Bang!
One of Klein's hands suddenly burst apart, transforming into writhing, distorted worms.
Immediately after, his body also underwent a violent transformation due to the total depletion of his spirituality. Were it not for being above the grey fog, he suspected he would have already lost control entirely!
No—
If it's already started, then I must see it through!
He stretched out his remaining hand, extending his spirituality toward the crimson star representing Audrey. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to sound as calm as possible:
"Miss Justice, you may begin the ritual."
Bang!
His other arm exploded into countless squirming worms as well.
But Klein, eyes bloodshot, continued to glare at the suitcase with unwavering focus. When Audrey's voice of prayer echoed forth, ripples bloomed behind the bronze seat once more. A phantasmal gate began to open as he infused his last reserves of spirituality.
Bang!
His torso, legs, and head all disintegrated into a mass of grotesquely twisted worms. And in the final instant before his consciousness dissolved into chaos, he used what little will he had left to push the suitcase from above the grey fog—straight into the illusory gate.
Rumble…
The magnificent palace above the grey fog collapsed in that moment.
Klein's figure vanished from the grey fog and reappeared in the real world, inside the inn. He collapsed to the floor, barely remaining conscious.
But truthfully, he would have preferred to just pass out entirely—at least then he wouldn't have to endure this unbearable pain. Lying on the cold floor, teeth clenched in agony, he growled:
"Edward, I've gone this far for you…That should count as returning the favour, right?!"
He was just about to close his eyes for some rest when, one after another, the voices of Little Sun and The Hanged Man reached him through prayer.
——
Meanwhile…inside the suitcase.
Edward and Bernadette were bombarded by thunderous roars echoing from outside—a rumbling so deep it resembled the collapse of a towering structure.
Then came an overwhelming sense of nausea. It felt as though they'd been thrown into a spinning washing machine, shaken and spun so violently that even their very souls and flesh seemed moments away from separating. Just as they reached their limit—
The grey fog suddenly vanished.
Silence returned.
Did it work?
Edward raised his head in a daze—only to freeze completely.
In front of him were colossal steps that stretched layer by layer from a sealed gate in the distance all the way to where he stood.
This is…
He looked around. The gray-white stone bricks that made up the space exuded a sense of ancient weight, as though he stood in the distant past.
A palace?
Beyond the windows, there was no sun, no moon, not even stars. And yet a pale light filtered through, casting the grand hall in an eerie, sombre, and chilling gloom.
At the palace's farthest end stood a hazy shadow—like a curtain veil.
Edward flipped a coin for divination—but the result was failure.
After a moment's hesitation, he began walking toward the depths of the palace.
As he proceeded, everything around him seemed to be layered in a faint, shadowy haze. In the distance, a staircase ascended tier by tier, leading to a throne of black iron at its summit.
Upon that throne sat a man.
His dark hair fell just to his shoulders in loose curls, and the upper half of his face was obscured by shadow—his features indistinct, unknowable. Behind him, layer upon layer of void-black wings cascaded downward, enveloping most of his body. His robe was of the deepest black, embroidered with intricate silver patterns and adorned with ornate decorations.
At the moment, the man was resting his left elbow on the throne's armrest, propping up the side of his face as if…in slumber.
Edward's heart began to race wildly.
The Dark Angel, Sasrir!
And in that instant, he finally realised where he was:
The deepest chamber of the Giant King's Court…the final gateway from the Forsaken Land of the Gods to the outside world!
But—
Why am I here?
Wasn't I in the suitcase, being offered to the grey fog?
Where's Lilith? Where's Bernadette? Where's the Fool?
Could it be…the True Creator brought me here?
But if the True Creator truly wanted to act against me, "He" could've simply done it directly. Why go to the trouble of placing me before Sasrir?
Unless—just like in the original story—"He" simply wants me to observe Sasrir's state?
Wait!
The Blasphemy Slate!
That first Blasphemy Slate, born of the Chaos Sea, was said to be in Sasrir's possession!
Edward immediately turned his gaze toward the throne, examining Sasrir's condition. And sure enough, within the undulating layers of void-black feathers, he spotted a flash of grey-white.
There it was—resting beside Sasrir's right hand on the throne.
It radiated an incomparably ancient aura.
That's it!
Edward's eyes sharpened, and he focused all his attention on it. As he stared, he suddenly saw text carved into its surface—characters he had never learned but somehow instinctively understood.
Sequence 0—Door…
Sequence 1—Key of Stars…
Sequence 2…
Sequence 2's formula?
His eyes widened. Driven by curiosity and urgency, he took two steps forward, trying to get a clearer view of the words hidden beneath Sasrir's feathers.
But just then—
A strange sensation gripped him.
The feeling of being watched.
And the gaze wasn't coming from somewhere else—it was directly ahead.
He slowly looked up…
And met a pair of emotionless eyes.
Sasrir had opened them.
"!!!"
Edward's entire body tensed in an instant. Without hesitation, he attempted to activate the Traveler's Door to escape—only to find that his body was frozen in place, not even a finger able to move.
I'm doomed!
Yet, even though Sasrir's eyes were open, he made no move. He simply gazed at Edward in utter silence.
