maximize its effectiveness.”

“I understand.” Pallez rarely responded so quickly. He understood how critical the situation was; if things went wrong, the entirety of Tingen might be destroyed.

Leonard did not hesitate. Holding the box firmly at both ends, he snapped the small metal box into two. A black glove fell into his hand. For a brief moment, he sensed a trace of greedy malice; the mouth in the middle of the glove opened ferociously, saliva dripping from its sharp teeth. But just one breath later, it suddenly closed its mouth, lying quietly in his palm.

Leonard put it on without hesitation. But just as he slid his hand inside, he paused sharply.

There was something inside?

“Shh,” The Fool whispered in his ear, his tone light but sharp as a blade beneath, “Do exactly as I say. I promise, all enemies will leave their lives here.”

All of them.

Leonard put on the glove, holding the metal plate tightly in his palm. “Okay.”

From the moment Megose stepped into Blackthorn Security Company to Leonard standing at the lounge door with Creeping Hunger and Sealed Artifact 2-105, less than ten minutes had passed. But Megose’s condition deteriorated too quickly; there was no time to wait for more reinforcements.

Dunn Smith held Saint Selena’s Ashes, the palm-sized silver box shaped like a skull sculpture. Even unopened, dark mist like grains of sand swirled around it. He watched Frye retreat behind the partition, from where came the woman’s agitated, painful moans.

“It’s too late,” Frye said, taking the sealed item 2-105 from Leonard’s hand and clutching it tightly, his expression tense. “I doubt she’ll last more than a few minutes.”

Dunn nodded, tugged at his collar, patted his thin trench coat, and spoke firmly, “I’ll take Saint Selena’s Ashes out first. You wait ten seconds before coming out to fight. No matter how I end up, you must not waste time. You have to use all your strength to attack Megose and the baby inside her.”

Seeing Leonard and Frye nod seriously, he smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. We are saving Tingen City.”

With that, he left the partition resolutely.

Leonard’s heart pounded unusually fast. He heard Megose’s screams and roars outside, the crashing of objects, his own spiritual sense moaning in indescribable shrieks, piercing ear ringing sharper than blades, and blood rushing through his veins—all running through his mind. He tried to discern the outside noise, to catch the captain’s breathing.

Three.

Two.

One.

He and Frye stepped out together, quickly taking in the scene—Dunn collapsed by the right wall, still holding Saint Selena’s Ashes, black starry-like matter flowing out like tentacles entangling Megose. The latter struggled hard, two bloodied bulges on her left and right shoulders, like two babies’ heads.

“Priest of Light, Light of Holiness.”

A massive pillar of light belonging to Sequence five suddenly descended, enveloping the struggling Megose. Frye used sealed item 2-105 to steal her blasphemous words. Leonard watched carefully where the light faded, noticing the black strands made from Saint Selena’s Ashes retreating like afraid of the light. The last attack probably hadn’t hit them directly.

“Behind you!” The Fool’s voice warned just as Leonard spun around. A huge bone blade slashed past his eyes, tearing a long rip in his shirt. Blood immediately flowed out. If he had retreated any later, he might have been sliced in two.

The woman, scorched black in most parts by the sacred light, crawled on all fours. Her huge belly pressed against the ground; her left hand turned into a bone blade. There was hardly anything human left on her. Her crawling speed was astonishingly fast, barely trackable with the naked eye.

“Surrender!” Frye clenched his fist, briefly restraining her agile movements with the stolen blasphemous words—from Pallez’ Worm of Time, the Marauder Pathway Sealed Artifact was far more obedient than expected.

A second sacred light pillar descended immediately.

But the woman broke free of the blasphemous words faster than expected. Her head exploded ashen black, flesh and blood flying, and her body slammed into Frye like a cannonball.

“Interrogator, Psychic Piercing.”

Megose’s raised bone blade paused. The starry fragments of tentacles quickly wrapped around her again, trying to restrain her completely.

Before the third sacred light could descend, the cry of a baby pierced everyone’s mind like an arrow. Leonard froze, dizzy. The black threads surrounding Megose seemed frightened and began to retreat.

As the crying grew more urgent, the threads gradually loosened, and Megose nearly shrank back into the urn.

No.

Leonard struggled. If Megose was freed, they were doomed.

“Fate.” The Fool’s tight voice sounded.

Almost simultaneously, Dunn Smith spread his fingers and plunged them deep into his left chest. A still beating heart was pulled out and placed into Saint Selena’s urn.

Countless black threads surged out, wrapping Megose tightly, even stopping the infant’s cries for a moment.

Although the light of holiness in Creeping Hunger was weaker than the Sun Flame Charm, it had one advantage: as long as Leonard’s spiritual energy was not completely depleted, it was unlimited.

Leonard forced his exhausted, painful consciousness and more sacred light thundered down.

-tbc-

Chapter Text

11.

Footsteps crossed over the ruined walls collapsed from battle, echoing as someone walked calmly into the room. The new leather shoes clicked clearly and rhythmically against the uneven floor.

The man stepped over the charred bodies on the ground, over the Nighthawks unconscious from spiritual exhaustion, over the scattered mess and bloodstains, until he reached the dead Nighthawk captain. From his hands, he picked up the silver-white bone box. Inside was a heart that no longer beat, shriveled and gray from being detached from the body too long, gently swinging as the urn was tilted.

Exactly as planned, the Tingen Nighthawks paid a bloody price to defeat the approaching spawn of the True Creator. After Saint Selena’s Ashes were taken beyond the Chanis Gate, no one sealed or guarded them anymore. Reinforcements wouldn’t arrive for several minutes — enough time for him to kill everyone here and get away with his potion.

The advancement ritual was ready. When today was over, he would no longer be the Sequence 5 Gatekeeper of the Death Pathway, but become a Sequence 4 Nightwatcher of the Darkness Pathway.

The man in the black double-breasted long coat closed the silver bone box lid, his deep black-blue eyes showing a trace of satisfaction.

In the absolute silence, Ince Zangwill caught a faint, discordant sound behind him — like the rustling of fabric. The sound was so soft that in any other scene he might have ignored it. But now it stood out like a lighthouse in the dead of night.

His heart suddenly clenched tightly. A strange, nearly instinctive fear gripped him. His plan should have been flawless. He thought at that moment. Three low-sequence Nighthawks dead or injured, anyone who might have interfered was transferred out of Tingen, no accidents, no uncertainties — everything happening exactly as 0-08 had written. But that strangled fear told him something was missed.

Who was behind him? That faint breathing carried a heavy pressure, as if facing an abyss and a raging sea. He felt his turn sluggish, like a rusty machine.

Sealed Artifact 0-08 seemed to sense danger, flying out from his pocket. It appeared to see something through layers of fate, hurriedly writing a mark on Ince Zangwill’s coat hem — but it didn’t finish a single letter before abruptly stopping mid-air, then seemingly losing its spirit, falling straight down.

Plop.

Two nearly overlapping soft sounds echoed quietly in the deathly silent Blackthorn Security Company.

Saint Selena’s Ashes and the Sealed Artifact 0-08 fell to the floor together. The lid of the urn flipped open, black sand grains clung firmly to the box’s bottom, but only one thing fell out. Ince Zangwill had completely lost the ability to think. What he couldn’t see was that what rolled out from the lid was not the curled, gray heart belonging to Dunn Smith.

Instead, it was a piece of charred, ugly, wrinkled umbilical cord.

Behind him, the ‘Leonard Mitchell’ who should have been unconscious stood there, index finger extended, thumb pointing upwards — forming the gesture of firing a gun with one hand.

“Bang.”

His lips parted slightly, mimicking the sound of a gunshot. The corners of his mouth curled up. His eyes were no longer green but pitch black like the legendary abyss. The Old One-level air bullet blasted half of the blindly foolish Ince Zangwill’s body into nothingness. Blood splattered everywhere, making the already battered hall look even more like a scene from hell.

‘Leonard’ withdrew his hand, raising his right hand as if removing an invisible hat from his head and placing it on his chest, then bent his knee in a bow. His mouth still unnaturally curved upward, worms writhing on his side face. Forcing The Fool’s power was indeed risky for him, but he did not try to calm himself. He picked up 0-08 from the ground and touched Leonard’s pocket. It was empty — no ritual items. No time to look for anything else. The longer he used Leonard’s body, the more irreversible the damage might be.

Klein simply stood still, hands crossed in front of his chest in a prayer pose. He believed that with his power and 0-08’s presence, even without an altar or offerings, the Goddess’s gaze could be summoned.

“O Goddess of night, who stands higher than the cosmos, and more eternal than eternity.” Klein spoke with Leonard’s voice — it involuntarily reminded him of how the man prayed devoutly under the holy emblem. It had to be said, being handsome and having a good voice was a great advantage. Since occasionally leading services and masses as a bishop, the female believers at Backlund Saint Samuel’s Cathedral had multiplied. The ladies generously donated money just to catch a glance from Bishop Mitchell, which made Klein a little jealous.

“What are you doing?” Pallez, who had been silent and obedient, finally broke his silence, his tone hesitant and suspicious.

Klein chuckled softly without answering, continuing the chant, “You are the Mother of Concealment. The Empress of Misfortune and Horror, the Mistress of Repose and Silence.”

Pallez said no more. If he could, he would curl up completely, hoping no one would notice him.

“Your faithful friend prays for your attention,”

“Prays you accept His offering,”

“Prays you open the gates of your kingdom.”

A serene and heavy darkness unknowingly replaced his vision. Underfoot was no longer a creaking wooden floor but a soft plain full of moonflowers and night vanillas.

Klein lowered his head and chuckled as he saw the pale Leonard lying completely unaware at his feet. Cloaked in a wide mantle, he had returned to his appearance from his Sefirah Castle days. The edges of the cloak blurred, with writhing spirit worms dying and falling off.

Fortunately, over these months, Klein’s presence had stabilized far more than when he first returned to 1349. Otherwise, that moment of Blind Stupidity would have shattered him into a puddle of spirit worms.

Pallez Zoroast stood diagonally behind him. When Klein looked at him, he stepped back several paces. If they weren't in the Goddess’ Divine Kingdom, where he dared not move about freely, he probably would’ve fled out of sight.

Ahead, at the end of the view, a tall woman draped in stars slowly approached. She was astonishingly tall, dressed in a layered dark classical dress, her veil woven like a starry night reaching her ankles. From her ribs and waist grew pairs of black, short-haired, non-human arms. Two hands held a crimson moon; the other two gripped a huge scythe. As she walked, the scythe silently skimmed the ground, and the moonflowers and night vanillas swayed quietly on the windless plain.

She stopped in front of Klein.

“Nice to meet you.” Mr. Fool smiled. “Or rather, long time no see, ***.”

The rest of the words and the two figures were gradually erased from the air. Pallez hurriedly lowered his head, not daring to look again, cursing himself for not being able to faint as carelessly as Leonard.

The secret meeting between two deities lasted unknown hours. When Pallez regained consciousness, he was back inside Leonard’s body, lying in a bright, clean room. Outside, sunlight shone brightly, a city freshly surviving an unknown disaster

Seeka Tron sat by the bedside, reading a newspaper and biting an apple. When Leonard suddenly opened his eyes and flipped over, she had the half-eaten apple in her mouth, turning the paper to the next page. The noise startled her, causing half the apple to drop to the floor.

“Where’s the captain?” Leonard quickly grasped his situation and anxiously asked his colleague.

“He’s fine, he’s fine.” Seeka hurriedly reassured him, ignoring the fallen apple. “Captain woke earlier than you. He’s already back at the company handling follow-up issues.”

The midnight poet pointed to the bed next to Leonard. The occupant looked a bit more relaxed, but his voice was still tense, full of worry and anxiety. “What about Klein?”

He looked around anxiously, “How is Klein?”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

12.

“What happened to Klein?!”

Leonard, just awakening from unconsciousness, gripped her arm tightly, anxiously blurting out a name he barely recognized.

Seeka Tron frowned in confusion. “Who’s Klein?”

Leonard froze. His pupils contracted silently for a moment, and that faint, unmistakable glimmer of green in his eyes burst forth like freshly blooming fireworks—spreading a radiant, colorful glow.

He glanced around the room, then back at Seeka, a dazed, half-awake expression softening his features.

“Oh, right.” He seemed to snap back to reality. “I meant Frye.”

“Frye’s fine, too,” Seeka breathed a relieved sigh, worried Leonard’s mind had been tainted by the True Creator. “The captain sent him back to rest.”

Leonard nodded slowly. Seeka filled him in on the investigation findings and the next steps. Yet his reactions were sluggish, his words tinged with absent-minded worry. Seeka guessed he hadn’t fully recovered from the battle. Folding the newspaper in her hands, she stepped outside. “You rest first. We’ll talk about everything else when you’re better.”

Only after the Midnight Poet left did that familiar voice finally stir in his mind, as if it had been waiting patiently.

“You had that dream again?”

Leonard was just about to get up and grab his shirt hanging nearby to check on his teammates when the words stopped him—sharp and unusual, like a subtle warning.

“Why do you say that?” Leonard asked.

“You mentioned Klein’s name.”

One hand slipped from his sleeve to button his shirt casually. Though residual headaches from spiritual exhaustion still lingered and his mind wasn’t fully awake, his thoughts were surprisingly clear.

Even the nearly omniscient Fool wasn’t aware of everything—Leonard realized that from the day it appeared. The Fool didn’t understand these dreams.

At first, unfamiliar with this entity parasitizing his body, Leonard only found the dreams strange, not serious enough to bother either of the two living inside him. So, except for the very first night, he never mentioned the dreams to anyone—they never ceased.

Soon Leonard learned of The Fool’s near-omniscience, and yet these dreams remained his alone, beyond The Fool’s grasp.

They weren’t even dreams—more like premonitions, revelations, or glimpses of an alternate fate.

So he chose to hide them deliberately.

“What did you dream?”

“You’re curious?”

The Fool chuckled faintly. ”If you don’t want to say, that’s fine.”

“Klein.”

When Leonard naturally uttered that name, Klein’s heart skipped a beat, nearly responding instinctively.

This was the second shock in half an hour. Damn it, he thought—the potion brewed for advancing to Horror Bishop must digest instantly for him. Who else could scare an Old One twice in one day?

“I dreamed of fighting Megose with Klein and the captain,” Leonard continued.

Klein inhaled deeply, barely holding back a scolding for his heavy breathing.

“You’re really sensitive to that name.”

Halfway through his breath, Klein choked.

“The last time ‘Klein’ appeared was three months ago, when we first met,” Leonard said, stepping back a few paces and sitting on the edge of the bed, preparing for a long explanation. “But you immediately connected it to the dream I told you about.”

He went on, “It’s such a common, unremarkable name. How did you guess I was dreaming again?”

Klein was momentarily speechless; his usually quick mind drew a blank. He wasn’t about to lie—he’d promised long ago. He wouldn’t break faith just because Leonard forgot (concealment was a different matter).

“The first contradiction between dream and reality: Klein is dead. He should have survived the contamination of Antigonus notebook. Instead, it’s you who appeared.”

“You led me to Antigonus notebook, let Trissy go on purpose, and sent me to the Wood family to prevent Selena Wood from being corrupted by an evil god—I heard that was Klein’s job.”

Leonard paused. “Everything happened almost exactly as I saw in my dream, except two things.”

“You warned me about Old Neil’s loss of control,” he said. “And you arranged the Marauder’s charm to save the captain.”

“Why?”

Leonard’s question washed over Klein like relentless waves, insistent and chilling. The tide swept away settled doubts beneath his feet, leaving him feeling weightless but uneasy—like forcibly prying open a clam shell.

“Fool doesn’t sound like a name,” Leonard said. “I want to know your real name.”

Klein sighed. He should have suspected this from day one. Leonard dreamed of a ‘Klein Moretti’ still alive—but the history of Klein Moretti ended with his grafting. How could Leonard dream of those things?

Dreams belonged to the goddess’s realm. No need for divination; Klein could guess why.

At the moment his graft was twisted, the Evernight Goddess, The Eternal Darkness, wielded Her authority to fold time and deliver it through dreams to Leonard—so he could act as his anchor. Leonard was not just The Fool’s anchor but also his earliest and most steadfast companion since his crossing, preserving an essential link to Klein Moretti’s true self.

If this time he existed only as the resurrected Fool, would he maintain his identity through future madness? Could he hold on in the final battle with the Celestial Worthy?

Klein smiled bitterly, admiring the Goddess’s foresight in sending his anchor across twenty years. But that meant his Fool disguise wouldn’t last long. He rubbed his nose and forced himself calm, not dwelling on what he’d said or done before.

After all, he still had to drag Leonard into the Tarot Club as The Fool. Shame aside, he didn’t want Leonard kicking up his feet on the Tarot table or calling him “Klein.” Best to bury his head in the sand. Even if Leonard suspected, clues were scarce. The former Klein was only a Sequence 8, far from who he appeared now. As long as Klein didn’t admit it, Leonard would be left guessing for a long time.

He changed the subject, reminding him: “…You’re too deep in that dream.”

“I don’t think so,” Leonard muttered. “It feels like another life.”

Even without an answer, Leonard’s perseverance never wavered. Silence was an answer too.

But Klein’s mood was grim. This guy had a knack for unraveling his secrets—his discovery might come sooner than he expected.

On the day he appeared, Leonard had his first dream about their investigation of Klein Moretti. He still remembered the gesture Leonard made—gripping his index finger—after their fight with Trissy. In the previous timeline, Leonard’s fingernail was injured then, completely missing upon his return. It hurt just to see. Now, after Ince Zangwill’s attack, Leonard dreamed again of Dunn’s death.

If Leonard could glimpse “future” events on alternate timelines, that power might be useful. But for now, dreams ran parallel to reality—reality first, then dreams.

His guess was confirmed later that day.

After wandering around and causing trouble for his busy colleagues, Leonard was sent back to bed, exhausted and drifting into another nap.  

When he woke, dusk had fallen. Heavy curtains dimmed the room. Lying on his side, he no longer carried the blind confidence he had shown that morning when posturing with The Fool. The sheets wrinkled softly with his movements; he clutched his sleeves tightly, weighed down by an invisible storm. His breaths came shallow, broken.

Klein had thought Leonard would have seen the conclusion of the True Creator’s spawn battle earlier—but no.

The last time he awoke in a grave, no one saw it—only the yellow crystal pendulum in his hand and flowers wet with rain scattered at the grave.

So the poet had even shed tears for me, Klein thought, his thoughts drifting like white moonflowers laid before a grave, their petals dampened by rain into a misty blur.

Just hours ago he’d sworn to be an ostrich, burying his secrets deeper. But now…

“Klein isn’t dead.” He whispered. “You’ll find him soon.”

One day, Klein planned to ask Amanises if holding memories from two worlds at once increased the risk of losing control.

He always remembered: Sleepless shouldn’t lose themselves in dreams.

-tbc-

Chapter Text

13.

Due to the descent of an evil god’s offspring being tied to the conspiracy and death of Ince Zangwill, the Sword of the Goddess, Crestet, arrived in Tingen the day after Dunn Smith submitted his report.

Crestet carried a sizable silver case. After briefly understanding the situation, he calmly conveyed the transfer orders from the Cathedral of Serenity to the Tingen Nighthawks team: for the next year, Daly Simone would temporarily join the Tingen team to reinforce its depleted ranks. Meanwhile, Tingen was tasked with finding and training a new support Sequence Beyonder within that year. At the same time, Leonard Mitchell would be transferred from Tingen to the Cathedral of Serenity in Winter County for training.

“What?” Leonard, who had been daydreaming at the back of the office with his chair tilted, was startled. He barely managed to hook his toes on the desk to keep from falling backward.

Everyone in the office turned to look at him, surprise written on their faces.

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Leonard asked in disbelief.

“This is a direct order from the Cathedral of Serenity,” Crestet replied formally, without any hint of levity. “Additionally, the Church has something to deliver to you personally.”

Dunn understood and stood up, signaling the others to leave.

Once the office was empty, Crestet closed the door and placed the silver case on the desk. He pressed the latch and gently pushed. With a soft click the case opened, revealing a velvet-lined interior holding three securely fastened potion bottles. Each had a label: Seer, Clown, and Magician.

Crestet looked solemnly at Leonard. “What I’m about to say is a divine oracle conveyed by the Goddess herself.” He paused, giving Leonard time to stand and straighten his wrinkled clothes. “The Goddess said, ‘The Church only possesses finished potions for Seer pathway Sequences 9 to 7. The rest, you must find on your own.’”

