A few days later—inside the newly repaired hotel beside the ruins of the Angler Club in Enmat Harbor.
"So, Ms. M's body was never found in the end?" Leonard asked, breaking the silence.
"Yes," Caesar replied, slicing into a piece of medium-rare steak. "She was at the center of the explosion. There shouldn't be anything left of her. Not just her—Captain Edward and Leon as well. Nothing remained."
He speared the bloody piece of meat and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Ever since his body's recovery ability had improved, he'd developed an odd craving for fresh meat. Strangely, eating it made him feel… comfortable, almost energized.
"That Grade 1 Sealed Artifact—it was completely destroyed in the ritual?" Klein asked curiously.
"Yeah," Caesar nodded. "The ritual warped it beyond recovery. Whether any of the Beyonder characteristics survived… who knows?"
"Then you—"
"Alright, alright! For the Goddess's sake, I beg you both to stop asking!" Caesar groaned, putting down his knife and fork. "I've been interrogated by the Cathedral more times than I can count. At least let me finish this steak in peace, will you?"
"…Of course."
Leonard and Klein exchanged helpless glances and shrugged.
Even so, their eyes kept drifting back toward Caesar—full of quiet disbelief.
After all, he had killed a Sequence 5.
In the Church of the Evernight, a Sequence 5 was already considered high-ranking, the kind of person most Beyonders could only look up to. For a mere Sequence 9 like Caesar to have defeated one… no matter how you looked at it, it seemed impossible.
If Caesar could read their thoughts, he'd probably choke on his steak and protest his innocence. After all, defeating Ms. M wasn't luckless heroism—it was a chain of coincidences and desperate gambles.
First, Ms. M had never truly taken him seriously. Because she needed him as a ritual material, she hadn't killed him outright—otherwise, he wouldn't have survived the first five minutes.
Second, Caesar had relied on a powerful ritual to trap her inside the mass of flesh, subjecting her to the dual corruption of the Flesh and the True Creator, which drastically weakened her.
Finally, he'd had help: the illusory tide that broke her mind control, Mr. Azik's bone whistle, and the Grade 1 Sealed Artifact—the Chaos Sceptre—which had ultimately been destroyed, preventing the True Creator's Incarnation.
Honestly, Caesar thought, I'm just lucky to still be breathing.
When he finally set down his utensils, he leaned back with a satisfied sigh. His stomach felt pleasantly warm, his head clear.
The same couldn't be said for the Nighthawks of Enmat Harbor.
Their captain was gone. Many team members had died or were gravely injured. Their headquarters lay in ruins, and the crucial Grade 1 Sealed Artifact was lost forever. Miserable didn't even begin to describe their state.
On the day of the explosion, reinforcements had arrived just in time to witness the terrifying spectacle—a magnificent, divine "fireworks display" lighting up the sky. They had rescued the unconscious Caesar and Ms. Daly, evacuated civilians, and sealed the area under heavy guard.
When Caesar finally woke, he found himself face-to-face with a commissioner from the Cathedral—grim, sharp-eyed, and armed with a stack of Mystical Items. What followed were endless interrogations, divinations, and ritual tests. Only when the commissioner confirmed his story as genuine did they release him to reunite with his teammates.
Now, sitting lazily in an armchair, Caesar flipped open the morning paper—The Enmat Harbor Post. The front-page headline read:
"Authorities Announce Citywide Pipeline Inspections to Prevent Future Gas Explosions."
Gas leaks. That was the official explanation for both explosions—the Angler Club and the warehouse district alike. The public bought it easily enough. Outside of the panic from the blasts, most citizens remained blissfully unaware that they had narrowly escaped a cataclysmic Incarnation.
After a few quiet minutes, Leonard and Klein couldn't resist anymore. They leaned over, curiosity brimming, and pestered Caesar for the full story again.
"It's really ironic," Klein said after listening. "The ritual Ms. M designed for the True Creator's Incarnation ended up being the very thing that destroyed her."
"Exactly," Caesar replied. "The True Creator never cared about her—or any of them. He just uses His followers as tools to anchor Himself in reality. The blessings He grants are nothing but bait for that purpose."
Leonard gave a faint, bitter smile. "I once heard a saying: 'Trust in the power of the gods, but never their benevolence.'"
Hearing that, Caesar felt something stir deep inside him. A strange clarity bloomed in his mind.
"Yes," he murmured, his voice low but certain. "The deities are not benevolent."
The moment those words left his lips, something within him clicked. His spirituality, mind, and body aligned in perfect harmony. He inhaled sharply, eyes widening slightly as he heard a faint, illusory cracking sound echo through his thoughts.
The stubborn remnants of his Beyonder potion dissolved completely. The whispers that had haunted his vision vanished. His entire being felt light—clearer, sharper.
Without needing anyone to tell him, Caesar knew.
He had completely digested his potion. He was now a true Secrets Suppliant.
When he looked up, he found Leonard and Klein watching him knowingly. Their faint smiles said everything—they'd recognized the signs instantly. After all, they had both experienced the same transformation before.
They exchanged a few more cryptic remarks, the kind of unspoken camaraderie that only fellow Beyonders shared.
As they spoke, Caesar silently summarized what he had learned—the principles of acting as a Secrets Suppliant:
Pray to the hidden existences and establish contact.
But after that, remember—never place blind faith in Them.
You may pray for power, but do not expect mercy.
Do not pray excessively. Do not beg for help without cause.
Because They are not benevolent.
He sat with that thought for a while, feeling both grounded and strangely at peace.
Just as he was about to say something, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Ms. Daly."
The beautiful woman walked toward them, her arm in a cast, her expression subdued. She nodded at the group. "Hello, everyone."
"Ms. Daly," Klein greeted her politely. Leonard raised a hand in acknowledgment.
"The collective funeral for the Enmat Harbor Nighthawks is about to begin," she said softly. "Will you be attending?"
The light conversation died instantly. Their smiles faded.
Enmat Harbor Public Cemetery
Rows of freshly dug graves stretched across the gray hillside. Each tombstone was wreathed in white flowers, a black-and-white photograph resting against its base.
Policemen—serving in place of fallen Nighthawks—carried new coffins to the graves. Their steps were uneven, some heavy, some hesitant, for many coffins contained nothing more than a set of clothes.
"…They were great Guardians. May the Goddess grant them eternal rest and keep them under Her wings until the end of time," intoned the priest, voice steady over the sound of stifled sobs.
One by one, the coffins were lowered into the earth. The soil fell softly at first, then heavier, until the sound blurred with crying.
Caesar stood at a distance, his coat fluttering gently in the sea breeze. His chest felt tight.
He couldn't help but wonder—if he had died that day, would Cecilia be standing here now, mourning him among the others?
"Hey, Caesar."
He turned at the voice. It was Gereira, the young woman from the Steam Church. Her auburn hair was neatly tied back today, and she wore a simple black dress that made her look older, quieter.
"Oh, it's you." Caesar managed a faint smile. "Sorry, I'll be heading back to Tingen soon. The ritual we talked about will have to wait—"
"It's alright," she interrupted gently. "I'll just give it to you directly."
Her eyes were dim but warm. "You Nighthawks… you're good people."
She held out a few yellowed pages, edges curled and stained by time.
Caesar accepted them quietly, the sound of weeping and shovels fading into the wind.