Reporting to the Church

In the first-floor dining room, Owen watched Cyril emerge silently from a crack in the wall and asked curiously:

"Any luck?"

The latter shook his head helplessly: "No, we arrived too late. Something must have happened here not long ago; there isn't a single person left."

"The second floor is a communal dormitory, filthy and chaotic. If we searched carefully, we might dig up some hidden pocket money, but it's too much trouble."

"The third floor is likely the source of the incident. The entire level has been eroded and decayed by some kind of power; it crumbles at a touch now, so nothing of value could possibly remain."

"In short, this was a losing venture. We didn't even make back the carriage fare it cost to get here."

Owen gave a weak, listless smile: "Just consider it an opportunity to broaden your horizons. This is the first time I've faced a Beyonder incident head-on."

Cyril asked with curiosity: "How does it feel?"

Owen: "It was terrifying. I couldn't control my emotions or desires at all, and I didn't even know when I'd been affected."

"If you hadn't been with me, would I have disappeared just as abruptly as the Blood Axe Gang members here?"

Cyril shook his head slightly: "I'm not sure. The painting on the tablecloth doesn't have the power to make people disappear. There must be other factors involved in the disappearances here that we simply haven't discovered."

He paused, then added with great seriousness: "I must ensure you become a Seer as soon as possible. That crystal ball is truly unreliable."

Owen chuckled: "Why do I feel like you want me to become a Seer even more than I do?"

"In this world filled with hidden dangers, divination is simply too important."

Cyril shrugged with a sigh, picked up the tablecloth that had rolled into a stick, opened a "door" in the wall, and pulled Owen out of the house, which was filled with strangeness and danger.

On the empty, silent street outside the house, Cyril suddenly stopped just as he was about to step out of the reach of the streetlamp's glow. He tilted his head to the left, looking surprised, as he felt as if someone were watching him from that direction.

But no matter how he observed, it was empty; there was nothing there.

In a hidden corner invisible to him, the black-haired woman who had been debating with Adam earlier stood right beside him, watching him quietly.

They were very close—close enough that if a breeze had blown, their hems would have brushed against each other—but the opportunity for Cyril to perceive the anomaly never arose.

"What's wrong?"

Owen, who was walking ahead, turned back to look at Cyril, who had stopped in his tracks, and asked with some nervousness.

As he spoke, he cautiously scanned his surroundings, afraid that some other bizarre danger might appear. He really didn't want to experience that feeling of being unable to control himself ever again.

Cyril withdrew his probing gaze and shook his head at Owen: "It's nothing, just felt like the night was a bit deep tonight."

Owen looked up at the night sky, not understanding, then nodded in agreement: "Yeah, there's no Crimson Moon tonight, and no starlight either. Even the streetlamps nearby feel dim."

Cyril looked up at the pitch-black night sky as well. For a moment, he felt a flash of inspiration cross his mind, but it was fleeting, and he failed to grasp it.

Is this what it means to lack sufficient spirituality? If I were an Astrologer right now, I would definitely have discovered something.

He sighed inwardly, shook his head to clear his thoughts, and took a few quick steps to catch up with Owen, leaving the exceptionally quiet street together.

After his figure disappeared, the darkness in the place he had just been watching—which was difficult to observe with the naked eye or intuition—was rippled by an invisible force, revealing the beautiful young black-haired woman.

The classical robe she wore swayed gently with the ripples of the surrounding darkness, as if she were one with it, yet also as if she were above it, surrounded by the darkness.

Opposite her, under the dim yellow gas streetlamp, Adam, dressed in simple white robes, emerged from a blind spot of perception, revealing his figure in the light.

They stared at each other, neither speaking.

After a long silence, the black-haired woman spoke first: "His intuition is very sharp."

Adam wore an expression of no surprise: "Perhaps from a higher dimension, the hidden world is merely a special dimension attached to reality."

The black-haired woman seemed to have mentioned it only in passing, immediately moving past the topic. She said in a tone that lacked emotion but felt inexplicably serious:

"The authority of the 'Door' is related to the birth of the Lord of the Mysteries; it cannot be handed to him."

Adam nodded gently: "The 'Door' is only a transition. The empty sequence needs solid and similar power to support it."

"Of course, this requires him to negotiate with the future Lord of the Mysteries himself. What I can do is provide a notarization of a sufficiently high level after recovering the authority of the 'Sun', ensuring that the authority of the 'Door' can be reclaimed in the end."

The black-haired woman, surrounded by darkness, said slowly: "Corruption is also power. Even if we join forces, we cannot kill a true god in a short time, especially one who has been corrupted by the Original Creator."

"Once we fail, and the others react, we will not have a second chance, and we will be rejected by all the orthodox gods."

Adam: "On this matter, my stance is consistent with the True One."

In the West District, in the square outside Saint Samuel Cathedral, Owen leaned in and whispered:

"Why are we here?"

Cyril scanned his surroundings while replying: "To report the Blood Axe Gang matter to the Church. I have a feeling that what happened there isn't that simple. Just in case, it's better to let the Church handle it."

Owen blinked in confusion: "But, aren't you a believer of the God of Steam and Machinery? Why come to the Church of the Goddess of Night?"

"And we were there ourselves. What if they investigate us?"

Of course, this was to guard against the Magic Mirror Alrodes of the Church of Steam. When the Heart of Mechanics squad's investigation hit a wall, they would surely consult the mirror, and it would be troublesome if that sycophantic mirror exposed them.

Thinking this to himself, Cyril made up a random excuse to brush it off: "It's precisely because I'm a believer of the God of Steam and Machinery that I must report this to the church of another true god."

"Besides, they won't trace it back to us. The Church's investigative methods are likely divination, but the incident there involves an evil god. Coupled with your crystal ball's anti-divination properties, even the Church won't be able to obtain any effective information."

Owen nodded, still half-doubting. He had many more questions, but Cyril's final sentence had terrified him; now that his mind was filled with thoughts of evil gods, he had no mood left to press for answers.

To the side of Saint Samuel Cathedral, Cyril carefully looked around. After confirming no one was nearby, he pressed one hand against the wall. A faint, ghostly blue radiance rippled out from beneath his palm, coalescing into a blurry, intangible door on the wall, into which he tossed a paper airplane.

Having done this, he ran toward the nearby houses without looking back, then used the ability of Door Opening to pass directly through the row of houses and emerge onto another street.

Just at that moment, a carriage was slowly rolling down the street. Cyril brushed past the oncoming carriage, and where the coachman could not see, he pressed his hand against the carriage body and vaulted inside without obstruction.

At the same time, on the street beside Saint Samuel Cathedral, an old man wearing black clerical robes trimmed with red, adorned with five Dark Sacred Emblems on his chest and possessing deep, profound eyes, slowly descended from mid-air accompanied by gusts of chilling wind.

If any Beyonder were here to activate their spirit vision, they would see that the old man was actually standing on the palm of a massive spirit, rather than flying by his own power.

Of course, this did not mean he was not powerful; it simply meant his potion's focus was different.

He was none other than Anthony Stevenson, the Archbishop of the Goddess of Night church stationed at Saint Samuel Cathedral, and the person in charge of the Backlund diocese for the Church of the Night.

He held a paper airplane in his hand, his eyes fixed on the direction Cyril had fled, but after a moment of hesitation, he chose not to pursue.

Logically, he should have received a warning from his spirituality the instant the other party performed a Door Opening on the cathedral wall, but that had not happened; he only sensed something after the paper airplane in his hand had hit the ground.

"Possessing anti-divination abilities, and capable of influencing spiritual perception..."

"A mid-to-high sequence Apprentice?"