He didn’t understand the meaning of the oracle, nor what was special about this young Midnight Poet. But knowing it was the Goddess’s will was enough.

Leonard numbly accepted the case, instinctively drawing a red moon on his chest and praising the Goddess. After Crestet left, Leonard looked around the empty office, then at the heavy case in his hands, and finally spoke, “This is for you?”

“Yes,” The Fool chuckled. “While you were unconscious, I made a deal with the Goddess.”

Leonard didn’t respond. He seemed too stunned to process it—only now realizing what The Fool meant when he said, ‘I’ll find a way to get the potions myself.’ The familiar questions—‘Who are you really?’ and ‘What Sequence are you?’—hovered on his lips but were swallowed back. He knew he wouldn’t get a direct answer.

“How do I give them to you?” he asked practically. “I can’t just drink them myself, right?”

Who knows what madness would result from ingesting three unrelated potions?

“Do you know about sacrificial rituals?”

“I do…” The instinctive reply faltered midway, as a chilling but plausible guess made his voice waver.

“…I do.”

“Then I’ll tell you my honorific name. You’ll use a sacrificial ritual to offer me the three potions.”

Honorific name.

Leonard stared blankly at an old stain on the desk.

No wonder he could make deals with the Goddess.

“Wait, give me a moment,” Leonard said numbly. The old man remained silent, likely having known all along.

Surprisingly, Leonard didn’t feel awe or distance—after all, he’d spent three months chatting, arguing, and even receiving apologies from this deity. It was hard to imagine The Fool sitting arrogantly on a divine throne.

The Goddess entrusting him with these potions likely signified trust and cooperation.

“I’m not so sure anymore,” Leonard muttered. He had almost been convinced The Fool was Klein.

He stared at the potions for a while, then suddenly said, “Last week I ran into Melissa Moretti on the street. She still remembers me.”

“…I know,” Klein replied softly, his smile fading. Of course, he saw everything Leonard experienced.

The girl was still as intelligent as he remembered. Though not fully recovered from her grief, she had returned to normal life. She recognized Officer Mitchell on the street and insisted on returning the two pounds Klein had secretly slipped into Benson’s pocket.

“Rather than charity, I’d prefer it be a loan,” Melissa said seriously when Leonard tried to refuse. “It helped us a lot. So since we’re able to repay it, I hope you won’t reject it.”

“We’ve moved to No. 2 Daffodil Street,” she added with a hopeful smile. “Please visit us if you have time.”

“Daffodil Street is full of row houses,” Leonard said. “When I first investigated this case, I saw the records. Benson was an ordinary employee at an import-export company, and Melissa was still in school. At the funeral two months ago, they could barely afford the burial.”

Yet in less than two months, their situation had improved. Their parents were gone, and the three siblings had relied on each other. After Klein left, who would care about their fate?

How to explain this? Klein thought. Leonard, usually carefree, was surprisingly perceptive about such things.

Seeing The Fool remain silent, Leonard didn’t press further. He took out the three potions and began preparing the altar. The flicker of spirituality lit the candles.

“I plan to visit them before leaving Tingen,” Leonard said as he placed the potions on the altar. He had promised Melissa but hadn’t fulfilled it yet. “Is there anything you want me to bring?”

Klein sighed. 6000 pounds wasn’t everything. If possible, he hoped Benson and Melissa could move to Backlund. Regardless of future wars between Loen and Feysac, it would remain the most prosperous and safest city in Loen. And they’d prefer to earn their own wealth rather than rely on Klein’s legacy.

But he couldn’t just write about civil service exams in Klein’s ‘will.’ Mentioning the inheritance was fine, but advising Benson to study and take exams in a letter without a clear reason would be too strange.

In that sense, he might owe Leonard thanks for probing.

“Bring them a message,” Klein said. “Say it’s internal news from the police: Backlund will soon need a large number of entry-level government clerks. There will be public exams to recruit qualified candidates. If they want to seize the opportunity, they should start studying grammar, classical literature, math, and logic.”

Leonard smiled and nodded, the candlelight casting a warm orange glow in his eyes. “Sure,” he said. “Should I bring flowers? Do they like flowers?”

---

Klein drank the third potion.

The collapse of his spirituality stopped. He could barely maintain the integrity of his spirit body. Though his condition was worse than when he first arrived in this era, at least he wouldn’t randomly manifest his mythical creature form.

He sighed in relief. At least today’s Tarot gathering could proceed normally. But until he obtained potions for Sequence 6 and above, he wouldn’t be able to use higher-level powers. Many matters would have to rely on Leonard.

He didn’t truly believe Amanises had no more Seer potions. The message was clear: she didn’t want teammates who passively waited for help. Even among allies, she valued equal exchange. Fair—and something he excelled at.

Fortunately, he already had leads on Sequence 6 and 5 potions—thanks to the Intis ambassador and his Sequence 5 subordinate, Marionettist Rosago. But even if Leonard quickly advanced to Nightmare and had help from Klein and Pallez, defeating a Marionettist would still be difficult.

A complete plan was needed.

Klein leaned back, tapping the armrest with his fingers. His spirituality reached out to a dim star. As crimson light surged like a tide, a familiar figure appeared in the high-backed chair at the bronze table.

The fake poet from the Church of Evernight looked startled by the sudden change in environment. He glanced around warily, then focused on the robed figure at the table’s head. After a few seconds of careful observation, he relaxed—unlike most first-time visitors to the Sefirah Castle.

“Is this your divine kingdom?” Leonard asked curiously, scanning the grand palace but wisely staying seated.

“Strictly speaking, no,” Klein replied with a smile. “It’s a meeting place. Every Monday afternoon, a few young people like you gather here to trade and exchange information.”

Starting this week, Pallez would likely join too.

Leonard seemed to have recovered from the shock of The Fool being a deity. “No wonder you always disappear on Monday afternoons.”

“Wait,” Leonard suddenly realized, looking at the head of the table in shock. “So I’m not the only one?! How many people have you parasitized?”

Klein blinked, then laughed. “What are you thinking? There’s only one Fool. The others are connected with me in different ways.”

Leonard gave him a skeptical look.

Klein let him stare, then chuckled. “Friendly reminder: during your first gathering, don’t do anything too outrageous. Watch more, speak less, and mimic their behavior. I don’t want them to discover our connection yet.”

“What connection?” Leonard asked quickly.

Klein’s composed expression turned awkward. “…Parasitic?”

Leonard nodded noncommittally, then asked, “Can you remove this mist?” He gestured at the fog in front of him. “I want to see your face.”

“No,” Klein replied without hesitation.

“Why not?” Leonard asked curiously.

Because I don’t want to blow my cover yet.

Klein lowered his gaze and adjusted his hat. “Poet, don’t try to bargain with an evil god.”

Do you even realize how dangerous that habit is?

Leonard blinked innocently, his expression saying, You don’t seem like an evil god. But Klein chose not to interpret it. He pointed at the table in front of Leonard, where a spread of face-down Tarot cards appeared.

“Pick one,” he said. “That’ll be your codename for the gatherings.”

The backs of the cards shimmered with occult symbols, laid out evenly across the table. Leonard casually picked one from the middle and flipped it over.

—Seventeen, The Star, a beautiful goddess pouring “hope” into a pool. A card with a good omen.

Leonard frowned at the image of the veiled goddess, clearly dissatisfied. “What was I before?”

He looked up at The Fool, suspecting his dream self had also attended these gatherings.

“You were also The Star,” The Fool replied with a hint of amusement.

What a coincidence? Leonard’s eyes gleamed. He quickly pressed down another card before The Fool could retract them and flipped it over.

—Twenty-one, The World, symbolizing completion and success.

He looked disappointed. So there was no trick?

Klein saw through his thoughts and chuckled inwardly. Everything in the Sefirah Castle was shaped by his imagination—he could change it at will. Leonard thought he could catch him like this?

He waved his hand, making the Tarot cards vanish from the table, leaving only the Star card in Leonard’s hand.

“All right, Mr. Star. The Tarot gathering is every Monday at 3 p.m. sharp. Make sure to free up time and find a private space.”

Leonard stared at the card for a while, then raised his hand.

“Can’t I redraw?”

“I told you—don’t bargain with an evil god,” the evil god said grumpily.

-tbc-

Chapter Text

14.

Sunday morning, Blackthorn Security Company.

Leonard Mitchell stood hesitantly at the door of Crestet Cesimir’s temporary office. The door was slightly ajar, but Leonard knew that the senior deacon was still working—he had just received a stack of reports from clergy at Saint Selena Cathedral and the Nighthawks of Blackthorn Security regarding the recent incident.

Due to the urgency of the transfer order, Crestet planned to stay in Tingen for just one night, giving Leonard a day to handle personal matters. Crestet himself would also help wrap up the aftermath of the evil god’s offspring incident.

They were scheduled to depart together by train for the Cathedral of Serenity at noon the next day.

“Are you sure I won’t be locked up behind Chanis Gate?” Leonard muttered. He seemed to hear a response, sighed reluctantly, and knocked on the door.

“Deacon Cesimir.”

“Come in.”

Crestet Cesimir sat behind his desk, setting down his pen and looking at the young Nighthawk. “What is it?” he asked.

He had just skimmed through the personnel structure and reports from Tingen, forming a rough impression of each Nighthawk—especially one in particular.

Leonard Mitchell. Orphaned and raised by the Church, he joined the Nighthawks as an adult and became a Sleepless of the Darkness pathway. Just like in the photo from his personnel file, he had striking green eyes, a disheveled appearance, no jacket, a wrinkled collar, and a half-tucked shirt. But despite his sloppy look, both his past record and his performance in the recent Tingen incident were outstanding. Appearance and private life aside, he showed strong loyalty to the Church, excellent teamwork and interpersonal skills, and the will to protect others—making him a qualified Nighthawk in every sense. With such a resume, Crestet believed that if Leonard wished, his name could appear among the ranks of deacons or even senior deacons within the next decade.

But this resume seemed too clean for someone like Leonard Mitchell. Crestet wondered: even his potion digestion rate was merely average—how had he gained the Goddess’s attention?

Very few in the Church of Evernight had ever received a divine oracle directly from the Goddess. Most at the Cathedral of Serenity now regarded Leonard as half a blessed. Yet the Goddess’s instructions were oddly phrased: “Do not interfere with any of Leonard Mitchell’s actions.” It sounded less like she was treating him as a blessed and more like a collaborator.

And the resolution of the evil god’s spawn incident, the survival of Blackthorn’s personnel, and the death of Ince Zangwill—all were riddled with mystery. No report mentioned who killed Ince Zangwill, nor the whereabouts of Sealed Artifact 0-08. Even Dunn Smith didn’t know how he had survived a certain-death situation.

Yet the Church’s directive was: Sealed Artifact 0-08 has returned to the Cathedral of Serenity. Credit goes to Leonard Mitchell.

As if they were certain that Leonard—who claimed to have blacked out during the battle with Megose—had killed Ince Zangwill and returned the artifact.

“It’s like this,” the young Nighthawk, unaware that his merit could be exchanged for four or five potions, scratched his messy hair. “I discovered a Sequence 6 Witch of Pleasure hiding in Tingen. She goes by the alias ‘Madam Sharon’ and is the mistress of several nobles. She currently resides on Osna Street.”

Crestet pulled his thoughts back. With the Goddess aware, Leonard’s background wasn’t the most urgent matter. A Sequence 6 Beyonder from the Demoness pathway hiding among nobles was more pressing. Sequence 6 was beyond what the Tingen team could handle. It was best to deal with it while Crestet was still in town. But he didn’t understand why Leonard seemed hesitant when reporting this.

“I understand,” he said. “Gather information on the target. We’ll act tonight.”

Tingen’s team was short-staffed, but a Sequence 6 target didn’t require reinforcements. Crestet could handle it alone.

He resumed reading the reports, but after two seconds realized Leonard was still standing at the door, silent and unmoving.

He looked up to see the young man blushing and avoiding eye contact.

“Deacon Cesimir,” Leonard said, bracing himself, “I’d like to exchange a Sequence 7 Nightmare characteristic for the right to handle Madam Sharon myself.”

Crestet set the report aside completely.

Many thoughts flashed through his mind. He narrowed his eyes and gestured for Leonard to close the door.

“Where did you get a Nightmare characteristic?”

Leonard obediently took out a black glove. “It came from Davy Raymond, a former Red Glove. After I freed his soul from Creeping Hunger, I kept the characteristic.”

Leonard briefly explained Davy Raymond’s situation and entrusted his last words to Crestet.

“I’ll take care of it,” Crestet said, examining the deep, dark “gem” in his hand. He didn’t ask further about Creeping Hunger’s origin.

“You’ll join me in tonight’s operation,” he added.

After Leonard left, Crestet turned to the page with his file and wrote: ‘Leonard Mitchell possesses powers and affiliations outside the Church. Though he never left Tingen, he holds a Sealed Artifact belonging to the deceased Qilangos, who was killed in Backlund. He killed Ince Zangwill, recovered Sealed Artifact 0-08, and has entered into some form of cooperation or agreement with the Goddess.’

He paused, then added:

‘The cooperating party may not be Leonard Mitchell alone, but the secret organization behind him.’

---

Trading a Sequence 7 characteristic for a demigod-level expert to work for free—even Klein had to admit it was a bit shameless. But milking the Goddess wasn’t shameful, he told himself. Clearing out members of the Demoness Sect was the Church’s job anyway, and he had just returned a Grade 0 Sealed Artifact to her.

“Quiet,” Klein said, glancing at the snarling Creeping Hunger beside him. He borrowed power from the gray fog to reinforce the seal and shut it up. “I’ll feed you later.”

Leonard’s luck was… questionable. After grazing Madam Sharon’s soul, he gained two abilities. Sequence 7’s Ice Manipulation was useful for hindering enemies, but overlapped with Nightmare’s powers. Klein would’ve preferred Black Flame Manipulation for its offensive capabilities. The second ability was even worse—Leonard got Charm. Even Klein would’ve tossed that into the trash. On Leonard, it was downright excessive. His face plus a Witch’s charm? Unless he planned to seduce Outer Deities someday, it was more trouble than it was worth.

Despite Klein—The King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck—playing the role of a diligent grandpa, Leonard’s luck remained unaffected.

Klein sighed. “Has your luck always been this bad?”

---

“Has your luck always been this bad?” The Fool asked.

Leonard had just received a bouquet of moonflowers tied with green ribbon from a shop clerk. He raised an eyebrow in protest. “I think my luck’s pretty good.”

If you say so, Klein thought. At least when he used Creeping Hunger to graze souls, he usually got the abilities he wanted.

He looked down at the quiet black glove. Besides the Nightmare soul released yesterday, four more remained: Faceless, Psychiatrist, Interrogator, and Priest of Light.

He wanted to release them all now, but the upcoming trip to Backlund was full of danger. Without access to high-sequence powers, Creeping Hunger’s abilities were crucial for Leonard.

Especially the Faceless and Priest of Light.

Klein tapped his fingers on the table, then extended his spirituality toward Creeping Hunger, touching two twisted souls and releasing them. The Psychiatrist and Interrogator’s powers weren’t irreplaceable, so losing them wouldn’t derail his plans.

“Sorry, just a little longer,” he whispered, shielding the remaining souls from the artifact’s influence and giving them a moment of peace. “I’ll free you soon.”

---

Leonard stood at the door of No. 2 Daffodil Street, holding a bouquet and a box of lemon cakes, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

His last memory of Benson and Melissa was from a dream—when he had come to deliver the news of Klein’s death. Their grief and helplessness were etched into his mind. Now, at the same time and place, the memory was too vivid to ignore. Even though he kept telling himself not to confuse the two, he couldn’t quite relax.

But he was leaving Tingen tomorrow. Leonard forced a smile, only to see in the glass reflection that he still looked more like a bearer of bad news than a friendly visitor.

In Tingen, the sun set around five in winter. Madam Sharon’s issue had been resolved quickly, and it was just after dusk—dinnertime for most households. The warm lights of the new apartment glowed softly. Two silhouettes moved busily behind the window, creating a cozy, ordinary scene.

Klein watched through Leonard’s eyes. After a long silence, he finally spoke with a wry smile: “Not going in?”

He had thought he would be the one most unsure at the door. But Leonard had lingered so long that Klein had already composed himself.

“Going,” Leonard cleared his throat and stepped forward to ring the bell.

Through the thick wooden door, Melissa’s voice sounded muffled. He heard dishes being set down, then footsteps approaching—echoing like heartbeats.

The lock clicked open. Warm light spilled through the widening gap, washing over his feet and dispelling the gloom.

Melissa looked surprised to see the man at her door holding flowers, looking slightly awkward.

“Sorry to bother you,” Leonard said, handing her the bouquet and cake. “I promised to visit, but work kept me busy. I’m being transferred tomorrow, so I wanted to come by before leaving.”

Melissa took the gifts, a mix of happiness and confusion on her face. “You didn’t have to be so formal,” she said, but still invited the officer who had handled Klein’s case inside.

In the living room, a modest table was set with two place settings and a plate of buttery bread. From the kitchen came the sound of simmering soup and the aroma of lamb. Benson emerged with a tray of meat, giving Leonard a look that was both friendly and wary.

The shadows from Leonard’s dream were dispelled by the warm light and comforting smells. He finally relaxed and sat at the table at Melissa’s invitation. His gaze drifted to a photo on top of the cabinet—a picture of the three siblings.

Leonard stared at the young man in the photo for a long time, then turned to Melissa, who had added a third place setting.

“Is that Klein’s photo?” he asked casually.

“Yes,” Melissa glanced at it briefly, then looked away. “It’s from his university days. We don’t have many photos. This one’s my favorite.”

In the photo, Klein stood between his siblings, not looking at the camera. His gaze was lowered, his smile faint and blurry. He looked introverted—almost dull.

Not him. Leonard thought. The Klein he remembered always smiled—polite, gentle, mischievous. His smiles could mean scheming, sarcasm, or genuine joy—whether from getting reimbursed, winning 3 soli, or sipping sweet iced tea. He spoke little, did much, and thought even more. No one would call him introverted. He got along with everyone. In just three months, he had won over the entire Tingen Nighthawk team.

That was the Klein Moretti he knew.

–tbc–

Chapter Text

15.

Monday, 3:00 PM sharp.

The train to Winter County pulled out of the station. Leonard Mitchell leaned against the window seat and closed his eyes.

A deep crimson glow spread from the darkness, quickly filling his entire vision. When the red faded, he opened his eyes to find himself once again in the ancient temple and at the bronze long table. Only this time, the seats around the table were no longer empty—several figures surrounded by gray mist had taken their places.

He instinctively looked toward the head of the table. The Fool sat in the same formal attire Leonard had seen recently, one hand resting on the armrest, leaning slightly in his high-backed chair. His face was shrouded in slowly swirling gray mist, like a living thing, revealing only fleeting glimpses of a faintly smiling mouth—aloof and amused, like a god.

Still not him, Leonard thought. Is this some kind of elaborate roleplay?

---

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fool,” Audrey said, lifting her skirt slightly in a graceful curtsy. She then greeted The Hanged Man and tThe Sun, before turning her attention to the two new figures seated across from her.

“Let me introduce them,” The Fool said, raising his hand slightly. “These are the new members of the Tarot Club: ‘The Star’ and ‘Temperance.’”

Pallez choosing the Temperance card was a bit unexpected. Klein had originally considered reserving it for Sharron or Reinette, who were more aligned with the Temperance faction. But on second thought, the card’s meaning did suit the old man who just wanted to retire somewhere peaceful.

The Star—a card that had been reserved even before Klein and The Hanged Man chose their aliases.

Audrey’s eyes lit up. She immediately focused on the man behind the mist. Through the thin veil of gray fog, she saw a pair of greenish eyes. The man had long black hair draped over his shoulders and looked to be in his twenties. His attire was casual, without a jacket.

His posture was relaxed. Audrey noticed that while everyone else sat upright out of reverence for Mr. Fool, this man leaned back slightly, tilting toward the newcomer “Temperance.” Audrey quickly deduced that The Star and Temperance knew each other. The Star had no one seated on his other side, yet he unconsciously leaned toward the side with someone—not how one behaves next to a stranger.

As for Temperance, he appeared older, with white hair and a refined posture. He stared straight ahead, seemingly noble yet slightly tense and guarded.

Strange.

Audrey blinked. Very strange.

“Mr. Fool,” The Hanged Man said, not paying much attention to the new members. After a brief glance, he broke the silence. “Mr. Eggers sends his thanks for the clue you provided. It helped him recall some things from his past. He gave me a copper whistle to contact his messenger. If you’re willing, I’ll offer it to you after today’s meeting.”

