《Deus Malus [ Steampunk & Progression & Light-LitRPG ]》


 1 - Endless Fog

    ¡°Who am I?


    His gaze wandered downwards. Waves continued ebbing calmly against his ankles while a slight breeze brushed against his bare skin. His entire body was aching.


    Countless hours had passed since he had begun trudging through the mud, guided by a lonesome star which pierced through the greenish-black mist concealing everything.


    But there was nothing. Neither day nor night, only himself and this forsaken world.


    Even himself, he barely recognized. The reflection which rested beneath him was strangely foreign. His tall body was gaunt and sanguine hair cascaded down his back, so thin it occasionally swayed in the gentle breeze. Only his eyes exuded a faintly familiar sensation. They were testament that what remained hadn¡¯t been an illusion.


    Throughout his stay in this world, he had aggregated all fragments to the best of his abilities. However, piecing it back together was like trying to repair a broken mirror ¡ª once shattered, it proved futile.


    And while he beheld this haphazard aggregation, he couldn¡¯t help but feel that it was distorted. Or perhaps, he had been distorted. He couldn¡¯t put his finger on it.


    What he was sure of was that he¡¯d been an actor. After graduating with a bachelor of theater, it didn¡¯t take long for him to strike gold ¡ª the role for an indie horror movie gone viral.


    Not long thereafter, a top-agent sought him out, and under the pseudonym of his first role ¡ª Deus Malus ¡ª , he signed a contract spanning several movies based on a series of popular novels. It was the recipe for success, and he was quick to gain a cult following.


    Five years into his career, he experienced all ups and downs of the movie industry. There was an intoxicating charm to it, like a tasty fruit waiting to be plucked. However, the movie industry was rotten to the core. It was only a matter of time until the taste would turn putrid.


    The majority of his memories during this period of time were shattered until unrecognizable. It was the abuse of drugs, probably.


    And when he finally sobered up, all he cared about was bringing justice. In retrospect, he had been too reckless ¡ª his downfall was swift and merciless.


    And slowly, amidst his ambivalent recollections, the most damning thought of all crept its way into his mind. When he first awoke in this world, he didn¡¯t dare direct his gaze upon it, but now, he couldn¡¯t avert it anymore.


    All these hazy memories, what did they amount to? He couldn¡¯t remember his real name. He never ate. He tried to drink ¡ª not to quench his thirst, but a pointless attempt to maintain some sense of humanity. But there was no epiphany. Nothing.


    His breath quickened, and he halted.


    Why?


    Deus cast his gaze onto his surroundings. The greenish-black mist continued to drift by, the calm waves continued to break softly, his only friend continued to shine below, pretending all was fine, that there was hope.


    All this time, he held onto all these concepts conjured by the minds of society, deriving value from it. What did it amount to? Where did it lead him?


    His expression grew more stern as he repeated, Why?


    Beyond concepts such as expectations, morals, humanity, there is a single truth.


    His eyes locked onto the palm of his hand, clenching it into a fist.


    It¡¯s myself!


    At this point, he made a silent vow to himself. If he was ever going to escape this place, he wasn¡¯t going to be restrained anymore. He¡¯d follow rules and play roles, but only for the sake of himself. And if death obstructed him, so be it.


    All of the sudden, the wind seemed to pick up. A polyphony of countless whispers echoed from below where the star hung, varying in pitch but all piously devoted to a single cause. Although they weren¡¯t Standard English, it was still quite similar, and he could decipher it with some slight effort.


    The Unyielding Light of the New Age,This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Immediately, his eyes darted to its origin, only a couple of steps northwards, and from where subtle ripples disturbed the endless waves.


    The Apostate of Seven Kings,


    Transmuter of countless souls,


    Heed our call as we offer this soul,


    May their sacrifice amend your cord.


    The entire plane of existence trembled slightly in response as if briefly awoken from a deep slumber. The ripples had now expanded far enough to reach his knees. In its center, a wooden door slowly arose, the trembling intensifying with each inch that it did, sending shivers down his spine.


    Notwithstanding, his inaction turned into resolve and his forehead furrowed, determined to seize this opportunity. Whatever awaits me beyond this door, I¡¯ll welcome it with open arms!


    The door¡¯s trembling subsided as its surge concluded. As he didn¡¯t know how long until it¡¯d descend into the earth again, he didn¡¯t linger any longer and confidently strode towards it. It was an ordinary wooden door with a brass knob, and after closer inspection, it stood fixed by a door frame. He turned it, pushing it open and stepping inside.


    At once, he lost his footing and plunged downwards, into a world enveloped in darkness, devoid of mist, waves and stars. His entire body faced the unrelenting harshness of wind resistance. A couple of breaths in, and his stomach twisted, questioning whether the fall would be equally endless.


    Suddenly, something ¡ª strangely cold, yet unmistakably human ¡ª grabbed at his leg and slowed his fall. However, the acceleration accumulated was too great, and his body swung to the side. Another three hands grabbed ahold of his body, stabilizing it, like a centipede reaching into the sky.


    What¡¯s happening? His mind raced as he tried making sense of the situation, but to no avail. It was simply too odd.


    The next couple of minutes he could only describe as a violation, as countless hands grabbed at every inch of his body, passing him downwards.


    When he finally regained footing, a sharp pain pierced his navel. He groaned, his eyes shooting open. He was in a state of disorientation, kaleidoscopic images floating and whispers of dark figures reverberating all around him while a humid coldness clung to his skin.


    It took him a few seconds to recover, and when he did, his glance fell upon the reflection of a man slouched over his knees, his hands sprawled to the polished marble floor ornate in a whorl of red and black triangles.


    Suddenly, a throbbing sensation emerged from his navel. He bit his lips and inspected that area. Blood dripped down his gouged navel, tainting the spotless floor. He frowned deeply. Any ordinary person would''ve passed out by now, either because of the intense stress or because of blood loss.


    However, Deus was experienced in retaining mental focus in situations of extreme stress, utilizing his control over his breath and body to slow his heart rate.


    He suppressed the pain and analyzed, The chant combined with this strange situation ¡ª It¡¯s not far fetched to say I¡¯ve assumed the body of a cult¡¯s sacrifice.


    The man¡¯s age was around forty, his wavy hair grayish-brown with a stubble below. His state was in evident dishevelment, appearing sweaty and unkempt. Contrary to his physical state, his attire was much more put-together, as he donned a light-brown coat complemented by a dark waistcoat and cravat which contrasted the white shirt beneath.


    He squinched and thought, Since there¡¯s already been an outcome, it¡¯s fair to say this ritual is over. Given this body¡¯s weakened immune system, there¡¯s not much time until I¡¯ll succumb to these wounds. At most, I¡¯ll last another hour.


    It¡¯s final. When they¡¯ll disassemble, I¡¯ll flee and tend to my wounds.


    As he made up his mind, his gaze surveyed his surroundings. At his periphery, several figures murmured in an unknown language, their words echoing silently throughout the chamber. Pitch-black robes draped their bodies fully except the frontmost, whose robe parted, revealing vestments of red and gold. In his right hand, he carried a small silver dagger, its tip painted red.


    That¡¯s the leader. He immediately guessed, as the impulse to take a peek at his face grew. At this angle, he was sure to succeed, but what if they¡¯d catch him? He shuddered at this scenario, and his rationale finally won him over. I¡¯ve got to be cautious ¡ª my survival depends on this.


    Suddenly, he noticed another particularity and pondered, Why don¡¯t I understand them now, when they were easily intelligible earlier?


    With limited clues, he didn¡¯t come to a conclusion and waited. A few minutes which felt like an eternity passed until they seemed to have come to a decision and the first turned to walk up the stairs, his lengthy robe trailing behind.


    At the sight of his leave, Deus¡¯s heartbeat quickened slightly. Fabric covered his lower body, but he was sure what hid behind weren¡¯t human legs, and he regained control over his breathing as his mind raced to find the right words.


    Yes, they are gliding!


    A few breaths after the first began moving, the others followed in a wet cacophony of disturbing squishing.


    Despite the circumstances, he knew this chance was the best he had at identifying these creatures. Coupled with his curiosity, and he couldn¡¯t hold back anymore. He summoned up all his courage, and mentally prepared for what was to come.


    When his head rose slightly, the slouching immediately ceased. His heart dropped and he froze in place, instinctively holding his breath. Had they caught him? How?


    He considered what to do next, If they find out I¡¯m still alive, there¡¯s no way out¡­ My only option is to¡­


    Thud!


    Deus collapsed, his feeble body dropping onto the unforgiving floor. Beneath, a red puddle formed from which blood ran in between the marble tiles.

 2 - Run Boy Run

    He considered what to do next, If they find out I¡¯m still alive, there¡¯s no way out¡­ My only option is to¡­


    Thud!


    Deus collapsed, his feeble body dropping onto the unforgiving floor. Beneath, a red puddle formed from which blood ran in between the marble tiles.


    For a moment, an intense silence hung in the air, until a deep voice echoed through the chambers.


    ¡°Zaltra gormindis, nu virum telis.¡±


    ¡°Vor, liran¡±, a feminine voice responded, and the clouching continued until they quieted down once for all.


    Only after another minute passed did his muscles relax and he dared to raise himself to his knees. To prevent further blood loss, he lay on his back, and ¡ª while supporting himself with his left arm ¡ª raised his right arm and unbound the cravat, tightly pressing it against his navel area.


    That was a close call, he murmured under his breath and surveyed his surroundings in detail while waiting for the wound to close.


    The chamber''s walls were of stone bricks, towering high to where an arch formed a ceiling from which no lights hung. Instead, several iron-wrought candelabras stood in the corners in the room, illuminating the gloomy chamber in a dim yellow glow. A spark of ingenuity lit in his mind.


    When he found the effusion of blood had slowed considerably, he walked over to the candelabras and blew out the candles. Half a minute later, he arduously tilted them and let the wax drip on his wound.


    Ouch, he had misjudged the wax¡¯s warmth, This¡¯ll seal the wound and afford me some time ¡ª an infection would be a death sentence.


    Lastly, he wrapped his white shirt around his waist and cast his attention to the space up the stairs, whereto the monstrous group disappeared. His gut omitted an ominous feeling as he thought of following their path. But there was no alternative ¡ª this was the only exit to the room.


    Not wasting a single ounce of his newfound strength, he made his way up the stairs and followed the corridor to a towering wooden gate lined with a long iron girder, before which he halted. He placed his palms against them and pushed.


    They didn¡¯t budge. He made another attempt, but to no avail. He scratched his head and thought, Don¡¯t tell me it¡¯s locked from the outside.


    All of the sudden, two faint voices promptly appeared from behind the door, closening. Deus balled his fist and steadied his breathing, preparing himself for confrontation.


    A metallic screech announced the opening of the gates, and when they stood ever-so slightly ajar, he threw his fist directly through the narrow gap, delivering a jab to the guy¡¯s chin.


    ¡°Aaah!¡± the guy cried, ¡°Fintor malvex!¡±


    His partner caught him from behind, then said in an urging manner, ¡°Drekta sibil!¡±


    However, before they could slam the door back shut, Deus dived through the gap, then rolled between the first guy¡¯s legs, using his momentum to land a punch in the second guy¡¯s groin.


    ¡°Ugh!¡± the guy repeated and bent forward, ¡°Fintor malvex!¡±


    As he raised his knee to strike him in the stomach, an arm wrapped around his neck from behind, disrupting his rhythm.


    Deus had underestimated the guy¡¯s recovery speed. However, the guy had also underestimated Deus¡¯s experience ¡ª as a fanatic of method acting, he¡¯d go through great lengths to accurately portray his roles, which involved rigorous martial arts training.


    Deus sprung into the air, his back supported by his assailant behind, and kicked into the guy in front, who then staggered. The recoil caused the guy behind to smash into the wooden gate and cushion Deus from any damage. He groaned, his grip loosening.


    It¡¯s time to end this! If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Deus mustered his strength and leapt forward, using the guy¡¯s brief disorientation to land a strike to his solar plexus. He dropped to the marble floor, incapacitated, and Deus swung around to face the other guy.


    However, the man lay motionless against the gate, the groin area of his robe drenched in urine. A foul odor permeated the air and Deus pinched his nose.


    He turned back around and crouched down next to where the black robe covered the guy¡¯s face when he noticed he was limping. He cursed inwardly, I¡¯ve already exerted myself too much. Another fight of equal prowess, and I¡¯d probably lose.


    Sighing, he lifted the veil. Beneath lay the plump face of a relatively young man around his own true age, cleanly shaven like a pumpkin.


    ¡°Now, let¡¯s reveal this mystery!¡±, Deus muttered under his breath, pulling further to reveal the man¡¯s body. His pupils shrank slightly.


    Instead of legs there was a gooey substance, semi-translucent like gelatin so that you could observe the nerves and veins pulsing inside. The goo wobbled slightly as Deus lowered his head, observing where the flesh mixed with the substance.


    He took a step back, repulsed by the abhorrent sight. However, while it nearly caused him to throw up, his anatomy intrigued him even more. After all, how would they move without muscles?


    However, he didn¡¯t linger long on this, since he¡¯d already accepted that this world didn¡¯t serve the common principles of logic ¡ª there was something higher at play.


    A breath later, he dragged him next to his partner and stripped them. Below the robe, both wore an equally black tunic, an embroidery sewn into whereunder the heart lay. The embroidery resembled an emblem depicting a snake coiling around a torch, ornate in detailed scrollwork. He pulled, then draped his body in his slightly oversized robe.


    Although his partner¡¯s robe would fit him more properly, he¡¯d rather take a slight risk than having to endure the stench. And most of all, it¡¯d attract attention he¡¯d rather avoid. In case they woke up before he managed to flee, he dragged their bodies behind the gate, and, before sliding the heavy iron bolt in place, took a quick glance at the partner¡¯s face.


    Finally, he put it in the back of his mind, focusing on the mission at hand; to escape and tend to his wounds.


    He returned to the hallway beyond the gate, which veered to the left, leading to a narrowing staircase. When he ascended the staircase, he found it ended abruptly, a wooden wall blocking the way.


    Deus rubbed his temples, contemplating, There must be some sort of mechanism, and it shouldn¡¯t be all that secretive ¡ª after all, a secret pathway shouldn''t protect from the inside, but from the outside.


    Just as these thoughts ran through his head, he caught sight of the wall to his left, inside which a stone tile caught his attention. The other bricks were all stacked atop each other with mortar, but this one was not connected to the other bricks. Instead, there was a small sliver between the neighboring bricks.


    He pushed it without any hesitation, and after a click and rolling of a cogwheel, the passageway slowly opened.


    Behind the secret door, there was a small library with two floors, a spiral mahogany staircase leading upwards. In the center of the room hung a modest chandelier, illuminating it. A doorway in the middle of the room led straight into the foyer of the manor, which was clad in dark-green flowery tapestries and paintings.


    Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he prepared to beeline straight to the front door, when suddenly, a seed of doubt was planted in his mind. What if I¡¯m caught? Shouldn¡¯t I rather escape from the back? What would happen to me if I was caught?


    Wait, why am I this indecisive?


    Just as he came to the realization that his train of thoughts didn¡¯t match his true feelings, a drop of sweat trickled from his temples. Something was off!


    "Vara!"


    Deus¡¯s gaze darted to where the deep voice reverberated. It was a door a few steps to his left, which he ¡ª while caught up in the internal war raging through his mind ¡ª had missed. His face turned a little pale when he caught sight of the vestments of red and gold, which lay beneath the black robe.


    An eerie pressure had taken hostage of the room. Despite his years of acting experience, he couldn¡¯t suppress his hair standing on end. He felt insignificant, as if facing an apex predator waiting to rip him apart ¡ª this was not someone he could defeat!


    There must be some supernatural influence! I can¡¯t let it get to me! Notwithstanding, he gritted his teeth and took hold of this inner turmoil.


    ¡°Vara! Cameri gormindis? Ula Syvo?¡±, the man repeated. His voice continued echoing directly in his mind, as if piercing the air in between.


    Damn it, what is he saying? Deus cursed inwardly as he weighed his options, Their chant resembled the english language, should I make use of that?


    Zap!


    Suddenly, as if responding to his thoughts, crooked letters appeared out of thin air, typing out [ Activate skill ¡°A Thousand and One Tongues¡±? ] They were constantly wriggling, and when he stared long enough, it appeared as if they came alive.


    Deus shook from the reverie as he realized the man was still staring at him, promptly accepting these circumstances and focusing all his attention on forming the words Yes! Use skill, now!


    [ Activating skill ¡°A Thousand and One Tongues¡±... ]


    [ Activated skill ¡°A Thousand and One Tongues¡± successfully. ]

 3 - Life and Death

    [ Activating skill ¡°A Thousand and One Tongues¡±... ]


    [ Activated skill ¡°A Thousand and One Tongues¡± successfully. ]


    ¡°Answer me now! Have you finished cleaning? Where¡¯s Syvo?¡±


    ¡°Uhh,¡± A moment passed during which he struggled processing the translation, then scrambled to find the right words. He uttered in a pitch that imitated the owner of this robe, ¡°I apologize. We¡¯ve made a bet, which I¡¯ve won. Syvo is responsible for cleaning today.¡±


    Would he buy it? Admittedly, he was quite skilled at imitating voices, but he¡¯d only heard a single line. A dreadful silence hung in the air, after which, despite being a fleeting moment, felt like an eternity had gone by.


    ¡°I see,¡± The man sighed and took a step forward, ¡°Follow me.¡±


    Deus bit his lips and thought, That¡¯s it? No! Even if he¡¯s this gullible, he¡¯d be slightly wary or reprimanding!


    Has he seen through my disguise? With my limping leg, it¡¯ll be difficult to run from him, but if push comes to shove, I won¡¯t go out easily!


    However, the man walked past him and to the wooden door on the opposite of the room. Deus lingered for a second, then made up his mind. He decided to place his bet on the scenario in which he¡¯d truly fooled him, and followed him.


    Behind the door lay a vacant room, compact with all essentials, such as a small bed, sink and toilet, and a tattered white tapestry. In comparison to the expanse of the manor, it lacked greatly, and Deus figured this had to be the servant¡¯s quarters. However, the robed man didn¡¯t stop here, and pushed open the back door.


    Bright rays of light shone inside, dying the room golden and basking the robed man. He lifted his hands to shield his eyes from the dazzling dusk while a chilly wind breezed inside, swaying his robe.


    A vast garden lay behind the yard of the manor. The lawn was lightly frosted while patches of grass protruded unevenly, indicating that it must¡¯ve been a few days since they last cut it. This estate wasn¡¯t regularly maintained. A lake separated the garden from the surrounding land, where crops stretched endlessly. The horizon was marked by a mountain in the far distance, from which the sun slowly crept behind.


    There was a single structure within the garden ¡ª a red bricked stall with a flat roof.


    The robed man continued, first gliding on the cobblestone pavement, then crawling onto the lawn. Deus struggled to imitate this walk, restrained by his injuries and the cold which clung to his skin.


    However, while he stared at the robed man¡¯s back, he noticed he wasn¡¯t gliding straight either, instead slightly wobbling as a result of rough footing.


    He sighed a breath of relief as they arrived before the stall just fine. However, when he peered inside, his stomach twisted.


    Iron bars were lined adjacent to the walls of the stable and the floor behind was littered in hay. Positioned in its respective corners were five people garbed in tattered linen attire.


    In the front right sat an old man on the verge of death, his body gaunt and his eyes matte-black. If not for him repeatedly clasping his thumb and index-finger in a never-ending loop, he¡¯d have guessed he was dead.


    In the corner left to him sat a woman in her late twenties, perhaps slightly older than Deus¡¯s mental age. In her arms, she held an infant, while her dirt-stained shirt was slightly lowered, as if breastfeeding it.


    The shadow cast by the dusk disguised the figures in the back, leaving only a faint silhouette of two humans. None responded to their arrival ¡ª they all stared blankly into the distance.


    This disturbed Deus, while his judgment of the cult rose. Had they actually managed to completely shatter all mental fortitudes of these prisoners? Before the death of his body¡¯s original owner, had he been in a similar position? And most of all, was he going to be imprisoned next?


    ¡°They¡¯re all failures,¡± said the robed man, every word adding to the dismal ambience.


    Deus¡¯s back was drenched in sweat. Although it was mostly because of his injuries, there was a sliver of fear which took root in his heart. Whether this was his true feelings or the man¡¯s subtle manipulation, he wasn¡¯t sure. The wounds had taken a heavy toll on him, and he wouldn¡¯t be able to hold on for much longer.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Hear me.¡± The man reached somewhere in between his jet-black robe and vestments, pulling out an iron key dangling from a string. ¡°I¡¯ll grant one of you freedom.¡±


    The old lunatic paused his fidgeting, turning his head towards the key, his pupils following as it swung right and left. The mother had also set her eyes on them. When he noticed her longing gaze, the man abruptly leaped forward, faster than Deus could ever have expected from this frail body. The iron bars shook as it collided with his body and his hand stretched forwards.


    ¡°Not so fast,¡± the deep voice spoke again, as his hands rose slightly, a hair¡¯s breadth beyond the man¡¯s reach. He continued, his voice tinted in a slightly amused tone, ¡°You¡¯ll have to fight for it. The victor gets to fight this disciple and attain freedom once for all.¡±


    Deus was shocked. This was out of his expectations.


    Fighting against the winner of this free-for-all meant putting his life on the line. Running away was an option, but his instincts told him it meant certain death. He was going to be true to his vow and put himself first. However, the odds were against him.


    Without any delay, the old man lunged at the mother, who ¡ª amidst his bloodlust ¡ª responded in an equal fit of violence, grabbing the infant at its neck and throwing it at him. Caught by surprise, the old man suddenly halted, catching the infant. By then, the mother had already closed in on him, her mouth wide apart, baring her teeth.


    The man took a last glance at the infant in his hands, then lifted it high into the sky. The mother didn¡¯t hesitate and sunk her teeth into his neck. A moment passed, after which his body plummeted on the hay. The mother chewed, then spat a mingled piece of flesh and blood to the ground.


