"Alright."
As the three returned to the little garden within the Sefirah Castle, Edward spoke again, "Judging from the future, one of you will be besieged to death, beheaded and torn apart, while the other will be swallowed whole in a single bite. Which of you do you think is more miserable?"
Pallez raised his hand immediately. "I believe…I may be the more miserable one."
At this point, he no longer cared about saving face. His dignity had already been stripped bare; if he couldn't even win this so-called 'Misery Contest,' then he'd be embarrassed for nothing.
Reinette did not object. She said nothing.
"Miss No Head, you don't plan to argue?" Edward pressed lightly. "In truth, both your tragedies have their merits—each has its…special flavour. That means the final verdict may very well depend on how much effort you put into convincing me.
"If Miss No Head could describe in a bit more detail just how miserable she has been, perhaps I'd be more inclined to cast my vote for you."
Reinette remained silent.
"Good! Since Miss No-Head has no objections…"
Edward clapped his hands. "Then let us congratulate the winner of the very first Misery Contest: Mr. No Characteristic!"
As he spoke, a large crimson rosette bloomed on Pallez's chest, like the festive flower pinned to an ancient top scholar. Though seemingly festive, it was inexplicably comical.
"Now, will Mr. No Characteristic please deliver his victory speech?"
"???"
Pallez froze. A victory speech?
After all this humiliation, you still expect me to make a speech?! Spare this old man!
"…."
After a moment of bitter inner cursing, Pallez put on a façade of calm indifference. "Ahem. I must thank the Chairman for granting me this opportunity, for awarding me the victory in this Misery Contest. I also wish to thank Miss No Head for her…support. In the future, I will certainly…"
He faltered. Words failed him.
What, keep striving to be even more tragic? That's madness!
"…In short, thank you all for your support. Thank you, thank you~"
Reinette gave him a long look, relief flickering in her heart. Fortunately…I didn't argue just now.
Edward smiled faintly. "As the prize for Mr. No Characteristic's victory, I offer two choices. You may select one."
"The first: I can provide you with guidance on a suitable future host, ensuring you avoid being devoured by Amon."
"The second: I can tell you the whereabouts of one of your direct descendants—someone you once cherished deeply. Yes, you still have a great-grandson alive. He may be little better than dead, but since he yet lives, there remains hope, does there not?"
Without hesitation, Pallez answered, "I choose the second."
Edward feigned surprise.
"Oh? So decisive."
"Perhaps because I've lost too many characteristics, my humanity has paradoxically grown stronger over the years. Compared to the life and death of the future, I care more about this single direct descendant."
"Very well." Edward nodded. "His name is Mobet Zoroast. Do you remember him?"
Pallez's voice turned suddenly aged, then steadied again. "Oh…so it was him. I recall he vanished after a great war. I had thought Amon or perhaps one of the Jacobs killed him, which was why I could never divine the culprit. It seems the truth was more complicated.
"He was indeed one of my favourites—his temperament resembled mine somewhat. Even as a Beyonder of the Error Pathway, he always left room in his actions."
"Tell me, Chairman. Where is he now?"
Edward placed Groselle's Travels onto the bronze table. "In this book."
Pallez's expression barely shifted, but Reinette's eyes widened.
"This book…"
He stared at the unremarkable travel journal, frowning in contemplation. "It feels…anything but simple."
"Of course," Edward replied smoothly. "This was once the relic of the Dragon of Imagination Ankewelt. You should understand the weight of that name. Within it lies a world almost as real as ours."
The Dragon of Imagination!
Even after thousands of years, that name still struck like thunder to Pallez and Reinette alike. In the distant past, Ankewelt had been one of the rulers of this world—far mightier than the Seven of today.
Perhaps this relic truly did contain unimaginable power.
Pallez asked carefully, "Chairman, you said my great-grandson was 'little better than dead.' What do you mean?"
"Oh, he has been inside the book for over a thousand years. And he remains merely a Sequence 5 Dream Stealer. The only reason he still lives is the peculiar rules of that world. The moment he leaves it, time will consume him in an instant, and he will perish."
Pallez fell silent for a long moment.
"…I understand."
"Of course," Edward added casually, "there may yet be a way to keep him alive."
Edward smiled faintly.
"The simplest method would be for you to extract your Sequence 4 Beyonder characteristic and hand it to him, so that he may ascend to a demigod. Granted, a demigod of the Error Pathway won't live for a thousand years either, but through parasitism, he could at least prolong his existence."
Suddenly, a flash of inspiration lit up Edward's mind:
The ritual for ascending to Sequence 3 was to deconstruct a story and let it step into reality.
