It was easy to imagine that Medici would never be as "obedient" as old man Pallez—even though, in truth, their current states were not all that different.
But this three-in-one old schemer had more tricks up his sleeve than anyone. To make him listen, mere words were far from enough.
Edward's fingers twitched, and a gold coin appeared between them. Fortunately, I'm still within the bounds of the Sefirah Castle—and I've got "Madman to the Right."
"For the digestion of the Spiritcaster potion—come forth!"
A great surge of spirituality poured into the crimson star. With the roll of grey fog, a man clad in blood-stained black armour, his hair a striking red, manifested within the Sefirah Castle—before the round table.
Ding.
Almost at the same time, the coin fell and was caught by Edward. He slowly loosened his fingers, letting the coin dissolve into a golden speck of light.
With a lazy pose, chin propped on his hand, Edward gazed at the newcomer, who was sizing up the surroundings. He said calmly:
"Sauron-Einhorn-Medici."
"…"
After a long stare, Medici suddenly frowned. "Why is my name placed after those two old hags? Don't you see this form is based on me?"
Edward chuckled. "An amusing point of focus. Very well—Medici-Sauron-Einhorn. Satisfied now?"
Before Medici could reply, two extra mouths sprouted on his cheeks, ready to spew curses.
Edward snapped his fingers lightly, and the mouths vanished instantly—without managing to utter a single word.
"Choose a seat on the left—any but that one."
Medici frowned, unmoving. His gaze fixed instead on the figure seated at the head of the table, whose features were obscured.
"We've already met face to face. No need for all these mysteries. Who are you really?"
"Sit."
Edward's voice pressed down again.
In the very next moment, Medici lost control of his body and was forced to stride to a chair on the left, where he sat.
"…"
Tch!
Even though he had been prepared, Medici still felt a surge of irritation. Not even my lord treated me like this!
"You've been in contact with the City of Calamity. Surely you understand what this place is?"
Leaning back with arms crossed, Medici snorted. "Sefirot. Damn, Tudor's seal really is something. I clearly left its range by coming here in spiritual form, yet I'm still bound by it. The moment I step out, I'll be dragged back into that underground palace."
Indeed, that was precisely the point Edward had been paying attention to.
As an evil spirit, Medici's condition was unique. Others entered the Sefirah Castle by shedding their flesh and arriving in spirit, but Medici was already a spirit—yet the seal still prevented him from truly escaping the underground palace.
Edward's imagination began to wander:
If someone prayed to me right now, opening the illusory gate of offering and bestowal, could I toss him out as an "item" and break the seal's hold?
At this moment, Medici glanced around. "You're not really Bethel, are you? No…if so, then why did that little brat try to learn Bethel's three-segment honorific from me?"
"Amon? No, can't be. If it were Lil Raven, he'd be far more insufferable."
"That leaves…only Antigonus?"
Edward smiled. "Have you forgotten Zaratul?"
"No! That guy's impossible. I worked with him for a time—he's nowhere near qualified."
Waving dismissively, Medici added, "Forget it. Enough guessing. Out with it—why bring me here? If it's about Lilith, my answer hasn't changed…I saw her fall with my own eyes when Adam, Amon, and Cheek joined forces. Not long after, I died as well, became an evil spirit, and have been sealed here ever since."
"I know all of that." Edward gave a small nod. "I didn't summon you for anything in particular. Just wanted to see the once high-and-mighty Red Angel—who nearly ascended to Sequence 0, only to be boiled in a stew—and say hello."
"…"
Medici clicked his tongue. "You…you're the Lil Raven, aren't you?!"
"Hahahahaha."
Edward burst into loud laughter, then said, "Soon I'll likely host a most entertaining gathering here. You're cordially invited."
"Do I have the option to refuse?"
"Of course."
Medici stared at him intently for half a minute, then curled his lip. "Forget it. Sealed up as I am, I've got nothing better to do anyway. Might as well find some amusement."
"Good. Then let me wish you joy in advance."
With that, Edward severed the connection with Medici.
One had to admit—their first meeting in the Sefirah Castle was far calmer than expected. No matter what kind of personality Medici once had, however unruly, he was no fool.
Faced with an existence that could wholly control him and seemed to be a god, however much dissatisfaction he harboured, he would never be so reckless as to seek death.
Of course, Medici hadn't simply sat idly through the encounter. The entire time he had been probing, testing Edward's identity. If he could determine who the other truly was, then he could infer his purpose, why he sought Medici out, and—most importantly—how to use him to escape the seal.
Unfortunately, Edward was not someone drawn from the distant past, but a figure from Medici's utterly unknown future. His probings were meaningless from the start.
