The crimson stars flared, shooting beams of light into the grand palace above the gray fog.
Thirteen chairs. Thirteen figures.
The silence that descended was heavy, laden with the weight of diverse histories and disparate powers.
At the head of the long bronze table sat The Fool.
He was shrouded in the thickest fog, his presence vast and unknowable, like the deep sea before a storm. He tapped his finger on the armrest—a rhythmic, calm sound that seemed to regulate the heartbeats of everyone present.
'Why am I so nervous? It feels like the first time I summoned Justice and Hanged Man, ha-ha,' Klein Moretti told himself, fighting the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his robes. 'I am a Wakening God. I am a mysterious existence from outside time. I am not a panicked Sequence 2 Angel surrounded by dangerous strangers.'
On the other side, opposite to him, sat The World (his smurf account), looking gloomy and subservient. To his left sat The Tower (Secretive Plotter), radiating a terrifying, silent pressure that made the gray fog recoil. Further down sat The Hermit (Kim Dokja) and The Empress, both appearing relatively calm.
But the others... the new recruits... were clearly on edge.
Klein's gaze swept over them, his [Spirit Vision] analyzing their auras while maintaining his facade of indifference.
'Let's see who we have here.'
[The Hanged Man]
An Elf. He had deep blue hair braided with sea-shells and eyes like storm clouds. He wore light armor made of scales.
'Storm Pathway,' Klein deduced. 'Sequence 6: Wind-blessed? No, maybe Sequence 5: Ocean Songster. In this era, the Elves serve the Ancient God Soniathrym... or perhaps they have already submitted to the Lord of Sto... Nah, Storm King Leodero? He looks wary of The Tower.'
[The Emperor]
A human nobleman with slicked-back black hair and a monocle (Klein's heart skipped a beat, but the aura wasn't Amon's).
He wore the intricate robes of the Solomon Empire—or what would become the Solomon Empire.
'Black Emperor Pathway. Orderly. Distorted. Likely a Sequence 5: Mentor of Confusion. He sits straight, assessing everyone as if calculating a tax. He is terrified of The Fool, but greedy for the opportunity.'
[The Chariot]
A giant of a man—not a literal Giant, but a Feysacian barbarian with flaming red hair and tattoos of war covering his arms. He wore furs and smelled of ash. 'Red Priest Pathway. Sequence 6: Conspirer? No, he looks too direct. Pyromaniac. He keeps glancing at the Hanged Man with hostility.'
[The Justice]
A woman with scales on her cheeks and vertical slit pupils.
A Dragonkin? Or a Beyonder of the Visionary pathway who mutated?
'She feels...similar to Miss Justice. Spectator Pathway. But her physical form is warped. Is she a subordinate of Ankewelt? Or Adam?'
The air was thick with suspicion.
The members eyed each other, but mostly, they eyed The Tower.
The Secretive Plotter hadn't spoken a word, but his mere presence felt like a black hole sitting at the dinner table.
The Elf (Hanged Man) was visibly sweating, leaning away from him.
"Welcome," The Fool spoke, his voice layered and echoing. "To the Tarot Club."
He leaned back.
"Here, we operate on the principle of equivalent exchange. You may trade formulas, ingredients, intelligence, or..." He paused for dramatic effect. "...requests."
The Emperor cleared his throat. He stood up slightly, bowing to The Fool.
"Honorable Mr. Fool. How can we trust the... exchanges? If I offer a formula, how do I know the other party will pay?"
"I shall act as the witness and the guarantor," The Fool stated calmly. "You may sacrifice items to me, and I shall bestow them upon the recipient. In exchange, I require a transaction fee."
'Standard platform fees,' Klein lampooned internally. 'I need materials to craft charms and, what's more, money!'
"You'll need to pray to me in advance."
The Fool waved his hand and a big parchment with 'His' honorific name materialized in the air.
"Remember it well."
The tension broke slightly. A guarantor—a powerful, mysterious deity—changed the dynamic from a "back-alley deal" to a "bank transaction."
"I... I have a request," The Justice spoke, her voice melodious but trembling. "I seek the main ingredient for the Sequence 5 potion of the Spectator pathway: A crystalline heart of a Dream Weaver."
'Dream Weaver? Hm, wait but how do they understand each other? Normally, I would control the fog to translate Jotun in the case of Little Sun… Does Sefirah Castle do it autonomously now since I can understand any language with the system?'
"I have intelligence on where to find a Dream Weaver beast," The Chariot grunted, his voice deep and gravelly. "But I want the formula for Sequence 5: Reaper."
"Deal," Justice said quickly.
As the exchanges began, Klein sat back, listening intently. He acted bored, tapping the table occasionally, but his ears were burning.
'This is a goldmine. They are talking about geography, politics, the locations of resources... I'm learning more about the Third Epoch in five minutes than I did in a week of running.'
Finally, the transactions slowed.
"We shall now enter the period of free discussion," The Fool announced, "You may begin."
The Hanged Man leaned forward, his storm-blue eyes darkening. "Has anyone heard of the recent movements in the Eastern Region?"
"The Shadowcloaks?" The Chariot spat. "Those dogs of Sasrir. They burned a village near the border yesterday. They say they are looking for 'Heretics'."
"It is not just Heretics," The Emperor corrected, adjusting his monocle. "The rumor in the court is that they are hunting 'Intruders'. Beings who bypassed the Fog Barrier."
Klein felt a cold drop of sweat trickle down his back under the illusion.
'They are talking about us? Are they saying we came from the Western Continent?'
"It is serious," The Death (Lorem Eggers) added softly. "The King of Angels, Medici, has mobilized the Red Priest army, Medici even provided the Moon City with some Sealed artifact to increase it's combat powers of the official beyonders. Ouroboros has been seen encircling the cities of the plain. They are tightening the net."
