"We just came from the meeting," Omebella—or rather, Lilith—said casually, wiping a smudge of dumpling grease from her lip with a vine that sprouted from her wrist. "Rose Redemption. The atmosphere was terrible. Sasrir looked like he hadn't slept in a millennium, and Medici was trying to set the table on fire."
Klein paused, his hand freezing halfway to his top hat. "The meeting? But that was supposed to be next month."
"Time flies when you're having fun constructing a fake city," Lilith shrugged. "It's been over a month since you started your ritual, Mysteries. You've been busy playing house."
Klein checked his internal clock. She was right. The dissociation, the management of five thousand marionettes, the advancement... he had lost track of the days in the real world.
"What did they discuss?" Klein asked, his voice low.
"The usual. Doom. Gloom. The apocalypse," Lilith counted on her fingers. "But mostly, the schedule. The 'Purification' of Grisha is set for three days from now."
"Three days?" Klein's heart tightened. "Where?"
"The Southern Part of the Kingdom of Silver," Lilith said. "The Holy Land. The place where 'He' first walked out of the Chaos."
'Chernobyl,' Klein realized. 'They are going to kill the Ancient Sun God there. How ironic.'
"Also," Lilith continued, snatching another dumpling from a protesting Kim Dokja. "We discussed anomalies. Salinger was complaining that the Abyss suddenly disappeared. Just vanished. He can't find the entrance."
Klein glanced at the Secretive Plotter, who was studiously reading a newspaper in the corner.
"And Badheil," Lilith chewed thoughtfully. "The God of Combat reported something interesting. An anomaly in his territory. A strange place that appeared recently. It rejects outsiders and operates on its own set of rigid, inviolable Rules."
Click.
A puzzle piece snapped into place in Klein's mind.
'Rules? Order? A place that enforces its own laws?'
"The Justiciar," Klein whispered. The Uniqueness of the Lawyer/Justiciar pathway. The Trunsoest Brass Book.
A shiver ran down his spine.
'The Sun God told me about the Justiciar Uniqueness just moments ago. And now, Rose Redemption discusses it. What a coincidence.'
He hated coincidences. In the world of Beyonders, a coincidence usually meant a scriptwriter was holding a quill nearby.
"Where is Badheil's territory?" Klein asked urgently, grabbing Lilith by her vine-covered shoulder.
"Chill, Mysteries," Lilith laughed, patting his hand. "You're too tense. Badheil is stationed in the North. A small human city called Millom."
Millom. The name sparked a memory from the history books of the Fifth Epoch. St. Millom. The capital of the Feysac Empire. The city of giants.
"I need to go there," Klein said.
"I can help with transportation," Lilith offered, her eyes twinkling. "But I can't just barge into the God of Dawn's territory. It would be rude. And Badheil has a big sword."(;3)
"Just send us to the outskirts," Klein said. "Dokja and I will handle the rest."
"Us?" Kim Dokja blinked, finally securing a dumpling. "I didn't agree to—"
"Let's go," Klein grabbed Dokja's arm.
Lilith tsked. "Impatient men."
She waved her hand.
The air in the safehouse didn't warp.
It simply... grew. Vines erupted from the floorboards. The smell of soil and ancient forests filled the room. Klein and Dokja felt a sudden, profound coldness.
It wasn't the cold of ice. It was the cold of Nature. Indifferent. Neutral. Uncaring. The sensation of being absorbed into the biological cycle of the planet.
Their vision went green, then black.
They emerged from the trunk of a massive, ancient pine tree. The transition was seamless. One moment they were in a room, the next they were stepping onto snow-covered cobblestones.
The air was biting cold. The sky was a steel gray. They stood on the edge of a city that made them feel like children.
The buildings were massive. Stone blocks the size of carriages formed the walls. The doors were at least three or four meters high, designed for the Giants and semi-giants that populated this region. This was the aesthetic of the future Feysac Empire—brutal, grand, and enduring.
Klein adjusted his red regalia, which stood out starkly against the gray stone and white snow. Beside him, Kim Dokja adjusted his own red breastplate.
A woman walked past them, holding the hand of a small child. She was nearly two and a half meters tall—a demigod giant or just a citizen with strong bloodline traits.
"Mama," the child pointed at them. "Look. Are those uncles from Lord Medici's squad? They are wearing red."
The mother glanced at them, her eyes widening in fear.
"Shh," she pulled the child close. "Don't look at them. If they are Red Priests, they might set you on fire for fun."
She hurried away, her long strides covering distance quickly.
