summoning… and thus, an existence from another world?
A fleeting inspiration seemed to flash through his mind, but before Klein could grasp it, the girl nodded slightly.
"Hmm, that certainly explains the origin of this letter."
He watched her pick up the unsigned letter, feeling somewhat uneasy.
"…So, do you want to open it?"
To be honest, setting aside his wariness and fear of the unknown danger, he was actually quite curious about what was inside.
Alice shook her head:
"Open it? No, I want it to go back to where it came from."
Without her making any move, Klein noticed a faint glow on the surface of the silver ouroboros ring on her pinky finger. As the girl's voice uttered three short syllables, the letter in her hand seemed to be swept into an invisible vortex, disappearing completely in the blink of an eye, leaving only an unknown gust of wind that stirred the curtains in the room.
"—I'm not going to follow other people's ideas until I'm sure they're benevolent or malicious."
As if noticing his scrutinizing gaze, Alice's eyes darted around, a mischievous glint in them.
"Perfect timing. I'll be investigating this mysterious sender in the next few days. If you're free, you can come help me with some chores." "
...I'll think about it," Klein stammered.
"20 pounds."
"We can start tomorrow afternoon!...Wait, where did you get so much money?!" Klein instinctively agreed before realizing something was amiss.
"Hmm, didn't I say?" Alice smiled, touching her lips to her lips. "I composed an impromptu tune for my employer, Ms. Danitalie. Is this her...bonus?"
...Ah, this.
Klein's expression suddenly became quite interesting.
...
That night, worried that the strange letter might return, Klein took his notes and nestled in Alice's room to review his occult knowledge, occasionally observing the desk for any unusual activity.
To his relief, no more mysterious letters appeared in Alice's room or the mailbox outside the door.
It seemed he could finally sleep peacefully tonight.
...Except for the extremely awkward expression on his sister Melissa's face when she saw him enter Alice's room, everything was perfect.
Before he knew it, the crimson moon outside the window had risen higher, the night had deepened, and the noise from the nearby residents had ceased. The ordinary citizens of Tingen had ended their tiring or leisurely day and were drifting off to sleep in their beds.
When Klein snapped out of his reverie, he finally remembered to take out his pocket watch to check the time; the hands pointed to eleven o'clock.
...Oh no, he'd stayed in her room so late!
Realizing this, Klein quickly closed his notebook, stood up from the chair by the door, and subconsciously glanced at the spot where Alice had been lying on the bed reading.
...She seemed to have already fallen asleep, clutching her pillow.
Peeping at a girl's sleeping face was hardly gentlemanly behavior, so Klein was about to look away, turn off the light, and leave.
But before leaving, he couldn't help glancing back. He noticed that although she was sleeping peacefully and in a relatively proper posture, large expanses of her fair and delicate skin were exposed on her shoulders and thighs, and the blanket was far away at the other end of the single bed.
The temperature in Tingen wasn't high after nightfall, but it was easier to catch a chill as midnight approached.
So Klein silently reassured himself that this was a perfectly normal act of kindness, went over to cover her with the blanket, and then turned and left the room, leaving behind a faint, lingering fragrance on the other side of the door.
...
Several hours earlier.
East District, Delia Street, a house without lights or candles. A
hoarse voice, hoarse from prolonged chanting, echoed weakly in the empty, damp, and dark basement, giving the whispers and almost murmured recitations a sense of madness and chaos.
In the very center of the basement stood a grotesque, malevolent statue with an indistinct face.
It was an alien deity whose likeness could never be found in any orthodox religious text: twisted, bizarre horns; a dangerous, grotesque tail resembling bone spurs; a pair of broken wings sprouting from its side; and its entire body was smeared with strange symbols in an ominous crimson.
The entire basement had been deliberately arranged to resemble a ritualistic magic scene. Beneath the statue, a cauldron held bloody offerings believed to be favored by the alien deity. The sole executor of the ritual knelt amidst burning candles, draped in a wide black robe, chanting in a pained and weak voice.
If any survivor of the Clover massacre were present, they would surely recognize this round, kind face if they lifted his robe.
He called himself Tris, shy as a girl, yet a hero to the Clover survivors, leading them through despair and madness—but the truth was far from that.
Tris, the "instigator," boarded the Clover to carry out a mission assigned to him by a high-ranking figure, instigating this tragic incident of passengers killing each other.
Having successfully completed his task, he returned ashore expecting praise from the mysterious figure in the higher ranks and to receive the next stage's potion recipe and materials. However, unexpectedly, personnel changes occurred within the higher ranks, seemingly affecting him as well.
He was taken by a woman in a mysterious black robe to another woman also dressed in black. Judging from the former's respectful attitude towards the latter, Tris concluded that he had been "transferred" to the service of a more powerful figure. The woman who
took him away was called "Lady of Mourning" by others.
But he quickly forgot about guessing the Lady of Mourning's identity and her rank.
This woman, whose graceful figure was still evident despite her black robe, gave him a task and a note, saying that if he could successfully complete this task, he would gain the favor of the higher-ups of the Order… and win the appreciation of a certain saintess.
Triss believed there was no such thing as a free lunch, but he had even more faith in himself. Whether the mission was to assassinate some noble lord or to recreate the tragedy of the Clover, he was confident he could accomplish it.
Unfortunately, his confidence lasted only a few seconds until he saw the second line of text written in Hermes on the note.
"Then please complete it well, Triss," the Mourning Lady chuckled lowly. "You will not be allowed to interrupt the ritual until you have successfully obtained a response from our great master, otherwise... otherwise, I don't need to warn you of the consequences."