"What kind of Intruder warrants the attention of the Kings of Angels?" The Justice shivered. "Are the Ancient Gods trying to return?"
"Or perhaps..." The Hanged Man glanced fearfully at The Tower. "...Something from the Cosmos?"
The discussion grew heated.
Fear was spreading.
The members were terrified of the purge that seemed imminent.
They speculated wildly—was it the Resurrection of a Titan? A breach from the Western Continent?
Tap. Tap.
The sound was soft, but it silenced the room instantly.
Mr. Fool had tapped the table.
Everyone froze, turning their eyes to the head of the table. The gray fog swirled lazily around him.
"Mr. Fool," The Emperor asked cautiously, sensing the shift. "Do... Do you know the cause of this turmoil?"
Klein maintained his posture.
He interlaced his fingers, resting his chin on them. He chuckled. It was a low, amused sound, as if an adult were watching children panic over a spilled cup of milk.
"Do not worry," The Fool said, his tone light yet carrying an undeniable weight.
He looked at the crimson stars above, then back at the members.
"My old friend...Broken Sun," Klein spoke slowly, savoring the shock that rippled through the room at the casual address of the Ancient Sun God.
"He is merely looking for a... 'gift' I sent him."
Silence.
Absolute, deafening silence.
The Hanged Man's mouth fell open. The Emperor dropped his monocle. Even The Empress tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with surprise beneath her veil.
'A gift?' The members thought, their minds reeling.
'The Intruders... the beings hunting by the Kings of Angels... are a 'gift' from Mr. Fool to the Ancient Sun God?'
'Did he call the God... Broken?'
'They are acquaintances? No, friends?'
'Just who is this entity?'
'I've never heard about anyone like him!'
The fear in the room evaporated, replaced by a profound, trembling awe. They weren't just in a secret gathering; they were sitting at the table of a being who treated the Creator of this epoch as an old pal.
"That is all for today," The Fool stated, deciding to end it on a high note before he passed out from the stress.
"Your will, Mr. Fool!" The members stood up and bowed deeply, deeper than they had upon arrival.
The crimson light engulfed them. They vanished.
Klein opened his eyes. The gray fog was gone, replaced by the dusty ceiling of the abandoned house.
He let out a long, shaky breath.
"Haa..." He felt refreshed.
"You are a bold liar," a voice said from the corner.
Klein stiffened.
He sat up.
The Secretive Plotter was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.
The [Black Heavenly Demon Sword] was held loosely in his hand, its tip pointing at the floor, but the killing intent was sharp enough to cut the air.
"Plotter?" Klein asked, keeping his voice steady.
"A 'gift'?" The Plotter's eyes were cold. "Fool told them the Ancient Sun God is looking for a 'gift'. That 'gift' is us."
He raised the sword, pointing it directly at Klein's throat.
"Did you sell us out? Did Mr. Fool give a hint to our location to curry favor with this era's God?"
Klein looked at the black blade. He felt the threat. If he faltered here, the Plotter would erase him.
"Think," Klein said, his voice calm. He didn't reach for his cane. He didn't flinch. "If 'He' wanted to sell us out, would 'He' need to be so convoluted? 'He' is a Deity who can summon your Spirit Body—the body of a Sequence 0—into his Divine Kingdom without your resistance."
The Plotter narrowed his eyes.
"If 'He' wished you harm," Klein continued, adopting the persona of The World, "Mr. Fool could have simply locked you in the Sefirah Castle and alerted Ouroboros to your physical body's location. Why would 'He' play charades with low-sequence Beyonders?"
He stood up, brushing dust from his suit.
"Mr. Fool operates on the rules of equivalent exchange. 'He' is helping us. I am 'His' blessed. Even now, the 'misunderstanding' Mr. Fool planted will make those members hesitant to report any strange figures they see."
"He's concealing us," Klein finished, meeting the Plotter's gaze. "In the most effective way possible."
The Plotter stared at him for a long, tense moment. The void around him churned. Then, slowly, he lowered the sword.
"You have a silver tongue, Seer," the Plotter muttered. "But remember this." His eyes flashed with the chaos of the Outer Gods. "If your God betrays us... If I sense even a flicker of treachery... I will not just kill him. I will use my Status to tear that gray fog castle from the sky and crush it into dust."
Klein felt a drop of cold sweat slide down his spine.
"You may try," Klein replied, hiding his nervousness behind a faint, polite smile.
BANG!
The front door of the safehouse slammed open. A figure stumbled in, crashing into the hallway table.
"Dokja?" Klein turned, alarmed.
Kim Dokja stood in the doorway. He was panting heavily. But it was his appearance that froze Klein's blood.
His skin was rippling.
Beneath the surface of his face and hands, something was moving.
Translucent, ringed worms squirmed under his epidermis, bulging and twisting.
[Worms of Time].
And mixed with them, erupting from his pores, were slimy, writhing maggots—the symbol of loss of control.
"H-help..." Dokja gasped, clutching his face. One of his eyes had turned into a clock face, spinning wildly in reverse.
[The 'Fourth Wall' is shaking violently!]
[The 'Fourth Wall' is screaming!]
A blue system window flickered violently in the air above him, cracking and glitching.
[Status Abnormality: 'Rampager' detected!]
"He is losing control," the Plotter said, his voice grim. "The Marauder potion...Did you drink the whole set of Potions?!"
Klein rushed forward, his [Cane of the Depraved Monarch] glowing with a suppressing light. "Hold him down!" Klein shouted.
[Lv.0 Historical Imposition is activated!]