The next instant, more cracks split open across Roselle's body, spreading downward from his head, blood-red blossoms flowering open across various parts of his form.
He looked as though he'd been reduced to nothing but a thin shell of shadow, wrapped around some pure, radiant, blood-red mass within — and with every crack torn open, more and more moonlight spilled through, into reality.
Once these cracks finally connected, that black silhouette would split apart entirely, giving birth to an entirely new red moon.
Thankfully, Roselle managed to reclaim his consciousness just in time. Seizing the moment, the Emperor forced himself to straighten slightly, looking at Bernadette, and shouted, with visible difficulty:
"Seal me!"
Bernadette stood frozen, staring at the platform at the center, at that black silhouette, an unmistakable, unconcealed grief written across her face.
Just moments ago, he'd been speaking with her normally — even showing playfulness, pride, surprise, a whole rich range of emotion — and now, suddenly, it had come to this.
"Dad..."
Roselle gripped the armrest of his chair tightly with one hand, his voice strained, forcing the words out through evident agony: "Don't be afraid. Don't worry, my little angel."
"Sealing me won't actually hurt me. If anything, it'll buy me a chance at survival — a chance for the two of us to truly meet again, someday."
As he spoke, the crimson cracks across Roselle's face flickered chaotically, opening and closing without any consistent will behind them anymore. With great effort, he managed one last flicker of a gentle smile:
"Go ahead. Give your old father some dignity."
Bernadette's ocean-blue eyes filled rapidly with tears, a faint mist clouding her vision. She raised her right hand and pressed it against that pale metal mask.
Across the surface of "Pale Death," the metal instantly softened, reshaping into a new face, forming a pair of black eyes.
Within those deep black eyes, pale lines emerged, one after another, tracing out an intricate, deeply mysterious three-dimensional symbol — like a bird with impossibly elongated feathers, or a coiled feathered serpent.
That symbol absorbed the light around it, rapidly taking physical form, then detached from Bernadette's eyes, unfurling its "body," and flew straight toward Roselle Gustav, seated on his iron-black throne.
Roselle's presence faded at once, the blood-red cracks sealing shut, one after another.
"A good seal. Now I can finally sleep in peace for a while..."
"Oh — don't forget. Go ask the Goddess of the Evernight. Once you know the truth of things, once you've seen Vincent again..."
"Come back and see me."
"Dad."
Roselle suddenly frowned, his tone shifting:
"Why are you dressed like that? Who taught you to dress this way?"
Bernadette felt a wave of disorientation wash over her, as if she'd been pulled back to her childhood years.
The mist in her eyes grew unmistakable now. Unable to hold herself back any longer, she let out a low, choked cry:
"Dad..."
Roselle's face — now little more than the outline of features — softened instantly, then hardened again, and he said, sharp:
"Leave.
"And never come back!"
Bernadette opened her mouth, wanting to say something more, but her vision had already gone dark, as though she'd glimpsed the shadow of order itself.
The next instant, she found herself back at the edge of the primordial island.
She stared blankly into the distance for a long while before finally turning, murmuring:
"The Goddess of the Evernight... Vincent..."
Should I go pray to the Goddess of the Evernight, ask her about Vincent? Would she even answer me?
Who exactly is this "Vincent" Dad kept talking about?
Too many questions, all crowding in at once. Bernadette felt lost, adrift, unsure what to do next — until, unbidden, a single name surfaced in her mind:
Klein.
Vincent had once used a particular phrase to describe him: a signpost of fate.
When you're lost, trapped, with no idea what to do — he might just point you in the right direction. Just as she was wondering how to go about finding Klein, boundless gray-white fog suddenly spread out before her, and "Mr. Fool," seated high upon his bronze chair, emerged from the depths of that fog. He spoke, in that distinctive voice of his:
"The World wants you."
...
The primordial island's interior, within the "Black Emperor's" mausoleum.
Having sent Bernadette off, Roselle didn't sink into slumber right away. He slowly raised his head, gazing once more into the boundless heights above.
"Amenisis. Are you watching me?"
His voice echoed through the mausoleum, lingering, refusing to fade.
"I'd hoped you might come out and offer some kind of explanation."
As he spoke, fresh crimson cracks tore open across Roselle's body once more.
"Vincent!"
"Are you there? Are you listening?"
"Mother Goddess of Depravity. What about you?"
He called out several names in succession, but the only answer was the echo of his own voice, and a long, unbroken silence.
After a long while —
Roselle's presence began fading once more. He lowered his head, murmuring softly: "Adam..."
"I'm here."
A gentle voice answered.
...
Backlund.
Our own signpost of fate was, at that moment, seated on the toilet in a cheap hotel's washroom, praying under his identity as "the World," asking the Fool to connect him with "Lovers."
Once the "call connected," Klein got straight to the point. "Miss Lovers, do you happen to still have a spare Faceless Beyonder Characteristic on hand?"
So Klein really has come back to life.
That was Bernadette's first reaction upon seeing the Fool's message. Even knowing the outcome already, she still couldn't help a flicker of surprise, marveling at just how remarkable Source Quality truly was.
"I do."
She'd previously obtained three Faceless characteristics from the Esoteric Society — one used to feed the "Blood-Draining Wristguard," one given to Xio, and the last kept in reserve.
"Mr. World, do you need it?"
"That's right. Name your price."
Bernadette quickly recalled the standard going rate for a Sequence 6 characteristic, then offered a friendly discount: "1,500 pounds."
The number brought Klein a flash of relief — that price really was fair; a Sequence 6's primary material typically ran at least 1,500 pounds on its own, and certain specialized pathways carried a premium on top of that — Faceless, in particular, could run up to a full 100% markup!
Miss Lovers offering me this price really does mean she considers me one of her own!
Grateful as he felt, Klein still couldn't help a pang of heartache — because, honestly, he really didn't want to part with the money. Every pound of it had been earned with his own life.
Money's hard to earn, and life's even harder to keep!
"All right!"
He gritted his teeth and nodded firmly. "I'll sacrifice the money to Mr. Fool right now."
"No problem."
A few minutes later, as the sacrificial gate dissolved, Klein found a jelly-like, translucent object now sitting in his hand — the Faceless Beyonder Characteristic.
He let out a slow breath, clearing his mind of distraction, then pulled out a newly purchased iron pot, laid out the rest of the materials needed for the "Faceless" potion one by one, and lit a flame to "sterilize" the pot.
Only then did he add the remaining ingredients in sequence. The moment the various solid and liquid materials touched, they melted instantly into a pool of deep blue liquid, bubbling and simmering, a faint mist rising off its surface.
Finally, he added the Faceless Beyonder Characteristic.
Instantly, all the mist drew inward, and even the light from the gas wall lamp seemed to be pulled in, swallowed, dimming noticeably.
The Faceless potion was complete.
Klein flipped a coin to confirm everything checked out, then poured the liquid into a pre-prepared glass vial, walked into the washroom, sat down on the toilet, and drank it down without hesitation.
His consciousness immediately began to blur — but the very last coherent thought before it went was: Why do I always end up drinking these potions in the bathroom, of all places?
Guess I've officially turned this washroom into my own personal safe house.
To be continued…
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