The Fool nodded and tapped the table lightly. “Please tell him I will. I also greatly appreciate his help.”

Azik Eggers.

Leonard remembered—he was the memory-lost professor from Khoy University. He sounded like a powerful Beyonder.

“Mr. Hanged Man,” Audrey jumped in eagerly, “my intel helped you deal with the Vice Admiral Hurricane. Have you prepared the full pituitary gland of an adult Rainbow Salamander?”

Alger nodded. “I’ve prepared the materials you requested. I’ll offer them to Mr. Fool after the meeting.”

Perfect! Audrey was thrilled. That meant she had all the ingredients needed for her advancement potion.

Rainbow Salamander’s pituitary gland.

Leonard blinked and looked at Pallez.

“Main ingredient for the Sequence 8 Telepathist potion in the Spectator pathway,” Pallez replied. The Fool was seated far away, and it was rare for him to teach directly. Pallez chuckled inwardly. None of the attendees were demigods—was the Lord of Mysteries playing some game of building a secret organization from scratch?

He instinctively looked down on these Sequence 8 and 9 kids, but he also knew that in The Fool’s eyes, he wasn’t much different from them.

Still, this new Lord of Mysteries was far more humane than the previous one—a good thing.

Pallez’s gaze shifted to Leonard, who was half-listening to the meeting. He scrutinized his ‘landlord,’ who, aside from being good-looking, didn’t seem particularly special. He didn’t know what The Fool saw in this kid, but if it meant he could finally escape Amon’s threat, then it was a good deal.

In that sense, The Fool’s taste wasn’t worse than those cultists from the Life School of Thought. Pallez nodded in satisfaction. Who would’ve thought a wolf cub from the Church of Evernight would have ties to the Lord of Mysteries?

After the trades concluded, Audrey glanced around. Seeing no one start a new topic, she hesitated for a few seconds before speaking again.

“Mr. Fool, I’ve found two women who might be suitable for our Tarot Club. They’re both Beyonders with their own circles and resources in Backlund. They’re discreet and have good personalities. Would you consider letting them join?”

Fors and Xio. Klein smiled inwardly. This time, he could let them join earlier.

He recalled his planned response. “They’ll need to be evaluated,” he said. “You may discreetly let them know my name and spark their interest—without revealing yourself.”

“Yes, Mr. Fool!” Audrey replied cheerfully.

The meeting was nearly over. Pallez didn’t need help from low-sequence kids, and Leonard wasn’t urgently seeking any Beyonder items. Even if he did, asking Klein or Pallez would be more reliable than trading here. Klein had already told him to observe more and speak less.

Klein tapped the table, distracted by his upcoming plans—until an unexpected voice said:

“I have a request.”

Klein nearly lost his composure and looked up at Leonard (Oh no, he thought, I looked up too fast—Audrey might’ve noticed). Leonard sat up straighter, his serious gaze sweeping across everyone—except The Fool at the head of the table.

“I’d like your help locating someone. Any information would be appreciated. The target once used the alias ‘Lanevus,’ and is likely around Sequence 8. He tricked investors out of 10,000 pounds with fake mining data and was wanted for fraud. He also secretly participated in, or even led, the evil god’s spawn descent plan in Tingen. He may be connected to the Aurora Order or even the True Creator.”

Audrey had been listening attentively, but the last sentence made her visibly startled.

Directly connected to an evil god?

She instinctively looked at the others. The Hanged Man, usually the most active in trades, didn’t respond immediately—his posture was serious and cautious. The Sun remained confused, but reacted slightly at the mention of the True Creator. Temperance showed no reaction, though the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch in a mocking smile. As for Mr. Fool—Audrey, now used to observing everyone since taking the Spectator potion, didn’t miss his abrupt head movement.

He’s surprised. Audrey thought. He didn’t expect the Star to make this request. It was the first time Mr. Fool had shown such a clear emotional reaction during a meeting.

“What kind of payment can you offer?” Alger asked.

Leonard thought for a moment and asked, “What do you usually trade?”

“Potions, Beyonder materials, intelligence, gold pounds.”

What could the poet offer? As an official Beyonder, everything he had belonged to the Church—except his salary. Klein sighed. Leonard should’ve known he could just ask him directly, but instead chose to make a public request. Was he trying not to rely solely on Klein’s power? Was he still haunted by past emotions?

Seeing Leonard mentally calculating his savings, Klein worried he didn’t know the market rate. So The Fool tapped the table and helpfully offered:

“A typical missing person request costs around 50 to 100 pounds. Since the target is a low-sequence Beyonder but has ties to the True Creator, the intelligence could be worth 200 to 300 pounds depending on its value.”

It was a generous estimate—Klein even added a premium because Leonard had shared the True Creator connection upfront. Klein winced internally. Last time Audrey outsourced a similar request, it definitely didn’t cost more than 100 pounds.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. Last time, two of Xio’s informants died because of Lanevus. This time, knowing about the True Creator, they’d be more cautious and avoid involving ordinary people. Letting them investigate slowly was fine—Aurora Order’s god descent plan wouldn’t happen until November. Plenty of time.

Audrey perked up. Mr. Fool clearly cares about Mr. Star. He never gets involved in our trades like this. She decided to adjust her strategy.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” she said first. “But I don’t want gold. I’d like to save this favor and exchange it for help from you later.”

A favor from someone Mr. Fool treats differently—for just 200–300 pounds? Totally worth it, Audrey thought happily.

“I’ll also watch for intel,” Alger added. “We can discuss payment once we have results.”

Leonard blinked, his mental wavelength finally syncing with The Sun’s—Everyone here is surprisingly easy to talk to.

-tbc-

Chapter Text

16.

Monday, 4:05 PM.

The most headache-inducing Tarot meeting Klein had ever hosted finally came to an end.

Crimson starlight faded from both sides of the bronze long table. Klein leaned back in his chair and sighed. After a moment of silent contemplation, he raised his hand and summoned a mirror, drawing a symbol that combined secrecy and observation upon its surface.

Moments later, the mirror trembled slightly in his hand. Under Klein’s gaze, it trembled again, and bubbles began to form around its edges. Amid the bubbling, a line of text appeared on the mirror’s surface:

“Are you summoning me, Great Sovereign Above the Spirit World?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Klein replied with a smile. “I have a few questions for you.”

The bubbles quickly turned crimson, the text grew brighter, and fireworks exploded at the bottom of the mirror:

“Your loyal and humble servant Arrodes is always at your service!!”

Klein unconsciously rubbed the edge of the silver mirror, turning it a faint pink. After a pause, he asked:

“Can you see any power on Leonard Mitchell that doesn’t belong to him?”

He paused, then added helplessly, “Besides me and Pallez.”

The text on the mirror quickly changed:

“Leonard Mitchell’s astral body bears a mark resembling the Evernight’s holy emblem. I sense dream and time-space authority at an Old One level. The information within the mark is hidden—I can’t see more details.”

Klein nodded knowingly. That was about what he expected.

Leonard’s situation differed from the usual instability of low-sequence Darkness pathway Beyonders. Asking Arrodes wouldn’t yield much more.

“Also, I want to know if there’s a way to expel excess Beyonder characteristics from the body.”

He already knew several methods. Aside from childbirth—which was the most primitive and common method among mid- to high-Sequence Beyonders—there were also items like the Unshadowed Crucifix, which could achieve similar effects when used by same-pathway Beyonders or with Sealed Artifacts.

But he didn’t want to create a child for this purpose, even if it was like the ancient Sun God birthing one himself—that was just too twisted. And the Unshadowed Crucifix was a relic of the ancient Sun God; attracting Adam’s attention for this would be a terrible trade-off.

So he needed other options.

The mirror began showing various scenes. Ignoring the ones involving unfamiliar high-sequence beings engaging in ‘symphony of creation,’ there were also places like the Intis royal palace and the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun—likely locations of Sealed Artifacts similar to the Unshadowed Crucifix.

After the images faded, a new line appeared:

“Great Sovereign, there’s another method that might suit your current condition better. Would you like to know?”

Klein raised an eyebrow. “Tell me.”

“As you command!” the mirror wrote cheerfully.

“Once you possess a marionette, you can split off a Worm of Spirit carrying some excess Beyonder characteristics and turn it into a clone. Low-sequence clones are less affected by mental branding and can be used as marionettes. As the clone accumulates more characteristics and rises in sequence, you can abandon it. The remaining characteristics will separate and become pure traits or Sealed Artifacts.”

“Not a bad idea,” Klein thought. It was indeed the best option for now—and it also solved his lack of a physical body, giving him mobility. But the plan had to start with acquiring Rosago’s characteristics and mastering the Marionettist’s powers. His current state was still unstable; the death of a Worm of Spirit could drive him mad. It needed careful planning.

“It’s my greatest honor to be of help~! Do you have any other questions?” Arrodes asked eagerly.

Klein thought for a moment. “Can you see where my fate began?”

The mirror flickered, then showed a mottled, gray-black mosaic-like image. Soon, it turned into a small, old room. Leonard, in police uniform, was flipping through a familiar notebook.

Klein nodded. Arrodes couldn’t see anything before that—not even the past from the previous timeline. Even at the divine level, few gods could trace his past. Only those with authority over fate, time, or causality might glimpse it.

“Great Being Above the Spirit World,” Arrodes said, “I have a humble request.”

The pink text paused, then continued:

“May I call you ‘Master’?”

Klein chuckled. “Of course. You can call me whatever you like.”

“I look forward to serving you again, my great Master.”

Colorful fireworks burst across the mirror’s surface, then faded into silence.

---

“To Captain Dunn,

I don’t know how your recovery is going. If Miss Daly has arrived in Tingen, please give her my regards.

The Cathedral of Serenity in Winter County lives up to its name. Aside from trainees like me, most people here are clergy of demigod level or higher.

I saw Old Neil here. Under the Goddess’s care, his mental state is decent, but he can’t leave the underground. He spends his time with mysticism books and says he’s going crazy from boredom. He asked me to smuggle in some playing cards. I hope when the Goddess finds out that the monks underground are secretly gambling, she won’t blame him (or me).

This sanctuary isn’t open to all believers like Saint Selena Cathedral. It’s eerily quiet—barely anyone talks. After a few days, I feel like I’ve turned mute too.

I took the potion from the bishop two days ago. I’m now Sequence 7, Nightmare. Sometimes I see…

Leonard paused here, then crossed out the last few words. He stretched, eyes still on the letter he’d been writing all morning, though his gaze had drifted into the distance.

The Cathedral of Serenity was too quiet. Unlike in his dream, where he voluntarily joined the Red Gloves and trained here, this time he wasn’t living with the other trainees. He had his own room, his own schedule. Aside from a few basic mysticism classes and one potion, the Church hadn’t arranged anything else.

Clearly, they didn’t intend for him to join the Red Gloves. He felt more like an unaffiliated, loosely-managed outsider.

The wind blew through the window, lifting the letter. Leonard pressed it down, hearing it rustle loudly.

Maybe this was part of the deal between the Goddess and The Fool.

He flipped the paper and quickly wrote down the acting method and digestion tips for the Sequence 7 Nightmare pathway potion. He no longer doubted the two high-sequence beings within him and was willing to be part of The Fool and Goddess’s agreement. He knew he would become The Fool’s hands, eyes, plans, and future.

“What did you see?” The Fool suddenly asked.

Leonard knew he had seen the words he’d crossed out. He knew about Old Neil’s deal with the Hidden Sage, yet didn’t know Leonard’s current state.

Is it because ‘Klein’ isn’t here?

Leonard smiled faintly, folded the unfinished letter, and leaned back, putting his feet up on the desk.

“Want to see the snow?” he asked.

Winter County was freezing, and it was snowing heavily. He’d received the Nightmare potion upon arrival and had spent the past few days stabilizing his spirituality indoors. The Cathedral of Serenity stood among snowy mountains, beside a cliff. The snow was heavy now—the view should be beautiful.

“You’ve never been to the Cathedral of Serenity, right?”

The energetic former Midnight Poet stood up, grabbed a coat from the sofa, and headed out.

“Deacon Cesimir said there’s a small door at the end of the west corridor that leads straight to the cliff. Some clergy go there for ascetic practice.”

Leonard explained, unaware that The Fool had heard Cesimir say that too.

He walked through the dim corridor, pausing briefly at a deserted corner before continuing. The Cathedral was vast—dark and silent, just like the Church of Evernight’s doctrine and the Goddess’s authority.

They passed through a garden filled with moonflowers, pushed open a small door at the end of the corridor, and stepped out onto a cliff.

Endless snow poured from the lead-gray sky. Everything in sight was pure white, drifting and vast. The air held no dust or coal smoke—only a clean, icy scent that turned to mist at the lips.

The newly advanced Sequence 7 poet wore a vest over his shirt and a coat over that. His nose was red from the cold. He stretched, green eyes gazing at the sky.

“How is it?” he asked with a hint of a smile. “Beautiful? Never seen anything like it?”

The Fool sighed in his mind:

“When this is all over, remind me to ask Amanises for a room here. Summer vacation in this place would be amazing.”

Though Bayam’s scenery was also stunning. Leonard had surely never seen its beaches and deep blue horizon.

Once the Backlund situation was resolved, it would be time to head out to sea.

“Go to Backlund,” The Fool said. “Staying here won’t help you.”

Spiritual instability during advancement could affect a Beyonder’s mental state. And since Leonard had trained here in his dream, the similarity in environment blurred the line between dream and reality.

Even if Leonard didn’t say it, Klein could guess he was seeing things.

“I have tasks for you there,” he added. “Lanevus is in Backlund at this time.”

He knew why Leonard was so eager to place a bounty on Lanevus. He’d just lost Klein and Captain Dunn—revenge was only natural.

Leonard tilted his head slightly, gazing at the high, distant gray-blue sky. A snowflake landed on his lashes and melted into a glistening droplet. In just moments, snow had covered him—his black hair speckled with flakes, his clothes damp with frost.

“Last time, Lanevus was killed by Klein, wasn’t he?”

The voice paused, surprised.

“…How do you know?”

Klein was sure the dream occurred after the event. Leonard couldn’t have remembered the Lanevus case yet.

Leonard casually wiped the melting snow from his face. “Do you know where Crestet is now?”

Klein blinked, falling silent. He realized he’d slipped.

“See?” Leonard smiled. “But you know where Lanevus is. You don’t know the Cathedral of Serenity because you’ve never been here. You only know what happened around Klein, right?”

There was another possibility: The Fool in the dream was parasitic on Klein, so he knew everything Klein experienced.

But he cared deeply about Old Neil and Captain Dunn. He cared about Benson and Melissa. He cared about me, Leonard thought. He didn’t believe a true evil god could understand what it meant to care.

Besides, he never denied it.

“Let me have this one.”

Let me have this one, Klein, Leonard said in his heart.

“I want to kill him myself.”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

17.

Saturday, 10:00 AM – Backlund, the City of Cities.

Leonard stepped off the train, eyes wide with curiosity. As a native of Tingen, this was his first time in such a bustling metropolis—everything felt new and exciting.

“Let’s find a place to settle first,” Klein said.

Last time, Klein had received Ian’s commission on his first Thursday in Backlund. Seven days later, MI9 and the Intis Intelligence Bureau found the manuscript. That same night, Rosago made his move, hoping to kill Klein before MI9 could react.

Now, it had only been three or four days since Zreal’s death. Ian was likely still being hunted by Backlund’s forces. But the boy was resourceful—he wouldn’t be caught easily.

Klein had already performed a divination and confirmed with Arrodes: Ian was alive and currently hiding in the slums near Backlund Bridge. MI9 and Backlund’s agents were still searching for him and the manuscript.

The manuscript wouldn’t be found until around next Thursday, which meant Rosago wouldn’t act until then. That gave Klein time to prepare.

They first visited Saint Samuel’s Cathedral. Archbishop Saint Anthony seemed to have already received word of Leonard’s arrival and was waiting inside. Leonard received a full Red Glove uniform, a police inspector’s credentials, and clergy identification and attire. But Saint Anthony didn’t assign him any tasks or require him to join an existing Red Glove team.

The Church’s only requirement: Leonard Mitchell must stay in contact. While in Backlund, he had to check in at the church weekly and notify them before leaving the city. If he needed Sealed Artifacts or Red Glove assistance, he could submit a report. His benefits matched those of the Red Gloves—and even exceeded them slightly.

Leonard was no longer surprised by his special treatment. He politely bid farewell to Saint Anthony and went to the housing office in the North District, where he rented a place at No. 7 Pinster Street. The rent was 1 pound and 10 soli per week—more expensive than Klein’s old place, likely due to the location. Leonard, flush with cash, paid a full year’s rent upfront.

Klein mentally calculated Leonard’s remaining funds. With a Nighthawk’s weekly salary of 10 pound and few expenses, Leonard had saved plenty—enough to live comfortably in the mundane world.

The new place was fully furnished: a spacious living room, bathroom, and kitchen on the first floor; a master bedroom, guest room, and well-lit study upstairs. Though it had been vacant for a while, the landlord had sent servants to clean regularly. It was spotless—truly move-in ready. The rent was well worth it.

Leonard quickly unpacked; he hung his clothes in the wardrobe, tossed the bedding onto the bed, and flopped down.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, fully embracing his role as The Fool’s henchman, not bothering to think for himself. “Go straight after Lanevus?”

“Let’s wait a bit. First, I need you to kill someone,” Klein said cheerfully.

“Bakerland Jean Madan, the Intis ambassador to Loen, has a subordinate from the Secret Order—a Sequence 5 Marionettist from the Seer pathway.”

Leonard blinked. That sentence had too many problems. He decided to focus on the most pressing one:

“I’m supposed to kill a Sequence 5?” he asked, confused and hesitant.

Klein stifled a laugh.

“We’ll hire a Sequence 5 Beyonder later. You’ll just assist. I’ll prepare anti-divination measures for you. Just don’t leave any traces—wild Sleepless are rare, and we don’t want to cause diplomatic issues.”

Leonard nodded. He wanted to ask why, but realized that hunting Secret Order members was part of his job as a Nighthawk, so he let it go.

“Backlund’s going to be lively soon,” Klein continued.

“Several secret organizations are involved behind the scenes. The Intis ambassador is one of them, but he’ll be recalled soon, so we don’t need to worry about him.”

“A Sequence 6 Devil from the Blood Sanctify Sect is committing serial murders to advance to Sequence 5. The Aurora Order controls Lanevus. The Demoness Sect controls Trissy. Both want to perform god descent rituals for the True Creator and the Primordial Demoness in Backlund.”

“Another group is trafficking people for the Loen royal family. The Demoness Sect plans to unleash a deadly smog to massacre civilians. And in the basement of No. 8 Williams Street, at the border between West Borough and Empress Borough, an evil spirit sealed there was once a Sequence 1 Hunter…”

At first, Leonard’s expression was serious and shocked. But as Klein kept listing threats, his shock turned to numbness. He stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering if he was still dreaming.

“Of course,” Klein concluded lightly, “Not all of this will happen in the next few days. We have time to deal with it bit by bit.”

“Let’s start with Rosago.”

Leonard rubbed his face, then sat up abruptly.

“Alright,” he said, switching into work mode. “Where to now?”

“Lunch first,” Klein replied enthusiastically. “I’ve got several restaurant recommendations. Do you like Intis cuisine?”

---

Leonard strolled through the Backlund Bridge district. Beneath the bridge and along the river’s sewer entrances, countless ragged homeless people huddled together. Their hair was graying, their bodies emaciated, faces pale. Wrapped in filthy cotton coats, they shivered in the cold.

“I didn’t think Backlund had places like this,” Leonard murmured. The city was famed as the land of hope and luxury, yet its slums were no different from Tingen’s.

“It’s the same everywhere,” Klein said.

“The more prosperous a city, the more it relies on cheap, hardworking labor—like shadows cast by bright lights.”

“It’s winter. Anyone here could die tomorrow—from disease, hunger, cold. Or from a cult ritual, or a smog massacre plotted by the Demoness Sect and the royal family. They’re the perfect breeding ground for evil gods.”

Following Klein’s instructions, Leonard entered an abandoned factory. It was a two-story building made of cheap tin and mud. The walls and floors were rusted, creaking ominously. The air reeked of kerosene and paint. Homeless people lay on cardboard or newspapers, sleeping or working quietly in the dim light. A few eyes glanced at Leonard—assessing his pockets and the risk of robbing him.

