The figure, resembling a glutton, possessed an extremely elegant demeanor, quite scholarly, yet his hands moved like afterimages. In mere moments, a table full of food was reduced to empty plates.
Rubbing his stomach, which hadn't expanded in the slightest, a hint of satisfaction finally appeared on the strange mask. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, withdrew from the dining table and looked towards the tightly shut door, his tone quite surprised:
"Esteemed guest, I apologize for not greeting you sooner. Please come in!"
The door, marked with a "Closed" sign, opened in response. Aaron stood at the doorway with a smile on his face, hands behind his back, looking at the room piled high with plates. This slightly odd scene did not attract the attention of passersby; the people coming and going seemed to deliberately ignore the Psychology Alchemists located at the end of the street.
"Psychological Invisibility" fundamentally leverages control over the target's Body of Mind and Heart, utilizing psychological blind spots to hide in the shadows, placing oneself in an "awareness dead zone" for an invisibility effect where one cannot be seen or sensed.
However, it still interacts with its surroundings, merely eliminating its presence. Once the interaction with the surroundings strengthens, exposure becomes inevitable. After advancing to Demigod and further grasping the collective unconscious sea, "Psychological Invisibility" achieved through the mental island compensates for these flaws.
If not for the "Manipulator" who was trapped in the "Devil Oil Painting" having already gone insane, mostly using the incomplete mythical creature form of "Dragon Transformation" to engage in close combat with Bayer Baile, the battle would not have ended so quickly.
The Beyonder characteristic obtained from killing that "Manipulator" had already been crafted into a Mystical Item, and Aaron thus learned much about the "Manipulator's" peculiarities.
"Good afternoon, I suppose I can call you Mr. Gluttony?"
"The mask on your face is quite interesting. I once saw a similar item in Backlund, but the owner of that mask seems to have been infected and corrupted."
Mr. Gluttony, Howard Philip, stood up and gestured for Aaron to enter, stroking the silver-white mask on his face. He chuckled:
"In the spiritual domain, it's difficult to find pure, harmless external aid. One must possess sufficient intrinsic strength to avoid corresponding negative effects."
"However, personality masks can magnify corresponding cognitions and emotions, helping the wearer realize their problems and thus address them specifically."
"Heh, if one can still be affected by a personality mask like that, then, begging your pardon, that's merely a fool. Better to abdicate early."
The mouth of the "Gluttony" mask stretched even wider, as if his head had been cut in half horizontally. Howard Philip elegantly put on ten rings, his mocking tone almost undisguised.
Aaron took a step forward and instantly noticed something amiss: his Spirit Body, Astral Body, and Ether Body all seemed to have been absorbed and assimilated by his Body of Mind and Heart. His entire being felt like an aggregate of pure thoughts, floating.
Through self-hypnosis, Aaron, who had previously entered the collective unconscious sea, suppressed his subconscious urge to act. He then relaxed his spirituality, sensing the boundless collective unconscious sea that connected all living beings, and sensing the spiritual sky opposite to it.
With previous experience and blessings from his dreams, Aaron did not panic and remained clear-headed, looking at the strange island beneath his feet, which seemed to come from reality yet also from illusion.
Not far away, the cold, illusory, grayish-white mask on Howard Philip's face quickly became transparent, melting into the surrounding collective unconscious sea, revealing a very ordinary face beneath the mask, one that would be forgotten after a single glance.
Is he pulling me onto his mental island? Hmm, this might not be real, it could just be a virtual… Just as Aaron was surveying his surroundings, the collective unconscious sea gently swayed.
A faint light "swam" from a distance, growing larger and more distinct, finally transforming into an illusory letter.
This letter stopped before Howard Philip's mental island, seemingly searching for a path to complete its "delivery."
As if sensing a familiar aura attached to the letter, Howard Philip's eyebrows twitched slightly. He first materialized a chair and sofa, motioning for Aaron to sit down, then extended his left hand to touch the illusory letter.
Using the collective unconscious sea to transmit information, the high-level abilities of the "Spectator" Pathway are truly wondrous… Aaron watched the illusory letter vanish with great novelty. He was also very curious: who was sending a letter at this exact moment, and what was its content?
