Derrick blinked. "Oh — really? That's great, sure."
Lovisa gave a faint smile, turned, and walked slowly away.
Leaving Derrick standing there scratching his head in puzzlement. He was straightforward, not stupid — and he could clearly sense that Elder Lovisa had been completely indifferent to him before. It was only when she'd glanced at the books he'd collected that her attitude had abruptly changed, to the point of inviting him along on her next expedition.
Derrick looked down at the books in his arms, genuinely confused. "Why?"
......
Backlund.
The moment Bernadette returned to Caesar's Restaurant, Viviane came over to tell her she'd found new lodgings.
Since this was purely a residential matter, the three places Viviane had identified were two in the Queens District and one in the North District, not far from Caesar's.
"Let's go with the North District. Queens District has a nicer environment, but day-to-day life is less convenient — unless we start living like those nobles and hire a staff to handle everything."
Bernadette nodded and looked at Viviane. "Take me to see 19 York Street in the North District first."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Viviane had apparently anticipated that Bernadette would want to view the place immediately, and had already arranged a carriage.
At that moment, layered prayer voices began sounding in Vincent's ears again — similar in quality to what Stephen had sounded like just now when reciting the three-part Honorific Name. Vincent was surprised. "Sounds like Stephen's reciting my name again. Why's he in more of a rush than I am? Let me make a quick trip to the Nation of Disorder."
"Go ahead."
In the grand ancient palace, Vincent settled into one of the better-preserved stone chairs around the Scale. He watched the golden mist rising from the Scale in response to Stephen's prayer, and channelled spirituality into it.
A figure surfaced from the mist immediately. It was indeed Stephen — sitting on the floor of a garden somewhere, expression knotted with hesitation and conflict, but ultimately choosing to recite the Lord of Chaos's Honorific Name.
"He wasn't this conflicted earlier. Was he putting it on in front of Bernadette? But then why is he reciting it again so urgently?"
Though puzzled, Vincent didn't dwell on it. He poured in more spirituality and quickly established a link with Stephen, letting his image take form within the golden mist — imposing and inscrutable — in Stephen's line of sight.
"!!!"
Stephen's heart jolted at the tall figure emerging from the depths of the mist. He immediately wanted to blurt out that he'd been parasitised — but the next second, that thought simply vanished.
He tried again, and it was stolen again.
The feeling was deeply familiar. He'd experienced it countless times over the past stretch of time.
Accepting the reality, Stephen bowed his head and said quietly: "Great existence." — If you're truly that powerful, please just read my thoughts directly.
"Call me Lord of Chaos."
Vincent said evenly, and casually produced a sheepskin. "Sign this contract."
Stephen looked at the sheepskin that had materialised in his hand, didn't even glance at the content, and signed his name on the spot — he'd wanted to scrawl something else while he had the chance, but no sooner did the idea form than it was stolen too.
The next second, accompanied by intense pain and a fractured mind, Stephen underwent a rapid judgment — in a short span he was made to review every crime he'd committed over the years. Robbery, murder, fraud, blasphemy. Each one brought an urge to prostrate himself and beg for death.
But he snapped out of the penitence quickly. He'd never thought of himself as a good person, but he was far from a monster — and on top of that, he'd saved quite a few innocents in his fights against the Moses Ascetic Order.
Then, without warning, a series of unfamiliar images surfaced in his mind. A man with a broad forehead — wearing a classic long robe, a crystal monocle over one eye. He treated life as a game, parasitising and harvesting living beings on a whim for momentary amusement. No humanity. No emotion. Beyond the instinct to climb higher in Sequence, His only purpose in existing was the pursuit of fun and pleasure. He started with ordinary people, then ordinary Beyonders, and eventually grew bold enough to taunt gods — to use the gods themselves as entertainment.
And so He had gradually earned a title: The Blasphemer, Amon.
Hum.
A blazing sun erupted into being. In the radiance, a man appeared — wearing a black clerical robe, a silver cross hanging at his chest, close-cropped black hair.
His eyes were golden. They held warmth and authority in equal measure. He looked down at everything from on high, his gaze fixed steadily on Stephen — or rather, on Amon.
After a moment, he said quietly: "You committed blasphemy. You are guilty."
"AAAAHH!!!"
A piercing, agonised scream erupted — from somewhere deep in the soul, deep in the consciousness. The scream of the Marauder angel parasitising him.
Golden flames roared up and swallowed Him in an instant. As the fire burned, Amon's form shrank, smaller and smaller, until He was a translucent worm with twelve transparent rings.
Seconds later, the worm curled in on itself under the heat, blackened, and disintegrated to ash.
Almost simultaneously, Stephen felt the force that had been controlling him vanish. He immediately fought to shout: "Tell Her Majesty to watch out for Amon!!!"
The words came out unimpeded — but Stephen discovered, to his bewilderment, that the golden mist and the mysterious figure had already disappeared at some point. He was huddled in the garden of the old manor. Not far away stood the old butler, looking pensive.
"What a pity. So close."
"Old Butler" Amon adjusted his monocle and gave a soft laugh. "Good thing I was careful enough."
He narrowed his eyes and murmured: "The Nation of Disorder, is it."
......
After confirming that Stephen had received the Prosecutor blessing, Vincent severed the connection — but in that very last instant, he faintly caught what sounded like a brief, fleeting scream.
"Hm? Did I mishear?"
He immediately re-established the link with Stephen, only to find him looking perfectly fine, already getting to his feet. Vincent watched him for another moment, confirmed nothing was wrong, and severed the connection again.
One Prosecutor slot remaining. Unless he granted it to a demigod or above, the Scale would top out at about three-quarters balanced at best. Everything else would have to come from his "employees" putting in the work.
He returned to reality. "Have the Invisible Servant bring a message to Mr. Z — from here on, I need full control of the contact with the Demoness Sect."
Bernadette gave a slight nod, then asked: "What if the Aurora Order and Demoness Sect's cooperation turns out to be in service of a sacrificial ritual that could cause mass death? What's your plan?"
"Perfect."
Vincent smiled. "We facilitate the cooperation with one hand, collect the Scale's crystal, and with the other hand we shut it down — which happens to also give you what you need to complete your ritual. Two birds, one stone."
"Don't forget — the Demoness Sect's evil god has shown interest in us. Aren't you worried about getting burned?"
That made him think of Trissy, and the moment the Primordial Demoness's consciousness had tried to descend through her. He considered it briefly, then said: "Let's make contact and see. Like I said — if gods could descend that easily, these evil-god organisations wouldn't need to go through all the trouble of holding elaborate rituals."
"Oh right."
Something clicked. "That pirate gathering you mentioned earlier — when does it start?"
Bernadette slapped her forehead. "Completely forgot about that. I'll have the Invisible Servant check with Crunch in a moment."
She snapped her fingers, pulled out paper and pen, and quickly wrote two notes. "First one goes to Mr. Z, second to Crunch."
Chirp~
Before long, the carriage slowed and stopped. Viviane, who had been playing coachman, said: "Your Majesty, we've arrived."
To be continued…
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