Leonard walked through the clutter. Two boys reached for his coat but collapsed from exhaustion before touching him. He paused, looked down, then wisely chose not to hand out money and kept walking.

“What can I do?” he asked softly.

“Many things,” Klein replied.

“Fixing their lives requires better systems, power, and time. But we can make sure they don’t die tomorrow—or in a supernatural incident.”

Leonard climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor. As he stepped out of the shadows, a small figure darted from the corner, flung open a window, and tried to escape.

Leonard’s clean black coat stood out in the slums. Ian recognized him instantly—this man was here for him. He didn’t know how the stranger had found him or which faction he belonged to. All he could do was run.

Ian jumped out the window, scaling the uneven wall and landing on the street. The man didn’t follow, which made Ian both relieved and uneasy. He ducked into a crowded street, hoping to lose his pursuer.

But after squeezing past workers eating black bread, he found himself back in the factory’s second floor.

Through a cracked window, he saw the man again—tall, blurry, but with piercing green eyes burned into his memory.

He tried to escape again, but within two minutes, he was back. The man still stood there, everything else a shadow—except those eyes.

Something was wrong.

Fear gripped Ian. He fled again, tumbling into the street. But the gaze followed him, appearing in every blink.

The third time, Ian returned, panting, and forced himself to face the man who watched his futile struggle. Fear crawled over him like rust.

“…Speed up digestion,” the man said. “He won’t remember when he wakes.”

Then he muttered to himself, “Really? You never told me that.”

“…Alright then.” Ian looked at the man, who seemed to be going mad alone, anxiously running his fingers through his messy hair. “How about I let you talk to him by yourself?”

Just as Ian wondered if he should escape while they were distracted, another figure appeared beside the madman.

I’ve gone insane, Ian thought.

It was a shadow—like a sketch drawn in ink. The figure wore a top hat, a tailored suit, and held a slender cane.

He tipped his hat and bowed slightly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Ian Wright. Please don’t worry—I’m not with MI9, nor am I Intis. I’m here to make a deal.”

The shadow spoke. Ian stared in disbelief.

“You plan to send a telegram to the Feysac intelligence agency from Bacardi Street,” the shadow continued.

Ian’s expression turned grim, mixed with shock.

“You can do that, but it won’t help,” the shadow said.

“Feysac’s agency has Intis spies. That’s why Detective Zreal died after contacting them. If you reach out, you’ll be handing your location to Intis.”

“I suggest you work with us,” he said.

“Help us set a trap, and we’ll guarantee your safety until the Intis ambassador leaves Backlund.”

Ian nodded numbly. He’d only just entered the Beyonder world and had never seen such terrifying powers. His life was in their hands—he had no choice.

“Thank you for understanding,” the man said, putting his hat back on. Then he dissolved into shadows.

The dream shattered. Ian lay on a straw mat in the corner, drifting back to sleep. Leonard turned and descended the rickety stairs.

“You should let me see your face,” Leonard said. “Then I’d know how to shape you in my dreams.”

The Fool snorted. “Not a chance.”

“But if you get Rosago’s Beyonder characteristic for me, I’ll give you a reward.”

“What kind of reward?” Leonard asked curiously.

“Sacrifice the Sequence 6 and Sequence 5 Seer pathway characteristics to me, and I’ll grant you one wish.”

The Fool chuckled, lowering his hat brim.

“How about it? Pretty good deal, right?”

“But I still can’t see your face,” Leonard muttered, sounding a little annoyed.

-tbc-

Chapter Text

18.

Saturday, Midnight – Sefirah Castle

As a Sleepless, Leonard didn’t need much sleep. After the deaths of ‘Captain’ and ‘Klein,’ he had become unusually diligent, spending his nights traversing dreams to quickly digest the Nightmare potion.

He even had the wild idea to ask Klein if he could enter The Fool’s dream—after all, digesting a potion through a high-sequence Beyonder’s dream should be much faster than through ordinary people’s.

Klein, exasperated, told him that entering a high-sequence Beyonder’s dream would most likely result in immediate loss of control. Even if Klein could stabilize the dream and create a safe environment, he would still be fully aware of the dream. A Sequence 7 Nightmare wouldn’t scare the Lord of Mysteries, even if he played dead on the spot.

“Don’t even think about me or Pallez,” Klein had said, eyeing the poet who dared say anything. He worried that their presence had given Leonard the illusion that high-sequence beings were safe and easy to talk to.

“But using Beyonders as digestion targets is viable. You could post a request at the Tarot Club. Miss Justice is in Backlund and knows a few low-sequence Beyonders—good test subjects.”

Klein felt a bit guilty toward Xio and Fors. A night of nightmares wouldn’t be pleasant, but if they woke up with the formulas for Sheriff and Trickmaster potions, they might be willing to endure a few more bad dreams.

While Leonard busied himself with his Nightmare duties, Klein sat within Sefirah Castle, preparing to play the role of an evil god.

His spirituality reached out to a newly lit crimson star, one that gently rippled with the waves of prayer. With a thought, he pulled the star’s astral body into the gray fog and seated it at the bronze long table.

A petite blonde woman in pajamas appeared, looking as if she’d just been jolted awake from a dream. She glanced around in panic, her gaze quickly locking onto the hazy figure at the head of the table.

Xio shot to her feet, trembling with fear. She remembered—she had opened a book she got from Viscount Glaint and found a note inside. She had accidentally read aloud the honorific name written in ancient Hermes.

Dear Goddess, what have I done?

“Good evening, miss,” the figure said calmly. “No need to be afraid. Please, have a seat.”

A gentle yet irresistible force pressed on her shoulder. Her knees buckled against the chair’s edge, and she sat down, trembling. The mysterious being before her seemed capable of normal conversation. Xio didn’t know if that was a good sign—or a worse nightmare.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to disturb you, I—”

The figure raised a hand to pause her.

“Since you recited my honorific name and I’ve gazed upon you, a connection has been established.”

Xio wished she could go back and strangle her careless self from half a day ago.

“Don’t worry. I just want to make a deal,” the man said, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced.

“I need you to help me find a man who once went by the name ‘Lanevus’ in the Backlund dock district. He may have changed his name and appearance, but there will be similarities.”

Xio’s pounding heart slowed a little.

A deal. She thought. If I complete it, will he let me go? Can I fix this mistake?

“But be warned—he’s dangerous and cruel. He’s accompanied by Aurora Order agents. Don’t involve ordinary people. I’ll assign someone to assist you. If you encounter danger you can’t escape, you may recite my honorific name.”

Xio’s tense expression shifted slightly.

“Don’t involve ordinary people.”

This mysterious being actually cared about civilians. Could that mean he wasn’t so dangerous?

“Sir,” Xio said suddenly.

The figure nodded.

“You may call me The Fool.”

“Mr. Fool,” Xio asked cautiously, “Do I just need to complete this task for you?”

The Fool chuckled.

“It’s not a demand—it’s a transaction. If you find any information about Lanevus’s current identity, address, or whereabouts, I’ll reward you with the Sheriff potion formula. We can discuss the rest after the task is complete.”

The Sheriff formula!

Xio’s eyes lit up. She’d wanted to buy it from Mr. A for a long time but hadn’t saved enough. If this was just a transaction, she could treat it like a special bounty.

And she vaguely remembered the name Lanevus—he was wanted for fraud by the Loen police, with a bounty of 100 pounds.

“Tomorrow at 7 AM, go to the café in the dock district with a black cat painted on the door. Look for a man holding a rose,” The Fool said. “You can discuss the rest with him.”

---

“A rose?” Leonard Mitchell stood awkwardly outside the café, holding a red rose.

The café had just opened, and the air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread and melting butter.

“I just said it offhand,” The Fool explained.

“You’re using Creeping Hunger—I couldn’t predict what you’d look like.”

In that moment, Klein had simply thought of a rose.

Leonard now had a completely different face. He was shorter, with short brown hair and deep black eyes. His cheeks were thin, cheekbones slightly prominent. He looked like an unfriendly passerby. That morning, Leonard had stared at the mirror for a long time, clearly reluctant to part with his handsome face.

“Be cautious,” The Fool warned.

“Don’t just flash your badge like a Nighthawk. That won’t work here.”

Leonard grumbled but still stood outside the café with a stranger’s face and a bright red rose—like a young man waiting for a blind date.

Two minutes later, Xio Derecha arrived on time. She stared at Leonard for a moment before walking up.

Leonard handed her the rose and introduced himself:

“You may call me ‘The Star.’”

“The Fool” and “The Star.”

Xio took the rose and nodded silently. Both names came from the Tarot.

“Let’s go,” Leonard said. “We’ll just wander around the dock district.”

Even after shrinking his height, Leonard was still taller than Xio. She walked nervously beside him. That morning, she had told Fors she was going to patrol East Borough and look for new commissions—but had secretly come here instead.

From the moment she saw Mr. Star, she knew he wasn’t just some unlucky soul like her. He was likely a follower of an evil god.

What Sequence is he? Xio wondered.

Definitely higher than hers. Her role in this mission was probably just to guide him around the docks. The lower her importance, the easier the task. She reminded herself: If danger arises, don’t act brave—let the evil god follower handle it.

They wandered the outer dock area until noon but found no suspicious people or clues. When Mr. Star tried to go deeper, Xio tugged his sleeve and pulled him into a hidden spot, eyeing his worn canvas coat.

“Mr. Fool said this mission is dangerous,” she confirmed. “We should be more cautious.”

She explained: “The central dock area—the workers’ union and shipyards—are full of familiar faces. A stranger hanging around will be noticed immediately.”

“What should we do then?” Leonard asked humbly.

“There’s only one kind of unfamiliar face that won’t draw attention,” Xio said.

“A homeless person.”

Leonard frowned. “But homeless people can’t enter the docks or the union.”

“People come and go. We just need to watch the entrances,” Xio insisted.

“Do as she says,” The Fool advised. “Start with the union. Take it slow—don’t alert anyone.”

Klein remembered that last time, Lanevus had been hiding in the dock workers’ union. But this time, they were two weeks earlier than when he was exposed. It was possible Lanevus had changed identities or hadn’t arrived in Backlund yet. They needed to broaden the search.

Their first day of surveillance yielded no results. They didn’t find anyone suspicious near the union. In the afternoon, Klein sent Leonard home to nap, while Xio decided to ask her contacts at the union if any new faces had appeared recently.

Leonard woke around 8 PM, yawned, washed up, ate a quick dinner, and received Klein’s next instruction:

Go to a place called Bravehearts Bar and hire a Sequence 5 Beyonder.

“Is it that easy to find a Sequence 5?” Leonard asked, hailing a cab.

“If you have 1,000 pounds,” The Fool joked.

“If you have 10,000 pounds, you could even hire her teacher.”

That teacher was an angel. If Klein had the money, he’d book the VIP full-service package and strut across Backlund like a boss.

Chapter Text

19.

Monday, 3:00 PM – Above the Gray Fog

Crimson lights appeared one after another around the long bronze table. Miss Justice lifted her skirt slightly in a graceful curtsy and cheerfully greeted Mr. Fool and the others.

“Congratulations, our ‘Miss Telepathist’,” Klein said with a smile. Through his spiritual vision, it was easy to see that she had taken the Telepathist potion and successfully advanced to Sequence 8.

“I’ve already prepared your Sequence 7 Beyonder characteristic. You can perform the bestowment ritual after the meeting, or wait until you’ve finished digesting the Telepathist potion.”

Audrey, trying to contain her excitement, replied without hesitation:

“I’ll wait until I’ve digested the potion.”

Having such an important material nearby would make her anxious, but leaving it with Mr. Fool was absolutely safe.

The Fool nodded.

Audrey took a few deep breaths to calm herself, then turned to Star.

“Mr. Star, I’m very sorry—I only managed to find some background information on Lanevus. I couldn’t locate his current whereabouts.”

She felt genuinely regretful. She was curious about Mr. Star’s identity and understood he was closely connected to Mr. Fool. It would’ve been great to build a good relationship with him. Unfortunately, Lanevus had vanished after leaving Tingen, as if he’d evaporated from the world.

“Would you like the background information anyway?” Audrey asked with a bright smile.

“No payment needed—consider it a friendly gift.”

Leonard, caught off guard by her sparkling eyes, sub-consciously sat up straighter. Surprised and grateful, he replied:

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“There’s no trace of him at sea either,” Alger added.

Leonard nodded awkwardly. “I do have a lead. He might be hiding in Backlund’s dock or factory district.”

“Backlund?” Audrey repeated in surprise.

Leonard instinctively glanced at the head of the table—The Fool.

“Reliable sources suggest the Aurora Order may be planning to use Lanevus to complete a god descent ritual for the True Creator in Backlund. Thank you all for the information. I’ll do my best to find him and stop their plans.”

Pallez, who had been trying to act like a statue—silent and uninvolved—couldn’t help but let out a mocking chuckle. His lips curled in disdain, and he resisted the urge to glance at The Fool, choosing to remain silent.

Alger raised an eyebrow. Leonard’s words sounded exactly like something an official Beyonder trained by a righteous god’s church would say. He had assumed Mr. Star was one of The Fool’s blessed, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Klein noticed Alger’s confusion and Pallez’s amused expression. Leonard, realizing his mistake from Pallez’s laugh, began to slide down in his high-backed chair, as if trying to disappear under the table. Klein genuinely worried he might end up under the table.

Audrey, however, didn’t notice the others’ reactions. She could tell from Mr. Star’s few words that the situation was serious. She solemnly promised:

“If you need my help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Leonard remembered what The Fool had told him about Miss Justice—she had considerable influence in noble circles but little knowledge of Backlund’s lower districts. On the other hand, Miss Xio Derecha was very familiar with the docks and factories. The Fool had said he would invite her to join the Tarot Club after the Lanevus mission was complete.

Leonard resisted the urge to glance at the empty chairs and sincerely thanked Audrey.

“Mr. Fool,” Derrick spoke up, looking toward the head of the table.

“Recently, the City of Silver’s exploration teams have discovered many ruins related to beings crucified upside down in the darkness. I’d like information about the ‘True Creator’ you mentioned. What price must I pay?”

Klein thought for a moment, lightly brushed the brim of his hat, and chuckled:

“The knowledge I have isn’t suitable for your current level. It’s better if Mr. Temperance answers this question.”

Pallez looked up, surprised, and glanced at The Fool.

Derrick wasn’t disappointed by The Fool’s deferral. He earnestly turned to the seemingly aloof Mr. Temperance:

“What price must I pay?”

“I heard you encountered someone claiming to be Amon,” Pallez said.

“I want to know everything about that.”

“Alright,” Derrick replied without hesitation.

“Forty-two years ago, a City of Silver exploration team encountered a man in the darkness who called himself Amon. It was the first time anyone from outside City of Silver had been seen since the city fell into endless darkness, so they invited him to visit.”

“But on the way back, Amon mysteriously vanished. After returning, the team members gradually went mad and lost control—except for one, who was imprisoned at the bottom of the Spire Tower.”

Everyone at the Tarot Club listened intently to this eerie and secretive tale.

“Go on,” Pallez nodded. For Amon, this was child’s play. “What happened to the survivor?”

Derrick glanced at The Fool, saw no objection, and continued:

“The six-member council decided to imprison the survivor at the bottom of the Spire Tower. Though the situation was strange and dangerous, they thought he might be the key to escaping the City of Silver.”

“Forty-two years passed. The captain lived in the tower, never lost control, never tried to escape—until Mr. Fool appeared.”

“Our Chief hoped Mr. Fool could protect us from the curse. Mr. Fool proposed a trade for the man in the tower. He said the man had been parasitized by Amon—he was Amon’s avatar and scout.”

“In the end, our Chief killed the survivor and extracted the parasite, which was then offered to Mr. Fool.”

“That’s everything.”

Parasite.

Leonard couldn’t help but glance at Pallez.

Could Amon and the old man be from the same pathway?

No, he thought. Pallez was from the Marauder pathway, while Klein and The Fool were from the Seer pathway—yet The Fool could parasitize him. Strange. Red Glove training said parasitism was a high-sequence potion ability from a specific pathway. Other pathways shouldn’t be able to do it.

Pallez pondered for a moment, then asked:

“After learning about The Fool, did anyone interact or speak with that man?”

The question was odd. Derrick paused, thought carefully, and replied uncertainly: “I don’t think so.”

City of Silver residents rarely visited the bottom of the Spire Tower, let alone spoke to the prisoner.

“Before and after you acted, were there any unusual behaviors or signs?”

An even stranger question. Derrick shook his head. “I’m not sure. But the council did hold several meetings.”

Pallez chuckled softly.

“You should be careful. Amon’s avatars are connected. If one disappears, others may come. If the disturbance is too great, or if He values the City of Silver highly, the true body might descend.”

True body descent.

He.

What kind of being warranted such terms? Derrick felt a chill. The others at the table were also shaken. The “Amon” they’d heard about was actually an angel-level entity?

Before anyone could ask more, Pallez began answering Derrick’s original question:

“The True Creator likely emerged between the end of the Third Epoch and the beginning of the Fourth, after the Great Cataclysm. His followers believe the original Creator didn’t fully die, and the True Creator is the remnant will and core.”

“I don’t know much, but in the early Fourth Epoch, He had two angel kings—Red Angel and Angel of Fate. They supported the Solomon Empire, which later declined under pressure from the six orthodox god churches and disappeared from history.”

Everyone interpreted this differently. Some thought:

“Mr. Temperance must have lived in the Fourth Epoch—no wonder The Fool let him answer.”

Others wondered:

“He knows so much about the obscure Fourth Epoch. What sequence is he really?”

Or simply:

“How old is this guy?”

But Derrick had more questions:

“Is the True Creator really related to our faith’s original Creator? What is the Fourth Epoch? What was the Solomon Empire?”

Thankfully, during previous Tarot Club free discussions, he had learned about the six orthodox gods from Miss Justice and Mr. Hanged Man…

Wait—didn’t Mr. Hanged Man say there were seven orthodox gods?

Derrick grew even more confused.

The Fool tapped the table lightly, drawing everyone’s attention. He knew exactly what Derrick wanted to ask.

“History isn’t always truth,” he said.

“The City of Silver doesn’t worship the returning original Creator. But the True Creator is indeed the remnant of your god—His divinity and reason stripped away, leaving only madness.”

“Exploring the True Creator’s ruins may help you understand the Great Cataclysm—the reason the City of Silver fell into darkness. But be cautious.”

“The secrets involved may far exceed your imagination.”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

20.

Rosago didn’t understand how things had ended up like this.

Yesterday, after a long search, they finally managed to contact Ian Wright through the telegraph office. The encrypted telegram revealed the manuscript’s whereabouts, and their spies relayed the information back to Intis without missing a word.

They should have been the first to retrieve the manuscript. But somehow, MI9 got wind of the location and arrived before them.

A chaotic battle broke out. Rosago lost all his puppets and only managed to snatch half of the manuscript from MI9. When he returned to the embassy, Bakerland Jean Madan was furious. Because of the conflict with MI9 and the failure regarding the manuscript, Rosago would soon be recalled to Intis, losing everything he had built here.

He blamed it all on the boy who dared tip off MI9. That’s why Rosago was now here—in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Backlund—to finish the job and help the vengeful ambassador vent his anger.

Normally, a task involving a mere civilian wouldn’t require his personal involvement. But the Zmanger Gang, who had been tracking Ian Wright, reported that Ian, fearing retaliation, had left the telegraph office and gone to a bar, where he used all his savings to hire a low-sequence Beyonder to protect him.

What Ian didn’t know was that his movements had already been exposed the moment he entered the telegraph office.

Before entering the factory, Rosago performed a divination—it showed everything was normal. He also activated his spiritual vision. Two spiritual threads passed through the broken roof and extended into the deep, dark night sky.

So Rosago still couldn’t understand how things had gone so wrong.

His joints were stiff and sluggish. Looking down, he saw countless transparent, grotesque maggots wriggling out of every joint. They twisted together, pierced through his clothes, and squirmed hideously. With every step, he could feel them crawling in and out of his bones, making them creak.

His spirituality screamed warnings. The old factory seemed endless, the floor stretching into infinite darkness. The moonlight outside was blood-red, as if it might drip from the sky.

This isn’t real. Rosago told himself. No Beyonder ability attacked like this. It had to be an illusion or a dream. He just needed to find the source.

He turned his head with difficulty, scanning the factory with spiritual vision. Finally, he spotted a spiritual thread behind him—thin, broken, and blurry, as if layered with another reality.

A dream!