And then…Edward's vision began to blur.
The iron-black throne…Sasrir…the Blasphemy Slate…all faded away.
In a daze, he found himself once again inside the space of the suitcase.
I…came back?
A flicker of confusion flashed through his eyes. Did I really leave just now?
And yet, the formulas for Sequence 0 and Sequence 1 still lingered vividly in his mind.
"What…just happened?"
At that very moment, deep within the grand and shadowy palace, a cluster of brass eyes appeared silently across the curtain of darkness behind Sasrir. A low, thunderous voice rumbled through the air:
"You have seen the Blasphemy Slate. But whether you can truly obtain it…that depends on your own ability."
In the next instant, the brass eyes vanished without a trace.
Sasrir closed his eyes once more, allowing his black wings to fold back over his body—like a corpse, unmoving.
——
Inside the suitcase.
Edward was still steeped in shock, confusion written all over his face.
Lilith teetered left and right, her eyes swirling like hypnotic spirals.
"Miss Lilith feels…like throwing up…"
Bleegh.
And then she did.
Bernadette, by contrast, remained composed. "The sacrifice should be over now. Are we already back outside?"
Edward flipped a coin.
Heads up—negative.
They were no longer in the Forsaken Land!
Relief flooded him.
Good. That's good…Having Amon lurking around constantly was far too much pressure.
Though—he still had no idea what exactly he had just experienced.
"…Thank you, Mister Fool," Edward whispered sincerely.
Lilith, having finished retching, looked thoroughly drained. The little cat stumbled forward, wobbled over to Edward, and bumped her head into his chest.
"Edward…I'm so dizzy…"
He gently picked her up and wiped her mouth clean.
"There, there. You can rest soon."
Just then, the suitcase clicked open from the outside. Audrey's lovely face peeked through the opening, eyes lighting up in delight.
"Edward! You're back!"
After so many days, seeing Audrey again filled Edward with an immense sense of reassurance. He was just about to reply—
But then he realised something was off.
Someone was missing.
Bernadette had disappeared at some point.
Whoosh!
A black shadow sliced through the air and dove into the suitcase, crying out in a cheerful voice:
"Found you at last!"
It was Phoenix.
———
The Forsaken Land, Berg Household, City of Silver.
Derrick woke from his slumber, eyes reflecting a flash of lightning.
Though he had already devised a plan during the Tarot Club meeting to expose those corrupted teammates, he now hesitated—Should I discuss this with Elder Lovia first?
But the hesitation didn't last long.
No. He couldn't rely on others for everything. He needed to learn how to make decisions on his own.
He knew his current actions were risky. They might attract suspicion from the Chief.
But if there was risk to bear, it should be his alone to carry.
With that thought, he gently shut the window, lit a candle, and began setting up the ritual for requesting a boon.
After more than ten minutes of waiting, a black iron box appeared atop the altar—along with the familiar voice of Mister Fool in his ears:
"Do not touch the item inside directly."
Ever obedient, Derrick engraved this warning into his mind and cautiously opened the box.
Inside was a completely black eye, devoid of pupils. The moment he saw it, Derrick felt his mind begin to unravel, his thoughts grow sluggish. Whispers—faint, illusory, tinged with madness—brushed his ears.
No wonder I can't touch it directly…this thing is drenched in the pollution of the True Creator.
In a panic, he slammed the lid shut, drew a silver dagger, and quickly erected a Wall of Spirituality to completely seal the box.
"…What should I do next?"
Seek out the suspicious team members directly?
Or…invite them over under some pretence?
No—that would be far too blatant. It would be the same as shouting that something was wrong.
"Wait, that's it!"
Duck and the others probably haven't given up on trying to make me eat those mushrooms…
All I need to do is show up around them more often—eventually they'll take the initiative.
Perfect!
With his plan in place, Derrick tucked the iron box into a secret pouch sewn inside his clothing. Gripping the Hurricane Axe in hand, he strode out the door.
He would use himself as bait—to draw out the corrupted ones.
——
Of course, what Derrick believed to be "secret" behaviour was, in truth, swiftly reported to Chief Colin Iliad.
Although the team returning from the temple had undergone quarantine and checks without any findings, their mental states were…clearly off.
Based on past experience, there was a high chance something had gone wrong.
For the safety of the City of Silver, standard procedure would be to immediately confine them to the base of the Spiral Tower for further evaluation.
However, Colin Iliad had discovered two exceptions—Elder Lovia and Derrick Berg.
He had suspected Derrick for a long time—ever since the boy produced that Hand of Glory. At the time, he thought perhaps Derrick had stumbled into some unknown hidden ruin.
But only after ordering surveillance did he confirm: Derrick had secretly placed his faith in some 'unknown' being.
In other words—after thousands of years without divine response in the City of Silver, Derrick had made contact with a mysterious existence.
By all accounts, such mysterious faiths were often traps laid by evil gods. But after much deliberation, Colin decided to continue observing in silence.
"We'll wait. The City of Silver cannot afford to abandon any hope—Any hope of surviving the coming apocalypse."
———
[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.