The next day, Cyril stayed in bed until ten in the morning before finally getting up.
After washing up in the bathroom and casually eating a piece of white bread, he took a carriage to Harvest Cathedral on Daffodil Street.
The moment he stepped through the doors, a wet rag flew straight at him.
Before it could hit his cheek, the rag strangely spun through the air before landing back in Emlyn's hand.
"You..." Emlyn stared at him in astonishment, then suddenly realized:
"You advanced? The Meteorite Crystal that Detective bought through me a few days ago was actually for you?"
"Damn it, that Detective tricked me!"
Emlyn's face alternated between red and pale, his chest rising and falling, betraying the turmoil in his heart.
Cyril explained on Klein's behalf, "You probably never asked whether he was buying the Meteorite Crystal for himself or for someone else."
"Shut up!" Emlyn shot him a vicious glare.
Cyril shrugged helplessly and asked before Emlyn could turn and slip into the clergy lounge behind the main hall:
"Can you sell me some Beyonder potions?"
"No." Emlyn rejected him without a second thought. Cyril continued, "I know high-sequence Spectators, and more than one."
Emlyn remained unmoved. "So what? Who knows whether the Spectators you introduce will plant new psychological suggestions in me?"
Damn, why had this guy suddenly become smarter today?
With an inward sigh, Cyril turned toward Father Utravsky, who was sitting at a desk in prayer.
Before he could speak, the other man said proactively, "You should know that I am not an Apothecary."
"If you cannot persuade Emlyn and urgently need such items, you can try seeking out Beyonders from the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery. They came to ask me about you, and they should have already