    The infant didn¡¯t cry at all, was it already dead? Then was it all her plan, or was she simply delusional? Deus frowned. This woman was clearly insane. He had misjudged them both because of their appearances. This was a hard lesson to learn.


    His gaze wandered to the scene behind where he recognized a shadow lying lifelessly, a wide figure towering over the corpse . As he stepped over it and walked closer, he gradually escaped the bounds of the shadow, revealing a muscular middle-aged man.


    Blood profusely ran down his cheeks. As Deus scrutinized from where the blood originated, he noticed his right ear was barely hanging by a thread.


    The woman¡¯s hidden cards were all used up. She leaped forward again, baring again her red-stained teeth, but the man directly responded by grappling her to the ground.


    Thud!


    She coughed up blood, but Deus wasn¡¯t sure which one¡¯s it was. He easily put her in a tight chokehold. Her hands wiggled around the hay as she struggled under his weight,


    Suddenly, a handful of sand flew into his face. He grunted and let go of her neck in an attempt to shield his eyes. The woman made use of this brief moment and bit again, digging deep into his bulging abdominal muscles just below his navel. He screamed as blood oozed.


    However, the middle-aged man retaliated immediately, clenching his biceps and front arm together and stomping down onto the woman¡¯s face, bones cracking. This continued for half a minute, until he finally stopped.


    Deus felt a little light-headed. The Earth of his previous life was a cruel place, indifferent to life. Not even the strong were spared ¡ª death plagued the entirety of human history. In that regard, this world was similar.


    When his elbow finally lifted from her face, the woman¡¯s face was beaten into an unrecognizable mush of blood mixed with more viscous brain matter. The man¡¯s gaze lingered on his work of art. An eerie silence ensued, breaking the continuous murder spree.


    A few breaths later he shook his head, shaking off the remaining sand, and turned his head staring straight at Deus. Without averting his gaze, he rose to his feet and steadily closened in on him. Salvia formed in Deus¡¯s mouth and he swallowed it silently.


    Meanwhile, the man was oblivious to the groans of the dying woman behind, who ¡ª perhaps due to terminal lucidity or simply overbearing madness ¡ª had regained some vigor and was crawling towards him. A trail of blood dragged behind her, as she slowly caught up to him and dug her teeth in his calves.


    He didn¡¯t scream. Instead, he gritted his teeth and shook her off easily, then continued. For a moment, the woman¡¯s body twitched, before death finally took her.


    ¡°Take it, the robed man suded.


    Deus turned his head and saw the man holding his hands forwards, the key suspended from it. There weren¡¯t any words needed, and he took them with calm hands.


    He inserted the key into the lock, turning it. With a clank, the door sprang open, and with each passing breath, he relaxed even more. The outcome of this battle would decide if he¡¯d live or die. It all depended on himself.


    He stepped into the cage, strands of hay crushing beneath his feet. He mustered all his attention to survey his opponent¡¯s subtle bodily movements, while trying to step more lightly, as to avoid suspicion.


    He was sure if it¡¯d been anyone other than himself, they would have long been exposed. However, while balancing both these aspects, his mental capabilities were reaching their limits.


    When I¡¯ve fought this ¡®Syvo¡¯ and his partner, I¡¯ve relied on martial arts to gain the initiative. It¡¯s not possible to repeat this, He analyzed as they both began circling each other, his oversized robe dragging behind him. It was evident his opponent was wary of him, likely due to his status as the robed man¡¯s subordinate.


    Deus was similarly wary of the muscular man. It was an advantage he had to make use of ¡ª otherwise, when he learned Deus was heavily wounded and not in a position to exchange blows, he wouldn¡¯t hold back anymore.


    It was this wariness that allowed him to slip into the shadow of the rear wall, facing the iron bars before which the man stood. He halted.


    It¡¯s time!

 4 - Abomination

    It¡¯s time!


    ¡­


    He stopped?


    Adrenaline rushed through Drew¡¯s mind as he peered into the darkness cast by the setting sun. He could only discern the rough outline of a twisted figure draped in a black robe.


    It was only a matter of time until night would descend onto this world, casting it in a perverted greenish hue. If he didn¡¯t kill this abomination by then, their physical attributes would be amplified, severely slimming his chances at survival.


    Even now, he hesitated to lunge forward. Did he even stand a chance?


    As the tinnitus grew louder, memories of severe torture resurfaced in his mind. They sliced open his naval while chanting evocations, rummaged in his innards, injected vials of obscure fluids that slowly corroded his soul. And whilst he secretly hoped for it at times, his body endured all agony inflicted.


    Now that there was a faint light on the horizon, he was glad it did. He yearned for the intimacy of his wife and son.


    ¡°C-Can you see it? The key?¡±


    Although Drew¡¯s ear was missing, the figure¡¯s shrill voice still echoed through his head. Was it a psychological reaction? He pressed his hand against where his ear had been.


    ¡°I¡¯m done with this! Y-You can have it!¡±


    Drew stared at the hidden figure, his expression frozen in shock. This was all too sudden. Countless questions formed within his mind, What did he say, again? Have I misheard? Is he playing with me?


    The figure fell onto their knees, their voice trembling as they muttered, ¡°I-I don¡¯t want to do this a-anymore!¡±


    Slowly, all noises began coalescing into a single ugly cry.


    While this scene instinctively struck him as authentic, his guard rose even so. His perception of this cult¡¯s shared personality had been deeply imprinted within his very being, making him extremely wary.


    As Drew furrowed his brows and weighed his options, an eerie silence hung in the air, interrupted by the occasional sobbing of the hidden figure. Meanwhile, his mind was on high alert. If they planned to launch a surprise attack, he would be prepared and swiftly launch counterattacks.


    He took another deep breath and firmly responded, ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°Then convince me of your sincerity. Lay down, hands behind your back, and place the key in front of you.¡°


    His lips curled slightly upwards as he thought, I¡¯m not going to play your sick game. You expected me to throw the key, right?


    But I¡¯m not falling for this. A mere key isn¡¯t sufficient to escape this place, it¡¯s about the last person standing!


    Now, what will you do?


    ¡°Alright,¡± said the hidden figure. They had stopped crying, sniffling loudly, and lowered themselves to their knees, putting down the key and laying onto the wooden floor littered with hay.


    Drew¡¯s pupils shrank slightly. Was this guy truly an idiot?! It seemed as if his experiences had inflated the image he held of his opponent.


    He gulped indecisively. Time was running out, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to claim victory unharmed. Should he go for it? At the same time, wasn¡¯t this his only choice?


    Eleanor, will we finally be able to reunite? Arthur, have you enrolled in school? Have you found any friends?


    He thought of their wedding night, the birth of his son, and his birth defect. Arthur slept the majority of the day, waking up only for a few minutes just to drift off again. These few minutes Arthur awoke each day, he missed the most.


    Although Arthur was considered mentally underdeveloped and they were only able to communicate in the most primal ways, it enveloped his heart in bliss, only for it to be ripped away at the next moment. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    When none of the doctors were able to identify his condition, Drew turned towards alternate methods. At last, he found his son was inflicted with a grave curse. However, the major churches only alleviated the issue at most, whilst the upper echelon paid him no heed.


    Finally, he got hold of the Proxy Marketplace. However, services offered required an equivalent exchange, and the price was simply too high even when taking out loans! He could only sacrifice himself.


    Drew mustered his courage and set his eyes on the robed figure lying on the ground.


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    He marched towards it, preparing to strike or evade any sudden movements. However, as he crossed the shadows, they didn¡¯t budge.


    Drew gritted his teeth, bending down while pretending to grab the key. In one swift movement, he dashed atop the figure, pinning them down with his knee.


    There was some faint groaning, but they didn¡¯t resist at all!


    ¡°Forgive me, but this is for the sake of my family!¡± he said, abruptly turning and putting the cloaked figure¡¯s head in a tight chokehold. He sensed some jerky movements from below. But he wouldn¡¯t commit the same mistake as before ¡ª this time, he¡¯d continue until he was absolutely sure they were dead.


    Thud!


    A sharp pain emerged from the back of his head as something heavy collided with it. Immediately, his vision blurred. He was going to pass out.


    A last figment of imagination manifested within his mind. It was a scene of himself and Eleanor, both sitting on the porch of a gothic-style suburban house. Wrinkles formed on Eleanor¡¯s face, but her expression was full of contentment. Arthur stood in the front garden, a wife by his side, happily waving at them.


    No! No, I can¡¯t pass out!


    Suddenly, he gained mental clarity, turning around and grabbing the man by his neck. With all remaining strength, he grappled them onto their back. Up close and unveiled, he clearly recognized their features.


    It was a man only slightly younger than himself, with stubble and wavy hair drenched in sweat. They were pale, as if on their deathbed. He was shocked, he didn¡¯t let his determination waver and for pity to take over. He continued, trying to choke the life out of him.


    This continued for some time, until salvia leaked from his mouth. Just to be sure, he positioned his hand against the man¡¯s neck artery to feel the pulse, but there was none.


    He pulled the robe back down, covering his ghastly face. Gradually, his muscles relaxed and his lips formed a wide smile.


    He triumphantly rose to his feet, declaring, ¡°I wo¨C¡±


    Splatter!


    His vision grew red. He dropped to the ground.


    ¡­


    Deus stared at the man. Despite his ear being ripped from his head, he faced the mother without any restraint. Although humans were inherently weak, they could grow into monsters with the right stimulus.


    He knew he couldn''t face the man head-on. Their gap in strength was simply too wide! He could only rely on devious methods to bridge it. And so, while he¡¯d observed the environment, he concocted a plan. It was ridiculous, but any less would not suffice.


    As he¡¯d personally witnessed earlier, the details within these shadows were hardly discernible from the outside, leaving only a faint outline. Especially with the descent of the night, it would only darken further.


    This was necessary, since in this space he¡¯d be able to act more freely, less restrained by the nuances of his performed identity. Clearly, this was under the condition the robed man didn¡¯t have any methods to bypass this, but he¡¯d have to bet on that.


    Next, when he arrived at the opposite end of the room, his robe completely covered the corpse below. If his robe had been only a little smaller, it wouldn¡¯t have entirely covered them. However, he¡¯d picked the oversized one while stripping the two cleaners.


    But how was he going to lure the man into the shadows? Deus knew it was likely for the man to be highly suspicious of him when proposing the idea of handing him the keys ¡ª the cult had long imprinted their cruelty into the minds of the prisoners.


    He planned personally suggesting laying down when the man would declare his hesitance, but he actually asked for it himself!


    And now that all was set, all that was left to do was watch it happen and ¡ª while the man was busy choking the corpse ¡ª launch an attack with the brick left behind from their previous fight.


    Initially, he planned using only the brick, but had altered his plan while considering the caution the man would likely display. He¡¯d have to let down his guard, before he¡¯d be able to do anything!


    Deus hammered down onto the man¡¯s head with the red brick, knocking him onto the ground. He lifted the brick once more, preparing to end his life once for all.


    Blood trickled from the brick and dropped onto his face and in between his lips. A salty sensation spread within his mouth.


    Unbound by the shackles of society, this was truly the way of life. The man lying beneath him was a murderer ¡ª he must¡¯ve realized that as well. Strong people can persevere amidst hardships. Weak people can¡¯t, they are at mercy of the strong. That¡¯s all there is to it.


    Thud!


    Deus¡¯s head collided with the wooden floor as a tight force wrapped around his neck. He grabbed at the man¡¯s arm, struggling to loosen the chokehold, but it didn¡¯t budge. Coupled with his severe injuries, the situation had turned around momentarily.


    Deus tried to scream, but only a faint grunt escaped. His lungs screamed for air.


    Am I dying? A last thought emerged before the oxygen supply hit zero.

 5 - Im Weak

    Deus tried to scream, but only a faint grunt escaped. His lungs screamed for air.


    Am I dying? A last thought emerged before the oxygen supply hit zero.


    ¡­


    Slowly, the blurry edges regained some sharpness. In his vision, there was only red.


    Deus gasped for air, choking from the blood in which he lay. He tried to stand up, but a weight restricted his movement. He pushed it aside and rose to his knees.


    Smearing the blood off his face, his eyes darted around his surroundings, surveying it for hidden dangers. His mind was still hazy, uncertain of what had transpired.


    When his gaze landed on the man dressed in a robe and vestments of red and gold, memories of the battle assaulted his mind. Immediately, he tilted his head downwards and beheld a revolting sight. Squinching, he stroked his temples in an effort to relieve his pounding headache.


    A disfigured corpse lay in a puddle of blood, its wet muscles exposed and twitching from the remaining nerve activity. Its features were completely unrecognizable.


    What could¡¯ve put him in this state? Was it an acid attack?


    ¡°You¡¯re too weak.¡±


    The robed man¡¯s harrowing voice reverberated throughout the stable. Before Deus could take the initiative to respond, the robed man continued, ¡°Your soul had nearly disintegrated. If it¡¯d been anyone else, you¡¯d have died immediately.¡±


    He paused. ¡°However, I do recognize your potential.¡±


    Deus didn¡¯t respond.


    ¡°This¡¯ll be the last time disposing of bodies. On January 1st, recite the third chapter of The Twelve Red Doves beneath Unity Crossing, at dusk. He¡¯ll find you.¡±


    The robed man didn¡¯t seem to care for any consent, taking his subservience for granted and turned to walk away.


    ¡°You must¡¯ve noticed the patterns by now. Winter solstice will mark the resurgence of our family. Consider your timing lucky.¡°


    He drew a silver dagger from his vestments ¡ª the same used to gouge Deus¡¯s navel ¡ª and weaved it vertically in a swift sweeping motion. A sound alike cutting paper resounded, and the robed man took hold of an invisible veil.


    ¡°Praise be to our ancestors,¡± he added, taking a last glance at Deus, before disappearing into thin air.


    Despite his [ A Thousand and One Tongues ] skill, these words were gibberish to Deus, yet he didn¡¯t mind at all. Instead, a sense of relief washed over him as he reflected on this fight.


    The outcome had been decided from the very beginning. His opponent defeated him, it proved that he was still far too weak. However, in face of the robed man, they¡¯d both been but ants crawling at his feet.


    If it¡¯d been the self of his previous life, he¡¯d have complained that it was unfair. However, his transmigration had been a crucible for change. And slowly, he began adjusting to his newfound identity, straying further from what he¡¯d once prided himself with.


    With a queasy state of mind, Deus let the entire scene set in.


    That¡¯s when he noticed translucent orbs slowly floating from the bodies, in a manner similar to how the planets of the solar system were circling earth. However, in place of the sun¡¯s mass, it was his body which seemed to attract the orbs. And they were steadily coming closer.


    The thought of evading immediately emerged in his mind. This was a logical thought, since this phenomenon was completely unknown to him. However, an unusual desire to merge with the orbs soon swayed his heart.


    Before his rationality could point out this particularity, the desire overtook him. Only when the orbs conjoined and merged with his body did he instinctively flinch backwards, but it was already too late.


    The same crooked letters which had previously helped him translate this world¡¯s language now reappeared, displaying multiple lines of text.


    [ Assimilating Firmament¡­ ]


    [ Firmament assimilated successfully. ]


    [ Warning: high risk of destabilization! ]


    [ Skill ¡°A Thousand and One Tongues¡± forcibly deactivated. ]If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    [ Skill ¡°A Thousand and One Tongues¡± mutating... ]


    [ Skill mutated. ]


    [ Categorizing skill¡­ ]


    [ Skill categorized successfully: ¡°Fractured Self¡±. ]


    Deus frowned as he skimmed through the messages. He didn¡¯t know what this instability was referring to, but it didn¡¯t seem very good. Besides, did the mutation from  [ A Thousand and One Tongues ] to [ Fractured Self ] mean he wouldn¡¯t be able to understand the language anymore?


    And besides these immediate problems, what was up with these orbs and their frightening influence on his mind? He¡¯d barely perceived them before they completely annihilated all mental defenses. Although he couldn¡¯t explain this phenomenon, he was sure it was some kind of life force or soul essence, excreted from the body upon a lifeform¡¯s death.


    As this text had seemingly responded to his desire to understand this world¡¯s language before, Deus gathered his mental energy to try and communicate once more.


    Who are you?


    The text didn¡¯t respond. He tried again.


    What is your purpose? Can you hear me?


    What is this skill, ¡°Fractured Self¡±?


    Finally, the text wriggled and typed,


    [ Fetching information... ]


    [ Name: ¡°Fractured Self¡±. ]


    [ Type: Hybrid. ]


    [ Stratum: Tenth. ]


    [ Failed to fetch information: Strata. ]


    [ Troubleshooting¡­ ]


    [ Troubleshooting successful. ]


    [ Warning: high risk of destabilization! ]


    [ Strata: The Illusionist, The Scholar, The Gatekeeper, The Undead ]


    [ Fetched information successfully. ]


    Deus momentarily fell into deep thought, but he couldn¡¯t make sense of anything.


    Suddenly, a faint low-pitched cry resounded from near the old man¡¯s corpse, interrupting his thoughts. When he caught sight of what lay in the man¡¯s bloody puddle, his pupils constricted.


    It was the same baby thought to have been dead. However, the baby didn¡¯t have any human features ¡ª instead of eyes and a nose, there was a hideous mouth. Countless fangs protruded from it while it stretched to where its forehead would¡¯ve been.


    A drop of sweat trickled down his back, blending with blood, as he thought, Is it human?


    He sneaked towards it, cautiously so as to not make a sound. However, while it didn¡¯t have any vision, its auditory perception was highly sensitive. Noticing his approach, it responded with intensified cries.


    His mind was slightly numb, perhaps due to the bloodshed he¡¯d experienced today.


    Sorry, little guy. I can barely take care of myself, it¡¯ll be impossible to take care of you.


    All of the sudden, a strange thought materialized, Don''t leave him there!


    After he¡¯d been influenced by the desire to merge with the orbs, he allocated a significant amount of mental energy to resist any subtle manipulation that might still linger. Therefore, he was sure these thoughts weren¡¯t foreign. However, they didn¡¯t match him either.


    His gut tingled slightly, hinting at his intuition, Could it be, this is the effect of [ Fractured Self ] ?


    He set his attention to the deformed baby again. Should he obey these thoughts?


    He weighed his options. It was possible these words were trying to sabotage him. Another possibility was that they were actually trying to warn him. There was no way to tell.


    However, what did he have to lose? He was dying. With his future uncertain, if he didn¡¯t take any risks, how would he prevail? This was the only way of surviving ¡ª a constant struggle balancing between caution and risk.


    ¡°Do you want to come with me?¡± he asked.


    The baby didn¡¯t respond, continuing to cry. Its deep-pitched voice, along with the faint greenish light, amalgamated into an eerie sight to behold.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you with me.¡±


    He stepped in front of the baby and probed its aggression. When he found it was harmless, he swiftfully scooped down and picked it up. Its cries promptly grew silent.


    Without any further delay, he set his eyes on the wooden door to the stall from which the light was cast. While hurrying outside, he lifted his robe to inspect his injuries.


    He frowned. As he¡¯d expected, his fight had actually weakened the wax seal. Blood leaked from it, mixing with the other. There was little time left.


    Outside, Deus¡¯s gaze fell upon the starry sky, curtains of green light blanketing it. However, while aurora filled him with a sense of profound mesmerization, these didn¡¯t. On the contrary, when he peered into the expanse of this light, his mind returned to the world of everlasting fog, filling him with a sense of dread. And while only the moon and a star pierced the lights, he was sure this wasn¡¯t the star from his dream.


    However, in face of imminent danger, such things wouldn¡¯t slow him down. And so, he returned to searching for an escape route.


    The back wouldn¡¯t be a viable option, since a lake blocked his way. And while there were still lights lit within the manor, the only possible path was to circle it and escape from the front. And while it was possible they had already departed without turning off the lights, he had to tread carefully.


    Luckily, he arrived at the front without any interruptions. Although the limp from his first battle had improved slightly, his overall state was much worse than before. To add insult to injury, the night¡¯s coldness only amplified his languished state.


    For a moment, he considered searching the manor for bandages and food, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Although he managed to circle the manor, it didn¡¯t prove the cult members had all departed. Likewise, if there weren¡¯t any cult members present right now, there was no guarantee they wouldn¡¯t return the next.


    And so he continued, tottering down the rows and circles of overgrown bushes until arriving at a large iron-wrought gate with two stone pillars on either side. As he pushed it open, it creaked slightly as if rust had already corroded parts of it. This added onto his ill-maintained perception of this manor.


    Beyond the gate lay a cobblestone road surrounded by cornfields. In the far distance to his left, the road turned into a forest, its oak trees looming bare from the cold, while to his right, the fields stretched to the horizon.

 6 - In Good Hands

    <div>


    <div>


    Beyond the gate lay a cobblestone road surrounded by cornfields. In the far distance to his left, the road turned into a forest, its oak trees looming bare from the cold, while to his right, the fields stretched to the horizon.


    He shivered, stripping the robe soaked in blood. His attire beneath was only slightly more dry, but he¡¯d take every advantage he could muster.


    Although snow didn¡¯t yet cover the landscape, he guessed it was around winter. And yet, the corn was nearly ripe, withstanding these tough temperatures. However, he soon averted his thoughts, as there were more important matters to tend to.


    He didn¡¯t know why this world would resemble his previous one, but since there were fundamental differences such as the irrefutable existence of supernaturality ¡ª for all he cared, it¡¯d be surprising if both biospheres didn¡¯t differ at all.


    There weren¡¯t any signs of life on either path, so he chose to turn left. Chances were, these fields would be in closer proximity to some kind of settlement while the corn would resolve any hunger crisis that might arise.


    The fields of corn stretched endlessly, almost as if he¡¯d truly returned to the world of endless fog. By the moon¡¯s drift, he¡¯d estimated it had been around two hours. Meanwhile, the infant had begun crying again, but he hadn¡¯t figured out how to calm it down.