"We have a reputation," Dokja noted dryly. "And we are short."
"We are average height," Klein corrected, feeling a bit defensive as he looked up at a door handle that was at his shoulder level.
They began to walk through the city, heading towards the coast.
"So," Dokja asked, crunching through the snow. "How was it? The advancement."
"I am fine," Klein said, his voice carrying a strange, layered resonance. "I have stabilized."
He raised his hand. "I have gained new authorities. Specifically, Grafting."
Now Klein could use it even without Sefirah's help.
He pointed at a streetlamp that was broken.
"I can graft concepts. For example, I can graft the 'Start' of the streetlamp's wick to the 'End' of a burning match."
He snapped his fingers. The streetlamp ignited, despite no one touching it. "I can change definitions. Logic. Orientation. I can attach Spirit Body Threads to inanimate objects."
"Sounds broken," Dokja commented.
"It consumes a lot of spirituality," Klein admitted. "I need to test the limits later."
They passed a street vendor selling steaming food from a large iron pot. The smell of spiced meat and dough wafted through the cold air. "Hungry?" Dokja asked.
"Always," Klein realized he hadn't eaten since the "Adam" incident.
They bought two large, steaming meat pies for four Bronze Riso. The crust was thick and flaky, filled with minced meat, onions, and a spicy sauce that warmed the stomach instantly.
"Mmm," Dokja chewed happily. "This is good. It reminds me of... Hotteok. But savory. Or maybe a giant Mandu."
"What is that?" Klein asked, taking a bite.
"Korean food," Dokja smiled, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "Street food from my world. When we get back to the human realm... or when we finish this... I'll treat you. There's a stall in Seoul that makes the best ones."
"I look forward to it," Klein said softly.
They reached the northern edge of the city. The sea stretched out before them—the North Sea. Dark, churning, and cold.
"There," Klein pointed.
In the distance, obscured by mist and distance, was a dark, unnatural cloud hanging over the water. It didn't move with the wind. It sat there, heavy and oppressive. An island.
"That's the anomaly," Klein deduced. "Badheil's 'Place with Rules'."
"Shall we teleport?" Dokja asked.
"No," Klein shook his head. "If it has rules, teleportation might be restricted. We approach physically."
"Physical approach it is," Dokja grinned. Black sparks erupted from his back.
[The exclusive skill 'Nephalem Transformation Lv. 1' is activated.]
Two magnificent grey wings burst from his shoulders. He hovered in the air, looking like a fallen angel. He extended a hand to Klein.
"Need a lift?"
"I can fly," Klein declined.
His body flickered. The boundary between his physical body and Spirit Body dissolved. He became a translucent, ghostly figure, existing in both states simultaneously. He floated up, weightless as a thought.
"Show off," Dokja pouted.
They flew across the dark water, heading towards the ominous cloud. As they approached the boundary of the dark cloud, the air pressure changed. It wasn't wind. It was a conceptual weight.
Suddenly, a majestic, booming voice echoed in their minds. It didn't speak a language; it spoke a Law.
"Flight is Prohibited Here."
"What—" Dokja gasped. His wings stiffened. The lift vanished. Gravity amplified by a hundred times.
"Crap!" They plummeted towards the churning, freezing waves below.
Klein felt the restriction. It was the authority of the Justiciar. The Uniqueness was enforcing a "No Flight Zone". He tried to teleport. Blocked. He tried to float. Blocked.
The water was rushing up to meet them. At this speed, hitting the surface would be like hitting concrete.
"Dokja!" Klein shouted.
He reached out with his cane. He didn't fight the gravity. He changed the destination.
[Grafting]
He twisted reality. For a split second, the molecules of the ocean surface under them redefined themselves. They were no longer liquid. They were solid earth.
THUD.
They didn't splash. They landed with a heavy thud, rolling onto a surface that looked like water but felt like hard-packed dirt.
"Ouch," Dokja groaned, rubbing his back. "That hurt."
"We are alive," Klein panted, standing up on the "water."
He looked around. They were on the shore of the island. The dark cloud hung directly above them. And they were not alone.
Emerging from the dense, tropical-looking jungle (which shouldn't exist in the North Sea) were dozens of figures. They were dark-skinned, wearing primitive clothes made of leaves and feathers. They held spears tipped with strange, glowing blue stones.
"Aboriginals," Klein noted, his Spirit Vision activating. "But their spirituality... it's orderly. Too orderly."
The leader of the natives stepped forward. He pointed his spear at them and spoke in a language that sounded like clashing metal.
"Intruders. State your crime."