"Black Pharaoh..."
Schiller called out the name of that avatar. He was one face of the God of a Thousand Faces. Nyarlathotep had countless avatars, each of which had stirred up storms in history or the occult world. The Black Pharaoh was one of the most common and most unpredictable among them.
"Welcome, Schiller." His voice made one feel like a drifting duckweed leaf floating on the River of Forgetfulness, about to fall into the abyss of oblivion at any moment.
"You can talk?!!" Schiller raised his voice in shock.
The other party seemed not to have expected that reaction. Schiller rubbed his temples and said, "Then why were you speaking in riddles?! We're practically half-colleagues. Couldn't you just tell me what you wanted???"
"Nothing." The Black Pharaoh said, "I invited you here to catch up."
"Fine, then let's talk about what exactly this is all about." Schiller clearly had no intention of catching up. He went straight to the point. "Why did you tempt Thomas in the first place? And why have you set your sights on Little Bruce now?"
"To catch up with you," the Black Pharaoh replied.
Schiller was nearly stunned by the shamelessness of the monster before him. He carefully considered this entire chain of events and confirmed that he really was only an innocent person being asked for help, and definitely not some mastermind behind the scenes. Only then did he say indignantly, "Listen to yourself! Does that make any sense???"
"I wanted to buy you a drink," the Black Pharaoh said to himself. "But I needed to consider the method. I thought this would be a good choice."
Schiller was utterly bewildered. He could only say, "You messed with Little Bruce just to bring me here??? Then why didn't you come directly to me?"