Rosago immediately realized the possibility: Darkness pathway Sequence 7—Nightmare!

As enemies of the Secret Order, they were familiar with this ability. A skilled Nightmare could silently drag someone into a dream, manipulate the environment to subdue them, while allies outside could kill the sleeping target.

Rosago didn’t have time to wonder why a simple mission involved a Sequence 7 from the Church of Evernight. He had to escape the dream immediately.

As soon as he realized he was dreaming, the blurry figure appeared from the void. A Nightmare always left traces in the dream. He had two options: kill the Nightmare or wake himself up.

Rosago chose instantly—kill the Nightmare. He had already divined that only two people were in the factory: Ian Wright and the Nightmare. If he could kill the Sequence 7, then Ian, a mere civilian, wouldn’t pose a threat. And since he now knew it was his own dream, he could exert some control and weaken the Nightmare’s power.

Rosago snapped his fingers. Flames erupted at his feet, engulfing him. The maggots in his joints were incinerated, falling to the ground as charred husks. The fire then slithered toward the blurry figure like a hunting serpent.

But no matter how the fire serpent moved, it couldn’t reach the figure’s hem.

The ground beneath them had turned into pure darkness—flowing like a living thing. It was as if the entire factory had awakened, its 'body' writhing and opening. The distance between them stretched instantly. Seeing the fire couldn’t reach, Rosago extinguished it. No time for games.

He raised his hand, covered in burning, regenerating maggots. With effort, he lifted it to eye level and snapped his fingers again.

Bang!

His head tilted to the side. A massive wound appeared at his temple, nearly destroying half his skull. Blood and flesh splattered. Rosago smirked. His scorched eye rotated in its shattered socket. The dark world began to crumble.

It worked. He felt relieved. Once awake, he could seize the Nightmare’s spiritual thread and turn him into a puppet—recovering some losses.

He opened his eyes eagerly, searching for the Nightmare. But strangely, his body remained stiff. A chilling cold seeped from his joints and soul, making him shiver uncontrollably.

What’s going on?

His mind was sluggish and sticky.

Nightmares didn’t have this kind of power. They had exited the dream simultaneously—there was no way the Nightmare could regain control so quickly. Ian Wright was just a civilian and couldn’t wield such powerful items.

Then… someone else…

Rosago strained to open his eyes. In the shattered window, he saw a woman in a black court dress. Her skin was pale as snow, her hair light gold, lips blood-red—like a ghostly reflection.

A Wraith.

Impossible.

Rosago’s thoughts crawled like a wheel-less cart.

He had checked with spiritual vision before coming—only two spiritual threads were in the factory. One was Ian Wright, asleep in the workshop. The other had to be the Nightmare.

How could there be a third person?

The Wraith drew closer. Rosago could no longer think. In his final moment of awareness, his gaze swept past the Nightmare. His spiritual vision was still active. Normally, all spiritual threads floated upward into the clouds—like puppets on a divine stage.

But one was different.

Only the Nightmare was different.

His spiritual thread formed a closed loop—head and tail connected. Even Rosago couldn’t see where it began or ended.

It hadn’t passed through the roof, which was why he hadn’t seen it from outside.

---

Eerie chewing sounds echoed through the empty factory for a long time before finally stopping. Creeping Hunger had tasted its first meal under a new master—and was satisfied.

Leonard collected the Sequence 5 Beyonder characteristic and paid the agreed fee to Miss Sharron.

Sharron took the money without counting it. Her deep blue eyes stared at Leonard, haunting and lifeless.

“Remember your promise.”

Leonard rubbed his nose. “If you need me, come to No. 7 Pinster Street.”

Sharron nodded, stepped back, and vanished into the mirror like a shadow.

Leonard exhaled and walked over to pull Ian from the corner. The boy had followed instructions—ears covered, eyes shut, trembling behind a spiritual wall. Leonard’s pat on the shoulder nearly made him jump.

“It’s over,” Leonard said, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. Once Ian calmed down, Leonard pulled out two 1 pound notes and handed them over.

“Bakerland will remain in office for another two weeks. You should leave town for a month or two.”

Ian looked at the money, then at Leonard, and accepted it. He didn’t like being used as bait, but he admitted—without this man, he’d likely have been captured right after leaving the telegraph office.

“Thanks,” he said.

---

Klein, seated in The Fool’s high-backed chair, watched Leonard send Ian off and begin cleaning up. Most of the battle had occurred in the dream. Leonard was protected by Klein’s angelic paper figurine, making divination useless. All that remained was to erase their traces.

Leonard finished cleaning and stretched. Using Nightmare powers to suppress a Sequence 5 Marionettist—even briefly—was a heavy drain on his spirituality.

“If only I could fly,” Leonard muttered. The factory was in the middle of nowhere—no carriages in sight. He’d have to walk back.

Klein raised an eyebrow, remembering the Word of the Sea he once sold Leonard. The image of Leonard flying on it always reminded him of Kiki’s Delivery Service. Sadly, the item still existed as a Beyonder characteristic on that primitive island. It might never become a usable artifact.

Once Klein obtained the Scholar of Yore potion, he might be able to summon it as a historical projection.

…Which made him wonder: if he could summon projections from folded time, could he summon Leonard as the Servant of Concealment… or even himself as the full Lord of Mysteries?

Scholars of Yore could summon projections from specific historical moments. But now, history and future were folded into a loop. That time—unperceived and excluded from “true history”—was a fragment of time. Yet to Klein, it was a real past.

Worth a try, he thought. If it worked, many problems could be solved more easily.

---

“You still owe me a wish,” Leonard’s voice pulled Klein from his thoughts. The Sleepless walked through the moonlit fields outside Backlund. The Tussock River flowed in the distance. Dew-covered grass bent under his steps, rustling softly.

“Have you decided?” Klein asked calmly.

“I have.” Leonard replied.

The poet’s steps didn’t slow. His voice drifted into the quiet night—just like that day within Sefirah Castle. The newly awakened Lord of Mysteries had finished his urgent tasks. Then, he had pulled a tentacle from the pile of letters that nearly filled the long table and pulled the poet into the gray mist.

[“Have you decided?” Klein had asked then too.]

[“I have.”]

[Leonard Mitchell, an angel, no longer resembled the Tingen Nighthawk or Red Glove. The Angel of Evernight sat in a high-backed chair, black hair cascading like silk and starlight.]

“What’s your wish?” Klein asked.

“Your name,” the newly advanced Nightmare replied.

“I want to know your name.”

[“But I want to tell you after the apocalypse,” Klein had said with a smile, not waiting for Leonard’s wish.]

[The carefree sincerity Leonard was once teased for had faded. He now looked every bit the Church of Evernight’s Angel—calm, silent, gentle. But his eyes were still the same emerald green.]

[Klein gazed into those eyes, as if he could see the unchanged soul beneath. Tentacles covered in spiritual symbols slithered silently under his cloak, gathering scattered love poems.]

[Maybe he already knew Leonard’s wish.]

[The tentacles tangled together, forming knots.]

“Alright,” Klein said, his expression unchanged.

Damn, he thought. Does this make me seem unwilling?

But saying ‘I’m happy to’ felt too awkward.

[Let the apocalypse end soon, he had thought. His new, unfamiliar tentacles had twisted anxiously. Then he could agree and tell him.]

[But the apocalypse didn’t end as he hoped.]

[He never got to hear the words he wanted. Time bent and restarted. Even as his tentacles slapped the floor in frustration, he knew this meant saving more lives and changing more fates—a good thing.]

“Zhou Mingrui.” 

The Klein who had started over looked at the once-silly demonic wolf and smiled.

“My name is Zhou Mingrui.”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

21.

Wednesday, 2:00 AM – Williams Street

Leonard, who had napped earlier that afternoon, stood beneath the window of No. 8 and silently pushed open a gap, slipping inside. The house had two floors, and the first was cluttered with building materials, leaving little room to land.

He carefully avoided the debris and descended the stairs to the basement entrance. Before him stood a heavy, gray-white stone door, tightly embedded in the wall. The lighting was dim—without close inspection, it would be hard to notice.

Leonard took out a black glove from his coat and put it on his right hand. He pressed against the door and pushed. A deep grinding sound followed, and dust fell like snow. Behind the door was a spacious room, with cobweb-covered candelabras on both sides and a black double door at the far end.

Behind that door was a mass of brightly colored, tangled snakes. They writhed together, turning the hall into a terrifying nest.

Leonard, already warned by The Fool, wasn’t surprised. He brushed off a flower-patterned snake that had fallen on his hand and calmly recited:

“When once the sun sinks in the west,

And dew-drops pearl the Evening's breast;

The Evening Primrose opes anew

Its delicate blossoms to the dew;

And hermit-like, shunning the light”

The snakes gradually slowed, and the hissing of scales ceased. The hall fell silent under the soft, whispered verse. Soon, a silver snake, gleaming like a blade’s arc, raised its triangular head and slithered down from the pile, crawling to Leonard’s feet. It wrapped around his leg, then his arm, and climbed to his shoulder. It was large—coiling several times around his arm, its tail still dragging on the floor.

“I used to be afraid of snakes,” The Fool’s voice echoed in his ear, tinged with a faint, unreal smile.

“I once saw it as a weakness and wanted to overcome it. Now I can’t recall that fear—and oddly, I miss it. It was part of being human.”

“Why ‘miss’ it instead of ‘overcoming’ it?” Leonard asked, puzzled by the strange tone. He touched the snake’s smooth, cool scales—it felt surprisingly pleasant.

“You’ll understand once you reach demigod level,” the silver snake nudged his finger.

“As divinity grows, humanity inevitably fades.”

Leonard’s gaze dimmed. That was what he wanted to know—what had happened to Klein that turned him from a novice in Tingen into The Fool. How had he survived two deaths? What had he endured and lost? Why was he here?

“Sometimes I worry I’ll lose something truly important—something I mustn’t forget. Worse, when I forget, I won’t even feel fear or sadness.”

He feared forgetting joy, sorrow, the ability to love. He still wanted to respond properly to Leonard after the apocalypse. These thoughts pushed him to reflect, to savor and remember human emotions, to maintain human habits and form.

Leonard was his anchor—tying his little boat to the eye of the storm.

“I can help you remember,” Leonard said. “I can keep your most important memories in my dreams.”

“Good.”

This is the second time I’ve heard that, The Fool chuckled softly.

Your dreams already hold them, he thought—Tingen’s rain, the Nighthawks, the Blackthorn Security Company, the lights of Daffodil Street. One day, they’ll also hold silver moonlight, barbecue, novels, games, and a sleepless ancient city.

They are our shared memories.

“I’ll keep you in check too,” he added.

“Start by writing poetry. It’s a good way to stay human.”

Reading poetry too—embarrassing but effective. One poem, two doses of humanity. Very efficient.

Leonard’s fingers froze on the scales. He pretended not to hear and strode forward. They passed through a corridor, past two massive chairs on a raised platform, and stopped before seven stone doors.

The Fool said nothing. Leonard didn’t dare open a door without permission. He circled the doors and found that six bore the emblems of the major deities—Goddess of Evernight, the Earth Mother, the Eternal Blazing Sun, the God of War, God of Wisdom, and Lord of Storms. Only the God of Steam and Machinery, who rose in the Fifth Epoch, was absent.

“What is this place?”

Pallez, silent until now, couldn’t help but ask. He recognized the architecture and the chairs. This was clearly a Fourth Epoch ruin, likely from the Tudor–Trunsoest joint rule. But a site with regent chairs and six god emblems couldn’t be ordinary.

“It’s where the Blood Emperor was born.”

The Fool’s words made Pallez’s scalp tingle. This was where a god ascended—and went mad. It also meant three Sequence 1 angels had fallen here.

“Why are you here?” Pallez asked, instinctively wanting to flee. But his host was still here, and The Fool showed no intention of leaving. In fact, he clearly wanted to go deeper.

“To confirm a troubling situation,” The Fool said solemnly.

“But it seems I no longer need to.”

The silver snake slithered from Leonard to the central door, then turned back, signaling him to approach.

“Open it,” The Fool said.

“There’s no danger behind it.”

Leonard pushed open the stone door, revealing a pitch-black passage. Relying on his Sleepless night vision, he didn’t light a lamp. After ten steps, he turned left as instructed. At the end was a pile of bones and a blood-red door, as if smeared with fresh blood—still flowing, almost dripping.

Klein didn’t let Leonard approach. From above the gray fog, he surveyed the area and quickly confirmed his suspicion:

Medici had left.

Fate had shifted unexpectedly. Klein wasn’t surprised—only that it came earlier than expected. Of the forces that could alter the situation and had contact with him, there were three: the Goddess, Amon, and Adam.

Who took him—Amon or Adam?

Since arriving in this timeline, Klein had changed many things. Lower-level Beyonders couldn’t sense it, but Adam surely could.

Having a temporary advantage didn’t mean permanent foresight. Adam was the best strategist, and Amon the unpredictable piece. Amon might have sensed Klein’s presence from the Forsaken Land of the Gods. Adam, focused on godhood, would be busy reclaiming 0-08 from the Goddess. Amon, however, wanted Sefirah Castle.

But how much help would Adam offer his brother and ‘son’ in this struggle?

Heh. Klein chuckled.

Now things get interesting.

If Amon had taken Medici, then Backlund might already be crawling with Amon’s avatars.

“Mr. Pallez, Amon may already be in Backlund.”

Silence.

Klein hadn’t meant to scare the old man, but imagining Pallez’s reaction made him laugh.

“If you want, I can help you find another host far from Backlund.”

For a moment, Pallez was tempted. He wanted to flee—far from Amon. But he was pragmatic. He couldn’t guarantee Amon wasn’t in the next city. And without Leonard or The Fool, he’d have no better chance of escaping Amon.

He didn’t want to keep waiting for death.

“…Thank you, but no.”

Staying with Leonard might be the safest option.

Klein chuckled and didn’t press further. Having Pallez around also made Leonard safer.

“Let’s go. We need to track our enemy’s whereabouts.”

Leonard nodded and quietly exited the room, retracing his steps through the passage and stairs. It was just past 3:00 AM—when most people slept deeply. He slipped out the window and headed toward Pinster Street.

Klein watched until Leonard left the basement, then turned to the crimson star that had been rippling with prayer—Xio’s star.

“Mr. Fool, this afternoon near the dock workers’ union, a figure resembling Lanevus appeared, accompanied by two unfamiliar faces. They entered the union and haven’t come out since.”

Two days ago, Xio had received intel from her contacts in the dock district. Over the past three months, many new faces had appeared—some strong and educated, unlike the weary laborers seeking work. Several were now employed by the union.

The Fool told her they were likely Aurora Order members and instructed her to monitor them. He also gave her the Lanevus dossier from Audrey. If anything suspicious happened, she could pray to him immediately.

“Good work.”

Gray mist appeared before her. Xio paused mid-motion with her key.

“Meeting tomorrow at 1 PM. Same place.”

The mist faded. In front of her wasn’t the familiar wooden door, but her roommate Fors’s long neck. Xio instinctively stepped back, lowering her hand with the key.

“What are you spacing out for?” Fors rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Why are you back so late?”

“Important bounty,” Xio said, taking off her shoes and following Fors inside. She glanced at the messy table full of manuscripts.

“I have to go out again tomorrow. If all goes well, I’ll get the Sheriff potion formula.”

“Really?!” Fors’s eyes lit up, her fatigue vanishing.

“Mm.” Xio nodded, hesitating before warning her:

“Backlund might get chaotic soon. Best not to go out.”

“Is that so?” Fors muttered, scratching her messy hair. She sat on the sofa, hugged a pillow, and resumed sorting her manuscripts. A moment later, she looked up at Xio, who was pouring water and heading upstairs.

“Be careful tomorrow. If you need help, call me.”

She shook her silver bracelet, strung with dark green stones.

“I’ve still got this to save my life.”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

22.

Thursday afternoon, Xio Derecha sat in a dockside café, trying hard to hide her anxiety.

A dull chime rang as the rusty bell above the door shook. The man she had met before—Mr. Star—walked in, followed by a shadow at his feet.

A cat?

Xio stared in surprise at the small creature with sleek black fur. It leapt gracefully onto the chair Mr. Star pulled out for it, crossed its front paws, and sat elegantly. Its furry face and twitching ears peeked over the edge of the table.

Kind of cute.

Xio lifted her coffee cup to hide her expression and glanced at Mr. Star, who sat beside the cat.

“Our companion,” Leonard shrugged.

“You can call him ‘World.’”

Having obtained the Sequence 5 and Sequence 6 Beyonder characteristics, Klein wasn’t in a rush to find a human puppet. Sometimes animals were less conspicuous and had more freedom of movement. Snakes were too eye-catching, so last night Leonard found a dying black kitten on his way home. They treated its wounds, cleaned the blood from its fur, and Leonard even insisted on giving it a fragrant bath.

Thinking of this, Klein turned his head, tempted to swipe Leonard again. The guy had gotten bold lately—he even dared to dunk Klein into the sink and scrub his fur.

The black cat’s tail twitched uncomfortably. Its sharp claws extended slightly, ready to strike. Don’t fight in front of Miss Xio, Klein reminded himself. Settle it later.

Leonard shivered inexplicably. He scratched his cheek—still sore from Klein’s swipe last night. Thanks to Creeping Hunger, he was wearing a different face now, so the scratch wasn’t visible.

“He’s the star today,” Leonard wisely gave up trying to pick up the kitten. He reached out to scratch its neck, but was pushed away by a paw.

The small black cat jumped onto the table. Its deep blue eyes scanned Xio with eerie, human-like scrutiny. It paced a few steps, then turned and pushed open the window. Its body flowed through the gap like water and vanished into the street.

Xio blinked, startled by the sudden exit. She stood up instinctively and looked at Leonard, who remained seated, now holding a mirror. He reached out and drew a strange symbol on its surface.

“Dear Arrodes,” he said, “Please tell me where ‘World’ is now.”

The mirror rippled like water. Soon, it showed the agile figure of the black cat weaving through the crowd toward the dock workers’ union. It darted into bushes and abandoned buildings, even climbed rooftops—clearly avoiding detection.

Leonard placed the mirror near the window and gestured for Xio to come closer.

“We can’t follow it into those places. Watching from here is enough. The key is confirming whether the person you saw is Lanevus and identifying Aurora Order agents in the area.”

“We’re just watching from here?” Xio asked, glancing at the lazy café clerk behind the counter. It was afternoon, and the café wasn’t busy, but it wasn’t empty either. This didn’t seem like a good place for a secret meeting.

“Don’t worry. They can’t see us,” Leonard replied, still focused on the mirror. The image occasionally zoomed out to check for pursuers.

“This isn’t reality.”

Xio looked at him, confused. For a moment, her vision blurred. Then she noticed the clerk had vanished. The man in the gray coat reading a newspaper two tables away was gone too. The street outside was now shrouded in thick fog, making the café feel like an island in the sea.

Her mind buzzed. Scenes from Fors’s novels flooded her thoughts.

Leonard turned his chair sideways, leaned on the table, and kept watching the mirror.

“In reality, you fell asleep in the café. World and I entered your dream through special means.”

Xio felt her heart pounding.

No wonder he’s a follower of Mr. Fool—just as terrifying.

Klein chuckled silently.

At his current level, his puppet’s effective control range was about the size of a small town. Leonard’s real body was lying in a cheap inn in the dock district, watched over by Pallez. Within this range, the puppet could move freely. And as a normal stray cat with no Beyonder powers, it wouldn’t raise suspicion.

The black cat stopped near the dock workers’ union. Its round eyes narrowed as it watched groups of workers entering and exiting. Then it turned, circled along the wall, and slipped through an open window.

The office inside was shabby. The gray walls were stained, and the furniture was worn. Books propped up uneven table legs. Two staff members worked at their desks, unaware of the cat blending into the shadows.

Klein glanced at them and darted into the hallway. As soon as he entered, he felt a cold gaze. Aurora Order agents were definitely stationed here. Without hesitation, the cat ran to the staircase. It dropped its cautious demeanor and boldly scratched the wooden steps, meowing sweetly.

The Aurora Order feared attracting official Beyonder investigations that could disrupt the True Creator’s descent ritual. They wouldn’t risk exposing themselves by killing a useless cat.

After scratching enough, the cat saw some staff approaching and bolted upstairs. Startling them, it pushed open the first office door, leapt onto the windowsill, and curled into a corner. The mirror zoomed out, showing everyone in the room.

