Cyril looked at the thing that had just fallen from his nostril into his palm, and his face darkened.
It was a small, translucent worm with twelve rings around its body. It writhed in his palm,
trying to burrow into his flesh.
"Don't... you find that disgusting?"
Amon adjusted the Monocle on his face. His eyes moved over Cyril again and again, as if examining some rare curiosity he had never seen before.
"Why should I find it disgusting? This human body is nothing more than a skin that binds you."
"Beneath that skin, are you an ancient god who has returned from death, or a spirit and personality separated from some living thing?"
"Take a guess." Cyril narrowed his eyes, not answering Amon's question directly.
Amon shook his head. "I don't want to guess. More than your identity, there's something else I want to know right now."
"Who is the real identity of the 'Fool'?"
As he spoke, he stared at Cyril without blinking, as if trying to see right through him.
Cyril didn't answer or consider the question. Instead, he called Adam's name over and over in his mind.
Amon simply couldn't parasitize him. That didn't mean he couldn't steal his inner voice, thoughts, and memories. The more Cyril thought, the more chances there were for him to slip up.
"Since you don't want to tell me, then... let me guess."
As he spoke, Amon produced a notebook and a fountain pen from thin air. Like a reporter conducting an interview, he asked his question without haste.
"First, is he in Backlund?"
Cyril shrugged. "I don't know."
"You didn't deny that it's him, rather than her, did you?"
Amon's lips curled. He seemed to be in quite a good mood.
Cyril's face darkened. He promptly decided to say