Roselle was seated at what looked like a study desk, clutching the silver plaque and channelling spirituality into it, trying to activate it. His face was full of confusion—he seemed puzzled as to why he wasn't seeing that boundless gray fog again, nor was he brought to that mysterious domain above the gray fog as he had been before.
"It seems that the last time he was able to enter the Sefirah Castle through such a method, it must have been a special exception for him—as a former 'resident' of the place. From now on, he can only enter the Sefirah Castle the same way as everyone else."
"So…what's he looking for me this late at night?"
Edward didn't think too much of it. Spirituality surged like a tide into the star, and in the next second Roselle's figure appeared at the round table. He was still frozen in the act of clutching the silver plate and channelling his spirituality in it.
The sudden shift in scenery startled him. He quickly bowed, saying, "Good evening, Your Excellency."
"Speak. What is it?"
Roselle hastily patted at his pockets. "The matter you entrusted me with last time—I've already accomplished it."
But after fumbling for quite a while, he realised he couldn't take out any money. Only then did he remember he had come here as a spirit. The hundred Felkin in his physical body's pocket naturally didn't exist here.
"Oh?"
Edward was a little surprised. Wasn't Roselle busy hosting his banquet tonight? When did he even have the chance to steal from Trier Cathedral?
Seeing the evil god's gaze lingering on him with amusement, Roselle recounted in detail how he had managed to steal the hundred Felkin. He wasn't sure whether this roundabout approach counted as a legitimate completion of the task, but lying before such a being was clearly unwise.
"Hahahaha, you do have some wit about you."
Only then did Edward realise why Roselle had sought donations at tonight's salon—it was very likely that the entire gathering had been organised for that very purpose.
"Your Excellency, does this count as fulfilling what you required of me?"
"It counts, of course it counts."
Edward smiled faintly. "I only told you to steal a hundred Felkin from the cathedral. I never specified how you must do it. Naturally, this is acceptable."
Roselle pretended to breathe a sigh of relief. "Then I can rest easy."
"You came to me tonight just to tell me this?"
"Of course not."
Straightening his posture, he said, "You once mentioned that you value equivalent exchange. So I want to know—"
The words were on the tip of his tongue, but the image of Zaratul fleeing in utter disarray flashed through his mind. He abruptly changed the question:
"If I wish to grow stronger…no, if I wish to become stronger as quickly as possible, to ascend to a higher Sequence as fast as I can—"
Roselle looked directly at Edward. "Your Excellency, can you help me?"
Edward replied, "You're someone Stiano values. The improvement of your strength is only a matter of time."
"But I still feel it's too slow. And I am, frankly, a lazy man. If I can't push forward in one breath, I'll soon become lax and idle again."
Edward shook his head. "Ascending the Sequences requires acting out the role, little by little digesting the potion. There are no shortcuts."
Tch. Bloody hell, what a wasted question!
Did I really need you to tell me that?
Just as he was stewing, Edward suddenly chuckled. "Ah, no. There is indeed one shortcut."
"Please, tell me."
"You could make yourself into the vessel for a god's descent. Through rituals and prayers, you allow that deity's power to descend into your body. That way, you'd wield terrifying strength for a time."
Roselle froze. "And the price?"
"Some gods erase the vessel's consciousness the instant they descend. Others only take control while present, and once they depart, the body's original owner resumes control. It depends on your luck."
"…"
He fell silent, a sudden thought surfacing in his mind: The Church of the God of Steam and Machinery has always taken such good care of me. Apart from my inventions and creativity, could it be…for this very reason as well?
Indeed, not placing blind trust in them had been the right choice.
Roselle forced a sheepish smile. "That…I'll pass."
"Then I can't help you."
Edward's tone remained unchanged. "Well then, do you have any other business?"
"May I ask, what must I do for the next opportunity to pose a question to you?"
"Go to Stiano's church and bring back the bishop's ceremonial vestments. Do that, and I'll answer you."
With that, Edward lightly tapped the table, severing the connection. He watched Roselle's figure vanish before him.
"I wonder…will I encounter Arodes through this method first, or another?"
——
Inside a villa in Trier's Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative.
Marcia—the woman who had been planning to lease the villa to Edward—was seated in her shadowy bedroom. Not far away, the fireplace crackled with burning logs.
"Lina is dead?"
Her face flickered between light and dark in the wavering flames. Unfortunately, though she knew Lina had died, she couldn't discover how.
Marcia's original plan had been simple. Since she hadn't managed to eliminate that Sparrow in Rose Street No. 7, she would simply change the venue. And the best method for a witch to kill was always in the bedchamber—making the man perish amid pleasure.
But such a plan required time.
So Marcia had ordered Lina to create chaos at the salon, and in the confusion, kill him.
Yet now Lina was dead.
And she knew nothing.
At that moment, a figure abruptly appeared behind Marcia—a woman in a gray-black robe and veil.
"Marcia."
"My Lady."
Marcia immediately rose and bowed.
"Investigate a place for me."
"Please, tell me."
"The villa at Rose Street No. 7. Find out exactly what is there."
"…Yes, My Lady."
Marcia nodded humbly, showing not a trace of hesitation.
In the next second, the veiled woman vanished again, as though she had never appeared at all.
After a long while, Marcia straightened her back.
"Why would the Demoness Family also be interested in Rose Street No. 7?"
———
The next morning, after finishing breakfast, Edward summoned Dubois to the study.
"Mr. Sparrow, you asked for me."