Xio saw Mr. Star sit up straight, his relaxed posture now tense. He picked up the mirror, which zoomed in on a man in the corner. He had bronze skin, sharp features, and wore gold-rimmed glasses. Though his appearance had changed, his eyes and mocking smile matched the wanted poster exactly.

Mr. Star stared intently until the cat was chased out of the union. Then he exhaled.

“It’s him,” he said.

The black cat reappeared, leaping through the fog and landing on their table.

The mirror’s image vanished, replaced by silver text:

“According to the principle of reciprocity, it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Mr. Star, what is your sexual orien—”

The cat’s tail swiped the mirror, blurring the text. It reappeared:

“Mr. Star, are you in love wi—”

The tail struck again, knocking the mirror askew. The text disappeared, then returned:

“Mr. Star, what do you want for dinner?”

Leonard hesitated. He had no strong food preferences and rarely thought about meals. But ever since learning in a dream that Klein used to cook for his siblings, he’d wanted to try Klein’s cooking.

Leonard stopped thinking and replied uncertainly:

“Klein’s cooking?”

“Correct.”

The silver text turned blood-red:

“You cheeky little—”

Smack!

The mirror fell face-up on the floor. The half-written text vanished.

The black cat turned to Xio.

“Thank you for your intel, Miss Derecha,” it said, its voice echoing in the air.

“Tonight, Mr. Fool will fulfill his promise.”

“Okay,” Xio replied cautiously, glancing at the cat and the silenced mirror.

The cat nodded gracefully, jumped off the table, and curled its tail around Leonard’s pants.

“Let’s go,” it said.

“Time to buy groceries.”

Leonard’s eyes lit up.

“You’re going to cook?”

“You want a kitten to cook for you?” the cat snapped.

“I’m going to teach you. You eat out too much—it’s expensive.”

With that, the man and cat vanished into the fog.

-tbc-

Chapter Text

23.

The day after Leonard tearfully ate his own overcooked pea stew with burnt lamb mush, he finally put on his Red Glove uniform and reported to Saint Samuel’s Cathedral.

It was early morning, and the cathedral was quiet. Only a few devout believers sat silently on the pews. Leonard didn’t head straight to the underground section. Instead, he sat beside one of the worshippers, closed his eyes, and prayed for a while. Then, under the priest’s gaze, he turned and descended the stairs to the underground part of the church.

If Miss Daly hasn’t returned to Tingen yet, I might still run into her, Leonard thought.

He wondered how she and Captain Dunn were getting along. When she was transferred, they had made a bet—whether the Captain would have the courage to confess before she left. Leonard lost three soli on that one.

He resisted the urge to share the story with The Fool. After all, this was Saint Samuel’s Cathedral. Even if The Fool had a pact with the Goddess, Leonard couldn’t be too reckless.

He walked down the stairs step by step and stopped at a dimly lit crossroads. A figure emerged from the right corridor. Both men paused in surprise.

The man, wearing red gloves, was in his forties, with gentle features, a top hat, and a black cane with gold trim. He was the first to react, stepping forward and extending his hand.

“Soul Assurer Soest, current captain of the Red Glove team stationed in Backlund.”

“Leonard Mitchell,” Leonard replied, shaking his hand, unsure how to introduce himself.

“I know,” Soest smiled.

“Archbishop Saint Anthony informed us. Want to visit our office first? I’ll introduce you to the team.”

Informed them of what? Leonard wondered.

Why do I feel like I’m already famous at Saint Samuel’s?

“Sure. I also need your help with something.”

“It’s about the True Creator.”

---

Fourteen hours later, the Nighthawk from Tingen stood outside the brick-red building of the dock workers’ union. He looked up at the massive airship floating in the sky. It was just past 1:00 AM—most people were asleep—so the deep black airship didn’t attract attention.

He reached out and tightened the bright red glove on his right hand, clenching his fist.

“Let’s go in,” said Cesimir solemnly.

Soest put away Sealed Artifact 1-63 and followed closely.

According to the plan, the Nighthawks and Soest’s team members were stationed on the airship, maintaining aerial control and monitoring the entire dock area to prevent escape or interference from other Aurora Order members. Cesimir, Soest, and Leonard were responsible for entering the union building with Sealed Artifact 1-63—a silver mirror Klein had seen before, capable of separating Beyonders and supernatural phenomena into the mirror world, minimizing the impact of combat on civilians.

Klein didn’t know how many Beyonders the Church of Evernight had deployed in that abandoned timeline. It couldn’t have been more than now, but certainly not fewer. Nighthawks always prepared thoroughly to avoid surprises. Cesimir had been in Backlund during the previous operation too—he likely participated, but Lanevus still escaped.

After all, the True Creator’s descent had already begun.

Klein watched as Lanevus’s chest—raw and skinless—revealed a mass of red flesh forming the shape of a hanged man.

Suddenly, the surrounding space shattered like glass. Divine pressure surged outward. It was like facing a mountain with no visible peak or sinking into a lightless abyss. The terror crushed everyone’s spirit.

Two Aurora Order members who had tried to block them now knelt in fanatic devotion, seemingly ready to rip out their hearts and lungs as offerings.

Soest was slammed into a wall by an invisible force. He clutched Sealed Artifact 1-63 tightly. The mirror image of the brick-red building shattered, turning into a hazy reflection on the ground. Wounds split open on his hands and chest.

Cesimir knelt on one knee, barely resisting the divine pressure. He gripped his sword tightly, blood gushing from his palm and staining the pure white bone blade. But the blood didn’t drip—it was absorbed by the sword. A deep, tranquil aura emerged, clashing with the True Creator’s divine power.

All light vanished. Darkness enveloped everyone like a curtain. Seconds later, light returned. Cesimir’s sacred weapon was embedded in Lanevus’s chest. The hanged-man-shaped flesh had vanished, leaving a hollow. The bone sword dimmed, no longer radiating darkness or serenity.

Lanevus moved slightly, then burst into manic laughter.

“Thank you! I truly thank you!”

“If you hadn’t shown up, in a few months I would’ve become the True Creator’s vessel. At that point, I’d be no different from dead.”

He pulled the bone sword from his chest and said regretfully:

“Too bad I can’t take it with me. You’d track me down immediately.”

Once the sword was removed, the exaggerated wound didn’t bleed. The missing part didn’t seem to belong to Lanevus.

He placed a hand on his chest and bowed to the three Nighthawks.

“The airship crew will recover soon. I can’t stay.”

“Thank you, truly. You’re foolish, but you helped me. That’s your honor.”

Straightening up, he smirked: “Goodbye, foolish Nighthawks.”

Cesimir remained kneeling, pale as paper, blood dripping from his eye. His expression didn’t change. He stared coldly at the madman who had bargained with a god, watching him grip the Goddess’s bone sword and raise it to strike.

Clang!

The sword collided with a gold-trimmed cane—blocked.

What’s going on?

Cesimir stared at the man in the top hat and red gloves who had stepped in front of him. Calmly holding the cane, his dark eyes gleamed with amusement.

The divine pressure had knocked out the Aurora Order guards watching him—yet it hadn’t affected him at all?

Lanevus had no time to think. His limbs went weak, his eyelids heavy. A wave of sleep threatened to drown him. He bit his tongue hard, the pain barely keeping him conscious.

Escape!

That was his only thought. In his current state, he couldn’t fight a Nightmare or higher-sequence Beyonder. He had to flee.

Twisting his body unnaturally, he hurled the bone sword at the unconscious Soest and bolted toward the corridor, leaping out the window of the brick-red building.

Klein calmly snapped his fingers. A thick layer of frost enveloped the sword, halting its flight and pulling it to the ground.

“Not chasing him?” Cesimir asked.

Klein shook his head. His puppet was a Zmanger gang criminal—a mere mortal with no Beyonder powers. Immune to divine pressure only because he lacked a mind, spirituality, and fear. All supernatural abilities came from Creeping Hunger. If Lanevus had been bolder, he could’ve killed the puppet easily—just sever the right hand.

But Lanevus didn’t have time to figure that out. Nor could he afford to take risks surrounded by the Church of Evernight.

Escape was his best option.

This was the plan Klein and Leonard had agreed on long ago. When the True Creator’s aura erupted, Leonard would hide while Pallez stole the residual influence. Once Lanevus was cleansed, Klein would use the puppet and Leonard’s Nightmare powers to scare him off—avoiding a battle in a building full of civilians. Lanevus would flee along a divined route—straight into Leonard’s trap.

The former Nighthawk smiled.

“Leonard is waiting for him.”

---

Tap tap tap—hurried footsteps echoed in the dark sewer.

Since arriving in Backlund, Lanevus had rehearsed many escape plans. Most involved navigating the sewer system. But the Church of Evernight had arrived too early—before he could finalize his route.

He raced through the darkness, trying to recall the path.

Nightmares could drag people into dreams within a certain range. He had to get out of the union’s area.

Suddenly, he stopped and swung a punch behind him. He missed—but his arm was lifted, his shoulder grabbed, and his ankle kicked. A powerful force slammed him to the ground.

Water splashed. Lanevus tried to resist. His flesh writhed, ready to escape—but sleep overtook him again.

A Nightmare!

Another one?!

They were too close. His depleted spirituality couldn’t resist. Darkness engulfed him. The water beneath him surged, turning into countless black baby-sized hands. They clawed at his skin, trying to burrow inside. Shrill cries and laughter echoed around him.

His abdomen swelled painfully—something inside wanted to burst out.

He tried to resist with the True Creator’s blessing, but the hands multiplied. The cries grew louder.

Leonard watched the writhing figure beneath him.

“You want to use him?” he asked, disgusted.

“Better than nothing,” Klein replied.

Frugality was a virtue. Sequence 8 of the Marauder pathway had no special powers—feeding it to Creeping Hunger was a waste. But it had spirituality. With Creeping Hunger, it could be a minor asset. And Klein’s level allowed his puppet to use some of his powers. Sequence 8 was better than a normal human.

The man stopped struggling—like a puppet with cut strings. Moments later, he regained control. He crawled from the water, his face reshaping into a new one: black hair, black eyes, sharp and cold features.

Leonard stared at the face.

“Is this your real appearance?”

He instinctively doubted it. Otherwise, The Fool wouldn’t have hidden it all this time.

Klein looked down at his soaked clothes, frowned at the lack of a proper hat, and said:

“Appearance means nothing to a Faceless. Poet, you may call this face—‘Gehrman Sparrow.’”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

24.

Leonard was toweling his hair as he walked out of the bathroom—just in time to see sections of white bone erupting from the floor like a fountain, forming the skeleton of a massive creature. The thing bent slightly and reached toward the man sitting at the desk.

Leonard was momentarily horrified, nearly breaking into a chant. But then he saw The Fool turn his head calmly and place a letter and two yellow-stained feathers into the enormous skeletal hand.

The hand grasped the items, then disintegrated into bone fragments and sank back into the floor.

Leonard opened his mouth, took a moment to find his voice, and asked,

“What was that?”

“Mr. Azik’s messenger,” Klein explained, pointing to the copper whistle on the desk.

“Beyonders can use rituals to contract with spirit world creatures as messengers, allowing faster communication via the spirit world.”

They had just visited a rather unorthodox Ancient Feysac teacher and dug up a coffin buried in his garden to retrieve some yellow-stained feathers and a copper whistle.

Leonard had wielded the shovel, sleeves rolled up, while Gehrman stood back, watching silently—and even gave him a couple of judgmental looks. Leonard felt oddly guilty, though he didn’t know why.

“Can I use it too?” Leonard asked, intrigued by the whistle.

“You can,” Klein replied.

“But your sequence is still too low. I suggest waiting until you reach Sequence 6.”

Seeing Leonard’s curiosity, Klein handed him the whistle.

“It’s a simple mystical item—used to replace the ritual for summoning a messenger.”

As soon as Leonard held it, a strange chill spread from the whistle. He dried his hair with one hand while examining the plain-looking item, but quickly lost interest. He placed it back on the desk and casually touched his still-damp hair, his gaze drifting to The Fool still seated at the desk.

The Fool. Zhou Mingrui. Gehrman Sparrow. Klein.

How could one person have so many names?

But this didn’t contradict his theory: The Fool was Klein—but not entirely. He was Klein after June 28. Before that, he might have been Zhou Mingrui, The Fool, or Gehrman Sparrow.

“What is it?” Klein noticed Leonard staring at him, as if he had something to say. He set aside the novel he was reading—Wuthering Heights (he’d forgotten the plot long ago, so it was a good time to reread)—and looked at Leonard inquisitively.

Leonard didn’t answer. He reached out and touched Klein’s hand resting on the desk, then poked his cheek.

The way he did it—like inspecting a store display—left Klein stunned. He narrowed his eyes in warning, silently telling Leonard to stop before he lost his head. But Leonard ignored the signal and even pinched his cheek with two fingers.

(Thanks to Lanevus’s body being taller and heavier than Klein’s, Gehrman’s face now had some pinchable flesh.)

Just as Klein’s killing intent was about to overflow, Leonard finally let go.

“Feels weird,” Leonard said, surprised.

“It’s warm.”

“It’s Lanevus’s body,” Klein reminded him, glancing at the hand that had just tried to grab his wrist.

Leonard awkwardly withdrew his hand. He looked at Gehrman’s cold face, his fingers twitching again. He couldn’t help but feel that beneath this face was the gentle, calculating Seer from Tingen.

Klein narrowed his eyes and warned,

“At the next Tarot meeting, I’ll attend as ‘The World.’ Don’t say anything inappropriate.”

He paused, then added,

“No touching. No kicking.”

“You’re switching identities for the Tarot Club?” Leonard asked curiously.

“But aren’t you The Fool?”

“The Fool can’t do everything. It’s easier to interact with you all under a normal identity.”

Klein picked up the novel again and glanced at him.

“Not everyone is like you—saying whatever comes to mind.”

Leonard leaned back and said,

“You seem a lot grumpier than yesterday.”

Before switching puppets, Klein had been polite and responsive. Now he was suddenly cold and snappy.

“Every puppet needs a persona,” Klein said, adjusting his newly purchased gold-rimmed glasses.

“Gehrman Sparrow happens to be a cold, mad adventurer—not your personal nanny.”

Pallez snorted in Leonard’s mind—either mocking him for needing a nanny or mocking Klein for not facing reality.

Leonard leaned on the desk and looked at Gehrman, whose bangs fell slightly over his forehead. He didn’t look as distant as he claimed.

“What about The Fool? Does he have a persona too?” Leonard asked.

“Of course,” Klein replied without looking up.

“Mr. Fool is a mysterious and benevolent ancient god in the process of awakening. You should treat him with more respect.”

After reading the holy texts, this level of self-description no longer embarrassed Klein.

The Fool was The Fool. Gehrman was Gehrman. Klein was Klein.

The Lord of Mysteries, juggling puppets, avatars, and aliases, thought:

As long as I’m not embarrassed, no one else can be embarrassed for me.

Leonard curled his lip.

“So which one is the real you?” he asked.

“Do I know the real you?”

Klein paused mid-page. He looked up. Leonard was half-sitting on the desk, backlit by winter sunlight. The light outlined his white shirt in a warm golden glow. His damp hair hung around his ears and shoulders, water droplets trailing down his jaw and neck, leaving transparent streaks on his collar.

The poet lowered his head slightly, eyes lifted, his clear green gaze fixed on Klein—waiting for an answer.

“Of course.”

Maintaining each persona had become second nature. Klein smiled awkwardly—not quite a “Gehrman” smile.

Then the smile sharpened into a classic Gehrman-style smirk.

“Otherwise, you’d already be in the divine kingdom meeting the Goddess.”

Ding ding!

The doorbell rang, breaking their silent stare.

Leonard blinked and looked toward the door, confused. He didn’t know many people in Backlund, and his newspaper was delivered in the morning. Who would ring his bell now?

Klein looked too.

“Mrs. Anderson,” he said.

Mrs. Anderson lived at No. 9 Pinster Street. In her forties, she lived alone and was very sociable—she knew everyone on the street. (Klein had once chuckled at the coincidence of her name.)

Leonard met her on his first day moving in. She seemed to take a special interest in the handsome, stable young man—bringing him cakes and cookies, inviting him over, and trying to introduce him to eligible women. Leonard had declined twice, citing work, but her enthusiasm was overwhelming. He even started asking Klein for divinations before leaving home to avoid running into her.

Leonard’s face fell.

He dragged his feet to the door and opened it under the persistent ringing.

“Long time no see, Mr. Mitchell,” Mrs. Anderson said, with her maid Annie behind her. Annie wore a white-laced sunhat and held a long-haired black cat.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days. This morning, Annie said she saw you return with another gentleman—I could hardly believe it.”

Leonard scratched his hair.

“Sorry, my work hours are irregular. I’m often not home.”

Klein heard them mention him and walked to the door out of courtesy.

“Busy with work is good. A stable job makes it easier to start a family,” Mrs. Anderson said warmly. She turned to Klein.

“Is this your friend?”

“Yes,” Leonard replied, glancing at Klein, bewildered.

“He’ll be staying with me for a few days.”

“Gehrman Sparrow,” Klein said, extending his hand.

Mrs. Anderson shook it and smiled.

“Mr. Mitchell’s friends are all such handsome young men. I wonder if I might invite you both to a gathering this Sunday afternoon at my home. It’ll be neighbors and a few friends.”

She looked back at Leonard.

“You’ve turned me down so many times. Will our busy man be free this time?”

Leonard looked awkward, unsure how to refuse.

Then came a soft whoosh—like butterfly wings. A glint of light caught Mrs. Anderson’s eye. She saw a gold pound coin flipping in the air, caught by a slender hand.

Mr. Gehrman Sparrow glanced at the coin and answered for Leonard:

“He’s free. We’ll be there.”

Mrs. Anderson beamed.

She took two invitations from her maid and handed them directly to Gehrman.

“Mr. Mitchell works so hard, lives alone, no maid—it must be inconvenient. There’ll be many unmarried ladies at the party. Making friends is always good.”

Though she tried to soften the message, it was clearly another matchmaking attempt. Klein pressed his lips together, barely holding back a laugh. Middle-aged women without jobs seemed to love matchmaking—especially when Leonard’s face was such a rare commodity.

But Klein hadn’t accepted the invitation just to tease Leonard or throw him into a dating party. When Mrs. Anderson invited them, Klein’s spirituality had stirred.

Mrs. Anderson continued discussing the party. Leonard’s smile was barely holding up. He took the invitations and nodded repeatedly to send her off.

After closing the door, Leonard stared resentfully at the culprit.

“Why did you say yes?”

The gold coin flipped in Klein’s fingers, then was caught. He showed it to Leonard and raised an eyebrow.

“My divination says something good will happen there.”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

25.

Leonard Mitchell stood by the long table filled with food, holding a glass of red wine handed to him by Gehrman. He leaned against the table’s edge, barely maintaining a polite but awkward smile. Several well-dressed, refined-looking ladies surrounded him, asking questions about the Church. Each claimed to be a devout follower of the Goddess—understandable, given Pinster Street’s proximity to Saint Samuel’s Cathedral in the North District—but Gehrman could tell they were far more interested in Leonard’s face.

Gehrman Sparrow wisely kept his distance, wistfully eyeing the food on the table—pan-seared salmon, chicken pie, red wine foie gras, ham, pastries, pudding, cheese, and all kinds of small cakes. If he were still Sherlock in Backlund, he could’ve feasted unnoticed behind Leonard, who was attracting all the attention. But back then, he was avoiding the Church of Evernight. If he and Leonard had attended the same party, he probably wouldn’t have even dared step inside.

A pity, Klein thought.

Seeing the crowd around Leonard growing, Klein decided to play the part of a proper guest and walked toward the balcony with a glass of champagne. Mrs. Anderson’s house had a beautifully maintained garden behind it, and from the balcony, one could admire the blooming chrysanthemums. Elegant drapes hung on either side of the balcony, and as Klein approached, he noticed two people already standing there. They were about to step out and nearly bumped into him.

The lady gasped, and before the sound faded, a hand reached out to steady her wine glass.

“Careful,” Gehrman said, his gaze falling on the couple—and briefly, subtly, on the woman’s belly.

“Thank you,” said the tall, slender man with gold-rimmed glasses. He tightened his arm around his wife’s shoulders and nodded in thanks.

Klein smiled faintly and extended his hand.

“Gehrman Sparrow. May I ask your names?”

“Aaron Ceres,” the man replied.

So this was where he'd meet the adoptive father of the Snake of Mercury.

Klein now understood why his spiritual intuition had urged him to attend this party. He adjusted his glasses. Was this the Fate pathway at work? Auto-correcting destiny, guiding him through the chaos to the right person?