Until now, Edward had been troubled and regretful that he could not return to the Harry Potter world. But in truth, he already held another "story" in his hands—Groselle's Travels.
And the simplest way to bring this story into reality was…to let the characters inside walk out alive!
His spirits lifted at once, as though he had stumbled into light at the end of a dark tunnel.
How to make them walk out alive? Aside from Pallez's great-grandson, who could rely on the Sequence 4 characteristic and the parasitic method, the others could be 'registered' in the Sefirah Castle first. Edward could then pull their spirits up directly—at worst, they would exist as evil spirits.
Thinking of this, he turned to Pallez with a smile.c"As for the other method…I'll tell you next time."
"…"
The words stuck in Pallez's chest, but he could only force a polite smile. "Many thanks, Chairman."
"You're welcome."
Edward now looked at Reinette. "Of course, as a participant in this very first Misery Contest—even though Miss No Head did not win—I think a consolation prize is still in order. What should I give you? What is it you most desire?"
Reinette clenched her fingers tightly.
"Does the Temperance Faction still stand a chance of defeating the Indulgence Faction?"
Edward chuckled. "Heh. Even if you were to defeat them, what would it matter? As long as the Mother Tree of Desire remains, you will never fully escape its pollution and control."
He paused.
"But, since you've asked…there truly is an opportunity. In December of 1349, the Indulgence Faction's upper echelon will suffer a heavy blow. That may be your chance."
—What Edward was referring to, of course, was the battle he had seen before his transmigration, when Leodero's powers grievously injured and killed several of Suah's subordinates.
"1349…"
Nearly two hundred years later? By then, I'll likely already be dead. Even if I know of it, what use is the knowledge? And besides…how can I even verify if this 'prophecy' of two centuries hence is genuine?
"Enough."
Edward clapped his hands. "I hereby declare the first Misery Contest a perfect success!"
"Next, I'll begin selecting contestants for the second round. When the time comes, the two of you may act as judges and spectators, casting your votes for the next winner. And once more, you will each receive my help—for instance, aiding you in saving your great-grandson."
"Isn't that something to look forward to?"
Edward's lips curled into a faint smile. "Well then, until next time. Oh—and remember, not a word of today's events to anyone else."
With a wave of his hand, he severed the connection, watching them dissolve into crimson starlight and vanish.
The vast Sefirah Castle once more sank into silence.
Edward sat still, eyes closed, quietly sensing the progress of his potion digestion.
Indeed—the so-called first Misery Contest had been crude, almost laughably simple. But its purpose was achieved. It was another experiment Edward had devised to digest his Spiritcaster potion.
He had to carve deep impressions into the minds of others without altering the course of history. His options were extremely limited. First, he had tried planting a "dream" in Roselle. The results were modest.
This time, he tried a deliberately absurd, even nonsensical method.
The so-called "Misery Contest" was, in essence, the unearthing of Reinette's and Pallez's old scars—and rubbing salt into them. Such memories were bound to linger.
The key was that, aside from half-truthful visions of their future deaths, Edward had revealed nothing concrete. Still, there was no guarantee that this would not ripple into the timeline.
But if he wanted to digest the potion, he had no choice.
For any Sequence that required "an audience," there were only two approaches: either seek a small number of high-sequence Beyonders for faster progress, or draw upon a large number of ordinary people for slower progress.
Edward judged the latter far riskier to history.
"Fortunately, none of this was wasted."
The Spiritcaster potion's digestion leapt to one-half complete. The Secrets Sorcerer potion surged past two-thirds.
As expected of two angels—the efficiency was extraordinary!
A pity, though. Such a method likely only worked once. Today's events were enough to make Reinette and Pallez remember Edward for the rest of their lives. Next, he would need new targets.
Speaking of which—why hasn't Medici recited my three-fold honorific yet?
Edward knew the reason couldn't simply be that the angel was "sealed" and thus unable to speak. Often, prayers to gods required no spoken words at all; silent recitation of an honorific was sufficient.
Which meant Medici was simply…too cowardly.
If this continues, I'll just have to pay him another visit.
"Right. Medici should know how to contact Mr. Door."
Though Medici and the Door had belonged to opposing factions in the Fourth Epoch, the fact that he had cooperated with Amon in luring an Abraham descendant to release Mr. Door from the cosmos proved that he possessed some knowledge of Him.
A short while later, Edward extended his hand, channelling spirituality into Roselle's crimson star. Resting his chin on his hand in a casual posture, he said:
"A free reminder—The Hidden Sage has set his sights on you and your family. Go to Stiano."
With a flick of his finger, he sent the message through.
———
[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.