Backlund, Chorwood District, 15 Minsk Street.
Using the alias Sherlock Moriarty, Klein set up a spiritual wall with Saint Night Powder, took a deep breath, and walked counterclockwise four steps, arriving above the gray fog in the ancient palace.
Though he'd checked countless times, he couldn't help but glance toward that starry expanse deep within the gray mist.
Three crimson stars hung in the void, one blinking rhythmically—Mr. Sun awaiting response.
Sigh, what was I even hoping for...
Klein blinked rapidly, steadied his emotions, extended his spirituality, and touched the star representing The Sun.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Fool, and everyone..."
Miss Justice greeted everyone first, but immediately noticed that the high-backed chair beside her—where Miss Queen usually sat—remained empty.
The Hanged Man and The Sun across from her cast questioning glances, then all three looked toward Mr. Fool at the head of the long table.
"Miss Queen... requested leave. She won't attend the Tarot Club for several weeks."
Sensing everyone's gaze, Klein answered preemptively.
He'd intended to say Queen had "departed" from the Tarot Club, but the words became "requested leave" instead.
Looking at Angel's empty high-backed chair, Klein sighed inwardly.
"Please continue."
"Yes, Mr. Fool."
The three remaining members responded in unison.
Strange—Miss Queen is absent, yet Mr. Fool didn't even announce the specific duration of her leave. Has something happened to her?
The Hanged Man, Alger Wilson, gazed at the empty chair beside Justice, his thoughts churning.
I should send someone to Tingen to inquire with "Wild Heart" Hager. Previously, out of respect for her privacy, I didn't ask about the false identity I arranged for her, but circumstances have changed. If something happened to Miss Queen, it might expose the Tarot Club to outside scrutiny...
He suddenly felt Mr. Fool's gaze fall upon him.
"Mr. Fool, thank you for dispatching your servant to help me eliminate Qilangos. I've left Backlund and returned to sea. Next week I'll bring you all the Roselle diary pages I can obtain."
The Hanged Man immediately stood, bowed with hand on chest, and addressed The Fool—though his back had gone ice-cold.
"This merely follows the principle of equivalent exchange."
The Fool responded softly, his gaze leaving The Hanged Man.
Justice curiously observed the obviously flustered Hanged Man, then glanced at The Sun beside him, who seemed oblivious, and frowned slightly.
The most somber, oppressive Tarot Club meeting began.
"Could the explosion caused when I detonated 'Light Ray Shatter' using 'Bloodthirst' have erased the mark on my right palm?"
Examining her right palm repeatedly under lamplight, Angel finally confirmed that the mark that had emitted crimson light whenever she entered the Tarot Club's gray fog space had completely vanished.
Perhaps because of this, her connection with the mysterious Mr. Fool had been severed, so when the Tarot Club convened, she was no longer included.
"I wonder if this is good or bad..."
Angel murmured.
Undoubtedly, Mr. Fool and other Tarot Club members had greatly aided her mystical knowledge. From arranging false identification after transmigration to exchanging mystical knowledge and secret information from around the world—even the extraordinary materials for advancing to Sequence 7 had partially come from Miss Justice of the Tarot Club.
But being continuously observed by a high-level existence of unknown origin carried tremendous risk. Old Neil had contacted the "Hidden Sage" inadvertently, learned forbidden knowledge, and ultimately lost control and died.
Though Mr. Fool's Tarot Club gatherings seemed to be merely "an experiment" and he'd never shown malice toward members, this pressure had always weighed on Angel's heart—she believed other members felt the same.
"Perhaps if I recite The Fool's honorific name now and pray to Him, I could continue joining the 'Tarot Club'?"
She looked hesitantly at her right hand, but her peripheral vision caught the Evernight Goddess holy emblem hanging from her citrine pendant.
Right, I'm currently under the "Secret Holy Symbol's" protection...
After careful consideration, Angel abandoned the idea of praying to The Fool now.
If she accidentally damaged this emblem's effect, infiltrating the Witch Sect would become impossible—her current whereabouts might even be detected. The best outcome would be fleeing Backlund in disgrace.
I can only wait until I've joined the Witch Sect and escaped this identity crisis before finding an opportunity to recite Mr. Fool's name...
Angel sighed, stood from the sofa, and looked toward the gradually darkening sky outside.
The large pot on the stove bubbled, its deep crimson liquid gradually concentrating and thickening.
Angel set down two completed "Sleep Charms," dispelled her spiritual wall, and approached the steaming pot, observing as the odor transformed from foul to a rich, bloody scent.
When the pot of liquid brewed from her blood as base material became a paste stuck to the bottom, Angel satisfactorily scooped it out with a ladle, filling opaque glass bottles for storage.
After filling two bottles, she smeared the remaining paste evenly across a palm-sized compact mirror, coating the smooth surface deep crimson while channeling spirituality into it.
The paste seemed to come alive, rapidly penetrating the vanity mirror until the surface once again reflected her delicate features.
A magic mirror mystically connected to her was complete.
Storing the mirror close to her body and placing the two "Sleep Charms" with her spare ammunition, Angel extinguished the fire, tidied the basement tools, and returned to the ground floor parlor.
It was now late night the following day. During the day, she'd visited surrounding herb shops and jewelry stores, purchasing all materials needed for spiritual paste, plus additional plant powders and essential oils for rituals, along with silver pieces for creating charms—spending a full 10 pounds.
Adding the prepaid half-year rent, recent meal expenses, and costs for clothing and daily necessities, the 48 pounds 15 soli she'd brought to Backlund had dwindled to just 15 pounds.
Without finding new employment soon, Angel would fall into poverty, forced to tap the emergency fund in her anonymous bank account.
"That 1,000 pounds... no, minus the 350 pounds owed to Miss Justice... those 650 pounds are reserved for purchasing Sequence 6 potion materials. I absolutely cannot use them lightly. It seems I'll need to search for 'Witch Sect' leads while finding ways to earn money."
Regarding how to locate the Witch Sect, Angel had some leads from recalling Coll Granger's memories and information Sharon had revealed, but this would clearly be long-term work. First, she needed to survive in this city.
Gazing at the spacious, bright parlor, she suddenly felt that spending a full 20 pounds to rent two floors had been extravagant.
"Perhaps I should rent a studio in the East End or Dock District. Though the environment's terrible, housing costs would decrease by at least two-thirds..."
Heart aching over the precious pounds flowing from her pocket into Mrs. Vallis's, Angel hurriedly bathed, returned to the second-floor master bedroom, and burrowed into the warm bedding.
Click, click...
The faint sound of metal scraping and friction woke Angel from light sleep.
Outside, crimson moonlight still bathed the world.
Instinctively reaching under her pillow to grasp her revolver, she fully awakened.
Listening carefully to the sounds downstairs, she identified the noise of lock-picking tools working against the lock mechanism.
"My spirituality gave no warning, the magic mirror issued no alert—the intruder doesn't seem to be a Beyonder. Could it be an ordinary thief breaking in at night?"
She hadn't expected to encounter in two days what she'd never faced in two months in Tingen.
Finding it somewhat amusing, Angel took her gun and a "Sleep Charm," activated her Assassin ability to merge with shadows, and silently descended barefoot.