Klein opened his eyes to light.
The familiar ceiling of his room came into view, outlined by the intense sunlight that shone through the window onto the desk. It was as if there were grains of gold sprinkled on the desk. Klein gazed at the desk, the feeling of warmth and hope overshadowed by confusion and uncertainty.
For a moment, he remained still, deep in thought. His heartbeat was steady, far steadier than it had any right to be after what had just occurred.
The encounter replayed itself in fragments.
The ritual that was supposed to send him back to his home, guided him instead into a mysterious realm of grey fog.
Scenes of what had occurred played in his head.
The ancient castle; The table; The people he had accidentally summoned.
And most bizarre of all was the stranger he had met at the end.
That conversation in particular gave Klein more fear than insurance.
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest fear is the fear of the unknown." He recalled this saying as he was experiencing the fear of the unknown acutely.
And that final sentence.
Zhou Mingrui.
The name echoed in his mind with uncomfortable clarity. Unlike Justice and The Hanged Man, that man was not there by chance.
And the way he called his real name only solidified his standing in Klein's head as an unknown -most likely dangerous- variable.
Klein exhaled slowly and pressed his fingers against his temple.
There were too many unknowns.
First, the grey fog, if that person's words were to be believed, then it was not as simple as he had assumed. And if that person was not its owner, then what exactly was his relationship to it? A previous occupant? An intruder like himself? Or something worse; something capable of entering and leaving at will?
Second, the warning.
Greatest ally. Greatest enemy.
Klein frowned slightly. He had not sensed hostility. On the contrary, the man had seemed… almost cordial. Teasing, even. But cordiality did not equate to harmlessness. In this world of Beyonders and hidden existences, friendliness could be a more effective disguise than malice.
He turned onto his side, staring at the wall.
The incounter kept playing like a film.
A fellow transmigrator.
Or was.
The pause had not escaped him.
Klein shut his eyes briefly. No matter how he examined the exchange, he could not determine whether the man had been truthful, deceptive, or operating on some entirely different level of logic.
For now, there was nothing he could do.
He would proceed as planned.
Strength first.
Answers later.
Knock!
Knock, knock!
There was a series of quick and forceful knocks. Abrupt and firm, shattering the fragile quiet of the room.
Klein jumped straight to his feet and listened.
Knock!
Knock, knock!
The knocks echoed through the empty hallway
Klein's eyes widened as he reached for the revolver.
Trouble had found its way to him already.
...
Across the city, beneath a sky dulled by soot and industrial haze, Elias stepped through the iron gates of a once-grand mansion.
The estate bore the faint air of recent decline. The hedges were trimmed, but not with precision. The gravel path was intact, though weeds had begun claiming the edges. The structure itself remained imposing; tall windows, stone columns, a façade designed to project wealth and lineage, but the subtle signs of financial strain were difficult to conceal.
The fall of a noble house rarely happened overnight.
It eroded.
Inheritance disputes, failed investments, political missteps; none of them dramatic enough to become legend, yet sufficient to thin coffers year after year.
Elias closed the door behind him.
The interior was quiet. No servants moved through the corridors. No butler awaited instructions. The chandeliers were unlit, their crystals gathering a thin film of dust.
He did not mind the silence.
A smaller countryside farmhouse remained under his name as well; modest, practical, easier to maintain. In truth, it was the more sensible residence. The mansion, however, carried reputation. Connections. And "Memory".
Both required money.
He removed his gloves and placed them neatly on a side table, his expression unchanged.
Liquidity would become necessary soon.
Selling the mansion was an option, but premature. Once relinquished, certain doors would close permanently. Maintaining appearances still had value in Backlund's layered society.
He ascended the staircase at an unhurried pace, thoughts shifting from property to preparation.
He entered a room, paused before a tall window overlooking the city, before turning to a table and reaching for an ink pen and paper, and wrote:
Sequence 9 Rightful; Potion Formula:
Main Ingredients
* 1 Blood‑Speckled Black Mosquito.
* 1 Core of a Candle Devourer.
Supplementary Ingredients
*100 milliliters of Another's Blood.
*Nail fragments from Nine Different Individuals.
*1 Sapphire.
*10 grams of Verbena Powder.
The Sequence 9 formula he required—Rightful—was structurally identical to Marauder. The same base components. The same primary catalyst. The difference lay not in the material composition, but in the resulted changes and abilities unlocked.
The pathways he cultivated had been designed with the simple idea of a perfect counter.
In theory, it was meant to neutralize, to undermine other authorities and symbolisms.
In practice, however, the outcome had been… less orthodox.
Abilities derived from opposition often developed unique properties. Rather than merely negating external influence, they could appropriate structural principles, invert symbolic hierarchies, or exploit contradictions within other pathways.
It was a subtle art.
Or so he believes.
Elias held the paper in his hand, reading the ingredients.
'Gathering the ingredients would not be overly difficult. The market for low-sequence materials should be active enough in Backlund, particularly through unofficial channels. The difficulty lays not in acquisition, but in maintaining discretion.'
He had already made a scene once.
For now, subtlety was preferable.
A faint smile touched his lips as he extinguished the lamp beside him.
"Stories, after all, required proper pacing."
And this one had only just begun.