    Is he cold? Does he miss his mother? Is he hungry? At the word ¡®hungry¡¯, Deus¡¯s stomach rumbled and he turned right. Raw corn was not very nutritious and wouldn¡¯t help against his exhaustion, but it would fill his stomach.


    He walked up to a corn plant, attempting to pluck an ear of corn, but it was too tightly conjoined with the stem. He retried, and when it didn¡¯t work, he opted for another technique. Twisting instead, Deus finally managed to split the ear and dangled it above its mouth.


    He didn''t dare feed it directly, the scene of his hand being mauled imprinted into his mind. A short breath later, and he exhaled deeply, glad that he still hadn¡¯t lost all reason. The infant¡¯s cries had stopped instantaneously, chomping down the entire ear.


    He twisted another ear and awkwardly munched it down. It was very bland, but the remnants of blood which still lingered on his taste buds eased the experience. It was difficult to chew, and he swallowed it down in chunks, which made him wish he had similar fangs as the infant.


    This corn shouldn¡¯t be meant for human consumption, but fodder for livestock such as pigs, cows or whatever people eat in this world. Deus gulped, then added half-jokingly, I¡¯m lucky this guy isn¡¯t a picky eater. Based on his teeth, you¡¯d have guessed he¡¯s a strict carnivore.


    Just as he turned to return to the path, a severe fatigue washed over him, his thoughts turning sluggish abruptly. He plunged to the field¡¯s soil, his vision twisting as dizziness assaulted him.


    He tried to catch himself, but his body barely responded to his commands.


    Thud.


    He landed onto the ground, his body cushioning the fall of the infant. Just as before, the infant didn¡¯t respond. Was it thick skin? Or was it this abomination¡¯s mentality?


    Is this how far I¡¯ll go?


    He had not even slightly come close to attaining freedom. Although he was calm inwardly, he wasn¡¯t content. If it had been anyone else, they¡¯d have complained it was rigged from the very beginning, that they were doomed. After all, his navel was gouged within the moment he transmigrated, setting him up for failure.


    Deus blamed only himself ¡ª though not in a self-deprecating manner. It was his weakness that was at fault. Similarly, everyone born would die, they were doomed from the very beginning. Yet on their deathbed, would they complain that life was rigged?


    No. As you¡¯d grow old, the body would grow weaker, more susceptible to damage. By then, nearly everyone had accepted this weakness, that they could not prevail against what would eventually be the end of them.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    At this moment, an intense surge erupted within him, fueled by the intense desire for strength. In a last-ditch effort, he took hold of a stone within the road, and pulled himself in the middle of the path, while ignoring the infant.


    If anyone were to cross this road in the dead of the night, it was highly likely they¡¯d overlook him and ride right over him, snapping his neck. Only with the rise of the sun would they notice him.


    His exertion had expended all his energy, and his vision faded.


    ¡­


    Deus awoke to the mellow tunes of deep organs. The rays of midday basked him in a brilliant light. However, the woolen blanket covering him was drenched in sweat while his heart was pounding.


    A nightmare? He thought of the day prior, wondering how much of it was reality or dream. When he recalled his injury, he pulled aside the blanket.


    Beneath, his waist was swathed in several layers of bandages. Whereunder his navel lied, a red spot stained the white fabric, while it ached lightly.


    He frowned as he realized that it¡¯d all been real. His transmigration, the ritual, the brawl, and his death and revival. He fell into deep thought as he combed his memory for further details.


    It took him a couple of seconds to complete his recollection, and his attention was cast onto a particular problem ¡ª the half-monster infant. Someone had discovered him lying on the road, bleeding profusely. If so, they had to have disembarked their carriage, likely upon dawn. Therefore, it was well within the realm of possibility for them to have noticed the infant as well, simply tracing back the blood trail left behind.


    He¡¯d already guessed this world wasn¡¯t as advanced as his original one ¡ª perhaps similar to that of the Early Modern period of Europe ¡ª while supernaturality clearly existed. What did that imply?


    Even if the person that had saved him didn¡¯t know of this supernaturality in detail, it was practically certain there was some wide-spread belief of superstition ingrained into this world¡¯s citizens. Therefore, it was probable they¡¯d regard it as a spawn of evil.


    And while his analysis might not be flawless, it was likely they¡¯d definitely regard this infant as the carrier of a disease, despite not being contagious due to a lack of medical development.


    Sighing, he directed his attention to his surroundings. He found himself in a room with walls of bricks, culminating in an arch. It was frighteningly similar to the underground chambers of the manor. However, the windows embellished with a tilted horizontal grid of tracery coupled with the ceiling¡¯s low height proved otherwise. On his left-hand side stood a wooden locker and in front was a desk, a metallic inkwell embedded inside.


    ¡°Hey!¡± a high-pitched voice called out behind him, carrying a sense of concern.


    Deus turned his head and set his eyes on a pale woman in her mid-thirties. She wore a white tunic reaching down to her ankles, layered with a black apron above. A coif covered her hair, leaving a snow-white hairline peeking slightly.


    He only registered her albinism subconsciously, overshadowed by the relief of being able to understand what she was saying. It left him momentarily speechless, several questions arising in his head.


    If his ability [ Fragmented Self ] would continue to translate all languages, what was the point of the ¡°mutation¡±? Was it simply a rebranding? He wasn¡¯t quite convinced.


    She didn¡¯t wait for him to respond, instead taking the initiative to barrage him with countless questions.


    ¡°Are you feeling well?¡±


    ¡°What happened, anyway? Are you a thug? Why were you stabbed? Was it one of those heretics?¡±


    ¡°If we had decided to return a day earlier, you would¡¯ve bled out! Do you have a family?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re injured, lie back down, dammit!¡±


    Deus complied, lying back down on the hard mattress. Adept in impromptu, he had already outlined a character during her rambling monologue, which he¡¯d assume from now on. His expression contorted as he grunted and tears welled in the corner of his eyes.


    ¡°I-I¡¯m so sorry for being such a burden. My- My wife! She must be worried sick!¡±


    He suddenly let out a couple of rugged breaths, as if reliving a traumatic event. The sister quickly walked over to him, placing her hand on his forehead.


    ¡°Sir, you¡¯re safe. Focus on resting, we¡¯ll discuss this sometime else.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Deus said, his breathing stabilizing again as he averted his gaze, ¡°It¡¯s alright. How long has it been?¡±


    The sister blinked, momentarily lost in thought. ¡°Oh, right. It¡¯s been around six hours since¡­ that.¡±


    Deus pretended to fall into deep contemplation as he refined his character¡¯s nuances.


    ¡°It all went so quick. From the bushes, two masked men appeared, and then¡­¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°They beat me, and when I was on the ground, they stabbed me,¡± He said and placed his hand above his naval, tears running, ¡°They left me dying in a pool of blood, but¡­¡± He balled his fist. ¡°As I waited for death to come, I heard an infant''s cries, with a mouth that covered the entire face!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened to him, but the bandits must¡¯ve left him behind. I believe it¡¯s because of him that I prevailed this long. I couldn¡¯t give up on him.¡±


    Upon uttering the word ¡®death¡¯, even more tears trickled down, and he turned away. In the corner of his eye, he observed the sister, gauging her reaction.


    She frowned, her brows furrowed. Only after a few seconds did she interlock her hands with both thumbs clasped together, uttering a few words.


    The Queen of Darkness,


    Deus was stunned, his eyes opening a slit. Again, this invocation was English! Why?


    Demise to the Infernal Torch,


    She, born within the Abyss.

 7 - Lies and Chicken Broth

    The Queen of Darkness,


    Deus was stunned, his eyes opening a slit. Again, this invocation was English! Why?


    Demise to the Infernal Torch,


    She, born within the Abyss.


    The invocation ended without a proper supplication, indicating she wasn¡¯t intent on any specific effects but rather to gain mental clarity or to subtly veer the Goddess¡¯s watchful gaze in her direction. The sister''s eyes slowly reopened with a spark of confidence, and she turned to meet Deus¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°I apologize for the rudeness. I should¡¯ve introduced myself.¡±


    She bowed slightly. ¡°I¡¯m Mary, a sister of the Church of the Queen of Darkness.¡±


    Deus returned the slight bow and responded, ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure. I¡¯m Derek.¡±


    He sighed. ¡°I¡¯ve calmed down, and I really don¡¯t want to keep you waiting. I suppose it¡¯s only fair to tell you about myself.¡±


    Deus¡¯s shoulders slouched as he stared at the ceiling. It was a common misconception that liars tended to avoid eye contact ¡ª on the contrary, strictly maintaining it would arouse suspicion instead.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been transporting fresh produce for more than twenty years, supplying local stores. The last few years however, ¡­¡±


    He paused. Based on the sister¡¯s previous monologue, he¡¯d deduced she was worried about some heretics wreaking havoc. It was likely this wasn¡¯t an isolated incident, and even if it was, wasn¡¯t it human nature to falsely perceive things were constantly turning worse?


    He continued, ¡°There¡¯s just been a lot more crime lately, I can barely leave my wife back home without any worry. Now it all culminated with my near-death, horses, carriage, and goods stolen.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for the rant, I shouldn¡¯t¨C¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re right.¡±


    Deus¡¯s gaze wandered from the ceiling back to sister Mary, watching her with wide eyes.


    ¡°Faith is dwindling, that¡¯s the root cause of everything. You should tag along, tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±


    She raised her eyebrows. ¡°You don¡¯t know? Next Sunday marks the beginning of the Royal Succession Wars. A few of us rural parishes have been ordered to send support to the Archdiocese of Novaston. The city will brim with travelers the next few weeks.¡±


    Before Deus could respond, she intercepted him, ¡°This is for your own safety, too. The St. Plor¡¯s Church lacks experience and manpower, while the St. Yves Cathedral is well experienced with¡­ Well, it¡¯s for your own safety. A check-up, if you will.¡±


    A faint sense of uncertainty hung in the air. Deus had already made a guess as to why she was acting strange, All clues hint that she¡¯s suspicious of me because of what I¡¯ve said about that infant. She believes there¡¯s some evil influence she wants to dispel.


    However, I can¡¯t let that happen! Otherwise, I might be banished from this body right away. I wouldn¡¯t want to imagine what happens after that.


    ¡°Thank you sister, I wouldn¡¯t know what to do without you. That¡¯s right where I¡¯m from,¡± he responded, although he was determined to escape before they would arrive. A little hitchhiking was necessary to get away from this place, and he wasn¡¯t going to let that chance slip away!


    This back and forth continued for half an hour, during which they discussed various matters.


    She was born in the Lorn Republic, the neighboring country divided by the Quinor Mountain Range, and orphaned early after both of her parent¡¯s deaths. Eventually, due to certain cultural exchange programs aimed at reducing tensions between both nations, an aristocratic family of the Bothamian Empire adopted her during diplomatic travels.


    However, this adoption sparked public outrage, with several press companies accusing them of treason and espionage for the Lorn Republic. Even in the Lorn Republic, this event garnered negative reaction as many felt disrespected, as if not being able to take care of their own orphans.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    For both their own and Mary¡¯s safety, she was taken in by the Moonlit Sisterhood of the Church of the Mother of Darkness, stationed at the St. Plor¡¯s Church which lay far from where the commotion took place. The St. Plor''s Parish was located in the Duchy of Crowley, which was situated east to the capital city of Novaston, the stage of this competition.


    Today marked Saturday, the 10th of October, 1497, and although things seemed rather medieval in the rural areas, industrialization had already begun to spread its wings in the last half-century. Horse-drawn carriages, such as the one he''d told he¡¯d been robbed of, were becoming increasingly fewer, overtaken by rail transport.


    At last, his stomach rumbled, interrupting their conversation. Sister Mary¡¯s lips curled slightly upwards.


    ¡°You¡¯re recovering.¡± She turned around, facing the exit. ¡°Don¡¯t move, or your wounds might open up again. I¡¯ll bring you some soup.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, sister.¡±


    Ever since he first transmigrated, this was the first time he felt fully relaxed. The sun continued to illuminate the room in a pleasant light.


    However, his expression soon contorted as he fell into deep contemplation, Now that I¡¯ve transmigrated, what am I going to do?


    It didn¡¯t take him long to come up with some fundamental ideas. Firstly, it was important he had a firm grasp on his situation within this world. Only then would he be able to do anything.


    Secondly, he had to grow stronger. It was a prerequisite to becoming fully unrestrained.


    The wooden door to the vestry creaked open and sister Mary walked in, a bowl of soup in her left, and a spoon in her right. An aroma of cooked chicken with several savory herbs accompanied her, and she placed the chicken broth on the table.


    ¡°Don¡¯t sit up just yet, I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    Deus nodded. She placed her palm below his shoulder blades and lifted up his upper body. When he sat right up, she picked up the bowl and lifted the spoon to his lips. The chicken broth was at exactly the right temperature.


    ¡­


    The next day. He awoke early in the morning to the calls of a rooster, the dawn tainting the room in a golden tint.


    Deus jawned. Today was going to be the day they would begin their travels to the St. Yves Cathedral in Novaston, and he had to sneak away somewhere on the way.


    He lifted the blanket again. Sister Mary had changed the woolen blanket once more the day prior, since it was totally drenched in his sweat. However, he didn¡¯t overly sweat this time around, and the bandages around his waist were spotless. That could only mean one thing ¡ª his health had already improved considerably.


    He arose, his feet dangling from the makeshift-bed while he prepared for what was to come. A few minutes later, sister Mary walked inside and greeted him. Placed on her hand was a set of neatly-folded clothing, including a pair of basic cotton trousers and a linen shirt. Both had several patches.


    ¡°I apologize, that¡¯s all we have. We didn¡¯t manage to clean your clothes completely, because¡­¡± she said in a light voice, carrying a hint of sorriness, ¡°Well, you know what I¡¯m referring to.¡±


    She handed them to him and he thanked her. Although she¡¯d already seen his body up and down while taking care of him, she turned her back to him while dressed anyway.


    When the sun rose slightly higher, the village was already bustling with the noise of everyday life. A group of three middle-aged women garbed in brown and gray woolen dresses walked from one street vendor to another, collecting fresh produce in straw baskets. An elderly man cursed after a teenage boy, who had sneakily stolen an apple from his pushcart while on the way to school.


    A crowd of people had gathered in front of the St. Plors Church, awaiting morning church service. From what Deus understood, the church service was held thrice each Sunday. There were two main reasons for this; the town couldn¡¯t accommodate all townspeople simultaneously, and it naturally coincided with routines from all walks of life.


    Deus stood on the sidelines next to the altar which Mary was preparing, watching as a member of the church staff opened the gates. Although the bells which announced the commencing of church service had not yet rung, they had decided they didn¡¯t want to let the people waiting in the cold.


    While surveying the crowd, Deus noticed some of the people interlocking their hands with their thumbs clasped together, much like Mary did when she heard of the infant. He had already figured this was some religious gesture, but shockingly, he caught sight of other gestures too.


    There was a young mother with three children who conjoined their hands into a gesture similar to the letter ¡®B¡¯ when viewed from above. A few steps to her left stood an old woman whose palms were wide open and spread apart, her fingertips grazing their respective counterparts.


    It¡¯s possible there¡¯s multiple gestures all belonging to the same religion. Deus raised his eyebrows as he pondered. There¡¯s also the possibility that they are more tolerant towards other religions, or perhaps they all participate in a single truth.


    This particularity piqued his curiosity, but he didn¡¯t dare ask sister Mary ¡ª if this scene was commonplace in this world, it would definitely arouse suspicion. And although it was fun to theorize around this matter, he reminded himself that his otherworldly perspective could cloud his judgment.


    The bell finally rang, interrupting Deus¡¯s train of thoughts. Sister Mary turned towards Deus and gestured for him to take a seat in one of the middle rows. He complied and sat down next to the old lady from before while sister Mary sat down in one of the front rows.


    A few seconds later, the chattering quieted down. A tall figure stepped out of the vestry which lay behind the altar.

 8 - Bodies and Souls

    A few seconds later, the chattering quieted down. A tall figure stepped out of the vestry which lay behind the altar.


    The circular tinted window above the altar tainted the chapel in a purplish-blue hue, concealing the figure behind. When he stepped into the light, all churchgoers fell into a mystical trance-like state.


    The father was a middle-aged man with sharp features, his hazel hair tied into a bun. His full beard was tidily trimmed, and he wore a relaxed expression. His mere presence exuded serenity with a hint of authority.


    ¡°Good morning, everyone!¡±


    He opened his arms to the crowd, ¡°Advocates of righteousness, devotees to a faith which guides us all through peaceful and treacherous times alike. Choir, rise!¡±


    The crowd in the first few pews rose to their feet. At the same time, the deep organs which had awoken him before sounded, introducing the anthem. When it was time, the choir raised their voices in a captivating polyphony.


    With hearts of faith, we tread,


    Through paths unknown, we are led.


    Upholding trust, we must,


    If not, the heart will rust.


    Between Heaven and Earth, ¡®They¡¯ dwell,


    It¡¯s the malice, they dispel.


    For eternity, we must,


    Resist Evil¡¯s lust.


    We tread trough mountain and marsh,


    Prevailing the wind¡¯s harsh¡¯.


    Falling and rising forever,


    But yielding, we shall never!


    With the anthem concluding, the enthralled crowd slowly regained mental clarity, sharper than it was before, while minor pain ceased completely. Deus shivered slightly as he was struck by the realization that there was truly a higher being ¡ª with his injuries alleviated, he felt as if reborn.


    The father¡¯s voice resounded throughout the chapel, ¡°May the Gods heed our faith and revitalize our spirits. Brother Zarael, come forth.¡±


    He stepped away from the altar, while a fairly young but mature man garbed in a white tunic approached from the side. The man possessed a light brown complexion with an afro, while holding a heavy tome in his hands. Placing it on the lectern, he flipped to a certain page and began reading.


    The Revelation of Versailles


    Chapter 1, Section 1:


    In the beginning, there was the Eternal Light. For an eternity, it mercilessly melted the Earth below, ignoring its desperate pleads.


    ¡°Oh Eternal Light, spare me! For it is I, who gave you form and purpose!¡±


    But the Eternal Light didn¡¯t listen, burning all that stood its way.


    Another eternity passed, when from the very shadows cast by the Eternal Light, Nightfall arose.


    The Earth pleaded, ¡°Oh Nightfall, soothe your father! For it is I, who bore you!¡±


    Nightfall immediately descended onto the Eternal Light, swallowing it whole. The Earth was cast into darkness, allowing life to spring from it. But soon, life began to cease.


    The humans immediately attacked the Nightfall, ¡°Nightfall! We can¡¯t survive without the Eternal Light! You must spit it out!¡±


    The Nightfall¡¯s veins bulged, ¡°Don¡¯t tell me what to do!¡±


    All life died, and the last human dropped dead. Before his corpse turned into dirt, he uttered, ¡°Oh, Nightfall! I am truly sorry. We should have never attacked you!¡±


    The Nightfall sifted through the dirt, ¡°Oh humans, you have something I don¡¯t ¡ª you learn from your failures. Once, my father annihilated everything. Let me learn from his mistakes.¡±


    The Nightfall spat out the Eternal Light and said, ¡°Father, from now on we¡¯ll share.¡±


    The Eternal Light was mindless, it continued to shine as before. Meanwhile, the Nightfall hid behind the Earth.


    Life arose soon again, and humans populated the Earth.


    From thereon, both shared the Earth as Night and Day.


    That¡¯s quite the fable, Deus muttered under his breath. Although he was convinced of a higher being, this was quite unbelievable. He wasn¡¯t sure if the believers took it seriously.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Thank you, brother Zarael,¡± thanked the father as both switched places once again, ¡°I¡¯ve slightly readjusted the schedule, but we¡¯ll proceed as normal after that.¡±


    The crowd erupted into silent whispers. When the father loudly cleared his throat, it ceased again, interrupted only by a few occasional coughs.


    The crowd assumed several prayer gestures, while their eyes were all unanimously shut. Deus imitated them, choosing to interlock his hands while clasping his thumbs together. This was the gesture the majority had assumed, including sister Mary and the father.


    His serene voice resounded, laced with a hint of utmost devotion.


    The Queen of Darkness,


    Demise to the Infernal Torch,


    She, born within the Abyss.


    I beseech thee,


    May thou divinity grace us all,


    And purge all impurities.


    At the next moment, darkness enveloped the world. An ominous sensation emerged from below his navel. His wound ¡ª which was nearly closed by now ¡ª was now throbbing again.


    Deus tried turning his head, scrutinizing his surroundings. However, there was no light at all!


    His heartbeat quickened slightly. Had it been a mistake to participate in church service? He¡¯d figured since sister Mary insisted on going to Novaston to dispel all evil influences, there should be no great threats until then.


    Deus gritted his teeth, regretting his relaxed attitude. He had taken possession of a foreign body and treated akin to an evil spirit. Even if it was some weak exorcism ritual, he didn¡¯t know how to defend against these measures at all!


    This was his greatest weakness, and he had neglected it. However, there was no use fretting over this any longer. He wouldn¡¯t make the same mistake twice.


    He furrowed his brows and concentrated on his navel. I should focus on surviving this!


    Many would consider this sensory deprivation to be a death sentence, but he¡¯d already come up with a few ideas to endure this ordeal.


    There were few clues to work with. He had ample time to analyze the situation he found himself in when first transmigrating into this world while resting in the vestry. The cult¡¯s ritual resulted in the possession of the sacrifice. Why did they stab the navel? Was it a coincidence, or did it have a deeper meaning?


    He¡¯d try casting his attention on the place right below the navel. Albeit faint, there was some strange response. It was a rhythmic pulse, tricky to distinguish as it was drowned by the throbbing pain of his wound.


    Now that his senses weren¡¯t occupied and the pain in his navel was relieved by the anthem earlier, there was the chance to try again.


    He cast his attention below his navel again. A few breaths later, he found the pulse!


    As all his attention was cast on this vibration, only now did he realize how irregular it was. He exhaled deeply, probing further.


    Several moments later, his heart skipped a beat.


    The pulse is growing weaker rapidly! His mind was slightly swayed, and he lost focus immediately.


