A private conversation...
Alger was not particularly surprised. After the members of the Tarot Club had become demigods or even angels one after another, their weekly gatherings had largely become occasions for exchanging intelligence. For specific transactions or commissions, they preferred to ask Mr. Fool to temporarily summon the relevant people above the gray fog for a private conversation, ensuring both timeliness and secrecy.
Recently, Mr. Fool had been granting every such request, like a lofty "wish-granting machine." This led Alger to a bold conjecture: Mr. Fool was probably busy with other matters most of the time, and the figure above the gray fog was merely an avatar of his, a puppet that automatically responded to the prayers of his believers and blessed.
After all, how could an ancient, powerful god who had recently awakened further devote his attention to such small gatherings every day?
Ten minutes later, crimson light flashed before Alger's eyes, and he appeared inside the towering palace. Just as he had expected, Mr. Fool's figure at the head of the long table was obscured by fog, motionless as a statue. Opposite Alger sat Miss Empress, her golden hair falling to her shoulders, radiating a charm that even the gray fog could not conceal.
So this is the culmination of a female Assassin... Alger silently marveled, cleared his throat, and took the initiative to ask:
"Good evening, Miss Empress. What can I do for you?"
Among the Tarot Club members below Mr. Fool, he had always clearly distinguished the "standing" vaguely determined by their strength and the order in which they had joined. Empress and World, who had become angels, occupied the first tier, followed by several veteran demigods represented by Hermit, and finally those who had only recently reached the high sequences or had yet to