“My wife, Wilma Gladys.”

The beautiful black-haired woman smiled and nodded at Klein.

“Mrs. Anderson is my aunt.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Klein said, adjusting his top hat.

“I’m temporarily staying in this neighborhood.”

He gestured toward Leonard, still surrounded by ladies and clearly visible due to his height.

“That’s my friend and landlord, Leonard Mitchell. He works for the Church of Evernight.”

He said this because he knew Aaron was a follower of the Goddess. When his luck inevitably turned, he’d likely pray to Her. Knowing a Church of Evernight cleric would make it more likely he’d seek Leonard’s help—especially with the Snake of Mercury’s influence.

“Really?” Wilma asked with interest.

“Is he a priest?”

“Not exactly,” Klein replied mysteriously. “His work is complicated. The Church requires confidentiality.”

As expected, this only made her more curious. Even Aaron looked intrigued.

“I’ve read Ms. Fors’s novels,” Wilma said, half-joking, half-probing.

“In them, the Church trains knights who fight evil and protect the faith.”

Klein’s mouth twitched slightly.

What kind of novels has Fors written? Paladins and evil witches? Noble princess love stories?

“I don’t know the details,” he chuckled.

“If you’re curious, you should ask him yourself.”

Having irresponsibly passed Leonard off, Klein prepared to leave like a proper passerby. But just before he did, he added:

“The ice cream at the party is quite good.”

---

Elsewhere, Ikanser Bernard sat at a long table in a dim corner of a tavern. The tavern owner was the wife of a member of the Church of Steam and Machinery’s Machinery Hivemind squad, so it was often used for meetings and contact points.

Because they had an important operation coming up, only lemon water sat on the table—no alcohol. His teammates were less patient, glancing at their watches and waiting anxiously.

“I heard only two people are coming to cooperate this time,” said Carlson.

“The Red Gloves have a similar team structure—about five members per squad. Why only two?”

“Why do you care?” Connie downed half a glass of lemon water like it was vodka and slammed the glass down.

“Just curious,” Carlson muttered.

“It is a bit strange,” another teammate chimed in.

“I heard the Church of Evernight initiated this joint operation. They seem to have found some clues.”

“Doesn’t matter. As long as we catch that demon, it’s a win.”

Just then, Ikanser stood up. The Machinery Hivemind members followed suit, turning toward the tavern entrance. Two tall men had just entered, scanning the room before locking eyes on their corner.

Ikanser stepped forward and extended his hand.

“Captain Ikanser Bernard, Machinery Hivemind squad.”

“Leonard Mitchell, Red Glove, Church of Evernight.”

The man on the left had striking green eyes and a casual, simple outfit. His shoulder-length hair was slightly messy, but he was handsome—cover-model handsome.

He gestured to the man beside him.

“My friend, Gehrman Sparrow.”

The man on the right wore a sharp, tailored suit and a dark hat. His gaze was piercing, his face cold and stern—more bounty hunter than official Beyonder.

Ikanser studied them briefly, then said,

“I hear you’ve found new leads on the ‘demon’ and need our help.”

The man in the hat nodded and gestured toward their seats.

“Let’s talk over there.”

They sat in the corner. The Machinery Hivemind members instinctively shifted inward, leaving half the sofa open. But the two men still sat shoulder to shoulder.

Leonard’s gaze swept the table, taking in the Church of Steam and Machinery’s Beyonders. His eyes stopped at a silver mirror near Ikanser’s hand. The mirror had black gem-like decorations on either side, resembling eyes. It looked very much like the question-loving mirror Klein had shown him before.

“Interested in the mirror?” Connie asked cheerfully.

Before Leonard could answer, Ikanser flipped the mirror over and glared at his mischievous teammate.

“Sorry,” he said to the Church of Evernight guests.

“It’s a Sealed Artifact from our Church. Not very dangerous, but not exactly friendly either.”

Leonard remembered the mirror’s fawning behavior during Klein’s demonstration. He couldn’t relate to ‘unfriendly,’ but he knew that evil and danger were the norm for Sealed Artifacts.

“Fair enough,” he shrugged.

“I doubt any Sealed Artifact is truly friendly.”

Gehrman smirked silently and turned to Ikanser, cutting straight to the point.

“There are two culprits behind the serial murders. More precisely, one person and one hound.”

Ikanser frowned.

“You mean a Beyonder animal is involved?”

He didn’t ask how Gehrman knew. Different pathways had different ways of gathering intel. The Machinery Hivemind squad had struggled due to the enemy’s anti-divination and anti-detection abilities, but that didn’t mean others couldn’t succeed. In mysticism, with enough power, anything was possible.

Gehrman nodded.

“A Sequence 6 Devil hound and its master—a Sequence 5 Apostle of Desire. I need your help staging a scene.”

He pulled out a small pouch and poured out two black hairs.

Earlier, they had changed faces and wandered Edward Street in the Western District for three days. After much effort, they finally found a few of the black dog’s hairs. Turns out even Beyonder animals shed.

“I know their next target,” Klein said.

“I’ll kill the hound and become it. You’ll chase me.”

The Abyss pathway had strong precognition against fatal threats. Klein’s level and Sefirah Castle’s help could block that. He and Leonard would pose as prey, using Nightmare and Marionettist abilities to quickly turn the Devil hound into a puppet. But if Klein tried to infiltrate its master’s side as the dog, he wasn’t confident he wouldn’t be discovered.

Better to keep him too busy to notice.

A drink with two lemon slices was handed to Klein. He turned and saw Leonard sipping through a straw, looking completely at ease. Klein took a sip—sweet, minty, and surprisingly good.

He set the glass down and looked at Ikanser.

“The operation is in three days. I need the Desire Apostle’s corpse and Beyonder characteristic. The rest is yours. I’ll also give you intel on a Fourth Epoch noble tomb.”

“It belongs to the Amon family.”

-tbc-

Chapter Text

26.

Audrey opened her eyes above the gray fog and, out of habit, first glanced at the mottled bronze long table. Now a Sequence 8 of the Spectator pathway, she froze for a moment, her greeting faltering slightly—she nearly forgot what she was supposed to say.

There were two new members seated at the table!

One sat on the same side as her, shorter in stature—likely a woman. The other sat at the far end of the table.

In the first three months of the Tarot Club’s formation, aside from herself and Mr. Hanged Man, Mr. Fool had only brought in the Sun as a new member. But in the past three weeks, four new members had joined. What did this mean? Audrey couldn’t help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement. Had Mr. Fool’s plans changed? Was the Tarot Club entering a phase of expansion or stepping into the official spotlight?

“Let me introduce ‘The World’ and ‘Judgment,’” Mr. Fool said, tapping the table.

Xio Derecha instinctively looked up, joining the others in glancing at the hazy figure at the end of the table. He sat upright, tall, wearing a top hat—not the black cat form she had seen before. Xio’s posture was stiff, her body tense. She quickly looked away.

Three days ago, after helping Mr. Star locate Lanevus, she received the promised potion formula that night. So when that being asked if she was willing to join a secret gathering, she hesitated for a long time—but ultimately agreed.

I’ve already been watched, she thought. There’s no point hiding.

Just like in Fors’s novels—the scarier the crisis, the greater the reward.

Still, her first time attending a secret gathering before such a powerful being left her nervous and unsure. She instinctively observed everyone, trying to find someone to mimic—when in unfamiliar territory, copying experienced people was usually safe.

She wanted to find Mr. Star, someone she had interacted with and who seemed favored by Mr. Fool. But after scanning the table, she couldn’t find anyone who looked like him.

Closest to Mr. Fool sat a man and a woman. For the first half-minute, they kept glancing at her and at Mr. World, the other apparent newcomer. After Mr. Fool introduced their codenames, both focused intently on Mr. World.

Three seats down from The World sat a tall man with short brownish-yellow hair. He hadn’t looked around at all—just stared at Mr. Fool.

Two seats further was an older gentleman sitting perfectly upright, not glancing anywhere. His posture was so rigid it felt unnatural. Next to him sat the only person leaning back casually in his chair—a man with shoulder-length black hair and lake-green eyes. His demeanor was the closest to Mr. Star’s.

Maybe what I saw that day was a disguise, Xio thought.

Just like the black cat was Mr. World’s disguise.

At the end of the table, wrapped in thick gray fog, the man noticed everyone staring but didn’t speak. Instead, he broke the silence:

“I need the main eye of a Bizarro Bane or Shapeshifter. Clues are also acceptable. I can pay with equivalent potion formulas, mysticism knowledge, or Beyonder characteristics.”

Bizarro Bane? Shapeshifter?

The Hanged Man, Justice, and Judgment exchanged glances. These were unfamiliar, high-level materials. But more striking than the request was the range of payment offered. Mr. World’s offer was so broad—did it mean he was confident he could provide any formula or characteristic requested? Any knowledge?

Only Mr. Fool could make such a promise, The Hanged Man thought, frowning. He glanced at Mr. Fool, whose expression hadn’t changed. ‘The World’ was one of the codenames Mr. Fool had reserved from the beginning. Maybe he truly was blessed—and dared to offer such terms because Mr. Fool stood behind him.

Derrick, The Sun, didn’t think too deeply. He simply noted the names and planned to check City of Silver’s records later.

Alger cautiously asked,

“What level of material is that?”

He wasn’t just trying to fulfill the request—he wanted to gauge The World’s Sequence.

World chuckled softly.

“Main ingredient of a Sequence 4 potion.”

Sequence 4!

Everyone except Leonard and Pallez was stunned. That was the threshold of high Sequence—the level of a demigod.

“You may trade with me for Sequence 4 potion formulas of your pathway, certain materials, high-level mysticism knowledge, or…”

The World turned to Derrick.

“Supplies and equipment urgently needed by the City of Silver.”

Derrick’s eyes lit up. He nodded vigorously.

Mr. World knew about City of Silver from the start.

Alger realized: ‘The World’ and ‘The Star’ were likely Mr. Fool’s blessed. They might even know each other. After all, Mr. Fool wouldn’t tutor a blessed individually.

He also realized that for The Sun, trade items weren’t limited to potions and materials—they could include things that helped all of City of Silver. And the Chief, whom Derrick had mentioned before, might also be able to pay. But buying large quantities of food or goods could attract unwanted attention. Sacrificing and transferring so many items via Mr. Fool might be considered sacrilegious. It needed careful planning.

As Alger pondered, Mr. Star cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

The young man who seemed both an official Beyonder and a blessed sat up straighter and said:

“Lanevus is dead.”

Since he had posted the task earlier, Leonard felt he should report the outcome.

“The Aurora Order left a remnant of the True Creator in Lanevus, hoping to use the resentment, despair, and death in Backlund’s Eastern District, docks, and factory areas to nourish the True Creator’s descent.”

Leonard explained the situation and the conditions in Backlund’s slums. He had discussed this with Mr. Fool beforehand. One reason was to help the Tarot Club members—especially Audrey, from a noble background—see the realities of different social classes. This would help her make informed choices in the future. Another reason was to help them understand divine-level conflicts and the current situation. The Tarot Club would become Klein’s largest intelligence network and sharpest weapon. Each member would play a crucial role in the apocalypse.

After Leonard finished, miss Judgment added her knowledge of the Eastern District. Audrey, who had never heard such things, was both moved and shocked. She also noticed something familiar in miss Judgment’s tone and mannerisms.

Xio Derecha.

Using her Spectator powers, Audrey quickly identified the new member.

Mr. Fool completed her evaluation so quickly?

Maybe she had participated in the Lanevus operation and contributed—prompting Mr. Fool to invite her.

As Audrey thought this, Judgment spoke:

“Mr. Fool,” she said, rising and bowing respectfully like Justice did before.

“I’ve thought it through. I accept your proposal.”

“Good,” Mr. Fool nodded, saying no more.

Judgment sat back down and exhaled slowly.

Three days ago, when Mr. Fool gave her the Sheriff formula, he also proposed a new deal. He wanted her to continue seeking the formula at Mr. A’s gatherings. When the deal was made, the seller would approach her, offering the Arbiter’s follow-up formula and materials in exchange for her becoming their informant.

They were MI9 agents, Mr. Fool said.

He wanted her to accept, pass their evaluation, and officially join MI9.

The reward: the Sheriff’s main potion ingredient.

It was clearly a request to become an MI9 mole.

But Judgment had already planned to approach MI9 and the nobility to investigate her father’s case.

“You can ask Mr. Star for the funds to buy the formula,” Mr. Fool added.

Leonard looked up, nearly blurting out “Huh?” but swallowed it. He forced a polite nod toward Judgment.

Mr. Fool chuckled silently. He tapped the table, drawing everyone’s attention.

“I have a long-term commission for you all.”

He paused, then said:

“I want you to watch for any signs of the blasphemer Amon around you.”

An image appeared in the center of the table. The man wore a pointed soft hat and a black classical robe. His hair was slightly curly, forehead broad, eyes black. A crystal monocle sat over his right eye. He smiled at the viewer and pinched the edge of the monocle with two fingers. Then he transformed—into a crow, a black cat, a mouse… all with a white ring of run around their eyes.

“He may look like this, or like a bird, a dog, a cat, an ant. He can appear anywhere, as anyone.”

“If you spot him, don’t stare. Don’t react unnaturally. Wait until you’re safe, then pray to me. I’ll pay you with any knowledge you want.”

“If you’re worried you can’t hide your reaction, ask Mr. Temperance to steal your memory and return it at the start of each Tarot meeting.”

Pallez glanced at Mr. Fool, finally understanding his role here.

But since it was about Amon, he didn’t mind the trouble.

“Mr. Fool,” Alger asked cautiously,

“May I ask what level Amon is?”

Mr. Fool leaned back.

“King of Angels. Just below the gods. In some domains, he’s even more unpredictable than gods.”

Silence fell. Members who had never heard of a King of Angels exchanged stunned looks.

“Consider this an advance payment,” Mr. Fool said with a chuckle.

He tapped the table again and added:

“You should know that above Sequence 1 is Sequence 0. Amon is only one-fourth away from godhood.”

He looked at that remaining fourth—Mr. Pallez Zoroast

Pallez’s throat moved, as if he wanted to say something disrespectful.

“The only clue so far is that he appeared in Backlund within the past month.”

And likely hasn’t left, Klein thought.

With Sefirah Castle, the Lord of Mysteries, and Pallez all here, the laws of Beyonder Characteristic Convergence would draw Amon’s avatars like magnets.

Before Amon’s true body finds him, Klein hoped to finish preparing the Bizarro Sorcerer potion and find two suitable puppets.

If Little Sun couldn’t provide the Shapeshifter’s Main Eye in time, he might have to ask the Goddess for a backdoor deal.

-tbc-

Chapter Text

27.

“Do we really have to do this?” Leonard stood beside a simple wooden bed, glancing around the small but tidy apartment. It was located in the university district under the jurisdiction of the Machinery Hivemind, where property prices weren’t cheap, but the environment was far better than the Eastern District or the docks.

The apartment’s owner—a gentle-looking woman with long brown hair—and a seven- or eight-year-old boy lay asleep on the bed beside him. The Lord of Mysteries’ protection ensured they wouldn’t be discovered and would pass the night safely.

This time, the Devil hound’s target was Sherry Follett, a technical school lecturer. Twenty-eight years old, single mother. Years ago, when she was struggling financially, she had worked as a streetwalker for a few years. But after finding a stable job and leaving that chaotic neighborhood, she gradually shed her past. Now, few people knew about that chapter of her life.

She had a small apartment, a child, and a job with modest pay but enough to support them. Just by looking, no one would guess she’d be the serial killer’s next target.

“I thought this required some kind of… mysticism assistance?” Leonard gestured vaguely.

“Of course it does,” Klein replied, trying not to laugh.

The boy was too young, and the Faceless ability couldn’t shrink the puppet below 1.5 meters due to mass conservation. So Klein had placed the puppet farther away. Honestly, after tonight, Lanevus’s body was no longer useful—only the Sequence 8 Beyonder characteristic might fetch a price. But who would willingly walk the path of Amon’s snack stash?

“You can’t expect the Devil hound to be blind and not tell male from female.”

Leonard scratched his head with his gloved hand and sighed. In the next moment, countless flesh buds sprouted from his body, writhing rapidly. Soon, his height shrank, his black hair lightened and lengthened, and his green eyes faded to a soft brown. His pants now hung loose, and his shirt bulged slightly at the chest.

“Ahem.” Klein coughed, watching Leonard casually unbutton his shirt, revealing his bare chest. He closed his eyes and retreated to the gray fog.

This poet really doesn’t treat me like an outsider, Klein thought.

If they were still their original genders, they’d be in separate changing rooms at the bathhouse. This was just indecent. And Pallez was here too. Surely he had some sense of propriety? Not looking at what one shouldn’t was the basic virtue of a gentleman.

Seeing Leonard bend down to remove his pants, The Fool irritably tapped the edge of the long table. Half a second later, he extended his hand and pulled Mr. Temperance up into the gray fog.

Pallez opened his eyes, surprised. He glanced at The Fool, who was staring blankly at the table. Just as he was about to speak, he seemed to realize something, closed his mouth, and joined The Fool in silently facing the wall.

Once Leonard had calmly changed into the prepared women’s clothing, The Fool returned to reality.

“The chest seems a bit small,” Leonard said, now fully in mission mode. He cupped his modest chest and glanced at the sleeping woman, comparing from a distance.

“Try the drawer,” Klein cleared his throat.

“There might be padding.”

“Padding?” Leonard repeated, confused. He’d never heard the term.

“It’s something women use to… enhance their chest…”

Klein’s voice trailed off. He paused, deciding to skip the explanation and just buy Leonard a book on women’s fashion later.

“Just check the drawer. I’ll guide you.”

Leonard silently apologized to Ms. Follett and opened the drawer beneath the wardrobe. Following Klein’s instructions, he found what he needed among the lingerie and managed to fill out the outfit.

He checked himself in the mirror, tied his brown hair into a ponytail, and finally relaxed.

The appearance was set. Now came the mystical grafting.

Back in Sefirah Castle, Klein pushed a box toward Pallez.

“I’ll need your help with the rest,” he said.

“Please steal the woman’s fate and transfer it to Leonard. It doesn’t need to last long. You can keep the remaining power as payment.”

Pallez opened the box. Inside was another Worm of Time, sourced from Amon.

He chuckled and closed the box.

“I’m starting to look forward to Amon’s avatars showing up.”

But Klein shook his head.

“I’ve been watching Leonard closely since that day,” he said.

From Sefirah Castle, he could see if anyone near Leonard had been possessed or had their fate stolen by Amon.

“I haven’t seen any suspicious signs.”

That wasn’t good news.

According to the Law of Beyonder Characteristics Convergence, they should’ve crossed paths with Amon by now. The fact that they hadn’t likely meant Amon was deliberately avoiding them. Which meant… they were already being watched.

---

Meanwhile, Ikanser and the entire Machinery Hivemind squad sat fully armed around a long table in the lounge, waiting. Ikanser occasionally glanced at the silver mirror beside him but didn’t pick it up.

Around 11 PM, a sudden explosion shattered the silence. The team jumped to their feet, eyes on their captain.

“Let’s go,” Ikanser said, grabbing the mirror and stuffing it into his bag. “Stick to the plan.”

The sound came from just two blocks away. The squad had a steam-powered vehicle ready. The four-wheeled beast roared through the empty streets, reaching the scene in seconds.

Ikanser leaned out the window, aiming a silver pistol engraved with the Church’s emblem at a massive black shadow in the distance.

Bang!

A burst of fire erupted from the muzzle. The custom bullet struck the shadow’s front paw. It dodged and fled into a narrow alley. Carlson slammed the brakes. Amid screeching tires, the squad disembarked swiftly, weapons ready.

“Connie, stay here,” Ikanser said, pointing to a woman collapsed against the wall. He followed the blood trail toward the fleeing Devil hound, the squad close behind.

From arrival to departure, only four or five seconds had passed.

Connie knelt beside the fallen woman, checking for injuries. But as soon as she touched her, the woman pushed herself up. Her long hair was disheveled, her sleeve torn in three places, blood flowing freely.

Connie tried to help, but then noticed something odd—three bulges under the woman’s shirt, clearly misaligned. She froze as the woman casually reached into her shirt and adjusted the padding, then tore off her tattered sleeve and expertly bandaged the wound.

A second later, she stood and sprinted after the squad—faster than any of them.

“Old man.”