    Without any delay, he steadied his breathing and returned looking for it again. It didn¡¯t take long for him to reestablish this connection. However, with every passing moment, this connection grew further apart. It was like trying to regain a hold of an anchor plunged into the depths of the sea ¡ª the anchor didn¡¯t become any lighter, but the grasp on it grew more tenuous, and while he could try his hardest to pull it back up, it would only sink deeper.


    His mind was resolute. Simply directing his attention to the vibration wasn¡¯t going to change anything. He tried weighing his options, but there were too few.


    Although the Queen of Darkness¡¯s power is weakening this vibration, it seems like more of a passive attack. What else could match this power?


    Immediately, he decided to take a bet and started chanting for his life.


    The Unyielding Light of the New Age,


    The Apostate of Seven Kings,


    Transmuter of countless souls,


    Help me!


    He was related to this entity in some capacity, but he didn¡¯t know whether their relationship was conflicting or harmonious. And although he didn¡¯t have anything to offer, there was nothing else he could rely on.


    As if imprinted into the essence of his soul, he instinctively conjured the image of five bodies. It was a strange feeling, like they were superimposed, yet infinitely far apart. The most vivid body was that of the man he possessed, in his forties and appeared fairly malnourished.


    What''s this? Did it work? Deus''s mind raced as it began attempting to unravel the profundities of this mirage.


    Two less vivid bodies simultaneously existed in two separate states of being, both resembling the silhouette of this man. However, when one inspected them fully, they would find that one of the bodies was luminous and colorful, extending outwards as if dissolving into thin air. The other one was condensed in constantly fluctuating strings of information and geometric shapes.


    Likewise, the remaining bodies were of similar quality, although they rather resembled the body he assumed in the world of fog ¡ª similarly malnourished, but tall and more youthful. While they themselves were superimposed, they were entirely separate from the other bodies, their connection wasn¡¯t dwindling either.


    Suddenly, he noticed their respective pulses were just slightly asynchronous themselves. He had an epiphany, My soul seems to be bound to the remaining two bodies. What if the ritual exploits the link between either bodies?


    And since the less vivid bodies resemble each other, the issue should lie therein.


    By now, he could barely sense the vibration of the foreign bodies.


    Immediately, he willed for the less vivid bodies to coalesce. Initially, they resisted his will, merely clutching against each other. He persisted, until slowly, their silhouettes began to melt, ensued by a slight discomfort. A few seconds later, a scorching heat assaulted his entire body while his wound had reopened. He gritted his teeth, persevering.


    The area around the waist was the first to coalesce, the pulse intensifying with each passing second. Despite all, the connection continued faing.


    Under the heat of this process, he could sense parts of his skin expanding into several bubbles. The largest bubble ¡ª around a forearm''s length ¡ª formed on his chest, squeezed in between both fusing bodies.


    It¡¯s going to pop! Deus gritted his teeth, preparing himself for what was to come.


    His body convulsed moments before, announcing the burst.


    Bang!


    Bang!


    A chain reaction ensued, his consciousness was hanging by a thread!


    I can¡¯t pass out now! He balled his hand into a fist and regained focus. Instead of willing to reverse this process, he accelerated it. By now, the soul''s pulse was extremely rapid, much more than what the heart would be able to endure. Mere breaths remained until the connection was completely lost. There was no going back now.


    Bang!

 9 - The Journey Begins

    Bang!


    The last bubble burst, and the scorching heat exponentially weakened, along with a single pulse which slowly grew indistinguishable from his heartbeat.


    Finally, both bodies had completely fused. Or rather, it was more appropriate to say the two bodies he resonated with originally had assimilated the foreign man¡¯s body he possessed.


    He couldn¡¯t hang onto the thread of consciousness anymore and the image of three bodies faded.


    ¡­


    ¡°Hey, wake up!¡±


    Deus jolted awake. A faint stain had formed beneath his armpits, drenching his white linen shirt. He scrunched, slightly disoriented.


    Sister Mary stood in the right aisle of the church, her right arm placed upon his shoulder. The other churchgoers had already left, leaving the chapel quite deserted.


    She sighed and said, ¡°You¡¯ve dozed off.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he replied and slowly stood up.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. I didn¡¯t want to wake you up.¡± She turned towards the altar where the father towered over brother Zarael, who was assisting him in arranging some documents.


    When the father¡¯s gaze met hers, his expression remained calm as ever.


    They didn¡¯t notice?


    Deus raised his eyebrows, replying, ¡°What time is it? Aren¡¯t we supposed to depart today?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s why I woke you up. I wouldn¡¯t want to hinder the recovery of a patient for nothing. Besides, the church will brim with the next batch of people in just a few minutes.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    He narrowed his eyes slightly. If they¡¯d noticed an abnormality, would they tell him?


    Had they believed the evil was dispelled, it wouldn¡¯t be out of question to tell him to calm his peace of mind. Otherwise, they¡¯d probably grow much more insistent on going along with their plan. He decided to probe further.


    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve thought about it. Maybe It¡¯d be better to rest for a few more days, what do you¨C¡±


    ¡°No! That¡¯s out of the question!¡± Sister Mary raised her voice sharply, which then echoed down the chapel. Immediately, her face flushed red.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to! Sorry. It¡¯s not befitting for a sister of the Holy Church of Darkness!¡± She lowered her head slightly, interlocking her hands.


    The father had taken notice of the commotion, glancing at the two again.


    So they¡¯ve noticed something¡­ A slight sense of unease lingered in his mind, and without waiting another second, he assured her, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve decided. I¡¯ll come with you, okay?¡±


    Sister Mary nodded.


    ¡°Wait here. I¡¯ll have a talk with father Art to prepare for the upcoming voyage.¡±


    She adjusted her coif, beneath which strands of white hair had become loose, and walked gracefully towards the altar.


    They whispered silently, to the point that when he mustered all his attention, he could only discern a few hushes. Coupled with occasional glances, he could only assume he was the subject of their conversation.


    My situation is becoming quite perilous. However, it¡¯s of utmost priority to escape from this rural area. He contemplated, eventually coming to a resolute decision, Especially with the commencement of the Royal Succession War, locating me in Novaston will be like searching for a needle in a haystack ¡ª it¡¯ll be impossible.


    That is, if there are no supernatural methods, He added and sighed internally. He could only depend on logical deductions. In a world of supernaturality, the value of logic fell tremendously.


    Finally, father Art and sister Mary¡¯s conversation seemed to have reached a conclusion. Deus watched as sister Mary returned walking towards him while father Art pulled open a wooden hatch beneath the altar¡¯s podium. He mumbled something as both him and brother Zarael descended, slowly disappearing from his view.


    ¡°Where is he going?¡± Deus asked curiously.


    ¡°It¡¯s just some equipment we store in the crypt. Nothing to worry about. Let¡¯s go outside.¡±


    Deus¡¯s lips curled upwards. ¡°Alright.¡±


    He didn¡¯t believe them at all, it was obvious she was trying to deceive him. However, he was quite confident they wouldn¡¯t take action unless he did something rash during their travels. Otherwise, they wouldn¡¯t be this patient with him.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    For the time being, I¡¯ll play along¡­ He thought as he followed her outside.


    The church was perched atop a slight elevation, overlooking the mid-sized town consisting of narrow cobblestone streets and buildings. Most were two stories high, except for the buildings adjacent to the high street, which stood at three stories. Numerous carriages transporting various goods navigated through the crowded street, which was swarming with people, animals, and vendors.


    The town was encased in seemingly endless agricultural lands, while the same mountains he¡¯d seen whilst in the backyard of the manor stretched along the northern horizon. It made him wonder why they wouldn¡¯t significantly expand horizontally ¡ª was it perhaps that they¡¯ve experienced an unforeseen influx of people?


    ¡°Mister, who are you?¡± a shrill voice called out from below.


    Deus¡¯s head tilted downwards, spotting a young girl at his feet. She wore a woolen dress and petticoat, hand-knitted gloves covering her from the cold. An expression of curiosity was written all over her face.


    ¡°Well¨C¡±


    Before he could respond, a young man who stood only a few steps left hurried towards them. The man was in his late twenties, hence could be considered a peer to Deus in terms of mental age. He wore a gray woolen coat and flat-cap.


    ¡°Don¡¯t just speak to strangers!¡± he reprimanded, then turned towards Deus. He lifted his flat-cap, apologizing profusely. Deus¡¯s gaze landed on the man¡¯s scalp, which revealed a huge bald spot.


    When the man noticed the direction of his gaze, he promptly put his hat back on. Deus withdrew his gaze. There was no benefit in pointing out someone¡¯s insecurity.


    Rather, it¡¯s disadvantageous, He mused, It¡¯s in my best interest to foster relationships, in order to gather information about this world.


    Deus reached out his hand. The man¡¯s eyes lingered on it for a second, before he returned the handshake. His grip was slack, indicating there was no enmity between them despite his awkward mishap.


    ¡°I¡¯m Derek Green, it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡±


    ¡°The pleasure is all mine, sir. I¡¯m Monte Moverte.¡±


    Deus put on a light smile, ¡°So, it seems like we¡¯ll spend the next few days together. Where are you two heading to?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡­¡± Monte¡¯s gaze darted to the girl, whose shoulders dropped slightly. This was a stark contrast to her previous enthusiastic behavior.


    ¡°We¡¯re visiting grandma. She¡¯s residing in Novaston, and¡­¡± he paused in hesitance, but then added, ¡°She¡¯s not feeling too well.¡±


    Deus understood the cause of his hesitance immediately, and softly placed his hand on his shoulder, ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that. She¡¯ll be in my prayers. May ¡®She¡¯ bring solace to her. If you ever feel in need of some companionship, I¡¯ll never hesitate to support those in need.¡±


    When Monte nodded, he patted his shoulder and diverted the topic, ¡°I¡¯m staying in Novaston with my wife as well, although most of the time I¡¯m on the move ¡ª carting isn¡¯t easy.¡±


    Deus chuckled slightly, ¡°One day, my wife is going to kill me because of it. Where are you guys from?¡±


    Deus¡¯s encouragement seemed to have calmed his mind a little, and he responded in a voice laced with a hint of optimism, ¡°This is my daughter, Mariel.¡±


    He stroked her hair, as she was still feeling a little dejected. ¡°We¡¯re from Bourd. Did you know it¡¯s the fifth most populous in the Bothamian Empire?¡±


    Evidently, this random fact was not truly directed at Deus, but to cheer up Mariel. However, she turned her head, which he responded to by sighing silently.


    He¡¯s intelligent, but that doesn¡¯t include his emotional intelligence, Deus thought as Monte gave up his attempts, and began truly immersing himself within their conversation.


    ¡°I¡¯m working in a pastry shop¡­¡±


    The chatting continued for a bit, while Deus repeated the story he¡¯d told sister Mary. By Deus¡¯s judgement, there wasn¡¯t anything particularly noteworthy to point out, as he jabbered about various pastries, competitors, and the increasing governmental regulations.


    While they were immersed within their conversation, a sizable crowd had formed in front of the St. Plors Church. While most of them had gathered to attend the second church service of the day, a select few planned to ride along in the carriage.


    After a member of the church staff welcomed the majority inside, twelve people remained outside. This was the group he¡¯d spent his next few days with.


    ¡°Everyone, listen up!¡±


    Sister Mary stood on the ledge of the wagon¡¯s rear as she interrupted the crowd¡¯s ramblings, which fell silent right away. This behavior demonstrated the anxiety which gripped the people¡¯s hearts, perhaps because of the upcoming travels or obstacles they might face in the context of uncertain times.


    ¡°In a few minutes, we¡¯ll depart. All baggage on the side of our church''s envoy has been stowed inside. I¡¯ll have to rely on your cooperation to carry on with your luggage.¡±


    She continued, explaining the orderly protocol in an attempt to get this done quickly. Oddly enough, Deus gained the impression the complexity of her system only fueled the crowd¡¯s tensity, delaying their departure even further.


    An elderly lady argued with another one over who¡¯d go first based on their seniority, since the other lady¡¯s husband used to be an officer in the Bothamian Army. Monte lost sight of Marial as she went off looking to talk with another stranger. Meanwhile, sister Mary ran around trying to enforce her protocol.


    When it was Deus¡¯s turn, he stepped into the latter wagon. Both wagons spanned around five meters and were covered with an arched canvas tarp, coated in a layer of oil to resist harsh weather conditions. Inside, two wooden benches were placed opposite to each other, while there was an elevated seat in front which was assigned to the coachman.


    Deus speculated that the wagon was meant for the transport of goods instead of the transport of people. However, as such methods were gradually being outperformed by means such as railway freight, the supply of second-hand wagons would rise, resulting in record-low prices. Besides, they were much more handy when intending to transport large groups of people.


    His cohort consisted of the elderly lady with ¡®an officer husband¡¯, which he later learned called herself Misses Pinker, claiming to have inherited several plots of land in the East. He was skeptical about the truthfulness of her statements.


    Then there were Monte and Mariel, who he¡¯d already become acquainted with, brother Zarael of the Moonlit Brotherhood who he¡¯d seen assisting father Art earlier, himself and the coachman.


    Brother Zareal donned several iron-wrought chains depicting phases of the moon, while the coachman was an ordinary middle-aged man.


    Sister Mary was seated in the front wagon, while father Art stayed behind in the St. Plors Church ¡ª it relied on his presence to keep things going both systemically and morally.


    As church service was still underway, he couldn¡¯t see them off, but they departed anyway.

 10 - The Imposter

    Nightfall had descended onto the world. The sky was shrouded in a majestic greenish light once again, only a star and moon puncturing its veil. And yet, as the green-tinted wagon rattled from the cobblestone road, there were still only crops both left and right.


    A while ago, they¡¯d passed by a meadow slowly enveloped by winter¡¯s clutches, fauna turning dull and brown, flowers wilting while most wildlife had migrated or entered hibernation. However, this scene didn¡¯t last very long, as they soon reentered farmland.


    Deus speculated most of the area that was now-farmland was once similar meadows, but converted as the soil was fertile and it required less arduous deforestation measures. By the same conjecture, it was likely wilderness still prevailed in other biomes of this country.


    Marial sat cross-legged at the feet of Misses Pinker, listening to her boisterous ramblings. In her arms, she strangled her brown stuffed rabbit.


    ¡°¨CHe¡¯d glance at me every couple of seconds. Although I was slightly anxious, his charm helped soothe my worries. Meanwhile, his father angrily glared at him ¡ª this would secure his ownership over a thousand acres of land.¡±


    Monte raised his eyebrows, saying skeptically, ¡°A thousand? That¡¯s a lot, for sure.¡±


    Misses Pink ignored him and continued, ¡°And then, the priest asked him if he would take her as his wife. At this moment, all whispering from the crowd had stopped as they awaited his affirmation.¡±


    Mariel chewed on her fingernails. ¡°What? What did he say?¡±


    Misses Pinker¡¯s lips curled into a smile. ¡°I remember it as if it were yesterday¡­¡±


    ¡°He turned towards the audience and said,¡± She cleared her throat to adjust her voice, deepening its pitch, ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, I am honored by your presence. Ever since being exposed to the light of this world, your generosity towards me has seen no bounds. I thank you all for that.¡±


    Mariel tightened her grip, the stuffed rabbit¡¯s button eyes bulging.


    ¡°At this moment, his father was about to intervene, but he raised his voice and walked down the aisle, taking my hand.¡±


    ¡°However, it is not wealth which moves the heart. Today, I choose true love. At this moment, he kneeled in front of me, all he¡¯d ever known at stake. And he asked me, Will you marry me?¡±


    Just before the story was about to reach its climax, Monte interjected, ¡°Are you sure? Especially when wealth is involved, wouldn¡¯t there be legal repercussions? You¡¯d have to consider the Prenuptial Marriage Act of¨C¡±


    In response to ruining the suspense, Mariel almost ripped off the rabbit¡¯s head. She turned and screamed, ¡°Shuut up!¡±


    Monte flinched, the fabric of the wagon cushioning his recoil.


    Mariel turned back to Misses Pinker, who chuckled slightly. Sly as she was, she had already prepared a response, ¡°Honey, you¡¯re way too young ¡ª laws can change. Let me get back to the story¡­¡±


    From thereon, Monte sat slouched, sullen in his seat. Deus had to admit that the lady¡¯s bullshitting skills were on par with his. He took the opportunity to scoot over, patting his back in an effort to lift his spirits and deepen their bond. If one focused solely on his body¡¯s age, he was at the right age to be his father.


    ¡°Say, when do you think we¡¯ll escape this maze? It¡¯s like this farmland will never end,¡± he asked as he lit a smoking pipe, offering it to him.


    ¡°Umm,¡± Monte perused as he accepted, ¡°We¡¯re already fairly close to the Duchy of Lilius. Because of his Grace, ¡ª or rather, excuse me in advance, but ¡ª his Idiocy, the Duke of Crowley¡¯s arrangements, we should notice this very abruptly.¡±


    He puffed and cleared his throat. ¡°Sorry, I got carried away. I would guess it¡¯ll take only a few more hours to reach the Duchy of Lilius, and around three days in total to reach the train station at minimum. We¡¯ll see.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Deus raised his eyebrows. ¡°What¡¯s up with your reaction?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± asked Monte and yawned. ¡°Well, before the Duchy of Crowley was turned into this sacrilegious monstrosity, its people respected nature¡¯s laws. The faith in her Divinity, the Mother Goddess of Earth and Springs, was blossoming.


    ¡°When industrialization was first soaring, all duchies participated in a tacit competition, the outcome of which would decide the future of their families. However, the Duke of Crowley¡¯s people were thinly spread, and decades of little investment in education painted a bleak picture for him.¡±


    His expression contorted. ¡°You know, my family was considered squatters, although we¡¯ve lived here for generations. We¡¯ve been farmers, supplying the local community. At times of crop failure, we¡¯d revert to ¡®Her¡¯ gifts.¡±


    Deus nodded and put on an expression of compassion.


    Monte continued, ¡°Well, the Duke of Crowley decided to resort to his greatest advantage ¡ª smooth and fertile soil. He hired mercenaries to remove all squatters, and instead of compensating them, they would extort them of all possessions.¡±


    ¡°Back then, I wasn¡¯t born yet, but I endured the aftereffects. We lived in the slums of Bourd, scraping by with the bare minimum while the people lost faith in ¡®Her¡¯.¡±


    ¡°At the same time, rumors say the farmers contracted to plow the fields unearthed ancient ruins and soon met strange deaths. Although people are afraid to admit it, I¡¯m sure of this ¡ª this is ¡®Her¡¯ wrath!¡±


    Deus fell into contemplation, Is this the limit of Gods'' influence on this world? If so, there must be major constraints. They¡¯re far from omnipotent.


    As the night grew darker, Deus consoled the young man while diverting the topic to something less loaded. While Monte babbled like a waterfall, most of his words were jargon to Deus, consisting of bureaucracy and policies. Without the right context, even insomniacs would be put to sleep.


    However, the work ethic of actors was tight, leaving little room for sleep. Even after shooting, actors would be immersed within their roles for countless hours, memorizing lines and practicing skills. Even though Deus felt like at the edge of insanity, he endured the tiredness.


    In the following couple of hours, he learned that although Monte worked as a pastry chef, he taught himself law, which was in accord with his ramblings. After they would visit his mother, they would directly move to the Earldom of Dermount, in which he hoped to attain a license as a lawyer due to some obscure loophole.


    Eventually, tiredness settled even in Monte, who was very enthusiastic in his quasi-monologue. It seemed there was rarely someone who actually tried listening to him attentively. He covered Mariel with a woolen blanket, who lay in the lap of Misses Pink, unperturbed by her loud snoring. Meanwhile, brother Zarael had already long fallen asleep after his evening prayers.


    Next, he exchanged glances with Deus, who gestured for him to lay down on the wooden floor of the wagon, while he lay on the bench. Monte drifted off immediately, while Deus remained awake for a couple of minutes, watching the night sky blanketing all in a greenish hue.


    ¡­


    Early in the morning, when the sun had yet to rise, he awoke to a sudden jerk. His eyelids opened slowly, adjusting to the gas lamps which cast his shadow against the canvas tarp. From outside, the shadow twisted into a horrible figure, like in shadow puppetry.


    When his eyes had fully adjusted to the light, he saw that it was brother Zarael who shook him from his slumber. As he was the first to fall asleep, he was comparatively energized.


    ¡°Sir, it¡¯s a government checkpoint. You¡¯ll be the last up.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Deus responded tiredly and directed his attention behind, where two men in uniform stood, round helmets strapped to their heads. While one¡¯s face was weathered with scars and white sideburns peeked from his helmet, the other¡¯s skin was pale and spotless like porcelain.


    To Deus¡¯s surprise, it was the younger officer who was the superior ¡ª while he supervised the group tightly gathered behind, the older officer patted down Monte.


    Deus rubbed his chin in thought, In this society, even with years of experience, one will be restrained by the status placed upon oneself at birth. This is the natural order, accepted by both the wealthy and the poor.


    When sister Mary was adopted by the aristocracy, this very law was disrupted. Could this be the cause that truly angered the public?


    ¡°Old man, it¡¯s your turn,¡± said the younger officer, his words dripping with arrogance, as Monte reunited with his daughter, Misses Pinker, brother Zarael, the coachman, and ¡ª Deus paused.


    Who¡¯s that?


    The officer balled his fists, raising his voice, ¡°Have you gone deaf already?!¡±


    Deus snapped from his shock, complying with the policeman and approaching them. However, his gaze remained lingering on the stranger who¡¯d mingled with his group.


    Despite the winter¡¯s chill, the man wore a threadbare linen shirt, revealing his hairy chest. His eyes were covered with a white blindfold, while long hair hung to his shoulders. Wrapped around his neck was a brown shawl.


    When Deus arrived at the older officer, and he began patting him up and down, the stranger¡¯s lips curled into an eerie smile.


    Who¡¯s that? Shivers ran down Deus¡¯s spine.