Howard Philip did not keep Aaron waiting. His expression unchanged, he sat opposite Aaron and said with a smile:
"This is my mental island. You can say anything here that might be inconvenient to say in the outside world…"
Tsk, so understanding? Did Hermes instruct him beforehand?… Seeing Mr. Gluttony behave this way, Aaron smiled and casually asked:
"There's a Mind Dragon hidden in East Chester County. I imagine you, or rather, old Mr. Hermes, would be very interested. And I presume its whereabouts haven't been discovered yet?"
Unexpected that Aaron would suddenly bring this up, Howard Philip smiled and nodded without denying:
"Earlier this year, I went to East Chester County to search for that Mind Dragon. Aside from finding some anomalies in Hydrak Village, I had no special gains."
Not surprised by this answer, Aaron stared at the unremarkable face and added:
"That Mind Dragon is related to the ancient god, the Dragon of Imagination Ankewelt. If he truly wishes to hide, even Hermes himself might not find him."
"Him? The Dragon of Imagination Ankewelt…" Quickly catching the key point in Aaron's words, Howard Philip's expression immediately turned somewhat unpleasant. He finally realized how perilous the task assigned by the Psychology Alchemists had been.
He also understood why his teacher had insisted on expending power to separate a virtual personality to explore in place of his main body. If there truly was an angel-level Mind Dragon hidden there, a virtual personality might not be worth the risk of exposure to act, but if it were a genuine "Manipulator," that would be a different story.
Looking at Howard Philip, whose expression had subtly changed, Aaron didn't know what the man was thinking, but he struck while the iron was hot:
"You can tell old Mr. Hermes for me that I have a way to lure out that Mind Dragon, and I've received an invitation from the existence behind the Psychology Alchemists. I'll be attending a secret gathering in a month."
Although Aaron dared not directly mention the Twilight Secret Order due to Adam, Hermes would certainly understand his meaning.
He had never participated in the Twilight Secret Order and longed for more information to cope with potential emergencies. Most importantly, he needed to conceal his true identity to avoid alerting the enemy.
Compared to the old Conspirer Adam, the pressure from dealing with the minor Conspirer Hermes was less. At the very least, with his current strength, he had the qualifications for an equal dialogue, and he also held bargaining chips to attract him.
Pondering the meaning of Aaron's words, Howard Philip nodded directly and spoke softly:
"I will directly transmit this memory to Teacher. Does Your Grace have any other matters for this visit?"
One of the purposes of this trip had been achieved. Aaron leaned back casually in the chair. Since this was a mental island, it saved him the trouble of taking out a map. A soft golden light condensed before him, depicting a simplified map of the Mid-Sea County.
Looking at a specific area specially marked on the map, Howard Philip's eyes narrowed slightly. He scrutinized Aaron, who appeared calm, for a moment before speaking softly:
"I am very curious, where did you obtain this?"
He had already confirmed his suspicions from the reaction of this Psychology Alchemists Council member. As early as when he obtained the map from Emlyn White, he had a guess.
Advancing to Black Emperor requires nine mausoleums. And the royal family, led by George III, excluding the powerhouses responsible for maintaining the normal operation of the kingdom, had a very limited number of Angels and Demigods they could dispatch, or corresponding Sealed Artifacts.
Among the factions secretly cooperating with the royal family, both the Aurora Order and the Demoness Sect harbored ulterior motives and could not be entrusted with guarding the mausoleums. Therefore, the most likely party to provide assistance in this matter was the Psychology Alchemists.
-----------------
Backlund Bridge area, deep in Iron Gate Street, Bravehearts Bar.
Deep within the underground area, difficult for ordinary people to enter, Maric, like a vengeful spirit, stood with his hands behind his back, looking with satisfaction at the three teenagers sitting cross-legged before him:
"The mind is the Prisoner of the body, and the body is the Prisoner of the world. I hope you will always remember this sentence."
"Restraining madness and suppressing desires is the most fundamental principle of our Temperance faction, and it is also your only method of self-salvation when facing loss of control."
"Now, all three of you have successfully advanced to Sequence 8 'Lunatic.' Remember the acting method I taught you before, and you must also be mentally prepared, for the path ahead will only become more difficult!"
