Chapter 1: Mr. Instigator, You Don't Want to Become a Demoness, Right?
On his third day in this world, Nairn on the alfalfa finally confirmed one hundred percent that he had indeed transmigrated.
"Tch, and here I thought it was the Cthulhu Mythos."
He lay on the narrow wooden bed in the cabin and muttered.
Reading Taiwan novel selections is incredibly smooth.
After all, his name really was Nairn, a coincidence so absurd that even he found it ridiculous.
As for his personality, to put it nicely, he was casual; to put it bluntly, he enjoyed watching the fun, possessing an innate streak of mischief and playfulness.
Under these circumstances, the transmigration occurred.
It wasn't that he hadn't thought about transmigrating, but he hadn't expected to end up here, in the world of the Lord of the Mysteries.
Although he didn't directly become an avatar of that Indescribable One to experience the thrill of "sublimation," this place... was also okay.
Nairn rolled over, resting his cheek on his arm.
This thought wasn't meant to comfort himself; it was genuine.
He reached out his hand and took another close look.
Above his palm, an indescribable phantom of a theater, a mix of light and shadow, was faintly visible.
It looked like a grand opera house and also like a constantly shifting labyrinth, filled with an absurd and contradictory beauty.
He discovered that he hadn't come alone.
He had brought a cheat—the Sefirah [Chaos Theater].
Just a... well, ordinary Sefirah.
Unexpected, yet within reason.
Without the Sefirah helping him withstand the knowledge pollution brought by the transmigration, he probably would have turned into an idiot the moment he landed.
And this thing was quite clingy; ever since he transmigrated, it had been stuck to him, impossible to get rid of.
However, Nairn didn't want to get rid of it either.
From this somewhat lively Sefirah, Nairn could feel an unreserved closeness and dependence, as if it were his long-lost biological brother.
This was his beloved friend, his brother in arms; he wouldn't sell it even for extra money.
From now on, he would have to depend on this pitiful-looking little guy for survival.
And the first step in depending on each other was to survive on this broken ship.
The alfalfa, a passenger ship heading toward Enmat Port, was also a doomed vessel where a human tragedy was about to unfold.
Nairn closed his eyes, letting the plot play back in his mind like a movie.
First, they would have the misfortune of encountering the "King of the Five Seas," Nester. That great pirate, who claimed to be a descendant of the Solomon Empire, followed rules and didn't kill captives, but he would strip the entire ship bare.
This was just the appetizer.
The truly fatal part was that after Nester left, internal strife would suddenly break out among the passengers and crew. It would escalate quickly from verbal arguments to physical altercations, finally turning into a bloody massacre with guns and knives. The entire ship would become a Shura Field of mutual slaughter.
In the chaos, a kind and shy round-faced boy named Tris would step forward like a hero, leading a group of survivors to hide and eventually organizing a counterattack to take out those "out-of-control villains."
However, this "hero" Tris was the actual Instigator of it all.
sequence 8 of the Assassin Pathway, "Instigator." What he excelled at was silently stirring up the deepest malice in people's hearts, intensifying conflicts, igniting clashes, and then admiring the bloody drama he had personally directed.
The sudden tragedy on the ship was a "performance" he had meticulously planned to digest his potion.
Facing such a crisis, Nairn, who was not yet a Beyonder, was slightly worried.
He couldn't just kill Triss directly, could he?
Wait, he misspoke; it was Tris. Currently, he wasn't a Demoness yet.
Nairn organized the information on the current situation, pondering what he should do to avoid this crisis.
He neither wanted to be robbed nor get involved in a massacre.
Then... what else could be done?
What was his greatest advantage?
Knowing the plot, and... He looked at the [Chaos Theater] faintly visible on his palm.
"I choose you!"
It was the source of all change and absurdity, a theater that was always performing improvisationally.
Nairn could feel that it craved "scripts," craved "chaos," and craved "fun."