 11 - Suicide

    Despite the winter¡¯s chill, the man wore a threadbare linen shirt, revealing his hairy chest. His eyes were covered with a white blindfold, while long hair hung to his shoulders. Wrapped around his neck was a brown shawl.


    When Deus arrived at the older officer, and he began patting him up and down, the stranger¡¯s lips curled into an eerie smile.


    Who¡¯s that? Shivers ran down Deus¡¯s spine.


    The way he¡¯s smiling at me suggests he¡¯s here because of me. Who knows about me? The Church of the Queen of Darkness and that mysterious cult.


    Immediately, his thoughts turned towards the cult with the emblem of a snake coiling around a torch. While he couldn¡¯t identify this symbol on any of his clothes or body and his feet weren¡¯t gelatinous, his wariness wasn¡¯t lowered in the slightest. After all, would an imposter so easily identify himself?


    For the time being, it was likely the man wouldn¡¯t take action. Otherwise, it¡¯d alert the officers, and even if he killed both, it was sure to draw attention they¡¯d rather avoid.


    Should he tell them?


    No, that was out of the question. The Church of the Queen of Darkness¡¯s suspicion of him was already raised ¡ª any more, and they might take serious action immediately. While their resources to deal with supernatural means posed a risk to Deus, this could simultaneously provide an opportunity to deal with this man, if he were to use strange methods.


    Why hasn¡¯t he killed me already, if he¡¯s powerful enough for his presence to go unnoticed by all? Is he probing my intentions?


    Deus calmed his mind as he explored other possibilities, Perhaps they''d met him while I was asleep, and decided to lend a helping hand. It wouldn¡¯t be unusual since they¡¯ve similarly done so when I bled dry on the road.


    However, he soon spotted inconsistencies with this


    It¡¯d be more likely for him to hitch with the first wagon. Is there any logic in switching to the second wagon? It¡¯s a possibility ¡ª I¡¯ll have to dig deeper.


    ¡°Sir, what¡¯s that in your pockets?¡± asked the officer, interrupting his train of thoughts. He was kneeled on the ground, his hand placed on his trouser¡¯s right pocket.


    Deus feigned an expression of confusion, before snapping his fingers. He responded calmly, ¡°Right, that would be my smoking pipe.¡±


    The officer nodded and pulled it out. As he beheld its intricacy, his eyebrows mildly rose.


    The smoking pipe was carved from some white mineral, while intricate tracery was engraved within, making it overt that it was of superior craftsmanship. While he retained this smoking pipe from before ¡ª unlike his blood-stained attire which he¡¯d switched for a set of ragged clothes ¡ª it didn¡¯t exactly match his persona.


    Deus had to admit, this was a flaw he¡¯d neglected.


    The crouching officer reached for an etui in his pockets, and pulled out glasses. Wiping it with the hem of his uniform, he placed it onto his nose bridge to inspect the smoking pipe. Without letting his reaction show, he turned it around, examining it from all angles.


    Deus narrowed his eyes. This¡¯ll get me in some trouble. However, with the help of Sister Mary, it shouldn¡¯t be all too much of a problem to help clear this ¡®misunderstanding¡¯.


    The officer cleared his throat, and as he¡¯d anticipated, asked, ¡°Where did you get this from?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a family heirloom,¡± Deus swiftly responded as his posture remained relaxed, ¡°It¡¯s been passed down for six generations.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    The officer tilted his head upwards, directly meeting his gaze. Deus noticed that his brows were furrowed, while his body grew more tense. This added to the sifting atmosphere.


    At this point, the younger officer had noticed them as well, his hand hovering over the pistol holstered at his waist. The pistol¡¯s handle was wooden and meshed into an intricate metallic trigger and barrel, only faintly resembling what Deus was familiar with from Earth.


    ¡°Old man. Even if you¡¯re hard of hearing, don¡¯t take me for an idiot,¡± The young officer narrowed his eyes, ¡°If you¡¯re not going to respond, I¡¯m going to assume the worst.¡±


    Deus¡¯s gaze darted to the blindfolded man, then back. Although he was sure he was the origin of this perilous situation, he didn¡¯t want to agitate the officers.


    What am I going to do if they can¡¯t hear me or watch my lips move? Deus gritted his teeth, weighing his options.


    The situation was about to escalate, and Deus knew he had to calm them. He lifted his hands with open palms, proving that he was unarmed. However, he wasn¡¯t sure if they¡¯d even be able to perceive this. When he was about to take the initiative to try talking them out of it again, Brother Zarael interjected.


    ¡°Gentlemen, calm down. I¡¯ll explain this.¡±


    A sense of relief washed over Deus.


    Brother Zarael was about to approach them from the right, but the officer extended his arm, obstructing him. Brother Zarael¡¯s pupils dilated, ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡±


    ¡°Stay where you are,¡± hissed the young officer, ¡°I¡¯m sure I recognize this guy from somewhere.¡±


    At this moment, even the blindfolded man turned his head to the young officer, indicating this must¡¯ve been quite shocking to him. Deus didn¡¯t hide his shock either, as it would perfectly rebut the officer¡¯s claim.


    For a while, silence hung in the air during which all awaited his remembrance. Although Deus was curious about the true identity of this body, he wasn¡¯t willing to see it be exposed to all people present.


    Therefore, he puffed his chest slightly to display confidence and responded, ¡°Sir, with all due respect. I am a simple man, so I don¡¯t know where you recognize me from. Please be realistic.¡±


    As if none had heard what he¡¯d said, the silence continued, which deeply unsettled Deus. What was he going to do?


    When he noticed Brother Zarael¡¯s moon-shaped chains slightly flaring up as if in reaction to some supernatural influence, Deus¡¯s hope was roused briefly.


    All of the sudden, the officer drew the pistol and aimed it at Deus. The man¡¯s finger lightly pressed down on the trigger. The blindfolded man¡¯s gaze had returned, staring and gauging his reaction to this threat.


    Adrenaline rushed through Deus¡¯s veins, and time seemed to slow down. He prepared to evade the bullet immediately.


    In a flash, the man turned the pistol around completely, pressing its barrel harshly against his pale skin.


    Bang!


    Blood splattered at the crowd standing behind him, of which only Brother Zarael flinched as they landed on his face. The light emitted by his chains had now reached a blinding intensity.


    As the officer¡¯s corpse dropped onto the cobblestone road, Brother Zarael backed up instinctively, but bumped into Monte who stood behind him. Monte¡¯s expression was as calm as ever as he responded, ¡°Hey, be careful.¡±


    The blindfolded man who stood at the forefront of the crowd noticed Brother Zarael¡¯s awakening from this trance-like state, and turned to whip his shawl up into the air. The shawl didn¡¯t fall straight to the crowd, rather drifting slowly like a feather as if extremely light.


    ¡°By the Goddess!¡± yelled Brother Zarael as he interlocked his hands and zig-zagged through the crowd, retreating to where the oil lamp¡¯s light didn¡¯t reach, his glowing chain exposing his location.


    As the chain¡¯s light grew smaller and the distance between them grew, their moon pendants suddenly turned semi-translucent and zoomed towards the blindfolded man.


    Meanwhile, Deus¡¯s stomach twisted, and his emotions were overflowing with a severe sense of dread. Again, it was as if the robed man with vestments of gold and red towered before him.


    ¡°Sir, it¡¯s alright,¡± sounded a raspy voice below him, ¡°There¡¯s no reason to be nervous. If it¡¯s an heirloom, that explains everything.¡±


    Deus ignored the officer, his mind churning intensely as he inferred the meaning of this situation, His abilities are related to mind-control. If that¡¯s the case, why hasn¡¯t he taken hold of my mind?


    There¡¯s only one explanation: He¡¯s trying to probe my identity and intentions. This implies the limits of his abilities ¡ª he can¡¯t read minds, only control them to some extent!


    What is special about my identity, and why would anyone feel the need to probe it?


    Again, there¡¯s only a single explanation: Although his legs aren¡¯t gelatinous, he must be linked to the cult. Given the fact they haven¡¯t killed me, they must not only fear the information I hold, but something else about me.


    This is my advantage; my ambiguous identity!

 12 - A Thousand Mice VS Black Hole

    This is my advantage; my ambiguous identity!


    With newfound determination, he cast his attention on the duel between the stranger and Brother Zarael, deciding to watch if play out. He didn¡¯t know whether Brother Zarael stood a chance, but even if he were to lose, he knew interfering would only hold him back.


    The glowing pendants approached the stranger at an extreme speed, closing the distance in-between nearly instantly. Just as the glowing pendants were about to reach him, the shawl which was still drifting in the air began to whirl around and condensed into a single spot, barely visible with the naked eye within the darkness of the night.


    Although it was extremely tiny, the vortex it formed exerted a powerful suction force on its surroundings, immediately swallowing the pendants and extinguishing their light.


    Only breaths later, its pull had nearly doubled, and the surrounding crops swayed in the wind. The crowd, which had previously been completely oblivious to the situation due to the mysterious mind-control ability, began picking up on this as well.


    ¡°Daddy, what¡¯s happening?¡± asked Mariel, cowering at the feet of his father whose flat-cap was snatched from his head, disappearing in the vortex.


    Monte was breathing heavily, but mustered his courage and kneeled down to pick her up. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but you¡¯ll be safe. I¡¯ll protect you.¡±


    Meanwhile, Misses Pinker watched the situation with a grim expression. She glanced at Mariel, then turned towards Monte, ¡°There¡¯s something off about this. Stay close, and seek coverage behind the wagons. I¡¯ll follow you.¡±


    She then glanced at the Deus and the officer, ¡°You, too.¡±


    The officer nodded, while Deus remained expressionless as if in a daze.


    Although they don¡¯t seem to be able to perceive the fight between Brother Zarael and the blindfolded man, why would they react to the pull of the vortex? Is this the limit of his ability?


    He turned towards the wagon of Sister Mary¡¯s group.


    Since Sister Mary and her group should have already passed the checkpoint, it¡¯s possible he¡¯s prioritizing keeping them in check so they don¡¯t interfere. However, multitasking must severely strain his control.


    His plan was foiled by an unknown variable ¡ª the Church of the Queen of Darkness¡¯s caution towards me, an ¡®evil¡¯ spirit, and their subsequent armament.


    When the officer tugged at him, Deus was shaken from his reverie. The officer gestured to the wagon, and he nodded in compliance.


    While they trudged away, pushing back against the vortex¡¯s pull, and they arrived behind the wagon, his gaze remained lingering on the fight.


    The stranger stood in the middle of the street, holding a gas lamp in his left hand. He faced the darkness in which depths Brother Zarael hid, waiting for an opportunity to strike. While even the cobblestone beneath the vortex began quaking, he easily withstood its pull.


    Was he able to direct it?


    Just as this thought passed through Deus¡¯s mind, a soft rustling resounded from the field to his right.


    The stranger didn¡¯t hesitate to extend his hand outwards, causing the crops to swing heavily into the vortex¡¯s direction, while it directly uprooted the nearest ones, condensing them into the tiny spot.


    However, the figure of Brother Zarael remained hidden. Slowly, the rustling resounded again coupled with a strange squeaking, growing louder with each passing breath.


    This time, he wouldn¡¯t miss! The stranger readjusted the direction of the pull, and the figure of something small flew into the vortex. Deus squinched as another three flew into it ¡ª they were mice!


    Was this a coincidence, or related to Brother Zarael¡¯s ability? Did he plan to overwhelm him?This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Another batch of mice flew into the vortex. However, the rustling of squeaking grew even louder instead, gradually resounding from all sides and surrounding him.


    All of the sudden, shrill scream resounded from behind Deus, but was abruptly cut off. He instinctively turned around, his muscles tensing, preparing to strike.


    It was Mariel, whose mouth was tightly sealed by Monte¡¯s hand. Then, his gaze fell upon the first wagon, beneath which a flood of mice squirmed, surging in their direction.


    As all swiftly scurried beneath their feet and the wagon¡¯s wheels, Deus confirmed, We¡¯re not the enemy. This must be Brother Zarael¡¯s ability!


    The horses drawing the wagons neighed, abruptly shying awkwardly, crushing a few mice beneath their hooves. Misses Pinker, whose reaction-speed had deteriorated because of her age, struggled to evade the right horse¡¯s sudden jerk, but the policeman swiftly pulled her aside.


    ¡°Be careful, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Deus¡¯s eyes remained on the front of the swarm of mice, watching as they stacked upon each other and swept ¡ª similarly to water, taking the path of least resistance ¡ª into the direction of the stranger.


    The horses drawing the wagons neighed, abruptly shying awkwardly, crushing a few mice beneath their hooves. Misses Pinker, whose reaction-speed had deteriorated because of her age, struggled to evade the right horse¡¯s sudden jerk, but the policeman swiftly pulled her aside.


    ¡°Be careful, ma¡¯am.¡±


    In response to the swarm, the stranger scoffed and swung his arm around. Although the mice seemed endless, they were all mercilessly sucked into the vortex. Even the wagon was slightly pulled back from the pull, a few planks dislodging from the tension.


    If that''s all Brother Zarael was capable of, he¡¯ll surely lose!


    All of the sudden, the vortex began radiating a dazzling light. It rumbled, and the stranger seemed to have sensed danger as he backtracked into the direction of the wagon.


    At once, the tiny dot expanded with an explosive strength, releasing all that was previously sucked into it. Thousands of mice corpses interspersed with a few rocks were shot into all directions, even piercing the wagon¡¯s tough canvas.


    Deus, who was peeking from behind the wagon to watch the spectacle, withdrew his gaze, missing a flying mouse corpse by a hair¡¯s breadth.


    Although the stranger had anticipated this, he hadn¡¯t managed to escape in time, merely reaching the rear of the wagon.


    Bam!


    Bam!


    Bam!


    A barrage of mouse corpses slammed against his body, knocking him against the side of the wooden wagon, which fiercely shook at impact.


    Just a few seconds later, the explosion ended. The entire scene was littered in a blend of mice innards and blood. While most of them had only exerted physical trauma on the stranger, one of the mice¡¯s spines had actually directly pierced his neck!


    Faint footsteps clang from the distance. A figure stepped over the corpses and into the light of the gas lamp which lay sprawled to the ground.


    It was Brother Zarael, who was also in a miserable state, huffing heavily. Blood trickled from a wound on his forehead and onto his dark skin.


    That''s when the stranger gasped for air. He was actually alive!


    He groaned in pain, and Deus considered for a second if he should step in and deliver the final blow. However, he soon determined that it was too risky regardless, and decided to remain on the sidelines.


    As blood was drawn from where the spine pierced his neck, the man took hold of the wagon, pulling himself to his feet. He didn¡¯t forcefully rip out the bone, as it would only advance his demise.


    Deus scrutinized Brother Zarael, who took a quick glance at him back, but eventually returned to the stranger. He found his chain had reappeared, while slightly flaring up again.


    That shawl had disappeared, while Brother Zarael¡¯s chain resisted the mind-control. Most of all, the stranger was not under any condition to continue. What was he going to do?


    As the lights grew more intense, he remained motionless.


    A drop softly landed on Deus¡¯s forehead. Then another one.


    Soon, the rain pattered down them, washing away the blood and flowing into the fields, where it would nurture the crops which were in a disheveled state.


    When the sky began growling, the chain had reached an overwhelming intensity.


    Finally, the stranger muttered something silently, his voice slightly hoarse:


    The Primeval Sage,


    A Forsaken Prince,


    Of forbidden truths.


    Brother Zarael gritted his teeth while the moon-shaped pendants turned semi-translucent. Without sparing another second, he shot them forth.


    Gaze upon my sacrifice,


    And grant me passage beyond death,


    To the Tomb of Seventy-Seven!


    After muttering the last line, he tore the bloodied blindfold from his head, staring straight at Brother Zarael. Brother Zarael''s eyes constricted, but then furrowed, determined to eliminate him.


    Above the stranger¡¯s line-of-sight, the pendants flew straight at him. When it collided with his head, it was lit in flames. He remained motionless as it spread all around his body.

 13 - Into The Flames

    Above the stranger¡¯s line-of-sight, the pendants flew straight at him. When it collided with his head, it was lit in flames. He didn¡¯t react as it spread all around his body.


    When his body erupted into a single flame, it cast shadows which flickered brightly across the battlefield. Rain poured down on them, but was unable to extinguish the fire.


    Instead, the rain evaporated immediately, producing vicious sizzles. This was no ordinary fire ¡ª it would not stop until everything was turned into ash.


    Beyond the flame¡¯s veil, the stranger¡¯s melting lips curled into a smile.


    Shivers ran down Deus¡¯s spine, thinking back at the mother who''d threw her infant and didn''t give in, even at death''s door. Was it faith or insanity which drove him?


    At the same time, his eyebrows furrowed as he noticed a particularity. There was an invisible string attached to his head, exposed only as it caught fire.


    No, I¡¯m mistaken! It¡¯s actually multiple strings! Deus¡¯s stomach churned as he noticed the strings were strung into their direction, as well as towards the first wagon.


    He gritted his teeth and shouted, ¡°Sir, Brother Zarael!¡±


    Immediately, Brother Zarael¡¯s attention was drawn to the middle-aged man who¡¯d already long been exposed as possessed by Sister Mary and Father Art. It was evident to him he was related to this heretic, possibly directly responsible.


    Brother Zarael threw him a bitter look, but listened regardless.


    ¡°There¡¯s something seriously wrong, you need to extinguish the fire!¡±


    While eyeing Deus on the edge of his peripheral vision, he glanced back and forth. It took him a few glances before he finally noticed this particularity as well. As he realized the string¡¯s implications, his skin turned visibly pale.


    With a limp, he swiftly staggered towards the smiling man. Beyond the blindfold, his eye sockets were completely empty, adding to the terrifying atmosphere. The man¡¯s melting flesh plunged to the ground, exposing his mandible and teeth.


    Notwithstanding, Brother Zarael tilted his head slightly in disgust, but kept moving forwards. None of that mattered anymore ¡ª all of their lives were on the line.


    Brother Zarael arrived in front of the stranger, indifferent to the scorching heat which radiated from his collapsing body. He shot forth his hands and into the flame, clutching his neck tightly.


    However, the man¡¯s flesh was extremely tender, falling apart at the slightest touch. In the end, he only took hold of his cervical vertebrae. His hands trembled.


    ¡°S-Stop that,¡± said Brother Zarael, his tone tinged in desperation. He gritted his teeth and raised his voice, screaming, ¡°Stop it!¡±


    His voice echoed throughout the windswept fields. It was too late.


    Even if the stranger¡¯s lung was still operating, there was no way for it to supply air to the vocal cords. Above all, Deus seriously doubted his brain was still intact.


    Although the fire had now reached the midpoint of the string, Deus had long calmed down. Now that the strings were more visible, it was clear there was no string attached to his head.


    It seemed as if only those under the influence of his mind-control were attached to the strings. This much, he had suspected earlier as well. However, although he hadn¡¯t noticed any tampering with his mind, it was possible he¡¯d simply been made to think so.


    Now that all connections were exposed and he found none were attached to his head, he¡¯d come to terms with the implications.


    All of the sudden, a piercing scream erupted in his head. Similar to when this voice had told him not to abandon that infant, it was neither foreign nor familiar.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    What¡¯s this? Is this [ Fragmented Self ]? He placed his throbbing forehead in his palm.


    After what had happened before, he¡¯d concluded this voice was neither malicious nor friendly.


    He turned behind. The crowd consisting of the policeman, the coachman, Misses Pinker, Monte and Mariel were all clinging tightly against each other, seeking each other¡¯s warmth. However, it was not the coldness of the damp winter, but of the horrors witnessed.


    Monte caressed Mariel¡¯s head as she weeped in an effort to calm her nerves. However, fright was all written over his face, exposing his true feelings. He directed his wide eyes to Deus, seeking comfort from the man who he¡¯d shared a smoking pipe with just a few hours earlier.


    Naturally, as they didn¡¯t peek from the wagon, the crowd hadn¡¯t yet caught sight of the string which doomed above them.


    Deus averted his gaze. He knew the future which awaited them, what was the use of doing anything?


    Meanwhile, Brother Zarael plunged to the ground, fainting. He¡¯d neglected the scorching heat of the flames, causing both of his hands to be charred beyond recognition.


    Deus surmised that as he wasn¡¯t directly ¡®connected¡¯ to the stranger via a string, the fire wouldn¡¯t directly encroach on his body ¡ª despite that, it would still affect the external environment.


    Deus took a last glance back at the anxious crowd, then turned to walk towards the pitiful corpse of the officer. Just moments ago, he''d held the authority, upholding their so called ''justice''.


    However, what did these concepts, ''authority'', or ''justice'' amount to? There was only flesh and bones.


    He sighed. My situation is quite hopeless¡­ Thus far, only the circumstances paired with some deception have allowed me to survive¡­


    I¡¯ll have to loot him. Otherwise, I¡¯ll be defenseless once the cult or church locates me. It seems like they have the methods necessary.


    ¡°W-Wait,¡± said Monte, grabbing him by the collar. ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    Deus turned, beholding his pleading eyes. However, while exposed to the nature of this world, he felt like straying even further from his past self. By now, it was but a mirage, as if faintly remembering a past dream.


    Again, a strange scream erupted, mingling with his thoughts. His head throbbed severely, and he spewed a little blood.


    Fuck.


    Save them!


    He gritted his teeth.


    Save them? How?


    A strange yet intense sense of despair emerged, and he caught a tear welling in his eye.


    Fate doesn¡¯t know compassion. It doesn¡¯t budge to human pleads! What do you intend to do?


    Deus mustered his focus, drowning all cries. Despite not being malicious, they could put him in a tough spot, especially if they were to emerge in tense situations that required his focus.


    When he returned to reality, he noticed Monte¡¯s hand placed on his shoulder, his expression contorted in concern.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Deus¡¯s gaze lingered in the distance, unfocused. Then, he stared straight back at him. A strand of hair from his balding head had caught fire, but gone unnoticed by him.


    ¡°You should return to your daughter.¡±


    ¡°Wh¨C¡±


    ¡°Do it.¡±


    Monte was taken aback, but nodded. With a queasy mind he turned, disappearing behind the wagon again.


