Truman gazed out at a towering mountain range, its peaks piercing the clouds, their tops lost to sight.
Farther off, massive beasts seemed to writhe, and the faint howl of wolves echoed through the air.
"This place is near the Devastation Demon Wolf's divine kingdom?" Truman sucked in a breath.
Hiding right under its nose—such a clever move!
His hand, clad in the Elder Glove, reached into the air, grasping something unseen. In an instant, he vanished.
When he reappeared, he was a safe distance from the Demon Wolf's domain.
Then he saw them—creatures of every strange and twisted shape.
Magic wolves, mist treants, thousand-faced hunters—these beyonder beings, which could become potion ingredients in later eras, roamed freely here.
This was the edge of the Devastation Demon Wolf's divine kingdom. These creatures, or the beyonder traits within them, were drawn here, gathering in this mountain range.
And when such beings came together, the scene was predictable.
Beasts might eat their fill, but these creatures only grew hungrier with each bite.
Blood, madness, and strangeness filled the air, scenes that pushed human understanding to its limits unfolding before Truman's eyes. He saw beyonder beings driven mad by consuming too many mixed traits.
Yet there were also those who survived the madness, stumbling into a stroke of luck and rising to new heights—"chosen ones" of a sort.
Truman watched for a long time, marveling again at the chaos before the First Blasphemy Slate's sequence formulas appeared.
The name of the Ancient Sun God hadn't yet spread in this world, and the Blasphemy Slate was nowhere to be found.
He was about to leave when the hem of his Nightwoven Robe fluttered. His fingers twitched, using the Elder Glove to manipulate the spirit threads of this area.
The Nightwoven Robe was constantly analyzing the world's knowledge, with the Elder Glove as its key.
Truman, mimicking a Apprentice's abilities, could wield many powers.
"Why doesn't this saint show themselves?" Truman wasn't trying to harm the hidden figure. He merely tugged the spirit threads, forcing the saint to reveal themselves.
Since Truman called them a saint, they were at least as strong as a Sequence 4 in later eras.
At that moment, a figure appeared in the air.
It was a tense young man in a gray-white robe, with thick hair and a refined air, though his face was plain and unremarkable.
"Are you a god?" the young man asked, his voice tinged with fear.
But both the Book of Dreams and the Nightwoven Robe warned Truman: this man had no real awe for so-called gods.
He was studying Truman, his gaze lofty like a dragon's, as if no movement could escape his eyes.
And something seemed to be… vanishing.
Hypnosis and virtual personas from the Spectator pathway, making himself forget memories or even altering his personality?
This man was sharp. Without the Book of Dreams and Nightwoven Robe alerting him, a demigod like a Warrior might have had their traits stolen.
Truman looked at him and realized something. "You're human?"
Yes, human.
The young man's expression shifted just right, but Truman's own face grew curious.
"What's your name?" Truman asked.
"Hermes," the young man replied, already seeking an escape. An invisible force spread at the level of the mind.
Truman smiled. Was this another dream coming true?
This was one of his goals for venturing out—who'd have thought he'd meet him so soon?
Truman let go of the spirit threads, and the tension between them eased.
"I'm not a god. I'm human too," Truman explained to the saint.
He held some fondness for this founder of occult studies. After a moment's thought, he dropped the divine badge's concealment, making Hermes's eyes widen slightly.
"Truly human?" Hermes confirmed, sensing a spirit body free of any mystical taint or corruption—purer than a newborn's!
"But…" Hermes had doubts but visibly relaxed.
In this era, Hermes was young, driven by a dream to carve a path for humanity's beyonder potential. His sense of belonging to humans made Truman's identity enough to lower his guard.
To be honest, people in this era were often naively honest…
"You're studying how these creatures advance?" Truman glanced at a thousand-faced hunter before Hermes, one of the "chosen ones."
After a chaotic battle, it had devoured a six-winged gargoyle's crystal, lucking into greater power.
"You're watching them to find a pattern?"
"Sequence 6 to Sequence 5 isn't a huge leap. With some luck, it makes sense—just madness comes with it," Truman remarked.
His casual comment made Hermes's eyes tremble. The word "sequence" struck him like a key to a new world.
Though unfamiliar, his deep occult knowledge—strong even by later eras' standards—let him sense the profound meaning behind it.
It was order. It was hope for humanity!
Hah! A saint of the Dragon, or later Spectator, pathway couldn't hide his thoughts. His thirst for knowledge even stirred the Nightwoven Robe on Truman.
"Can you teach me about sequences?" Hermes bowed, asking earnestly.
Truman chuckled. "Of course, but I have a small request."
"Take me to the major human city-states to find certain people."
"…No problem!" Hermes hesitated, then agreed.
This pure human couldn't be worse than the transcendent races that enslaved or ate humans, could he?
Hermes didn't yet know the term "traitor to humanity"…
"Good. But, if I may ask, how did you become a saint? It's tied to sequence knowledge," Truman said, curious, as the mood lightened.
Related to sequences… Hermes caught the hint. Truman's era-defying insight was dazzling to an explorer like him, stirring his heart.
"When my city-state was destroyed by a monster, I forcibly consumed a crystal with mystical power…" Hermes explained briefly.
"He's roughly a Sequence 4 Manipulator in later terms," Truman thought. "And during a city's fall, despair or resolve resonates strongly—his ritual was completed by chance."
"You were lucky. And impressive," Truman said. The Manipulator ritual required resonance; without a resolve to stand with the city, it wouldn't have worked.
"So, what are your thoughts on advancing further?" They walked together, leaving the chaotic battlefield, discussing sequence knowledge.
The spirit world faithfully recorded it all, and later eras would see this as a pivotal moment in human history, glimpsed by Ancient Scholars in the fog of time.
(End of Chapter)