...Of course.
Triss knew that such an evil and filthy name could not possibly belong to any deity recorded in the canon.
He tried to politely decline, but the Mourning Lady's mere presence weakened him, and his exhausted body had no strength left to perform the agile movements of an "assassin." The cough that escaped his throat reminded him of the death he had tasted in his childhood.
Triss yielded.
He went to the basement, which the Mourning Lady had already prepared, knelt before the idol, and numbly and hollowly recited the three-part description of the deity in Hermes—
"Ruler of End and Nothingness..."
"Your humble servant begs for your mercy. " "
Your insignificant believer implores your grace." "
Give guidance, and the strength to bring the messenger of the Mourning Lady Angela to your sacred abode, for your faithful servant will offer you the first blessing of the end times..."
...The unknown evil god never responded.
Triss did not stop reciting, even as his spirit nearly dried up, a stinging pain spreading from his head downwards, his throat parched, and his voice hoarse.
He could feel the gaze behind him.
The Mourning Lady was reflected in the mirror behind him, watching his every move with a chilling presence.
But what terrified him even more was another faint, illusory image beside the Mourning Lady.
For no reason at all, the incomplete phantom filled Tris with immense fear. It was like a deformed monster lurking in the shadows, countless pairs of eyes, open or closed, coldly and mercilessly staring down at his soul like cold-blooded animals . If he
stopped, he would die.
If he stopped, he would be torn to pieces.
If he stopped, he would be mashed alive.
If he stopped…
his fate would come to a standstill.
The almost murmured chanting continued, even though Tris was already delirious, reciting the prayer he almost knew by heart entirely on instinct.
He felt no hunger, nor could he feel the temperature around him, and he even began to find it difficult to distinguish between the mad babbling in his mind and the tone of his chanting in reality.
Perhaps, his soul had already been corrupted by that unknown evil being…
This thought flashed through Tris's mind only for a moment before being crushed into fragments by other nearly out-of-control, frenzied thoughts.
As the chanting continued for what felt like the umpteenth or hundreds of times, a sudden, violent gust of wind swept through the dark, damp basement.
Triss, his expression numb and his face blank, raised his head, only to have a letter, whipped up by the wind, slap his round face.
His consciousness vanished.
...
When he awoke, the sunlight streaming through the window was perfect, and the sound of light footsteps echoed in the corridor. The wind from the street carried the scent of human presence.
Only something familiar was missing.
Klein slowly sat up from the comfort of his bed, glancing at the windowsill, and then once again realized that Miss Alice had moved out of his room.
This was the second morning without the piano music and the "good morning" greeting. Klein felt alright; he couldn't say he felt any discomfort.
Come to think of it, Alice now had her own private space. Even if she wanted to do something...playing the piano, singing hymns at midnight—she clearly didn't need to intrude on his territory anymore. The change was perfectly reasonable.
Besides, her "good morning" was just coming at a different time...
After washing up, Klein went downstairs to the living room, greeted Melissa and Benson, who also needed to get up early, and then sat down to eat breakfast.
After finishing half a loaf of bread, he saw Alice, dressed in her new clothes, coming down from the second floor. The light grass-colored skirt rippled with her movements, revealing delicate lace trim that accentuated her graceful figure and slender beauty.
Every time he saw her, she wore a different outfit. Ah, women... Klein muttered to himself, his expression unchanged.
"Good morning, Klein," she greeted him with a smile, then exchanged a few seemingly gentle words with the other two siblings of the Moretti family before joining in a casual discussion about fruit and meat prices.
From her demeanor, she seemed completely at ease.
The atmosphere at the dinner table was harmonious and pleasant, much like many traditional Loen families. The conversation jumped between the weather, anecdotes from the neighbors, and curly-haired baboons, requiring participants to use their imaginations.
If a few days ago Klein had felt awkward and embarrassed joining this warm, family-like atmosphere, he had clearly developed a thick skin. Even when Benson or Melissa occasionally expressed that they considered him and Alice a couple, he could easily ignore it, pretending not to hear.
Only a week! Human adaptability is truly terrifying… Klein swallowed his bread with a sigh.
But upon reflection, the changes that had occurred to him this past week were nothing short of earth-shattering.
He had become an Extraordinary, learned much occult knowledge he had never heard of before, begun to digest some of the potion's power through role-playing, and mastered more of the Extraordinary abilities of a "diviner"…
More importantly, through his conversation with Alice yesterday, Klein not only began to overcome his initial reservations about her but also gained some insights from last night's dream.
His divination results and Alice's answer pointed to two completely different outcomes.
However, the spiritual feedback he received from last night's dream suddenly made him realize that how to interpret divination results was also a part of what a diviner should carefully consider.
Different interpretations point to different results, but the truth may not necessarily be the same as the person who asked the question. The person asking the question still needs to be careful, combine their own judgment, and make a choice.
One cannot rely on divination for everything!
After summarizing the spiritual revelations given by the dream upon waking, Klein could clearly feel that the potion in his body was showing signs of digestion, which surprised and delighted him.
But I'm not playing the role of a fortune teller right now… Could it be that the role-playing in this method isn't actually bound by form? As long as the action aligns with the core principles of the method, it helps one control the power contained within the potion?
He shook his head, dismissing these overly profound and unprovable speculations, got up, went to the coat rack, put on his suit jacket, turned to say goodbye to his family and Miss Alice who was looking at him, and then stepped out of the house to embrace a brand new day.
—Before leaving completely, he made a point of checking the mailbox: good, no strange mail.
If he had seen something he shouldn't have, Klein felt he might actually develop PTSD related to the mailbox.