    Deus crouched down to the officer who¡¯d shot himself, picking up the percussion pistol which sat in a puddle of rain.


    Nervous stammers resounded from behind the wagon, and Deus¡¯s head turned slightly.


    They should have noticed by now.


    That¡¯s when his gaze fell upon the stranger¡¯s charred corpse, which crumbled slowly and dissolved in the rain and wind.


    Before him floated a translucent orb, triggering a sudden flashback of the aftermath of the battle in the manor¡¯s stall. He reminisced of these crooked letters wriggling in the air, warning him of some instability.


    Meanwhile, an intense desire to absorb it nearly overtook him. However, he had already experienced this desire, and was more readily equipped to deal with it.


    Deus narrowed his eyes. The risks associated with absorbing this orb were far too high. Under no circumstances would he purposefully give in to these desires.


    Under utmost focus, he sneaked behind Brother Zarael¡¯s body, attentively waiting for the orb to approach them. Meanwhile, he pulled up Brother Zarael by his curly black hair and snatched his chain. Although the moon-shaped pendants weren¡¯t attached, he surmised they would return after the fire extinguished.


    At that moment, the nervous stammers had turned into an intense screaming, piercing both the rain¡¯s splashing and the sky¡¯s growling.


    Deus didn¡¯t react immediately, instead waiting for the orb to conjoin with Brother Zarael¡¯s body. When it did, he relaxed slightly.


    He followed the screams, turning around the corner of the wagon. There lay the crowd, writhing in agony as flames consumed them. Monte embraced his daughter, Mariel, tightly in her arms.


    Deus raised the pistol, lining it up with both their heads.


    ¡°Consider this mercy.¡±


    Bang!

 14 - Fractured Self

    Deus raised the pistol, lining it up with both their heads.


    Bang!


    The bullet pierced Mariel¡¯s head, passing straight through it before drilling into Monte¡¯s head. The blood which oozed from it evaporated instantly, and their screams ceased.


    Meanwhile, the horses had snapped the harnesses which tied them to the wagons, fleeing while leaving their owners to burn.


    As he beheld their lifeless bodies, the voice which he¡¯d suppressed shouted out once more, overwhelming his thoughts. The headache intensified and he was on the verge of passing out.


    Deus clenched his fists, pushing back against these thoughts with his willpower, I need to persevere!


    His eyes moistened slightly, but he couldn¡¯t clearly distinguish whether it was caused by that ¡®other self¡¯ of his [Fractured Self ] ability, or the thick smoke which was exuded from their burning bodies.


    The smoke! I need to back up!


    Deus staggered backwards, his mind a little lightheaded from the oppressive heat and the lack of oxygen.


    He stumbled on a mouse carcass, plummeting back. Just as his head was about to collide with the cobblestones paving the road, his elbows instinctively shot out, breaking his fall.


    I shouldn¡¯t have bothered. He coughed, then cursed as his mind was slowly overwhelmed by that pestering voice, Save them! Save them!


    Shut up!


    A couple of meters frontwards, two orbs permeated from Monte¡¯s and Mariel¡¯s corpses which were still bright alight. They immediately began rotating adjacently, spiraling faster and faster until one absorbed the other.


    At that moment, the orb¡¯s trajectory diverted, slowly moving into his direction. Simultaneously, that desire to absorb them emerged.


    While before he managed to suppress it, his mental clarity was now clouded by a blend of mixed emotions and thoughts aimlessly fluttering around.


    He clenched his grip on the cobblestones which lay behind him, pulling himself backwards. This was a reaction of his willpower alone, towering over his emotions and thoughts.


    However, while the distance between him and the orb grew slightly, it was soon shortened again as the speed of the orb increased.


    Each inch that it did, the inner screams intensified as if deeply resonating with it, fiercely desiring to absorb that orb. He couldn¡¯t resist as it seeped into his body.


    [ Assimilating Firmament¡­ ]


    [ Firmament assimilated successfully. ]


    [ Warning: high risk of destabilization! ]


    [ Activating skill ¡°Fractured Self¡± forcibly... ]


    [ Soul fracturing... ]


    Deus sensed his innards slowly squirming. A flood of thoughts invaded his inner mind, all yearning for a single desire:


    I want to escape from this body!


    A severe sense of wrongness overwhelmed him and he convulsed, pulling his legs to his stomach. He retched, tears welling and mucus dripping from his nose.


    He convulsed again, disgorging all that was once-chicken-broth onto the puddled stone ground.


    His arm¡¯s outer skin swelled, stretching it forcefully. He screamed loudly but persisted, squinching to readjust his blurred wet pupils.


    When his vision cleared, he saw clearly; the swelling was in the shape of another two hands, trying to escape his body!


    Squelch!If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    As Deus lay on the ground, paralyzed in severe pain, his drenched linen shirt ripped apart from his bulging stomach.


    A figure jolted from him, passing right through his skin which turned slightly jelly. The figure was coated in a shimmering viscous black mucus which gushed onto Deus who lay below.


    At this moment, the black clouds which blanketed the sky parted, casting a dazzling moonshine onto the scene below.


    The rain gradually died down, washing away all blood which still remained. With the last flicker of the flame, it was quenched as well.


    The ambience was tranquil.


    [ Soul fractured. ]


    [ Skill ¡°Fractured Self¡± activated successfully. ]


    [ Notice: Risk of destabilization lowered slightly. ]


    [ Categorizing new skill¡­ ]


    [ Skill categorized successfully: ¡°Liminal Gateway¡±. ]


    ¡­


    At the same time, at the clergy¡¯s residence. It was situated at the bottom of the hill where the St. Plors Church stood, withstanding the storm raging outside.


    Father Art jolted from his dream. Panting, he snatched off his pointy nighthat drenched in sweat.


    His glance darted towards his beaded bracelet, from which two beads had dislodged. They had fallen onto his linen bedding, translucent, each exhibiting abnormal behavior.


    Sweat ran down his temples and he squinched, immediately inspecting them.


    The first bead was flickering between red and orange, as if a fire had been condensed within. It was extremely hot, charring the fabric above which it lay.


    Three breaths passed, during which smoke arose from it. Then it shattered, sending shards flying throughout the room. Father Art held up his arm to shield his face.


    His expression remained stoic as a shard grazed his arm, drawing blood which dripped onto his white nightgown. He didn¡¯t waste any breath to inspect the second bead, which was in a similar state.


    Whereas the first bead flickered intensely, the second bead did less so. When another three breaths passed, it abruptly cooled down.


    Father Art¡¯s facial muscles finally relaxed. He stepped towards the window beneath which a wooden desk stood. A bell was mounted to the wall adjacent to the desk, while a rope hung from it.


    He sat down and drew open the window¡¯s curtains, staring sorrowfully into the dark night. A couple of seconds passed when he pulled the rope. The bell chimed loudly as if amplified by supernatural means.


    When he noticed yawning and chattering of neighboring clergy resounding through the thin walls, he let go of the rope and interlocked his hands, praying to the Goddess Queen of Darkness.


    ¡­


    Zarael coughed heavily, steadily regaining consciousness.


    His sight was still blurred, but he sensed something off about the weight of his chain and hands. Just like his sight, his memories were cast in a mental fog.


    He snorted slightly, thinking, What happened?


    Directing his focus on the coordination of his hands, he slowly moved them along his chest, fumbling for the pendant which should¡¯ve hung from it.


    However, there was nothing. Neither hand, nor pendant.


    This was a frightening discovery, directly alerting his mind. His heart skipped a beat as he jolted upwards, swiftly rubbing the water and grime from his eyes with the stub which remained.


    While his vision regained sharpness, flashbacks of what had transpired flashed through his mind. Along with it came a severe headache, and his arms tingled strangely.


    By the time his vision had cleared, he accepted his sacrifice. However, he was clueless as to if it had actually achieved anything. Despite the burnt odor, he remained hopeful, perhaps as to deceive himself from the truth.


    He adjusted his body weight to rise to his feet, then tip-toed between the puddles and mice carcasses. The sun had already risen slightly, basking the scene in a bright light. However, while it provided a slight warmth, it didn¡¯t overpower the winter¡¯s chill.


    He walked past the stranger¡¯s corpse. It was hardly recognizable, as only remnants remained which had turned into ash and dust. While some had been carried away by the wind, most of it diluted the puddles in its vicinity black.


    It¡¯s all going to be alright, it¡¯s all going to be alright, He repeated inwardly, then added in a slightly uncertain tone, Whatever happens, it¡¯s always going to be alright ¡ª the Queen Goddess of Darkness is watching over me.


    He turned around the first wagon, beholding a miserable sight as his pupils constricted.


    A pile of charred corpses lay tightly squeezed against the front of the wagon. However, they had disintegrated to the point he was unable to tell how many there were.


    His throat tightened, restricting his breathing which grew extremely heavy.


    His stomach felt like sinking as he turned towards the front wagon from which a similar odor lingered. He stumbled towards it, ripping open the canvas which concealed the inside.


    Similarly, there lay a pile of charred corpses. A gaping hole pierced the canvas which arched the wagon, while it had turned completely black. It was likely all inside had succumbed to smoke poisoning.


    He stepped inside, catching sight of a slightly deformed brass hairpin. He recognized it immediately and bowed to scoop it up from the ash, but failed to remember his arms had turned to ash as well.


    Due to the intense tightness in his throat and chest, he struggled to breathe, and it turned increasingly shallow.


    Zarael slammed his head against the wooden bench lining the wagon, breaking immediately upon impact. He gasped for air while tears and drool ran down his face.


    He sniffled heavily, trying to utter pleas of forgiveness, but his words remained stuck in his throat. A blend of guilt and regret gripped his heart, squeezing it firmly.


    After some time, he could only form a wretched cry.

 15 - Beware of that Evil Spirit!

    The sun hung high in the sky and birds chirped.


    A rhythmic rhythm of hooves striking the stone road resounded while Father Art¡¯s long hazel hair fluttered in the wind.


    Slightly behind him galloped another horse, a young short woman with black pearl earrings seated atop it. She donned short, raven-black hair, which didn¡¯t require much maintenance and could easily be tucked beneath her coif.


    Father Art wore a cassock and the woman a tunic, cloaks draping their bodies. They were black instead of their usual white, as travelling, especially after recent rainfall, would certainly dirty them.


    ¡°So, did they respond?¡± shouted Sister Ethel, her voice only barely able to carry above the noise of the galloping.


    ¡°Yes, actually,¡± responded Art in a calm but loud tone, ¡°But they denied the request.¡±


    A startled expression was written over Ethel¡¯s face, and she jerked into Father Art¡¯s direction. ¡°What?¡±


    Father Art¡¯s lips curled into a wry smile. ¡°It¡¯s all within my expectations. With the Royal Succession War upcoming, ressources are especially tight. If it¡¯d been any other day, things wouldn¡¯t have turned out like this.¡±


    ¡°But¨C Someone died!¡± rebuked Ethel.


    Father Art paused for a second, as if calculating a response.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, but there¡¯s a certain procedure. It¡¯s not as if they wouldn¡¯t desire to help us, it¡¯s just that this is a low priority case.¡±


    Ethel¡¯s forehead creased even further and she dumbfoundedly responded, ¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Father Art confirmed.


    He sighed dejectedly. He aspired to join their ranks one day which required assimilating that particular mindset, thus tried rationalizing it to the best of his abilities.


    However, he couldn¡¯t help but be a little stirred by the headquarter¡¯s response ¡ª this involved the death of a person he held dear.


    On the horizon to which the road stretched, he finally noticed a wagon. He gulped nervously, but soon regained control over his breathing and heart.


    As the distance to the scene shortened, Father Art sensed his body growing colder despite the several layers of clothing. His expression remained stern as he stayed on the lookout for Brother Zarael¡¯s figure.


    However, he didn¡¯t catch a glimpse of it.


    ¡°We¡¯ve arrived.¡±


    As they rode with as little burden as possible, they managed to arrive in only a few hours. In comparison, the heavy burden of the wagon extended the time it took twofold.


    Ethel scanned the scene littered with mice carcasses. A burnt odor still faintly lingered. ¡°That¡¯s crazy. I can¡¯t imagine what might¡¯ve happened.¡±


    Father Art met her questioning gaze sharply in an attempt to point out her tone, which was slightly inconsiderate considering the circumstances.


    When she only grew more confused, he gave up on it and answered, ¡°It¡¯s Brother Zarael¡¯s ability of the Stratum, ¡®The Puppeteer¡¯¡±


    When her lips parted slightly, he swiftly added, ¡°He asked me to keep the details a secret, and I¡¯ll keep that promise.¡±


    ¡°Eh¨C¡±


    Father Art turned, walking along the side of the wagon and behind. He noted the charred corpses and silently muttered a prayer.


    However he¡¯d already expected this and kept going, looking for a sign of Brother Zarael. Sister Ethel followed suit.


    He pulled back the canvas covering the first wagon, beholding even more ash and the same brass hairpin which Zarael failed to pick up laying on the right bench, which remained intact.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    It¡¯s not where Sister Mary died, Surmised Father Art silently, Someone must¡¯ve picked it up ¡ª Brother Zarael!


    He stepped inside, inspecting the bench where the hairpin lay. There were rough engravings within, as if he¡¯d seriously struggled to etch it inside.


    Memories of the early morning resurfaced in Father Art¡¯s mind, and of the bead which heated up but didn¡¯t shatter.


    His injuries¡­ His hands must be injured!


    He returned to the engravings, deciphering them intently.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    Father Art held up his hand, signaling for space to think.


    After a while, he finally responded, ¡°There¡¯s blood on my hands. I don¡¯t dare face you before I have redeemed myself. Forgive me, Father.¡±


    After uttering these words, Father Art fell into deep contemplation.


    ¡­


    Meanwhile, in North Reedbounds. Despite the sun which stood high up, shadows blanketed the entire borough.


    A young slim man stood in front of a red-bricked building with all black curtains tightly shut. Blonde, slightly tousled hair fell to his shoulders and he wore a grayish-black cape which wrapped his body.


    A sign was fixed above the front door, reading ¡®Madame Ch¨¦rie¡¯.


    Noel shuddered, then cast a last glance at the map depicting the city of Novaston. His gaze followed the upper riverbed which led into this borough, then zig-zagged through the streets and alleyways until finally landing on a red mark.


    North Reedbounds was notorious for being an entertainment district ridden with crime and illegitimate businesses. Just two days earlier, there had been a fire. No deaths had been reported, but according to rumors, it numbered thirty-eight.


    He gulped and approached the door. With a heavy heart, he pushed it just slightly ajar, cautiously peering through the gap.


    Immediately, a thick floral scent wafted outside. He coughed, drawing the gazes of several figures gathered at a bar on his left hand side.


    Noel cursed inwardly, pushing the door open fully to avoid further suspicion.


    There was a grand foyer illuminated in dark red light which shone from candles perched atop the chandelier suspended in the air. A staircase led upwards, but a red rope was strung at its initial step, preventing anyone from just barging up.


    He stepped inside and observed their attires. There were men and women alike, donning mostly gowns and tailcoats. While some had visibly been patched and weren¡¯t tailored to their proportions, it was evident they had put in a great effort.


    At this sight, his muscles tensed slightly. I¡¯m the black sheep. This is going to be awkward.


    A couple of their gazes nervously lingered on him. Although the deep shadows cast by the dim candles concealed their identities, they didn¡¯t seem confident in just this, as they wore masks ornate in feathers and intricacy.


    ¡°Welcome to this establishment. I¡¯m Madame Ch¨¦rie,¡± said a voice, suddenly breaking the silence. It was dripping with an oppressive yet refined tone.


    His gaze darted left abruptly, beholding a mature woman with greyish hair, wearing a multilayered black lace gown. Despite her age, her skin was spotless, as if she¡¯d never seen the sun.


    Could it be the natural darkness of this borough? He silently questioned, but soon concluded it had to be heavy make-up, or the result of some unorthodox ritual.


    ¡°May I kindly ask you to strip that cape,¡± she said, then holding up a white feathered mask, ¡°If you so desire, we provide masks for just a small fee.¡±


    Noel complied, stripping his rope and asked, ¡°How much is it?¡±


    ¡°Three int.¡±


    ¡°Three int?! That¡¯s a day¡¯s wage!¡± he blurted out momentarily. When he realized this slip-of-tongue, he flushed red.


    ¡°Excuse me. I¡¯ll be alright,¡± he added swiftly, trying to salvage the situation.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Madame Ch¨¦rie chuckled lightly and grabbed his cape. ¡°There¡¯s an entry fee of six int, while the final amount will depend on several factors. Are you still willing to proceed?¡±


    ¡°Eh¨C?¡±


    Noel was shocked, but was attentive enough to not blurt out his thoughts again. Six int?! This is a scam! Isn¡¯t this South Reedbounds?!


    When his glance fell upon his white cotton ruffled shirt, he had a faint epiphany. This shirt would¡¯ve cost around two slades or twenty-four int ¡ª a person of ordinary standing wouldn¡¯t be able to afford it.


    Could it be that she thinks I¡¯m a Southerner? She¡¯s actually bold enough to gouge the price?!


    ¡°Madame, this is a misunderstanding. I¡¯m here for,¨C you know¡­¡± He bit his lips, scrambling to find the right words.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, I¡¯m here to see Mistress Violet.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s alright, but I won¡¯t discount the entry fee,¡± Madame Ch¨¦rie¡¯s lips curled into a suggestive smile and added, ¡°That¡¯s the price everyone pays.¡±


    Noel returned the smile, but was gritting his teeth beneath.


    That¡¯s shameless! I¡¯m just the mediator, why do you need to involve me?


    He pulled out his wallet, scrambling six ints from it, leaving him with a single slade.


    They better reimburse me, or I¡¯ll have to take on even more jobs!

 16 - The Proxy Marketplace

    He pulled out his wallet, scrambling six ints from it, leaving him with a single slade.


    They better reimburse me, or I¡¯ll have to take on even more jobs!


    ¡°Follow me,¡± she said, turning towards the staircase carpeted in red.


    The crowd¡¯s gazes followed them intriguingly, as the owner¡¯s personal escort was usually only reserved for high-profile guests. When they disappeared to the second floor, they erupted in chattering.


    After passing the last step, Madame Ch¨¦rie led him down the right corridor, until veering into an inconspicuous room.


    She stepped to the side, revealing a man with a broad frame sitting behind a mahogany desk, his feet resting crossed upon its surface. The rear wall was stacked with jars filled with liquids preserving several small rodents and organs.


    Noel presumed they were all animals, but as he caught sight of a human hand, his entire body tensed up. His attention was directed back at the man, upon which he observed him fearfully.


    The man had a plump face and smoked on a cigar, of which its cigar tin was placed next to him. Smoking cigars, especially in casual settings, was a sign of wealth.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he said in a deep pitch.


    Noel gulped and mustered his courage, muttering, ¡°I¡¯m a mediator of the Proxy Marketplace¡¯s brokerage. The date has been agreed upon beforehand ¡ª it¡¯s about a transaction of information.¡±


    A foreboding silence hung in the air, and with each silent second passing, Noel¡¯s worry grew larger. Finally, the man couldn¡¯t hold it in anymore, his face contorting into a grimace.


    ¡°You? The broker?¡± he guffawed, his fist slamming down onto the mahogany desk. It creaked slightly, only barely withstanding the force, "The Blackbourne family isn¡¯t what it once was, is it?"


    Noel flinched, his stomach twisting. Although he didn¡¯t answer him, he couldn¡¯t help but agree with him inwardly.


    Within this organization, he wasn¡¯t even considered a full-fledged member. The results of his following deployments would determine if he¡¯d join the outer circle.


    Both his physical condition and mentality conflicted with his status as a broker. However, all clues he¡¯d gathered led to this ¡®Blackbourne family¡¯, and he was set on invading this organization by any means necessary.


    ¡°Clovis!¡± warned Madame Ch¨¦rie loudly, ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    Clovis¡¯s smile immediately faded, replaced by a stern expression. It was evident he held her advice in high regard.


    He pulled his feet from the desk and straightened his back, finally stubbing his cigar.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± he said directly, ¡°What is your purpose? I presume it¡¯s about that possession?¡±


    Noel narrowed his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to be straightforward with you. The agent failed.¡±


    Noel¡¯s heart skipped a beat while sweat ran down his back and armpits, soaking his white dress shirt. He fell into deep thought, slightly unsettled by the man¡¯s rather nonchalant attitude.


    If I complete the deal without their side being fulfilled, it¡¯s clearly a breach of contract. Who will be held responsible?


    Even if the blame shifts to them, I¡¯ll definitely be implicated for rewarding the consideration. If they failed, how can I possibly do that?


    However, will they so easily look down on the Blackbourne family? Their legacy spans over a century!


    Noel gritted his teeth, calmly responding, ¡°Well then, the contract hasn¡¯t been fulfilled. Can you recount the events so we can clarify if there¡¯s any compensatory damages?¡±


    The man gripped the desk tightly and jerked to his feet, throwing it down at him.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Thud.


    He screamed, ¡°Compensation? Are you insane? You ought to pay us for the damages we suffered! ¡±


    Noel¡¯s knees turned to jelly, gripping tightly the silver chalice which was supposed to reward the job. Naturally, this was no ordinary chalice, although he wasn¡¯t aware of its exact speciality.


    His gaze desperately darted towards Madame Ch¨¦rie. She was his only hope ¡ª if he continued to be this insistent, he¡¯d either die at their hands or at those of the Blackbourne family.


    However, there was only a fleeting afterimage as she¡¯d lunged at Clovis without delay. She¡¯d positioned her hand atop the desk which lay on its side, swinging her right foot covered in floral stockings at his neck.


    From her high heel¡¯s top piece, a sharp needle emerged dripping with a greenish liquid. It halted ever so slightly at his skin which turned pale.


    A sharp voice took hostage the room, plunging it into an unbearable pressure. Noel felt like drowning, taking deep breaths.