And it also granted Nairn the right to step into the extraordinary.
Two brand-new Pathways, two paths of destiny that did not belong to this world, were clearly displayed in his consciousness.
One was the [Path of a Thousand Faces]. Its core was existence and narrative, starting from being a [Player] and ultimately becoming the writer of destiny and the graffiti artist on its reverse side.
The other was the [Path of Chaos]. Its core was absurdity and chaos, starting from being a [Fun-seeker] and ultimately becoming the sole manifestation of variables and accidents.
That's right, [I can play two Pathways]!
But these alone wouldn't solve the immediate problem.
Nairn felt a bit conflicted, hesitating whether to activate that forbidden power.
But in the end—
"Chaos Theater, activate!"
He could feel it—
This Sefirah was alive; even if its favorability toward Nairn was maxed out, it still had its own instincts.
It craved "controlled chaos" to satisfy its own needs for "existence, change, and absurdity."
Of course, uncontrolled chaos was also fine, but the master Nairn didn't like making things that big.
So—
Deal reached. Next... ahem, wrong script.
Nairn forcibly suppressed the strange thoughts popping up in his head.
But in any case, Nairn now intended to satisfy the preferences of the Chaos Theater while borrowing the power of this "God of Chaotic Fun."
That was:
Through it, he would borrow in advance the high-Sequence abilities of the two Pathways it governed—the [Path of a Thousand Faces] and the [Path of Chaos].
But what is borrowed must be returned.
That was the condition.
The way to pay it back was to cause trouble, create fun, and generate enough [play value] to satisfy the Chaos Theater.
Borrowing and returning makes it easy to borrow again; it wasn't like a Tokusatsu show where one keeps borrowing from seniors incessantly.
In short, Nairn now completely understood.
Although he was the master of this Sefirah, if he wanted to invoke its power, he couldn't bypass one crucial condition.
[play value].
What if he borrowed it but couldn't fulfill the requirements or pay it back?
Nairn's heart stirred, and an extremely bold and death-seeking thought sprouted like bamboo shoots after a spring rain.
Tentatively, he sent a thought toward that grand and chaotic theater deep within his consciousness.
It wasn't that he wanted to be a deadbeat; he was mainly curious and also wanted to test the bottom line of this "Brother Theater."
After all—
"We're brothers, aren't we? Our relationship is so good, why distinguish between yours and mine? By the way, Brother Theater, look... how about you let me buy on credit first?"
However.
Dame!
It wasn't that kind of casual Sefirah!
Buying on credit... is a bad civilization... It... it will be broken... Nairn fell silent.
He seemed to feel something; an extremely subtle emotion came from the depths of the Chaos Theater.
Aggrieved.
Pitiful.
This instantly made Nairn think of a classic meme.
A cat with its paws crossed over its chest, its face written all over with "No way."
The meaning couldn't be clearer: being brothers is one thing, but rules are rules... It's not that I don't want to help you, but I also need to eat (play value)!
If you keep acting like a rogue, I... I'll really run out of power! Then we'll see who stays to mess around with you!
Aggrieved, yet with clear principles; pitiful, yet sticking to some strange "professional ethics" belonging to the "Chaos Theater" itself. This was all the information it conveyed.
'Fine, I'll accommodate the little theater then.'
Nairn expressed in his heart that he was just making a joke to liven up the atmosphere.
Even though "Brother Theater" had unconsciously been demoted to "little theater."
After all, Nairn finally understood—
If he really didn't pay it back.
The Sefirah might make Nairn either embody a player of the [Fourth Calamity] or become a [Fun-seeker] of [Absurd Abstraction].
However, he had already thought of a clever way.
Addressing the Chaos Theater, he proposed his "cooperation plan" in his heart.
First, to avoid losing control, they agreed to [randomly advance one ability from a subsequent Sequence every week].
This avoided abuse and also made the [Chaos Theater] feel that this "planned yet random chaos" was itself very interesting.