Under the dim candlelight, several stern-faced teenagers were also seated in the shadows to the side and rear. These were the new members of the Temperance faction he had carefully selected from various orphanages over the past half year.
Maric waved his hand, dismissing these nominal disciples. He went into the secret room in the underground area, where a statue almost as tall as a person stood silently, holding four heads in its hands—it was Reinette Tinekerr.
Maric respectfully knelt down, prayed softly, then listened intently, his expression becoming somewhat strange. After a long while, he stood up and bowed to the statue.
Kaspars Kalinin, who was leisurely wiping glasses at the bar, suddenly stiffened. Maric's reflection appeared in his right pupil, and a cold, emotionless voice came to his ear:
"In your name, arrange a meeting for me with Sherlock Moriarty…"
-----------------
15 Minsk Street, Klein was returned by Prince Edessak's carriage. He saw off the solemn-faced old butler, who was clearly also a Beyonder.
Klein sat on the sofa, looking at the 300 pounds of banknotes on the table, recalling the scene of meeting Prince Edessak today.
Through divination earlier in the mysterious space above the gray fog, Klein was almost certain that Talim's death was due to Trissy, who had escaped from Tingen.
And the sapphire ring she wore on her hand was clearly a very powerful and terrifying Sealed Artifact from the Demoness Sect, which allowed Talim to die right in front of him, and was clearly the work of the Grade 0 Sealed Artifact in Ince Zangwill's possession.
Neither the Demoness Sect nor Ince Zangwill were something he, a mere Sequence 7, could handle. And judging by Prince Edessak's situation, there might also be infighting among royal factions behind this.
"I've always avoided contact with important figures, but I still couldn't escape it. I wonder if this will attract attention or lead to more in-depth background investigations."
"I need to prepare a contingency plan in advance, ready to abandon this base and this identity at any time. Most importantly, I need to quickly obtain the Beyonder characteristic of the Human-Skinned Shadow and the Deep Sea Naga's hair, and advance to 'Faceless' as soon as possible!"
As for the commission Prince Edessak gave him, Klein planned to use a delaying tactic and see the outcome of the Church of the Storm's Punishers' handling of the matter.
As he was thinking this, an urgent knock came from the door. Klein frowned slightly, silently walked to the door, and gripped the doorknob, the appearance of the visitor outside instantly appearing in his mind.
This seems to be Kaspars's assistant from the "Bravehearts Bar." What is he here for?
Could it be that my previous commission has made progress? But it hasn't even been two days…
Questions arose in his mind, but the "Clown" danger warning gave no feedback. Klein opened the door and asked, somewhat puzzled:
"Good afternoon, sir, what can I do for you?"
Seeing Klein at home, the assistant, still in his bar bartender uniform, wiped the sweat from his forehead caused by strenuous exercise and said with relief:
"Mr. Kaspars has an urgent matter to discuss with you. Would it be convenient for you to come with me to the 'Bravehearts Bar'?"
Kaspars? What could he want with me… Thinking this, Klein rubbed his somewhat shrunken stomach and sighed helplessly. He didn't make things difficult for the bartender and gestured for him to lead the way.
Just as Klein stepped out of his house, he suddenly felt a warmth in his chest. His hand instinctively reached for his chest, then paused slightly, before he turned sideways and looked into the alley diagonally opposite.
Standing there was a woman over 1.7 meters tall, with long, waist-length chestnut hair and a very well-proportioned figure, neither fat nor thin.
Strangely, she wore a girlish yellow tiered dress but a black, old-fashioned soft hat, with fine mesh veil draped down, obscuring her face.
A strange sense of familiarity lingered in his heart. Although he couldn't see her specific features, Klein felt as if he had seen this person somewhere before.
"Mr. Moriarty? What's wrong?"
A slightly puzzled voice interrupted Klein's thoughts. By the time he came back to himself, the woman standing at the alley exit had already vanished.
Shaking his head slightly to dismiss the curious bartender, Klein's right hand emerged from his embrace. A "Wheel of Fortune" card was tightly clutched in his hand, the source of the warmth in his chest just now.
A flash of inspiration in his mind, Klein finally recalled the source of that strange familiarity: he had seen that woman at the Roselle Memorial Exhibition in the Royal Museum!