    ¡°I apologize on behalf of his incompetence,¡± she said, tilting her gaze into his direction, ¡°I¡¯ll make sure he¡¯s properly lectured.¡±


    A shiver ran down his spine, but he understood why she was protective of him. It was not him she feared, but the organization behind him.


    The Blackbourne family was a monopoly of all criminal brokerage in Novaston, thus a key element in all organized crime. As they piously honored contracts and fairly resolved the conflicts that arose from them with equal devotion, their reign remained nearly unhindered.


    She lowered her foot. ¡°Leave, I¡¯ll take over.¡±


    The man nodded, swiftly bending down to pick up the cigar case.


    Madame Ch¨¦rie¡¯s forehead creased even further, but she endured the embarrassment. Noel stepped aside, making way for Clovis to leave.


    He expected him to throw him an upset glare, but he didn¡¯t dare do so. He left silently, closing the door gently so as to not anger her further.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be honest with you, we don¡¯t know what happened exactly,¡± She sighed. ¡°The collateral damage is high, but the aftermath hints at certain clues in his identity.¡±


    Her eyebrows narrowed. ¡°It¡¯s a powerful evil spirit. It¡¯s of no use hiding it anymore: Axel was killed ¡ª he¡¯s of the ninth Strata, ¡®The Puppeteer¡¯, wielding [ Strings of Mind].¡±


    She sat down on the desk, facing Noel directly. ¡°Only when his victims are barely lucid can he invade their mental defenses and string a web between their minds. This requires a long time to prepare.¡±


    He nodded, asking to clarify, ¡°What does that entail in practice?¡±


    She responded, ¡°Once the web is strung, he can forcefully manipulate memories. When the situation demands it, he¡¯s able to use a hidden card; while he can usually only manipulate memories, he will be able to send an abrupt impulse. This will loosen his control considerably.¡±


    She brushed her hair aside, tucking it behind her ears and continued, ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re informed about the gist of it. He¡¯d planned to intercept the coachmen in the night when the remaining were sleeping to forcefully put them to sleep. He¡¯d then begin his control and assess the subject as per contract, as to gauge the threat he poses to the client.¡±


    ¡°You know, he can be quite impulsive sometimes. Admittedly, our structure is quite loose and decentralized. There''s many advantages to this, mainly that we''re able to recruit on a whim since there''s many outcasts under the persuit of the sanctified forces."


    She gritted her teeth. "However, it¡¯s nearly impossible for me to enforce rules with just my strength. They''re all unloyal bastards. It¡¯s the reward which motivates them, but strength invites lunacy and madness.¡±


    She shook her head, realizing she¡¯d trailed off topic. ¡°In the end, it was all for naught. He died, while the relic we lent him has been destroyed. When there was no response and we arrived on scene, there was no sign of life ¡ª countless mice carcesses were spread around, while everyone else had turned into ash.¡±


    Her expression grew more grim as she concluded, ¡°That evil spirit is extremely vicious. As it doesn¡¯t even spare the children, I¡¯d guess it would be rather indifferent to the client. As for its abilities, you¡¯ll have to infer yourself.¡±


    Noel¡¯s breathing grew heavy as his imagination ran wild, trying to patch the clues together. How can there be such an existence in this world? May the Divinity, the God of Knowledge watch over us all.


    A little light-headed, he staggered back, leaning against the door. He shook his head, trying to shake off the horrors which his mind gave birth to, and responded, ¡°Alright, compensation won¡¯t be necessary. However, as per contract, since there¡¯s much anecdotal clues but no substantial evidence, its identity and relation to the client is still rather vague.¡±


    He paused, hesitating to utter his final verdict, ¡°T-Therefore, I¡¯m unable to proceed with the consideration.¡±


    When he noticed her piercing glare, he swiftly added, ¡°However, I¡¯ll put in a good word. This will definitely strengthen our ties.¡±


    Madame Ch¨¦rie nodded. These were times of rising heresy and scientific discovery ¡ª while manpower and relics could be replenished rather easily, lasting relationships had to be cultivated patiently.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine with me.¡±


    She stood up, signaling the end of their transaction.


    Noel¡¯s muscles relaxed and he turned to leave. He halted as Madame Ch¨¦rie added, ¡°You¡¯ve already paid the entry fee. You don¡¯t want to realize any of our services?¡±


    His face flushed reddish as he muttered, ¡°No, I¡¯m good.¡±


    Madame Ch¨¦rie¡¯s lips curled slightly as she teased, ¡°Are you sure? I¡¯m sure you¡¯d find someone of your ¡®tastes¡¯ ¡ª our selection is quite diverse.¡±


    He shook his head pushing open the door and mumbling, ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am. I¡¯m alright.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t hold back her chuckling, ¡°Goodbye!¡±

 17 - The Bounty of One Million

    In the late afternoon, darkness began enveloping the world. Twilight shone through the bay window of the manor which lay in the outskirts of Novaston.


    Glasses and cutlery clung throughout as they clinked and divided the roasted duck which was placed atop a silver platter. An aromatic scent of various foreign herbs filled the room, inviting them to feast.


    At the leftmost seat sat a middle-aged woman with long maroon hair cascading down her back. She wore a velvet evening gown and hanging from her neck was a pearl necklace.


    Opposite of her sat a man with short copper hair garbed in an evening tailcoat. His mustache was well-kempt with a white cravat tied to his neck. They were Baron Johan and Baroness Frida of Lilius, an old-money family with ties to the Lorn Republic.


    Despite the festive atmosphere, Johan held a stern expression.


    He cleared his throat loudly, drawing the gazes of the diners, ¡°My dear family, may I ask your attention?¡±


    The clatter of cutlery and glasses halted, putting an end to the commotion. However, near the table¡¯s rear, a boy was still nagging at his sister, ¡°Hey, I don¡¯t want any greens! You eat them instead!¡±


    She threw him an angry glare and shifted towards her father¡¯s scrutinizing gaze, gesturing for him to shut up. He was late to notice and assumed she had a seizure, repeating ¡®What?¡¯ until she forcefully adjusted his head. When he did, his lips shut tightly and he straightened his back in fear of scolds.


    His father Johan, albeit mildly annoyed, had other plans. Four servants appeared from left and right, pouring from a red wine bottle reading, ¡°The Four Season Wine, 1412.¡±


    The Four Season Wine was a rare wine, aged for eighty-five years in the Lilius family¡¯s secret cellars. It was said to exhibit healing properties relative to its age, but had to be seasonally nourished, strictly with grapes from its exact vines.


    This proved especially challenging during the Sunless Year, during which winemakers had to rely on supernatural methods to grow its grapes.


    Only the elders of the Lilius family were aware its speciality actually lay in the wine barrels which had slowly assimilated Firmament a century ago.


    Lord Johan raised his glass, saying, ¡°Today, we not only celebrate our ancestors who we owe our glorious legacy to, but the bright future ahead of us.¡±


    He sensed his nose tingling, pulling out his handkerchief. When he coughed into it, the handkerchief was bloodied. His expression remained stern as he stuffed it into his pockets and continued, ¡°Ever since the death of my father, darkness has gnawed at my heart.¡±


    He turned towards his right where a young man sat. He was the only child whose hair had taken after his father, equally copper in its shade.


    The man sat upright with his head held high, conveying a sense of confidence and reassurance. He was his most promising son, his calculated body language reflecting the rigorous training he¡¯d been subjected to.


    ¡°With the emergence of heresy, the grasp on our subjects has wavered and we¡¯ve lagged behind in the race of science and discovery. For it, heresy, is the poison of all good.¡±


    He rested his hand upon his son¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°Today I can proudly declare that these worries are no more. My eldest, Anthony, has been admitted into the Royal Succession War.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    His otherwise stern expression softened mildly.


    ¡°Anthony, I acknowledge you as the heir to the Lilius family.¡±


    At this moment, he sensed a light tapping on his left shoulder. His head tilted slightly whilst his eyebrows furrowed, annoyed by the first steward¡¯s interruption.


    He continued regardless, unwilling to pause his toast, ¡°As the heir to the Lilius family, the pressure of responsibility will always weigh upon you. However, you will be the first witness to the beauty which blooms from it.¡±


    At this moment, he sensed the tapping repeating. Although he was fed up with it, as the family¡¯s head, he was also a paragon to his children and servants.


    He turned, asking calmly, ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°My Lord, it¡¯s important,¡± He gestured to the door leading to the manor¡¯s conservatory, ¡°I suggest we discuss this privately.¡±


    ¡°James, are you sure your ¡®news¡¯ takes priority? It¡¯s your choice,¡± he said, implying there would be consequences if he lied wrongly. Albeit strict, his phrasing allowed for him to reconsider.


    As the first steward of the Lilius family, serving it since childhood, he replied like clockwork, ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± he said in slight annoyance, ¡°Tell me here, right now.¡±


    The steward¡¯s gaze swiftly swept over the family, realizing the consequences of his interruption ¡ª public humiliation would tarnish his reputation severely. It was evident that although his master displayed a calm demeanor, he didn¡¯t believe there was any reason to interrupt his toast.


    However, he was confident in his judgment, ¡°Yes, sir. Mary of Lilius has died.¡±


    As Lord Johan¡¯s pupils constricted, the room was plunged into deep silence.


    When he processed the news, a frown formed. He asked, ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s been killed during a fire. The cause of death is ambiguous, but likely from suffocation whilst defending against an evil spirit.¡±


    The man nodded. ¡°This is a huge blow to our family, but also an opportunity to turn around public favor. If we act swiftly, we¡¯ll be advantaged during the third phase.¡±


    Baroness Frida table flung her tableware from it. When it collided with the marble floor, the delicate porcelain shattered into countless shards.


    ¡°Johan!¡± She jerked upwards abruptly, toppling her chair, ¡°Your heart is cold as stone!¡±


    A servant scrambled, kneeling on the ground to sweep up the shards and another to set the chair upright again. She gestured for them to stop.


    Lord Johan¡¯s expression remained indifferent, gesturing for them to continue, to which they complied.


    A young man right to Lady Frida stood up, shouting, ¡°Mother is right! Father, you should apologize!¡±


    The young woman seated next to the boy followed, menacingly staring down the young man.


    Finally, Anthony stood up and raised his voice, ¡°Calm down, everyone. Amongst us all, who sacrificed the most? It¡¯s father!¡±


    He turned towards his father. ¡°As the family¡¯s head, he is most concerned with our future. Even if it may outwardly appear cold, his actions are filled with warmth.¡±


    Frida silently muttered, ¡°Like father, like son.¡±


    The servant behind her had raised the chair, waiting for her to sit down. She sighed and sat down, inwardly lamenting this situation.


    She was aware her husband cared for their family, but his methods were sly and cold ¡ª they didn¡¯t comply with the morals he preached. Although she was equally fierce, she held loyalty and honesty in high regard.


    However, they were tied by an arranged marriage, which was very common in nobility. Above societal ostracism, divorces were complex and favored towards men ¡ª she would essentially be bound to lose custody and all shared assets.


    Her son who¡¯d stood up to defend her, followed her and sat back down as well.


    Johan raised his voice again, ¡°I¡¯ll make use of some connections to award her the medal of honor. Her ashes will be buried next to ours,¡± he turned to talk to his first steward James, ¡°Tell Mr. Art to bring them along.¡±


    ¡°Should we punish him?¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not beneficial. We¡¯ll have to control the narrative ¡ª our family has fallen victim to the wicked. However, we¡¯re not powerless, but the embodiment of justice.¡±


    He paused, pondering how to actualize this plan. ¡°We¡¯ll put a bounty on this evil spirit¡¯s head ¡ª one million slades!¡±


    Anthony gasped, ¡°One million slades?!¡±


    He sighed, ¡°Son, you don¡¯t realize the potential of this. If you become monarch, that amount will be but a grain of sand in the desert.¡±

 18 - Casual Brainwashing

    A horse galloped through the woods, following a rough path twisting around trees and mossy rock overhangs, up and down countless hills. Its hooves trampled on the wet earth, flinging it back and stirring the air in a rich musty scent.


    In the front rode an older man clenching its reins tightly, while to his back clung a younger man who wore a white sleeveless tunic.


    His black hair was short and his physique skinny, struggling to hold on. They were Deus and that other self, calling themselves ¡®Bal¡¯.


    The forest¡¯s canopy was thick, obscuring nearly all twilight which shone down on them. In the slight light, Bal¡¯s pale skin glistened strangely, still retaining some of that viscous black liquid¡¯s moisture.


    Deus gritted his teeth, Soon, night will completely swallow all sun¡¯s rays. By then, even with the night sky¡¯s greenish light, it won¡¯t be able to pierce the canopy.


    His gaze tilted towards his linen shirt, which hadn¡¯t yet dried completely.


    If it¡¯s dark, we won¡¯t be able to follow the path, and I¡¯ll be at risk of hypothermia. Especially with these moist conditions and my damp attire, the coldness¡¯s danger will be exacerbated.


    Although I¡¯ve already set a door right outside the forest with my [ Liminal Gateway ] ability, the horse will need to rest for a few hours. By then, all the forces left behind in the Duchy of Crowley will have caught up.


    Just as these thoughts passed through his mind, the sun¡¯s last light shone from the horizon, where the wilderness¡¯s veils thinned.


    ¡°We¡¯ve arrived!¡± shouted Deus loudly, alerting Bal who¡¯d dozed off slightly. He sensed his clutched tightening, while Bal¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    As they neared the forest¡¯s edge, the path grew wider and transitioned into cobblestone. Deus tugged at the rein, signaling for the horse to halt.


    It panted heavily and staggered, nearly collapsing under its own weight. It was evident it had exerted itself severely with little respite and sustenance.


    Below them, they beheld a valley which encased a large city. Terraced fields which grew crops led down to a brick gate from which a wall surrounded it. At the heart of the city stood a cathedral, its clocktower towering high above all rooftops.


    Deus carefully dismounted the horse, his mind a little dizzy from its flailing. As the younger man followed suit, Deus eyed him suspiciously.


    It had been a few hours since Bal had sprung from his body and strangled him in a blur of confusion and instinct. Although Bal was similarly skinny and slightly disoriented, his emergence strained Deus both physically and mentally. He was at the mercy of Bal.


    However, he¡¯d soon regained clarity and given up, lying besides Deus.


    Later, after looting all that remained and finding a single horse tangled to the front wagon, they¡¯d begun riding into the direction of the train station.


    Just like Monte had predicted, after crossing the border leading to the Duchy of Kern, their path soon diverged apart from the fields and into temperate rainforests.


    Deus had analyzed, If we stay here any longer, we¡¯ll be on the chopping block. The countryside¡¯s population is sparse, and strangers are easily recognized.


    However, riding the entire distance to Novaston via horse would take weeks.


    Finally, he decided to stay on track with their original plan ¡ª to use the train to flee to Novaston. Their enemies were bound to predict this possibility and set up plans to interject them. However, this was a risk he was willing to take.Stolen story; please report.


    Deus sighed deeply, According to these floating words which materialized when I assimilated the Firmament of Monte and Mariel, my soul has fractured into myself and this ¡®Bal¡¯.


    Even if I set aside the skill [ Conjoined Fate ], of which its range of effects I¡¯m uncertain of, the fracturing of my soul or self might imply some link between our bodies, even in death. If Bal turns on me, what am I going to do?


    It was rather imprecise to call [ Conjoined Fate ] a skill, but rather a restriction imparted into both their souls. After probing, they learned it restricted the distance between their bodies.


    After around twenty meters, they would sense a slight discomfort rising from whereunder the navel lay ¡ª the soul! Another twenty meters, and the pain would be unbearable.


    The most effective way of investigating this issue is to return to this state in which I¡¯m able to observe my bodies and soul just like I did in the St. Plors Church.


    His teeth began grinding mildly as he noted a problem with this, However, finding my soul¡¯s vibration required the deprivation of all my senses while conjuring the bodies required the assistance of that entity to which I prayed to.


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± asked Bal curiously, pointing out his contemplative state. His eyebrows were raised and his expression calm, oblivious to Deus¡¯s murderous thoughts.


    However, Deus was unsure whether this was but a guise to deceive him. After all, he was his ¡®Fractured Self¡¯, and it was logical to assume his acting skills were on par with his own.


    Nonetheless, the opposite ¡ª that he was truly genuine ¡ª was feasible as well. After all, during his dormant state, he¡¯d seriously shown signs of empathy and na?vety, such as when telling him to save that infant. This would burden Deus and implicate himself.


    ¡°I¡¯m just musing how to proceed,¡± answered Deus calmly, masking his bloodlust perfectly. He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself to utter his next few words.


    ¡°I¡¯m thinking we should get rid of the horse.¡±


    ¡°W-Wait, what?!¡±


    Deus wasn¡¯t swayed, continuing his train-of-thought from before, I shouldn¡¯t haphazardly pray to that entity. I don¡¯t know how often it will help me or what it will demand in return; only when my life is threatened is asking for his assistance appropriate.


    Meanwhile, his eyes were droopy and his shoulders slouched.


    ¡°Yeah, I know. I¡¯ve thought about it for a long time, but I can¡¯t think of any other solution. What do you think?¡±


    Bal gulped. He glanced at Deus nervously, hesitated, then uttered, ¡°We should set him free.¡±


    Deus extended his hand, pointing at the city which lay below. ¡°The mud conceals our scent and footsteps. However, if we set the horse free, they will discover it and the forces chasing us will recognize it. It¡¯s a clue they¡¯ll use to track us down.¡±


    ¡°T-Then what about your chain, my tunic and that dagger? It belongs to that guy sprawled to the ground. Why are you so confident they won¡¯t locate us based on that?¡±


    Deus sighed. ¡°Bal, I¡¯m sorry. All decisions are tough. We¡¯ll have to weigh the advantages and disadvantages ¡ª how else are we going to defend ourselves?¡±


    Bal pursed his lips, ¡°Then let¡¯s sell it! That¡¯ll cover our tracks.¡±


    Deus stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his body. Tears welled in his eyes. Oddly enough, the longer he spent engaging with Bal, the more he began reminiscing of his past.


    However, only a faint sense of nostalgia permeated the thick veil which obscured it. Was Bal a fragment of his past self?


    He¡¯d certainly heard isolation could rapidly break down a person while the subconscious was autonomous ¡ª did his mind purposefully suppress this ¡®other self¡¯ to protect its existence?


    ¡°That¡¯s what they¡¯re expecting. I don¡¯t want to do this either,¡± Deus pulled back slightly, ¡°Believe me, we¡¯re in the same boat. Are we willing to put our lives on the line for a horse?¡±


    He understood that emotions, which were conveyed via body language, were infectious. This was the essence of acting.


    He also understood that he would spend his next few weeks, months, or even years with Bal because of [ Conjoined Fate ], depending on how fast he¡¯d be able to fix this.


    Therefore, it was of the highest priority to mold his personality according to several factors, such as respect, obedience, and willingness to break free from societal expectations. As far as he was concerned, the horse no longer had any purpose but to aid him in this process.


    This was the first step; to uproot his morality, make him question everything. Then, by providing clear answers, create a dependence and loyalty ¡ª to be a light within the darkness.


    At the same time, they were bonded by enemies. This was key; when all else is hostile, there was only one person to turn to ¡ª himself!


    However, this was not done easily. It was necessary for Bal to be consciously engaged, such as for him to carry responsibility. As the popular idiom goes, ¡®Action speaks louder than words.¡¯.

 19 - Doors, Doors, Doors

    Bal didn¡¯t respond, his expression remaining queasy.


    Deus placed his palm on his chest, probing his heartbeat. He sensed heavy palpitations, indicating these were his true feelings.


    ¡°For survival?¡±


    Bal responded whispering, repeating, ¡°For survival.¡±


    Deus turned away, facing the wobbly horse. Its muscles spasmed visibly while it groaned strenuously. He figured that even if it escaped, it wouldn¡¯t survive long with its carotid artery slit.


    He pulled up his linen shirt, revealing a dagger hidden beneath at his waist. He¡¯d discovered it while stripping Zarael¡¯s tunic for Bal to cover himself.


    Drawing the dagger, he walked up to it and slowly moved his hand to whereunder its carotid artery lay. As it got closer, his hand began trembling while his breath quickened.


    Bal¡¯s eyes were wide apart, fixed on the dagger. When it was a hair¡¯s breadth apart, he immediately withdrew it.


    He shook his head, uttering, ¡°I know it¡¯s necessary, but I alone can¡¯t bear it. Will you help me?¡±


    Bal¡¯s eyes hesitantly darted from the dagger to Deus. A few seconds later, he finally nodded, ¡°Alright, It¡¯s not fair for you to carry the entire burden. I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    He took hold of the knife¡¯s hilt, interlocking his hand with Deus¡¯s.


    He said decisively, ¡°Let¡¯s do it.¡±


    Bal¡¯s grip trembled, but Deus steadied it. If they were to miss the artery, their situation would turn quite precarious.


    The blade cleanly sunk into its flesh, directly piercing its carotid artery. Blood gushed from the wound and the horse raised his front legs, neighing. It tottered a few steps back, until collapsing onto the grass.


    Thud.


    Bal¡¯s breathing was heavy as he stared at the horse¡¯s carcass.


    He muttered nervously, ¡°We¡¯ve miscalculated. What about the smell? They¡¯ll find it for sure.¡±


    Deus smiled inwardly, satisfied with his response. It was cold and calculated, far from that usual empathic and na?ve self. However, Rome wasn¡¯t built in a day either ¡ª there was still a long path ahead.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Especially during winter, the time it takes to decompose is prolonged. They¡¯ll find it for sure, but only after we¡¯ve boarded the train,¡± He turned back towards the city, slightly cast in the night¡¯s greenish hue.


    ¡°Wait here.¡±


    He retraced their steps, eventually veering into wilderness where he spotted a shallow cave consumed by moss and mushrooms.


    Inside, he mustered all thoughts within his mind, directing them to a single cause:


    Activate the skill, [ Liminal Gateway ]!


    At once, a wooden door arose from the ground, and flashbacks of that scene in the world of fog rattled through his mind. Was this a coincidence?