Leonard ran through the night wind, his long hair streaming behind him. His Faceless-transformed body lacked muscle, making movement awkward. But he had no time to change clothes. Reverting to his male form would tear the outfit—and running naked wasn’t an option.

“Can you see what’s happening?”

The blood trail led to a dead end. A few drops and messy footprints marked the wall. Leonard didn’t stop. He jumped, grabbed the low wall’s edge, and vaulted over with agility.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about your Fool,” Pallez snorted in his ear.

“If he really was your colleague from your dreams, that’s even scarier. You’re Sequence 7—he could eat you alive.”

A Lord of Mysteries who might’ve reversed time and lived twice. Pallez thought cooperation and reverence were necessary, but getting too close was just asking for trouble.

Who hugs the sun?

Leonard ran through another alley. The path looked familiar. He and 'Gehrman' had spent nearly three days here, searching every corner for the black dog. Even if he hadn’t recognized Klein in Gehrman’s face, even if The Fool insisted Gehrman had his own persona, Leonard had still seen through the Faceless disguise to the gentle, sharp, slightly mischievous Seer beneath.

‘That’s Klein.’ Leonard had thought.

What’s there to be afraid of? That’s Klein.

-tbc-

Chapter Text

28.

The Machinery Hivemind squad’s pursuit of the Devil hound jolted Patrick Jason from his sleep.

He had no time to curse that mindless beast charging straight at his front door. Amid the maid and butler’s cries, a squad of swift yet orderly footsteps approached the master bedroom door. The door was violently broken down, and the massive Devil hound stormed in like a hurricane, followed by blazing flames and the black muzzles of guns. Patrick Jason didn’t bother hiding his identity—his body had already grown huge, with a pair of deep-gray wings wrapped in pale blue flames sprouting from his back, and a layer of dark, hard chitin appeared on his skin.

He didn’t even have time to wonder why Machinery Hivemind had struck so decisively, without any regard for collateral damage, before a storm of gunfire rained down. Without any teleportation or substitution abilities, the Desire Apostle could only curl up, using his thick, scale-like skin to block most of the attacks.

Gunshots with purifying and exorcising effects, scorching flames, and the sounds of mechanical gears turning and biting each other slowly subsided. The giant wings wrapping the Desire Apostle were covered in burnt, partially melted wounds, but these were far from fatal to a Devil—barely even bruises.

The wings suddenly spread wide. Jason’s cold gaze fixed on the official Beyonders, planning to find a breakthrough by igniting their desires and take that damned hound away to redeploy his plans. But at that moment, his head suddenly felt heavy, and even his thoughts slowed.

What was going on? His danger sense finally kicked in. Instinctively, he turned his head to look at the familiar, pitch-black hound beside him. The strange influence made even the motion of turning slow, his joints stiff, as if bound and about to become a puppet in someone else’s hands.

Beria took a full three seconds to recall a Beyonder ability—Seer Sequence 5, Marionettist. Although the Beria family had declined significantly, that knowledge had not been forgotten. He clearly remembered that this method required close proximity and uninterrupted control over the target’s spiritual threads to fully manipulate them.

He had to break the bondage before he was completely controlled. Jason Beria’s wings slowly contracted, and blue fireballs began to form on his back. The fireballs gathered slowly, but once released from Beria’s control, they darted rapidly toward the Devil hound seated there.

Several explosions rocked the area, raising dust and smoke.

None of them hit. Beria could feel no change in the force controlling his spiritual thread. Behind the dust, he saw layers of ice walls between him and the black giant hound. The ice had mostly melted under his hastily conjured flames, the surface scorched black, but it still easily covered the hound behind it.

The sound of footsteps pattering on the high-quality waxed wooden floor echoed.

He slowly turned his head to see a woman in a white blouse and linen trousers, who had appeared in front of the official Beyonders, raising her hand and snapping her fingers.

More ice walls rose, with biting cold wrapped around him, causing frost and layers of ice to form on his skin.

This couldn’t continue. Beria opened his mouth and instinctively gathered all his remaining spiritual energy to speak words filled with foulness, from the Devil language. But before a sound formed, something scrambled his mind. His mouth opened in vain, forgetting what he wanted to do. Then, a deep, lightless drowsiness like a rising tide engulfed him.

Minutes later, the over-three-meter-tall Demon with wings and ram horns stirred under the watchful eyes of Machinery Hivemind. Ikanser instinctively raised his gun, but saw the demon retract his form and gradually become a cold yet familiar young man.

He gestured slightly to the Devil hound sitting nearby. The huge beast lay down with closed eyes, its corpse rapidly decomposing, oozing a thick, blood-like viscous red-black liquid.

“Your reward.” Klein tossed the Sequence 6 Beyonder characteristic to Ikanser, who silently accepted without comment.

Hunting down and killing the serial killer was Machinery Hivemind’s duty. If Klein sought cooperation as a wild Beyonder, it was only fair he took the spoils, since the main effort was Gehrman Sparrow’s; Machinery Hivemind was only supporting. Now, using the Church of Evernight’s name, Klein was being generous to promote future cooperation between the two churches.

Ikanser understood but found the whole operation puzzling. With the mastermind’s body made into a puppet and unable to communicate, he didn’t even know how to write the report.

He waved his hand helplessly. “Thanks for your effort. We’ll handle the rest.” To the disheveled woman and Gehrman, he said, “You both should rest.”

Securing the scene, calming the public, covering up Beyonder traces, and investigating the hound’s spiritual threads for clues—tonight was going to be long for Machinery Hivemind.

---

Gehrman and Leonard walked side by side through the late-night alley. Leonard, still using Ms. Follet’s appearance, was now just slightly taller than Gehrman’s shoulder. His hands were in his pockets, and his slightly curly hair brushed against Gehrman’s arm now and then. The sensation through the sleeves was faint but impossible to ignore.

Klein thought wistfully, this was probably how young couples who just started dating felt when going out for a stroll after dinner. Sadly, the old Zhou Mingrui’s life had been so plain, full of overtime, never having experienced romance. Later, Klein only focused on finishing school and finding a good job, with no time for social or romantic life. So when it came to love, the mysterious Lord who had lived many lifetimes could only simulate and imagine it subjectively.

But tonight’s breeze was pleasant, the crimson moon hidden behind clouds—a truly comforting night.

Leonard stretched his arm high in a yawn, and the short blouse rode up, revealing large patches of pale skin.

Gehrman’s forehead twitched with veins bulging. He reached out and grabbed the hem of the blouse, pulling it down sharply.

Caught off guard, Leonard stumbled, nearly faceplanting. Luckily, the Sequence 7 instincts still remained in this seemingly frail body. Leonard twisted midair like a juggler, quickly straightened his back, maintaining the last bit of dignity and balance a Beyonder could muster. He blinked, confused, and tugged at the seemingly unfazed Gehrman. “What’s wrong?”

If not for considering Follet and Gehrman’s images, Klein would have given him a thorough eye-roll.

“If you don’t want Ms. Follet to be exposed on the streets of Backlund, you better be careful.”

Gehrman instinctively reached to push up his nonexistent gold-rimmed glasses, stopping halfway when he remembered he was using a puppet body—no glasses, no proper clothes—quietly retracting his hand.

“Oh.” Leonard seemed to realize he was using someone else’s appearance. He hurriedly adjusted his wrinkled collar and cuffs, then smoothed his messy hair, trying to make Ms. Follet look presentable.

They walked on in step, their footsteps echoing in the silent night. Klein suddenly heard Leonard say, “My Nightmare potion is almost digested.”

“So fast?” Klein was surprised. They had only been in Backlund for two weeks. When he worked hard to digest the Magician’s potion, it took two whole months. He wasn’t sure when Leonard had become a Soul Assurer but doubted it was faster.

Had he sneaked into Pallaz’ dream to act as a Nightmare? Klein couldn’t help but speculate.

“No.” Leonard seemed to know what he was going to say. He stopped walking, his expression more cautious than their chat suggested. “I’ve been watching to see if you have dreams that Nightmares can perceive.”

Although not brave enough to sneak into high-sequence dreams unannounced, Leonard was curious about whether Pallaz and The Fool dreamed, and how their dreams existed in form and state, so he had quietly observed the parasites within him.

Just as he had learned before becoming a Nightmare, Pallaz occasionally greeted him before falling asleep, every few days or once a week, for short periods. Klein wondered if high-sequence Beyonders generally needed less sleep or if the parasitic state consumed less, allowing longer wakefulness. Most times, even when not sleeping, the old man was silent unless called. Klein suspected those moments were brief naps.

But compared to Pallaz, The Fool was stranger.

Gehrman Sparrow stopped walking, turning sideways with a slight frown, puzzled by Leonard’s half-finished words. The poet in front of him still wore another’s face, dressed in women’s blouse and pants, half a head shorter than Gehrman, but his light brown eyes shone with an unrestrained seriousness and persistence, chasing something to the ends of the earth.

Klein didn’t hear the wind. A gray-black newspaper fluttered through the alley, slapping against the wall.

He admitted that assigning Leonard the poetry task had been half mischief, half a subtle hint. It gave him a way to later claim: I didn’t hide anything—you just didn’t understand the clues.

During his years of sleep, his Worms of Spirit occasionally monitored the Tarot Club and their mental states. The famous ‘007 Demonic Wolf’ was either busy hunting the Rose School of Thought or was hunched over a desk, biting his pen cap, limbs tangled like an octopus, diligently writing poetry in every corner of his room, chair, or the battlefield.

Some Worms of Spirit even tried to sneak down from Sefirah Castle during prayers to cling to Leonard.

They liked him like this.

He liked him like this.

“So?” Klein asked.

“It’s been over three months since June’s end,” Leonard said.

“But I’ve never seen you sleep.”

Klein paused, then instinctively replied in The Fool’s tone:

“Sleep isn’t necessary for high-sequence Beyonders.”

“But the old man sleeps.”

Klein tried to be modest. “He and I aren’t quite the same level.”

He added: “Besides, in Backlund, even a falling brick could hit three demigods. And Amon is lurking somewhere. Better to stay alert.”

But in Tingen, Klein thought, when only Sequence 5 Ince Zangwill was causing trouble, he didn’t sleep either.

He felt something was off—but couldn’t pinpoint it.

Before today, it had been a vague unease. Now, it felt like a thorn growing in his heart.

“You didn’t sleep for six years and still aren’t tired?” Klein muttered to himself.

He tugged at his robe. Patrik Jason Beria had been startled awake in just a robe. Though elegant and well-made, it wasn’t exactly proper attire.

“Let’s head back,” he said, glancing at Leonard still in women’s clothes.

“Or do you like dressing like this?”

Leonard paused, dazed.

“Old man,” he called out, watching Kleins’s figure continue walking. “What do you think?”

“High-sequence Beyonders—or mythical creatures—don’t need much sleep,” Pallez finally spoke.

He paused, then added with a shift in tone:

“But Mr. Fool seems… a bit too eager.”

Yes.

Leonard resumed walking under Klein’s urging. The man who always emphasized acting was now speaking to him in The Fool’s tone—through Gehrman’s face—and Leonard hadn’t even noticed.

What was he hiding?

-tbc-

Chapter Text

Chapter 29

29.

Klein sat above the gray fog, elbows resting on the bronze long table, fingers interlaced in a contemplative pose.

He had always believed that his greatest strength—and the key to his survival—was his meticulousness and caution.

When Leonard brought up the issue of sleep last night, Klein hadn’t immediately sensed anything wrong. But as he habitually reviewed the day’s events late at night, he unexpectedly noticed something off—Leonard’s hesitation and confusion had made him aware of his own unnatural behavior.

Since awakening from the battle with the Celestial Worthy, he had indeed barely slept. But that was mostly because the apocalypse was imminent, and he was busy patching barrier leaks and dealing with the infiltration of Outer Deities. There simply hadn’t been time. At his level, sleep was optional—a tool for recalling the past and preserving humanity.

After that, he returned to Tingen in 1349. Though the first three months there weren’t particularly difficult, he didn’t want to waste time sleeping. He preferred to observe that faded period of his life. Then came Backlund, where trouble arrived one after another. Staying alert was clearly the more cautious choice.

But only after Leonard’s question and his own habitual self-reflection did Klein realize: it wasn’t about lacking opportunity or having more important things to do. His instinct—or rather, his spirituality—was preventing him from sleeping.

In mysticism, for a Lord of the Spirit World, that often meant something significant.

Klein removed the yellow crystal pendant from his wrist and cautiously ruled out dream divination.

“Sleep will put me in danger.”

“Sleep will put me in danger.”

…

After repeating it seven times, he looked at the pendulum—it was rotating counterclockwise at a steady pace.

Then he tried other phrases like ‘Dreaming will put me in danger’ and ‘Staying awake will put me in danger.’ The results showed no danger either way.

That was odd—it contradicted his strong spiritual intuition. Klein thought for a moment and tried a new phrase:

“I shouldn’t use dream divination to find the cause.”

After repeating it, he opened his eyes. The pendulum was now rotating clockwise slowly—meaning that even using dream divination wouldn’t be particularly dangerous or harmful.

Klein took out a gold coin. Logic and habit told him that, given his level and the gray fog, he should perform a dream divination to uncover the anomaly—even if it involved some risk. But as he held the coin between his fingers, a strange, inexplicable instinct made his wrist feel heavy. He couldn’t bring himself to continue.

After a long hesitation, he put the coin away.

“The anomaly originates from my dream.”

His final divination still showed a clockwise rotation.

Klein’s first thought was that the Celestial had left behind some contamination or trap in his dream. But if that were the case, the result wouldn’t have been ‘no danger’.

He sighed and decided to temporarily stop investigating his sleep and dreams. Maybe when Leonard reached a higher sequence—at least demigod or angel level—he could ask him to enter his dream and take a look. Or, if the opportunity arose, he could ask the Goddess directly if She could see any traces on him.

---

At the next Monday Tarot meeting, Derrick brought expected good news: near City of Silver, there was indeed a monster called a Shapeshifter. They were skilled at setting traps and disguising themselves as others—strange and dangerous creatures living in a remote northern city-state. Only the Six-member Council had the ability to deal with them.

But City of Silver had recently discovered a new city-state ruin and a True Creator relic. The council was discussing sending people to investigate, so manpower was tight.

“Good,” Mr. World nodded.

“I can pay part of the reward in advance.”

He turned to Mr. Fool.

“May I present the item?”

Klein grimaced inwardly. It was fine at first, but with Leonard watching, the self-directed performance felt increasingly embarrassing. ‘Mr. World’  straightened his back, trying to ignore the gaze always fixed on him, and looked reverently at the god at the head of the table.

Mr. Fool nodded. A kerosene lantern appeared in front of Derrick.

“This lantern uses kerosene as fuel, burns for about 20 hours, is hard to extinguish, burns steadily, and is made of sturdy materials. Just be careful—the kerosene is highly flammable if the glass breaks.”

Derrick carefully picked up the lantern, which resembled a metal canister. He quickly understood its value to City of Silver.

“I have 20 samples. After the meeting, I can offer them via sacrifice. You can give them to the Chief for testing. I’ve also contacted an inventor who’s working on longer-lasting carbide or gas lamps.”

That inventor was, of course, Leppard. Though the principles of carbide and gas lamps weren’t complex and he wasinterested, he was currently still obsessed with bicycles and had no time to work on them for now. Klein had made sure Leonard got a share in the venture—otherwise, his salary wouldn’t even cover a few potion ingredients or mystical items.

Derrick nodded vigorously.

“Understood.”

Audrey leaned forward slightly, her gaze subtly sweeping over Mr. World and Mr. Star at the end of the table. Then she smiled and said:

“Last week, an interesting case occurred in Backlund. The victim was named Capim, rumored to be a cold-blooded and cruel human trafficker. He kept thugs, kidnapped girls, and had ties to brothels and dance halls.”

She touched her lips.

“Yesterday, he was found brutally murdered in his home. Someone infiltrated his villa, killed many of his men, and rescued numerous innocent girls from the dungeon. A Tarot deck was scattered over his corpse—two cards were stabbed into his palms: one was ‘The World,’ the other ‘The Star.’”

The Tarot card detail hadn’t been made public. It wasn’t in the newspapers. Xio had only heard about Capim’s death that morning and didn’t know the specifics. She blinked in surprise and sub-consciously looked at Mr. World and Mr. Star.

Mr. Star shifted uncomfortably and turned to Mr. World, seemingly waiting for a response.

That gesture was as good as a confirmation.

Mr. World adjusted his hat brim and chuckled.

“Yes, Mr. Star and I did it.”

The Hanged Man Alger immediately thought of many things: the two Tarot cards left behind, Mr. World and Mr. Star knowing each other from the start, his suspicion that they were blessed. It seemed this was a mission authorized—or at least permitted—by Mr. Fool, carried out in the name of the Tarot Club. Perhaps this hinted at Mr. Fool’s true purpose in creating the Club.

His heart raced. He tried to suppress his excitement and asked:

“Was there something special about Capim?”

Special enough to draw Mr. Fool’s attention.

Before he finished, Alger remembered Audrey had mentioned Capim was a human trafficker. His spirituality stirred, and he added:

“Is it related to the missing slaves in the Southern Continent colonies?”

“Yes,” Mr. World nodded, but didn’t elaborate. He turned to Xio.

“We obtained the Sheriff and Interrogator characteristics from the Capim case. After the meeting, you can perform the bestowal ritual. Mr. Fool will fulfill His promise.”

“…Arbiter pathway characteristics?” Audrey asked hesitantly.

Wasn’t that pathway controlled by the Loen royal family, military, or certain nobles?

“Capim was backed by the Augustus family,” Klein casually dropped a bombshell.

He looked at the puzzled Alger.

“The mastermind behind the Southern Continent slave disappearances is George III.”

George III. The current King of Loen.

Audrey felt like she’d been struck by lightning. She was speechless. She couldn’t believe the King of Loen was involved in such vile, cruel, and disgraceful acts—and was the mastermind.

Even Leonard hadn’t known the full details. A few days ago, Klein had told him their next target was a scumbag who trafficked girls and humans. Leonard, eager to serve justice, hadn’t asked further. Now he realized how deep the corruption ran.

“Why?” he asked.

It was the question on everyone’s mind.

Mr. Fool chuckled.

This time, Mr. World didn’t answer. Instead, Mr. Fool spoke:

“Because he wants to become a god.”

Become a god!

Mr. Fool had revealed the path to godhood at the last meeting—Sequence 0 above Sequence 1. Now, a human was trying to ascend.

To become a god—so arrogant, yet so tempting.

Alger’s thoughts raced. He guessed:

“Is human trafficking part of the ritual to reach Sequence 0?”

Mid- and high-sequence Beyonders needed unique rituals to advance. Since trafficking civilians and slaves wouldn’t help obtain potions, it likely served a ritual purpose. Or perhaps Sequence 0 required even more conditions.

Mr. Fool nodded calmly.

“The Lawyer pathway’s Sequence 0 is called the Black Emperor. The ritual requires nine massive mausoleums. The Augustus family used slaves from the Western Continent and unemployed farmers and laborers displaced by the Grain and Poor Laws to secretly build these tombs. There’s one beneath Backlund.”

Most Tarot members were native Loen citizens. Leonard, Xio, and Audrey all frowned. The first two had witnessed countless people driven to poverty and death by those laws. They instinctively rejected the idea of such a king becoming a new god.

Alger quickly realized: if Mr. Fool had authorized his blessed to kill Capim, the trafficker, then perhaps Mr. Fool opposed the birth of a new god.

Maybe Mr. Fool’s stance would be the key to stopping this conspiracy. Alger’s heart burned.

“Are we going to stop him?”

The natural question drew everyone’s gaze to Mr. Star. Though many had guessed, no one else dared ask a god so directly. But Mr. Star looked calm and sincere—not nervous at all.

Mr. Fool chuckled.

“Yes. Whether out of justice or personal reasons, I don’t want a new Black Emperor to be born—especially not this king.”

Certainly not now.

They’d face at least five angels. Even with help from Azik, Reinette, and Bernadette, Klein himself would need to become an Ancient Scholar or even a Miracle Invoker. So after Backlund’s situation settled, he’d need to visit the Forsaken Land of the Gods via the Sea of Ruins. Hopefully, he could obtain the Dark Demonic Wolf’s materials and bring out the people from Moon City and the City of Silver.

Leonard’s sequence also needed to rise. His Soul Assurer advancement request had been submitted—he just didn’t know when it would be approved.

Of course, Klein had a feeling that before that—even before setting sail—he and Amon would inevitably clash.

-tbc-