[Inside the Sandy, Dream-like Realm. . .]
"I'm back here?" Emory stared into the distance. The piles of dead bodies had reappeared, and it took immense control not to touch them again.
He realized that Sylphossia had summoned him again. "Madam Sylphossia?"
"I'm here, once again," the female voice replied.
As usual, a table materialized from thin air, and on either side sat Emory and Sylphossia.
"It looks like your 'Visionary's Key' worked. Congratulations on becoming a Hierarch, Emory." She drank from one of the glasses.
"I'm happy to be of service to you." A twinge of guilt riddled Emory. Because of his wish, he wouldn't be able to see Charles or Simonis again.
It was all for a good cause, though. That's what he liked to think.
Sylphossia rested her head on her palm. "You know the reason I pulled you here?"
"No."
"It's about your first target as a Hierarch," she said. "Unfortunately. . . decisions have been made up above, and Master has ordered you not to hunt the girl."
"Your Master told me not to kill her?"
"Yes. You're forbidden from using her to advance."
Emory inclined his head. "If I may, why did he say no?"
"Always so inquisitive," Sylphossia grumbled. "You don't need to know the reason. All that matters is Amariel Cline will not be touched."
She narrowed her eyes. "Understand?"
Emory lost consciousness and drifted off.
. . . .
"Sir! Sir!" A pleading girl's voice rang in his ear.
You don't have to be loud. . . Emory groaned in his mind. His eyes twitched at the sudden light ahead. A young lady, exasperated, was pounding on his chest.
When she noticed him move, relief washed over her face. "You're alive! Thank the heavens!" She scrambled back to make room for Emory.
He looked around. The woman had used his jacket as a pillow, and his shoes were off. He grunted while getting up. "Sorry about that."
Then he got a good look at her: Amariel Cline, the girl protected by Contrivance. . .
Why would Contrivance protect someone of Bersebus blood? Doesn't he hate Julius Bersebus the most?
He rubbed his head and sighed. "I'll be going now."
"You can't get up yet!" She yanked him down by the arm. Emory was surprised by her strength. "Lie down for a few more minutes to allow your body to adjust. Then you may leave."
She dusted off the floor and sat huddled with her knees pulled up. "In the meantime, I want to know why you've been following me."
Emory twitched. I forgot she realized I followed her. What a keen sense of presence. . . Uhm, I can't tell her she was my target; that's too cruel.
"Uh. . . I saw you eating that macaron and wanted to ask where you got it from. I called out to you, but I guess the wind drowned out my voice."
He had to get much better at lying. Hopefully she doesn't ask about how I was invisible. . .
Amariel frowned. "Alright. I believe you. It's getting late, so I have to leave quickly, but you should stay for a couple more minutes."
Emory nodded. "Sure."
He watched her leave. I wonder what's so special about her. If Contrivance wants her because of the way she noticed me, then that's a separate issue for him. . .
He scratched his chin. Specter, are you here?
'Yes, I'm here,' the familiar voice echoed in his mind. 'Sorry about earlier; something—or should I say, someone—was blocking me.'
Probably Sylphossia, since she summoned me right away, Emory thought.
'Sylphossia Telantes. . . the Second Servant. Proceed with caution around her, Emory. Just because she seems relaxed doesn't mean she is.'
Specter's voice deepened.
'Back in the 2nd Era, she alone ruled over the Southern Cradle, which is three times the size of this region.
'It's also home to some of the strongest beasts that would flatten an average sorcerer.
'Sylphossia was known for her cruel punishments and apathy. Her attitude with you is a front, ready to snap at any moment. If Contrivance loses interest in you, she'll slice your neck in seconds.'
The Southern Cradle's leader. . .
'If you plan to go there, I'd suggest against it. Her remnant psyche circulates within its earth and sky and would probably kill you.
'By the way, Sylphossia used to be stronger than the First Servant and earned the title Zero.'
Really? Then why has she fallen to Second Servant?
'That's a story for another day. You have hunting to do.'
. . . .
It was time for Emory's first hunt. Luckily, after only minutes walking around Trila, Specter locked onto an older gentleman at Circlet rank.
Emory went invisible, pulled out his dagger, and instantly ended the old man's life in a secluded alleyway.
Now he stood before the body, peering at the corpse. How do I collect the Authority? he asked Specter.
'Cut out his heart, kidneys, and pancreas. Additionally, use your inhuman strength to create a hole in the ground large enough for this body.'
Emory didn't question why and did so. After placing the organs on the ground, he waited for instructions.
'Get on your knees, clasp your hands, and pray to the Phantom.'
What do I say?
'Repeat after me: O' Phantom of the undead, the sickening corpse under us all, I ask you to help me extract all Authority from the deceased before me.'
Specter added urgently, 'Remember! After every prayer, you must, must say this line: Verily, I am aware. While the Phantom is ruler, the true Almighty is Contrivance.'
'Do not forget! I urge you: never forget!'
Contrivance again. . .? He's engrained himself in these prayers as well. . .
Emory thought back to Passage 1 of Abolition, where the final line read almost identically to the one Specter had just said.
Once finished with the prayer, Emory saw the organs glow. They morphed into text that floated in the sky: "Mourn the Phantom. Contrivance is infinity."
Emory repeated the words, feeling Authority increase within his veins.
Then, he picked up the body, and following Specter's orders, Emory "buried" it. He covered the hole with dirt and prayed to the Phantom one more time.
'Congratulations, you've not only helped this world rid itself of Julius's descendants, you've also closed in on your advancement. This might have been easy, but trust me, as you progress, the battles will only toughen. Circlets are usually powerless.'
I noticed that Circlets aren't really strong, too. But then how come Ruin's Servile, Hierarch I's, gain a myriad of useful abilities?
'It might seem unbalanced now, but as you encounter the other ranks of Julius's descendants, the disparity in power between Bersebus Descent and the Hierarchs becomes less evident.
'Do not underestimate Julius's blood.'
Emory shuddered. I understand.
He cleaned the area and left. As he sauntered throughout Trila with his hands in his pockets, Emory's stomach rumbled.
I might as well try the macarons.
He pulled Visionary's Key from his pocket and twisted it in the air. Subsequently, a stack of green paper appeared in his hand.
One hundred dinars should last me a while. He put Visionary's Key away and left for the bakery. Upon arrival, Emory's eyes constricted.
He saw a man standing in line—but it was no ordinary man. It was his father, Charles. Emory's heart ached tremendously at the sight of the widower.
Father. . .
He quickly touched his face and subtly changed his appearance.
Charles said to the clerk, "I'd like this one, please," and waited for a particularly beautiful pastry to be readied.
In the meantime, Emory slowly approached his father and smiled. "The mood really shifts when the sun sets, right? The atmosphere takes on a different vibe." This was his version of adult small-talk.
Charles jolted at the voice before turning around. Emory almost collapsed at the sight of his father: Charles's eyes were dark, his cheeks hollowed, and every ounce of life within him seemed gone.
Charles nodded and solemnly replied, "The seasons are changing."
Emory didn't say anything else.
Specter.
'Yes?'
I'm going to end the Bersebus Empire.
'A boisterous but admirable goal. I'll be with you through every step.'
Charles meekly exited the bakery, Emory's eyes following him.
"What would you like?" the clerk asked.
Emory scanned the options before picking out a pink lemon macaron. "This one."
The clerk chuckled. "This is one of the few confectionaries that not many people buy. You're only the second person to purchase it today."
In the glass case, almost all pastries were down to one or two, while the lemon macaron still had almost ten left.
He paid for the treat and left.
On the same bench Amariel sat, Emory took a bite of the macaron.
"Sour. . ."