    Perhaps it is, thought Deus. He turned, walking back towards the valley where Bal waited, Perhaps, it isn¡¯t.


    He said, ¡°Now, let¡¯s go. We¡¯ll have to find some place to stay warm.¡±


    Bal nodded, and they both began descending the terraced fields.


    ¡­The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    At the same time, in the Lilius manor.


    Dinner had concluded, and all had returned into their private chambers to settle in for the night. In the early hours of the following day, they¡¯d say their farewells to their eldest, Anthony of Lilius.


    Although the Lilius manor lay in close proximity to Novaston where the Royal Succession War was to take place, he was to depart ahead of time. This was standard, since latecomers would directly be disqualified as per procedure.


    As such, competitors would directly try to delay their opponents. His entourage consisted of several servants and guards, who¡¯d ensure both his safety and punctuality.


    In the corridor leading to the family¡¯s chambers, only the farthest door was ajar. Light faintly leaked from the slit.


    Inside, the table lamp placed atop the nightstand illuminated the surroundings dimly, revealing two figures.


    Johan, the head of the Lilius family, sat at the mahogany bed¡¯s rear, while an old woman lay blanketed inside.


    She was extremely gaunt, her cheekbones protruding from her wrinkled skin. Her once-copper hair had nearly shed completely, with the remaining strands turned charred.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± she asked with a raspy voice.


    Johan pulled the blood-stained handkerchief from his pockets.


    ¨¢sta eyed it, prompting Johan to say dejectedly, ¡°The curse is worsening ¡ª I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m going to be bedridden very soon.¡±


    He took a deep breath, ¡°I can only set my hopes on Anthony. He¡¯s intelligent, powerful, and shows traits of a leader.¡±


    He balled his fists, clenching his handkerchief. Blood wringed onto the velvet bedding. ¡°All he knows is peace and leisure. We¡¯re of Lorn origin, while he¡¯s been raised like a Bothamian. I¡¯m afraid I''ve been overprotective.¡±


    ¨¢sta didn¡¯t voice her opinion, instead responding, ¡°That¡¯s not why you¡¯re here.¡±


    An awkward silence hung in the air.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± admitted Johan, leaning back slightly, ¡°Mary of Lilius has passed away.¡±


    ¨¢sta¡¯s expression remained unperturbed, ¡°In a fire?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± His eyebrows furrowed, ¡°How did you know?¡±


    She chuckled softly but didn¡¯t answer.


    Johan harrumphed, familiar with his mother¡¯s antics. ¡°Doesn¡¯t this worry you? It¡¯s a minor incident, but what is a minor incident? In history, they are the avalanche of major events ¡ª wars, revolutions, genocides.¡±


    Her lips remained curled into a slight smile.


    As she didn¡¯t respond, he gritted his teeth and continued, ¡°This doesn¡¯t only concern our family, but both our nations. We are tied to both the Bothamian Empire and the Lorn Republic. Don¡¯t you care about that?¡±


    All of a sudden, she erupted into laughter, ¡°Boy, you¡¯re complaining that your eldest is still a child, when it is you whose vision is blurred.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re rotting away, while I¡¯m leading our family to prosper,¡± Johan¡¯s jaws clenched in anger, ¡°My son has been admitted into the Royal Succession War, while the generous bounty I put out for that evil spirit who killed Mary of Lilius will assure his victory.¡±


    ¨¢sta sighed, finally responding, ¡°Again, your vision is blurred. You are oblivious to the truth of this world. Secrets are slumbering everywhere, waiting to shake this unwavering march of time. There are no certainties.¡±


    Johan raised his voice, screaming, ¡°Who are you to talk about certainties? You¡¯re the one mindlessly trusting that bullshit prophecy!¡±


    Her eyes lingered on him, guilt lingering within. ¡°I¡¯m not mindless. I¡¯ve deciphered the prophecy, spending countless hours in order to eradicate that curse.¡±


    ¡°Do you truly believe I¡¯ve convinced you to adopt her to mend our nation¡¯s relations? Do you believe I¡¯d have let you give her to that second-rate priest, if I¡¯m uncertain about that prophecy?¡± she asked rhetorically.


    Her expression softened, wandering to her velvet blanket intricate in embroidery. ¡°Her death in fire is proof of its accuracy. We¡¯ve consulted many specialists to locate her. She¡¯s the last ancestor of ¡®that¡¯ species ¡ª her relatives have all been hunted down.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Johan¡¯s expression lightened up as an epiphany crossed his mind, ¡°Then why is she exempt from their species¡¯s fate?¡±


    ¡°Her blood has been diluted in the span of centuries. Time works wonders. People die. People forget,¡± her expression turned stern, ¡°She¡¯ll save us. I¡¯ve prepared everything, waiting for it to fall into place. I didn¡¯t tell you because I¡¯ve been greedy. I wanted to solve it personally, to avenge our ancestors.¡±


    Her eyelids closed slightly as tiredness washed over her. Notwithstanding, she held onto that sliver of consciousness, ¡°However, it¡¯s not my turn. My body is decaying. James¡¯s father should¡¯ve passed it down to him. Ask him about it.¡±


    Johan slammed against the bed¡¯s footboard and shouted skeptically, ¡°This debility has made you even more delusional, mother.¡±


    He turned his back to her, stomping towards the exit.


    ¨¢sta pulled aside her blanket, pulling herself into his direction. Beneath it, her body was dry charred and riddled with cracks of yellow and red light.


    She snickered, her voice raspy and deep, ¡°Oh Johan, have faith in the prophecy, or die a miserable death. Let your body corrode to the curse, like it did with mine.¡±


    With her last strength remaining, she whispered, ¡°Our family¡¯s corpses will continue to pile up. Anthony is next up.¡±


    Johan slammed shut the door, his louds footsteps resounding muffled as he walked away.

 20 - The Creatures of the Alleyway

    Deus and Bal trudged through the maze of alleyways that webbed throughout the city. They were covered in dirt and waste while a thick fog permeated the air, tainted by a pungent stench excreted by nearby factories.


    The alleyways twisted narrowly between buildings, casting them into dark shadows. It devoured nearly all light, apart from that greenish light faintly reflected onto the walls from above.


    The distant lamp post which appeared sporadically stood out like beacons, dividing the ordinary from that where poor, ugly creatures creeped through shadows.


    At this moment, they passed one of these junctions. The ornate lamp post cast the road beyond in a dim light. At this late hour, passerby only sparsely walked these streets as most had already returned to their cozy abode.


    Bal nudged at Deus, ¡°Let¡¯s return to the streets, already. There¡¯s barely anyone anyways.¡±


    Yet at this moment, two figures passed that junction. A young woman strode with purpose ¡ª her full skirt slightly swaying in the wind ¡ª, while her daughter shuffled behind lazily.


    She crossed eyes with Bal, still nagging at Deus to return to the streets.


    When her mother noticed, she swiftly covered her eyes and quickened her stride, afraid they¡¯d lunge at them with their filthy, grotesque hands.


    Deus sighed, ¡°See? The streets aren¡¯t empty. Besides, why would they stop looking for us in the night ¡ª they¡¯re definitely patrolling the streets.¡±


    Bal¡¯s vision was obscured by the fog¡¯s veil as he followed behind Deus.


    He was just about to rebuke when he tripped on something, blurting, ¡°Fu¨C!¡±


    Only barely catching himself, he shifted his weight back. However, it was just a little too far, and he rstaggered. Huffing, he hunched over, spotting the rat carcass over which he¡¯d stumbled.


    The rat¡¯s stomach was torn apart and its eyes gouged out, leaving its eye sockets vacants. Beneath the dirt, its intestines lay loose. There weren¡¯t any maggots squirming in its flesh, indicating its death was recent.


    Bal gulped loudly and squinted, memories of his birthplace resurfacing.


    ¡°Is this really necessary? Can¡¯t we just find an inn?¡± he sneered and tilted his head towards Deus¡¯s.


    Deus¡¯s eyes still lingered on that carcass, inspecting it thoroughly. However, Bal didn¡¯t think much of it, instead puzzled by his behavior.


    I can¡¯t figure this guy out, he¡¯s too much of a weirdo. What¡¯s he staring at? It¡¯s a damn rat¡­


    His lips parted slightly as an epiphany crossed his mind, Wait, could it actually be¡­ How did I miss that? He¡¯s trying to hide it from me, but I won¡¯t fall for it!


    Tears welled in the corner of his eyes.


    Although it doesn¡¯t seem like it, he cares for life deeply, even more than me. That¡¯s the burden he¡¯s carrying ¡ª to abandon idealism and embrace opportunism. It¡¯s all for the sake of our survival.


    Deus¡¯s empathic behavior tucked at his heart strings.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s necessary,¡± confirmed Deus as his breathing calmed down. ¡°I¡¯ve been telling you, they¡¯re looking for us.¡±


    Bal¡¯s memory was wiped, but Deus didn¡¯t know whether it was going to return. After Deus had assimilated the Firmament of that stable¡¯s prisoners and developed ¡®Fragmented Self¡¯, Bal displayed a mild responsiveness to their environment, suggesting they¡¯d include his memories post-transmigration.


    Therefore, he chose to remain slightly ambiguous, avoiding deception unless necessary. Otherwise, under the constraint of ¡®Conjoined Fate¡¯, mending that trust would prove challenging.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Deus continued, ¡°We¡¯ll have to find someplace warm, without many people. An abandoned building, a stable or barn ¡ª honestly, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    His face was flushed slightly reddish from the night¡¯s coldness while it slowly seeped into his bones. A shiver ran down his spine, and he said, ¡°Alright, let¡¯s continue.¡±


    Bal nodded, patting the fine sawdust from his tunic while Deus already continued, vanishing into the fog. His footsteps echoed through the alleyway.


    When a gust of wind howled through it, Bal shuddered and jerked upright, quickening his pace. ¡°Wait!¡±


    Thump!


    ¡°Ouch!¡± moaned Bal as he bumped into Deus, who¡¯d halted.


    Deus extended his hand.


    ¡°What¡¯s now?¡± whispered Bal, unsettled by his behavior. He gulped, trying to loosen the knot which had formed in his throat.


    ¡°Shhh.¡±


    Bal held his breath, listening attentively to whatever was hidden beyond the fog. Yet apart from that howling, there was only silence.


    That¡¯s when he noticed Deus¡¯s hand placed near his waist, where his dagger was tucked. Immediately, his breathing turned brief.


    What¡¯s he worried about? What is it?


    A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him, turning his knees weak. He grabbed onto Deus, who stood tough as a monolith, steadying his footing.


    Bal recognized that neither his vision nor his hearing would pick up on whatever Deus sensed. He closed his eyes, gauging his other senses.


    His thoughts ran wild, unable to identify that subtle nuance, Is it smell? Or simply his intuition?


    He sniffed, but only that unbearable stench invaded his nostrils, causing it to tingle. He gripped his lips tightly, but to no avail. His coughs echoed down the alleyway.


    Deus grunted as he gave up trying to remain hidden. The moon-shaped pendants suspended from his neck began to glow and he drew his dagger, preparing himself for confrontation.


    A male voice reverberated through the thick fog, crying out, ¡°Fintor malvex!¡±


    As the light emitted by the glowing pendants began to part it, unveiling the outline of a slouched man, he added urgently, ¡°Lempo cravi, vezo moranex nuhalto ferex.¡±


    When Bal recognized the man holding up his hands, signifying he wasn¡¯t armed, and shouted, ¡°Don¡¯t kill him!¡±


    Just as these words slipped from his lips, he realized his na?vety.


    It¡¯s entirely possible this is a trap. I should just let Deus handle this, His shoulders slouched lightly, He wouldn¡¯t kill a human being, unless it¡¯s absolutely necessary.


    The pennant¡¯s light parted the thick fog, revealing a middle-aged man. His aura was sophisticated, contrasting with his appearance. His clothes were ragged, and his grey beard unkempt.


    Bal noticed that Deus remained vigilant as his chain retained its radiating glow. He asked, ¡°What did he say?¡±


    Deus glanced back at Bal, causing him to shudder, ¡°He said: Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m neither criminal nor heretic. I''m nobody.¡±


    He nodded into the man¡¯s direction. ¡°Pat him down.¡±


    Bal winced, unwilling to proceed. ¡°Why don¡¯t you do it? I¡¯m unarmed.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why ¡ª you¡¯re unarmed. Besides, I¡¯ll protect you,¡± He nodded into the man¡¯s direction again, ¡°Now, go.¡±


    He swallowed his saliva, unable to rebuke. His line of reasoning was solid. If Deus were to go instead, the man would surely be uncooperative.


    Meanwhile, the man chuckled nervously, ¡°Wait, eh¨C I do speak Satun as well. I must apologize ¡ª I didn¡¯t mean to scare you. I¡¯m homeless.¡±


    Bal fell into thought, noticing a dissonance with his blurred memories, ¡®Satun¡¯?! Isn¡¯t it ¡®English?


    Deus narrowed his eyes, ¡°Well, you don¡¯t seem like it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only been a few weeks. I¡¯m a scholar, that¡¯s why I¡¯ve studied Satum. Besides, why don¡¯t you speak Botham?¡± he defended himself, before desperately adding, ¡°Are you foreigners? I can show you around!¡±


    Deus¡¯s lips curled into a smile, ¡°If that¡¯s so, you have nothing to fear.¡±


    A reluctant expression was written over the man¡¯s face, but he agreed to it. Bal patted him up and down. His clothes¡¯ fabric was threadbare, and Bal doubted he¡¯d be able to hide anything beneath it.


    As expected, he only found some stale bread.


    His gaze darted towards Deus¡¯s scrutinizing gaze, saying, ¡°You take it. It¡¯s a gift.¡±


    Deus nodded, ¡°Alright, let him go.¡±


    As he walked forward, his chain¡¯s glow dimmed. He extended his hand, which the man accepted. ¡°Vethar ulto fornia. Ekra Deus. Lunev traeth in envas.¡±


    Alan¡¯s expression easened a little as he found Deus wasn¡¯t entirely alien to the Botham language, which implied some understanding of Botham norms and customs.


    Foreigners were extremely rare, and the majority of all people would go a lifetime without having spoken with a single one. However, people who only spoke Satum, were completely unheard of ¡ª it was only used in context of the occult.


    He placed his hand on Bal¡¯s shoulder. ¡°This is my brother, Bal. He¡¯s a special case as he can¡¯t speak Botham. Let¡¯s continue in Satum, for his sake.¡±


    The man stretched out his hand, saying, ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure. I¡¯m Alan.¡±

 21 - Mutations

    The man stretched out his hand, saying, ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure. I¡¯m Alan.¡±


    Bal shook it firmly, ¡°Bal.¡±


    Deus cleared his throat, drawing their attention.


    ¡°I¡¯d love for you to show us around, but regrettably we¡¯re just passing through,¡± As he spoke, his warm breath turned to vapor, ¡°We¡¯re simply looking for a place to stay for the night.¡±


    Alan didn¡¯t respond, waiting for them to continue listing their demands. As was usual; the strong would take advantage and exploit, while the weak would cower and obey. Otherwise, they wouldn¡¯t be able to survive.


    When a few breaths passed, his expression softened slightly, hopeful they wouldn¡¯t expect anything else from him ¡ª winter¡¯s clutches were already exhausting enough.


    He nodded, ¡°Yes sir, that¡¯s very wise. It¡¯s dangerous here ¡ª there are a lot of dubious figures loitering around these alleyways. Especially in the last two weeks, there have been many disappearances.¡±


    His gaze remained fixed on them, before suddenly averting as if catching himself displaying an uneasy demeanor. He quickly added, trying to salvage the situation, ¡°Well, anyways. I¡¯ll lead you to a warm place. Some of the reserved spots have been¨C well, ¡®freed¡¯.¡±


    He turned slightly towards where he¡¯d come from, waiting for them to follow. When they did, he continued trudging down the alleyway.


    At this point, Bal was engrossed into these disappearances, an expression of extreme fright written over his face. He tilted it towards Deus, seeking some comfort from this enigmatic figure. As he¡¯d expected, Deus¡¯s body language was calm and confident.


    Yet, while this easened his worries lightly, they weren¡¯t entirely lifted as before. While he assumed there was a side of him that was truly calm, he suspected Deus was putting on a mask, trying to uplift their morals to ensure their survival.


    As Deus glanced behind, keeping an eye out for approaching dangers, he noticed Bal¡¯s frightened gaze. The corners of his mouth curled slightly, both delighted with his psychological reaction and to provide some comfort.


    He mused silently, He¡¯s afraid, expecting dangers creeping within these shadows. Amidst them, he¡¯s seeking comfort in me. If I keep this up, he¡¯ll eventually turn completely obedient.


    At that moment, a realization hit him and he turned looking frontwards.


    When does a man rely on another? It¡¯s only when the situation demands it. If I amplify the perception of this looming threat which hangs over this world, while keeping his methods of response within reasonable limits, he¡¯ll have to rely on me.


    His expression turned stern. Though I¡¯ll have to be cautious and patient in my deception, subtly manipulating events. I can¡¯t let it come back to haunt me.


    Bal interrupted his thoughts, asking Alan, ¡°What happened to them? Have you reported them to the police?¡±


    Alan chuckled lightly. When he realized he wasn¡¯t joking, he propped himself up and explained, ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened to them. However, their deaths are only a slight spike in their statistics. Sure, there is an emergence of heretics, but how can they ever compare to natural causes?¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    When Bal remained silent, Alan clarified, ¡°Right now, the winter and the diseases which arise from it pose a much greater threat. Otherwise, many succumb to the factor¡¯s poisons, which linger in air and water. The worst fate, however, is death from mutation.¡±


    At the mention of ¡®mutations¡¯, Deus¡¯s interest was piqued. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Alan was taken aback, subtly glancing at Deus¡¯s chain. ¡°Y-You don¡¯t know? Well, it''s an unpredictable change. It¡¯s quite mysterious.¡±


    He swiftly diverted the topic, ¡°As for the police, we¡¯re just a nuisance for them. The sanctified forces¡ª,¡± He chuckled miserably, ¡°They don¡¯t care. Most of them, that is. Truly sanctified forces are as sparse as a woman¡¯s gaze for a man without an int. Well, that goes both ways.¡±


    Deus¡¯s eyes narrowed, suspecting Alan was hiding some information. After all, it was in his best interest for them to separate quickly. Above all, he¡¯d mentioned his scholarly background, which implied a wealth of knowledge.


    ¡°Mutations, huh? Interesting. I¡¯d love to hear more about them,¡± said Deus in a slightly deeper, more forceful pitch.


    Alan swallowed his saliva. ¡°We live in the shadows of the cities, unseen by its citizens and hunted by their rulers. Sarus¡¯s commandments can¡¯t pierce these shadows ¡ª our souls are naturally tainted. That¡¯s why we mutate, that¡¯s why they despise us. It¡¯s a vicious cycle.¡±


    He extended his left hand and spread his palms. A face was etched into it, with a small nose and lips protruding. The face¡¯s eyes were tightly shut, as if in a deep slumber.


    Bal flinched back, exclaiming, ¡°What¡¯s that?!¡±


    Alan pursed his lips, ¡°It¡¯s a mutation. They occur when you don¡¯t take proper care of your unstable soul which assumes diverted frequencies.¡±


    As he stepped out of the alleyway, and into the dim light of the lamp post, he added, ¡°However, don¡¯t be fooled. The strata are predictable, while mutations aren¡¯t ¡ª they can be favorable, unfavorable, or both. They can be physical, or more profound.¡±


    Meanwhile, Deus¡¯s thoughts wandered towards his skills, ¡®Fragmented Self¡¯, which had turned into ¡®Conjoined Fate¡¯ and ¡®Liminal Gateway¡¯.


    As far as he was concerned, ¡®Conjoined Fate¡¯ was purely unfavorable, while ¡®Fragmented Self¡¯ could go either way. Furthermore, all his skills had developed whilst these wriggling, crooked letters had alerted him of his unstable soul. Therefore, could his skills be considered mutations?


    Deus curiously inquired, ¡°What about your mutation? Is it favorable?¡±


    Alan hesitated, but at the mercy of the strong, he finally admitted, ¡°No, but I¡¯ve taken several precautions. I¡¯ve named it ¡®Parasite¡¯, because that¡¯s exactly what it is. A parasite, which leeches on humans.¡±


    His lips curled into a bitter smile. ¡°I suspect that after it would¡¯ve sucked me dry, it¡¯d continue wreaking havoc. Even now, despite my methods, tiredness still plagues my days.¡±


    A shudder ran down his spine as Deus realized how lucky he¡¯d been with his skills. At the same time, he noticed Alan had personally named his mutation.


    He fell into momentary contemplation, Does that imply that mutations are another concept entirely? Or does he just not have access to this ¡®System¡¯?


    As the fog¡¯s veil thinned, replaced by the lamp post¡¯s dim light, Deus dismissed his musings and directed his attention towards their surroundings.


    Faint moonlight pierced through the thick smoke belched by several chimneys, towering high into the blanketed night sky. Below lay an enormous factory, the words ¡®Clyde¡¯s Timber & Co¡¯ plastered on its red-bricked walls.


    While iron fences with barbed wires lined factory grounds, some grates from which hot air arose lay right outside. Atop these grates, several figures rested, cast into deep shadow by the looming factory.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± said Alan, his voice vaguely laced in anxiety. Deus nodded.


    As they approached the crowd, rhythmic thumping of the steam machineries resounded from beneath.


    Alan cleared his throat and explained, perhaps trying to calm himself, ¡°This is the factory¡¯s ventilation system. Luence was a city founded by a syndicate of the Eastern Continental Railway Company and a set of timber companies.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll advise you to keep low for the night.¡± He tilted his head, gazing straight into Deus¡¯s eyes profoundly. ¡°As I¡¯ve explained, nature with its coldness and diseases is the most dangerous force. That¡¯s why I¡¯ve led you here.¡±


    ¡°...Then there¡¯s the second most dangerous thing ¡ª humans!¡±