Dubois's face carried a trace of anticipation. Clearly, he had already guessed why Edward wanted to see him.
"Have you decided which pathway to choose?"
His expression brightened at once, and he quickly nodded. "Yes, I've decided."
"Which one?"
"The Spectator."
"Hm?"
Edward was a little surprised. "Really? I never expected you to choose that. May I know why?"
With a free and easy smile, Dubois replied, "This pathway will let me see clearly the people and things I couldn't understand before. That way I won't end up like in my youth—thinking I was clever, but always being played by those who were truly intelligent."
"Very well."
Edward took out a tin box and handed it to him, then tore a sheet of paper and wrote down the Spectator pathway formula. "This is the Spectator formula. Inside the box is the Spectator's Beyonder characteristic…If you don't know what a Beyonder characteristic is, just think of it as the main ingredient."
"I know."
Dubois accepted the box and the note as if they were treasures.
"As for the other four supplementary ingredients, I don't have them here. Fortunately, none are particularly rare. Spend some time at the market—you should be able to find them."
"I understand. Thank you, Mr. Sparrow."
"Remember—don't neglect the moving arrangements."
"Yes, sir."
Edward waved him off, allowing Dubois to leave the study.
Watching his departing back, Edward felt the same oddity from the night of the banquet. He and Roselle weren't on such bad terms, so why would Dubois rather turn to a 'stranger' like him than ask Roselle directly?
A Sequence 9 formula and its materials—Roselle would have happily gifted them to him, if only to mock him in the process.
But it hardly mattered.
At this point, Edward had already achieved contact with Roselle on two different levels. Dubois had played the role he needed to, and now the rest could proceed slowly.
Truth be told, the progress had exceeded expectations—thanks to the opportunity that witch had created for him. She had died, but at least her death had meaning.
The only question was: who had sent her? To dare strike in Roselle's own home…Was she simply aiming to kill the man she was bedding at the time, or was her true target someone else at the banquet—perhaps Roselle himself?
Edward wondered idly whether Zaratul, when turning her into a Marionette, had bothered to conduct spirit channelling to uncover her real purpose that night.
After a spell of aimless thoughts, Edward felt a wave of emptiness and boredom. Rising from his chair, he wandered out into the garden, pacing around the villa without much purpose.
Compared to when he had first moved in, the garden was now in much better condition. Many neglected patches had been replanted, and with spring arriving, blossoms of red and purple had begun to show.
A pity that in just a few days, he would have to move out.
Then he could find time to return and examine that brass rod in the basement—to learn what exactly it was and what secrets it concealed.
This thought brought to mind the "treasure map" he had traded from Intis. The so-called treasure was almost certainly dubious, but divination in the Sefirah Castle had indicated it would be beneficial to him.
So, why not? With nothing else pressing, perhaps he could go and take a look.
"You, out of the way!"
Akasha's voice rang out just then.
She yanked her younger brother Arlde off the swing, plopped herself onto it, then kicked off hard. Akasha soared five or six meters into the air, the swing creaking, before swooping back down with wild laughter.
Standing nearby, Arlde could only watch his sister's antics with a helpless expression.
"Mr. Sparrow."
He spotted Edward and gave a polite nod. "Akasha is…conducting a violent stress test of the swing's safety."
"…Excellent. Keep up the good work."
Edward responded dryly, then added, "By the way, you both know we'll be moving in a few days, yes?"
"Why?!"
Before he had finished speaking, Akasha had already appeared before him in a blur. "You've lived here for barely two weeks!"
"This place is a haunted house."
"A haunted house?"
Her eyes widened in astonishment. "And you're afraid of that?"
Edward stated plainly, "This villa has drawn the attention of a powerhouse—at least Sequence 4. I'd rather not invite trouble."
"Why?!"
Akasha's eyes grew even wider.
"Why what?"
Arlde tugged at his sister's sleeve. "Akasha."
"I mean—why would someone at least Sequence 4 take interest in an ordinary villa? What's here? What's hidden?"
Edward shook his head. "I checked. There's nothing."
"Then you must have missed it. How about…we help you look?" She rolled up her sleeves, eager to begin.
"Once we've moved, you can do whatever you like. I already paid six months' rent in advance."
Edward continued, "But until then, keep yourselves in check. There are still over a dozen ordinary people living here."
"Fine."
"Mr. Sparrow."
Just as Edward was about to leave, Arlde called after him. "About what we discussed the other day…"
"Oh?"
Edward recalled—the matter concerning Lilith, the ancestor of vampires. "What about it?"
"I want to return to Feynapotter. Regarding what we spoke of, I'd like to go back and ask for answers."
"No problem. Just make sure you don't stay long."
Akasha immediately grew curious. "What are you talking about?"
Arlde: "Nothing."
Akasha leapt up and hooked an arm around her brother's neck. "Tell me!"
"It really is nothing."
"Oh? So you're keeping secrets from your sister now? Planning to rebel, are you?"
"Argh—let go, Akasha!"
"Not until you tell me!"
Ignoring the siblings' squabble, Edward circled back into the villa.
"Endili, I'm going to nap. See that no one disturbs me."
"Yes, Master," Endilii replied at once.
Once inside his bedroom, Edward opened the Traveler's Door. With a single step, he crossed through and found himself in the underground palace in Backlund, where Medici was sealed.
Almost the moment his feet touched the ground, the subterranean chamber began to tremble faintly. But this time, the tremors were brief. Soon, words formed out of drifting dust:
"You are not Lil' Raven!"
———
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