Feeling the potion digesting within him, Edward mused:
Hmm…both the Secrets Sorcerer and the Spiritcaster potions have digested a bit more. Judging from the Spiritcaster's rate of digestion, I haven't reached the limit yet. Which means…it's necessary to hold another "who's-more-miserable contest."
So, who should be pitted against Medici this time? And what kind of "reward" would make him behave?
He hissed a laugh.
There's only Roselle.
After all, one was the Red Priest, the other the Black Emperor.
Red and Black, is it not?
——
Meanwhile, back in the underground palace, Medici had already begun a discussion with his two other 'selves'. He was the first to ask:
"Who do you think that fellow might be?"
"How should I know? Didn't you say he might be some ancient god who survived the Second Epoch?"
"Now that I've seen more, I doubt it."
"And what about the names you rattled off just now?"
"Also unlikely."
"Hahahaha, Medici, have you considered the possibility that he isn't someone you know at all? We've been sealed here for nearly a thousand years. Isn't it reasonable that some newcomers have risen in that span?"
"True. I've long suspected that even if we did get out, someone else might already have ascended to Red Priest."
"Your brains must have rotted in confinement. Didn't Tudor already ascend to Red Priest?"
"Heh, forgive me for looking down on him, but in the state he was back then, I can't believe he could hold onto that seat."
"You two, shut it."
Medici cut off Sauron and Einhorn's bickering. "Do you think that fellow is truly a god?"
"I have my doubts."
"At first I didn't think so either—until he made us sit down with a single word. Even as evil spirits, we still carry the weight of Sequence 1. For him to suppress us so easily…"
"Then what does a true god want, sending his people to us again and again, making us recite his honorific, dragging us onto a Sefirot? What's his aim?"
"That depends on whether you still have some use."
"My use?"
Medici pondered for a while, but found little clarity.
There were, in fact, some things he hadn't voiced. For instance: that brat's first visit, his second, and now his third—all three times, his state and his intentions had been markedly different.
That wasn't normal. If he had truly come under the orders of a god, shouldn't his purpose and plan have remained consistent from start to finish? Yet Medici distinctly felt that, in making certain decisions, the boy had acted with a degree of improvisation.
Of course, it was possible the one behind him had given sudden orders.
Still, Medici couldn't help but feel curious about his obsession with Lilith. As one of the few back then who had been on good terms with her, he simply couldn't match this stranger with anyone he once knew.
In other words, the little brat—or the being behind him—might really be someone he had never met. Which only made it stranger: what purpose did they have in pursuing Lilith?
And finally, there was that brass staff, the one that amplified his spirituality and let him temporarily break free of the seal's constraints. Was that truly Adam's work? What scheme was he plotting now?
Heh. I don't believe it. What worse fate could he possibly put me in than I already am?
———
Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative.
Inside an ordinary duplex townhouse, Marcia sat quietly before her vanity. Since that night she had encountered the mysterious old man, she had not left the house once.
She remembered nothing of what had happened after he appeared—what questions he had asked, what tricks he had used, whether he was still watching her even now.
To avoid saying too much, exposing too much, or making more mistakes, she had chosen to do nothing at all.
That didn't mean she had given up resisting. She was waiting—waiting for Tarik to appear, hoping that he, and the great figure behind him, might draw away the eyes fixed upon her.
The night deepened.
Crimson moonlight poured into the room, as if draping it in a veil of gauze—serene and tranquil.
Suddenly, a faint glow flickered across the darkened mirror. Within it, a woman in a black dress gradually came into view.
Startled, Marcia blurted, "My Lady, I may have been targeted by a powerful being. It's not safe here—please, leave quickly!"
"It's fine," said the woman in the black dress within the mirror. "You are safe. There is no one around you."
Marcia froze, surprised.
"So that's why you suddenly cut off contact these past days?"
"Yes, my Lady."
"Tell me what happened."
Her calm tone steadied Marcia as well. She began:
"The day after Count Clair was successfully assassinated, I went to the Aurora Order and met Mr. F. From him, I retrieved the item taken from No. 7 Rose Street. Then…"
She spoke slowly, doing her best to faithfully recount that night's events so her Lady could glean as much useful information as possible.
"…When I awoke, I was still in the same place. I don't know what happened while I was unconscious."
"And the item?"
Marcia lowered her head. "It was taken."
"What did the old man look like?"
She quickly opened a drawer, pulled out a sketch, and held it to the mirror. "I drew this from memory."
The woman in the mirror frowned slightly. "Lil Zaratul? What business does he have meddling in this?"
———
[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.