Gathering of Beyonders

At the bar, Cyril and the Grey-robed Man chatted about trivialities, much like two socially anxious strangers sitting together on a steam train, both struggling to make small talk.

As time passed, the bar grew more crowded and noisy. The area in front of the bar was no longer quiet, so the two simply moved to a table in the corner and fell into a long silence.

Actually, not talking was fine; at least there was no need for awkward conversation.

Muttering this to himself, he suddenly noticed that the Grey-robed Man would occasionally glance at the wall clock hanging diagonally across from them, wondering if it was even accurate.

Calculating the time? Wasn't he worried that the wall clock in this bar might be lagging since no one had set it in a long time?

Just as the thought crossed his mind, the Grey-robed Man's hoarse, low voice sounded, as if he had fine sand in his throat:

"Follow me."

With that, he picked up the glass in front of him, downed the liquor in one gulp, and walked straight toward the back door of the bar.

Cyril hesitated for a moment before choosing to follow.

After exiting the back door of the Smart Bar, the two walked one after the other through a dim corridor and entered another room.

The Grey-robed Man took an iron mask that only covered the upper half of his face and a hooded robe from the room and handed them to Cyril, instructing:

"Put these on, then we can go over. Although the Beyonder gathering here isn't high-level, it's enough for you."

Quite confident. Is this guy a Sequence 6, or a Sequence 5?

Although he already knew what the gathering here would be like, to maintain his persona, Cyril asked one more question:

"Does attending the gathering not require any vetting or credentials?"

The Grey-robed Man gave him an extra look: "No need. The spirituality still leaking from you is the best credential."

He paused, then added: "A piece of advice: when your spirituality is still unstable just after consuming a potion, what you need most is meditation and adaptation, not running around looking for your own kind."

"Eighty percent of the dangers Beyonders encounter come from their so-called own kind. After all, every Beyonder is a walking..."

"Hurry up. If you go early, you'll still have time to understand the format of this Beyonder gathering."

The Grey-robed Man seemed to have thought of something; he didn't finish his sentence but stiffly changed the subject.

Every Beyonder is a walking Beyonder characteristic?

To know about the existence of Beyonder characteristics, and not looking like a good person—a member of some secret organization? And most likely a core member.

Being able to run into a secret organization so easily, one can only say that Backlund is truly a metropolis where even a stray dog could be a demigod. Hmm, better stay cautious and careful.

After a pause, he quickly reined in his thoughts and looked at the Grey-robed Man at the door: "Let's go, I'm ready."

The Grey-robed Man didn't reply and walked straight into the deep alleyway, with Cyril following closely behind.

Half a minute later, the two stopped in front of a closed door. The Grey-robed Man in front knocked on the door rhythmically; it seemed to be some kind of secret code.

Seven or eight seconds later, a small wooden panel on the door was suddenly pulled open, revealing a pair of brown eyes behind it.

After being scrutinized by the eyes behind the door for a long while, the door was suddenly pulled open. Inside was another man wearing a grey robe and a mask; he stepped aside to clear a path:

"Go in."

Neither Cyril nor the Grey-robed Man spoke, walking straight past the other into the room.

Passing through a dark hall, the two entered a living room where a candle was lit on the coffee table, its dim, weak light casting shadows throughout the room.

A dozen people were already sitting on the sofas and chairs around the coffee table, all dressed in hooded robes and iron masks. Noticing the movement behind them, these people all turned their heads in unison.

The person sitting in the main seat, wearing a white robe and a dark gold mask, swept his gaze over the two and then fixed it on Cyril. The latter tilted his head slightly, meeting the other's gaze.

"A newcomer? Find a seat anywhere."

"I am the convener of this gathering; you may call me Eye of Wisdom. You can also choose a code name for yourself to facilitate communication, though it is not required."

"The gathering starts in three minutes. You can wait in your seat or ask me about the rules of the gathering."

His voice carried a sense of age, his nasolabial folds were deep, and his skin was slightly withered; he looked like an elderly man no matter how one viewed him.

There were obvious traces of makeup and residual spirituality on his face, and the exposed skin on his hands had also been disguised—not through Beyonder abilities, but through methods similar to makeup.

Uh, why am I so sensitive to traces of makeup?

It was as if this knowledge had snuck into my mind when I wasn't aware of it. No, that's not right; it's more like it appeared spontaneously the moment I needed this knowledge.

Is this the High-Dimensional Overseer's status? There should be other reasons, for instance, this knowledge was already within the coverage of the symbols and authorities of the High-Dimensional Overseer.

Gathering his scattered thoughts, he found a random high-backed chair to sit in and quietly observed the trades and discussions of the others.

Within the next three minutes, several more people wearing hooded robes and tea-colored masks walked in one after another.

Except for greeting the old man Eye of Wisdom, they did not communicate with each other, sitting quietly in their seats without even making unnecessary movements, until the old man Eye of Wisdom tapped the coffee table in front of him.

"Today's gathering officially begins."

"I heard there would be a gathering of wild Beyonder organizations here today. Oh my, why is it so dark? Even if they are wild Beyonders, they shouldn't be so poor they can't afford gas wall lamps, right?"

"Holding a gathering in such a pitch-black place really makes one doubt the legitimacy of this place."

A voice that sounded somewhat honest but used strangely provocative words suddenly appeared, interrupting the first person who was about to speak after the gathering began.

The slightly provocative words once again made everyone in the room look over at the same time. A chubby figure, wearing the same style of robe and the same mask as them, walked into the crowd with an air of familiarity.

The old gentleman known as Eye of Wisdom glanced at the other party, and an indescribable majesty suddenly surged from his body. The dark gold mask he wore seemed to come alive, transforming into a dignified superior; anyone who looked directly at him felt their knees go weak, unable to stop themselves from wanting to kneel and submit to this authority.

Cyril, leaning back in his wooden chair, raised a hand to touch his chest. The sudden onset of majesty caused his heartbeat to accelerate uncontrollably, but that was the extent of it.

That indescribable majesty seemed only capable of slightly quickening his pulse and boosting his blood circulation, failing entirely to affect him on a mental level.

A mystical item from the Arbiter pathway? But it seems to have no effect on me.

Is this also a special trait brought about by my status? Does that mean I am the natural counter to the Arbiter, Spectator, and Sleepless sequences that specialize in mental attacks?

This trait should be limited to low and middle sequences; back then, Adam was able to perform psychological suggestion and mind reading on me without any pressure.

While his thoughts were drifting, the old gentleman Eye of Wisdom had already retracted his majesty. In the room, aside from Cyril and the Grey-robed Man who had brought him to the gathering, everyone else appeared to heave a sigh of relief, straightening their slumped bodies once more.

As for that chubby fellow who had spoken so obnoxiously, he had knelt the very moment the majesty began to permeate the room.

The old gentleman Eye of Wisdom ignored his disheveled appearance and spoke calmly:

"Another newcomer. Find a seat anywhere; the gathering has already begun."

"O-okay."

The chubby figure stood up from the ground in a somewhat pathetic manner, his legs still trembling slightly. He scanned the room and walked straight toward the chair on Cyril's left.

After he sat down, the hostile and disgusted gazes from those around him slowly shifted away.

If the time and place hadn't been inappropriate, they probably would have each given him a few punches or kicks. If it weren't for this guy's foul mouth, they wouldn't have had to endure that suffocating majesty along with him.

But the person who had caused the little farce didn't seem to realize that he was currently being loathed by everyone in the room. No sooner had he sat down than he impatiently initiated a trade request:

"I need the Marrow Crystal of the Elf Spring, and the heart of an Alicorn. Does anyone here have them, or perhaps a lead?"