It seemed to suit its appetite; it was very satisfied. Nairn could feel that the base requirement of [play value] he needed to repay had significantly decreased because of this.
As long as he didn't break this rule, the [Chaos Theater] would turn a blind eye to him, and things would just pass casually.
In essence, under the little theater's permission, Nairn only needed to fulfill the minimum requirements.
Second, and most importantly: the advanced power must absolutely not involve the level of Angels or above.
This was the bottom line.
Not to mention whether his current small frame could withstand the power of an Angel; even if it could, the [Play Value] required for such a level of power would probably require overturning the entire Southern Continent to pay back.
With these two rules established, it basically put a safety valve on his cheat.
As long as he didn't violate the agreement, he basically didn't have to worry about suddenly losing his humanity and becoming a complete Lunatic.
Nairn contentedly felt the affection coming from the Chaos Theater, as if it were saying its master really made it happy, and he felt great.
Since everything was ready, there was nothing to hesitate about.
"little theater, little theater, do something for me!" Nairn called out in his heart.
Subsequently, the randomly advanced Sequence for this week appeared.
[Path of a Thousand Faces], Sequence 4, "Identity Planning"!
"Very good, very energetic!"
That's right, a Demigod trial card right at the start! Not even pretending anymore!
Hmph, Klein can use the Gray Fog to advance Angel-level power for resurrection; I'm only at Demigod level, so a little cheating doesn't count as cheating.
A massive and exquisite torrent of information instantly flooded into his mind. About how to create a character out of thin air, how to set their background, personality, and social relationships; about how to "insert" a character into reality through an ancient ritual called "Name Sealing"... All the knowledge and abilities belonging to "Identity Planning" were now as if they were innate to him.
Although it was only temporary, the confidence brought by this power was very real.
"little theater, you've got quite the eye for this."
Nairn grinned, ready to flip the table directly.
Play it safe? Why play it safe? He should hold the initiative in his own hands right from the start!
What alfalfa tragedy, what Demoness Sect? He didn't understand any of that!
It was simple: he would just become a Demigod.
Nairn straightened his collar and pushed open the cabin door to walk out.
On the deck, the sea breeze hit him with its salty and damp breath.
Some passengers were taking walks, enjoying the brief calm before the storm.
Nairn's gaze swept through the crowd, quickly locking onto a target.
A round-faced boy who looked sixteen or seventeen was leaning against the ship's railing, shyly chatting with a noble lady, making her giggle, looking completely harmless.
Tris.
The corner of Nairn's mouth curled into an imperceptible arc as he stepped toward him.
The show is about to begin.
Nairn walked unhurriedly, his footsteps making a slight sound on the wooden deck.
He didn't hide his intentions, heading straight for Tris.
The noble lady chatting with Tris saw Nairn approaching and, thinking he was also there to join the conversation, gave a polite smile.
Tris also noticed Nairn, and his kind, shy face showed a perfectly timed look of confusion, as if asking: "Sir, is there something I can help you with?"
Keep acting, go on.
Nairn found it amusing in his heart; this guy's acting was indeed good, no wonder he could fool a whole ship of people.
He stood still in front of Tris, at a distance neither too close nor too far, just right for the two of them to have a conversation that wouldn't be easily overheard by others.
"Good afternoon," Nairn said with a smile, his voice not loud, yet clearly reaching Tris's ears.
"Good afternoon, sir," Tris responded politely, his eyes looking clear and innocent. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
Seeing this, the noble lady nearby thought they knew each other, so she tactfully made an excuse to leave first, leaving them some space.
Now, in this corner of the deck, only the two of them remained.
The sea breeze blew through Nairn's hair. The smile on his face remained unchanged, but the words he spoke were like a cold knife, instantly piercing through all of Tris's disguises.
"Mr. Instigator," Nairn's tone was relaxed and practiced, "you don't want to become a Demoness, right?"