A Polite and Proper Magic Mirror

Inside the carriage leaving the North District for the South Bridge District, Owen watched Cyril, who had been buried in deep thought ever since entering the cabin, and opened his mouth, wanting to speak but hesitating.

After all, he had been alone when he boarded the carriage; if he suddenly started talking to someone in the cabin halfway through the trip, the carriage's destination might not be his home, but the doorstep of a mental asylum or the police department.

Cyril leaned back against the carriage wall, thoughts flitting through his mind. He wasn't reviewing the events of the night, but pondering another issue: the digestion progress of his potion was impossibly fast.

Even though not even a full night had passed, the digestion progress of his Apprentice potion had already exceeded half.

When he had suddenly stopped while leaving the Blood Axe Gang's hideout, it wasn't just because he felt a non-existent gaze, but also because there were signs of significant digestion of the potion within his body.

Then, just now, when he threw the paper airplane toward Saint Samuel Cathedral and returned to the carriage, he had felt the same traces of potion digestion.

The acting guidelines for an Apprentice passed down by the Abraham family were: do not be reckless, do not be arrogant, and understand the insignificance of one's own power.

The first two sentences were understandable, and he had achieved them today, but as for the last sentence—if his act of reporting to the Church counted.

In this light, he perfectly fulfilled the acting guidelines for an Apprentice, but acting wasn't just self-amusement; it required feedback from an audience, yet today's audience...

He tilted his head to glance at Owen, then retracted his gaze without a trace, shaking his head inwardly.

It couldn't be him; the feedback from an ordinary person wasn't enough to let him digest so much of the potion.

In other words, there were other spectators today, spectators of extremely high quality. Ab... er, was it Him?

Because he had muttered about Him in his heart at the time, He had looked over, and by the way, helped him digest the potion?

Then, was the feedback obtained at Saint Samuel Cathedral from an archbishop of the Church of the Night, or the Goddess of Night?

If that were the case, could he digest the Apprentice potion directly if he went to circle under the eyes of these big shots a few more times?

In the end, he rejected this bold idea. If he happened to run into someone with a temper like the Lord of Storms, he feared he would have his ashes scattered on the spot.

Collecting his thoughts, he leaned against the carriage and dozed for a while, until the carriage arrived at Weldi Street in the South Bridge District.

He reached out to steady the window frame, and a faint blue radiance rippled out, expanding the window into an open, illusory door, before he flipped out of the carriage.

Watching the carriage gradually move away, he muttered in a low voice:

"That seems quite convenient. From now on, I can skip the fare no matter what transportation I take."

The carriage didn't go far, stopping at the intersection ahead, and then Owen got out.

After watching the coachman drive the carriage away, Cyril went up to meet him.

"It wasn't a total loss today. I digested part of the potion, and this also counts as a Sealed Artifact, though it's too dangerous and has no practical value."

"When we trade for potion ingredients later, I'll ask if that person is willing to buy it. We'll split the money half and half."

Owen thought for a moment and agreed to the plan. He could already foresee his future of being short on money; the meager assets he had left couldn't even buy a complete set of Sequence 8 potion ingredients.

However, he immediately added: "If you still can't scrape together enough money for the potion ingredients, use it as collateral. I'm not short on money for now."

Cyril chuckled and nodded: "Don't worry, I've already gathered most of the funds, and the rest can be covered by a bank loan."

"As for the repayment, we'll go rob the rich to help the poor once you become a Seer."

"By then, normal divination definitely won't be as full of accidents and hidden dangers as your crystal ball."

Owen nodded awkwardly. Although he wanted to refute it, the revelations he obtained using the Fate Crystal Ball were indeed unreliable.

After chatting for a bit, the two said their goodbyes and returned to their respective homes.

Using the ability of Door Opening to return to his room silently, he glanced at the wall clock. It was already past midnight, so Cyril decisively gave up the idea of going to the washroom to freshen up; if he made too much noise and woke Haven, he would have to find a way to explain it.

He took off his coat and lay on the bed for a while, but his mind was filled with the painting on the tablecloth and the third floor corrupted by unknown power, making it impossible to sleep.

A few minutes later, he grabbed his hair and sat up from the bed:

"Why do images from inside the Blood Axe Gang keep appearing in my mind? Is it a warning from my spirituality, or some kind of hint?"

"If only I knew how to divine..."

While muttering, his gaze caught the floor-length mirror in the corner, and a bold idea flashed through his mind.

Driven by the strong motivation brought on by insomnia, he went straight to the mirror and used his own blood as a material to draw a symbol blending peeping and secrecy on the mirror surface, while subconsciously whispering:

"Arrodes..."

This was a symbol he had outlined and perfected in his mind based on the occult knowledge he possessed. He couldn't guarantee the effect, and he felt a bit nervous himself—it would be troublesome if he accidentally communicated with some unknown existence.

At the same time, deep beneath Saint Hillan Cathedral in the Saint George District.

An ancient silver mirror with strange patterns and black gems decorated like "eyes" on both sides suddenly came to life. Layers of clear water ripples rippled across the mirror surface, weaving into silver words:

"Someone is calling me?"

The next second, the water ripples on the mirror shook even more violently as it tried to search for the call in the void.

Soon, a vague symbolic sign appeared on the mirror surface.

In the South Bridge District, in Cyril's bedroom, the room, which was already dim because the lights weren't on, was suddenly shrouded in a layer of dark twilight, and the temperature in the air dropped by a few degrees.

The floor-length mirror in front of Cyril suddenly turned gloomy. The original reflection disappeared, replaced by layers of silver water ripples.

In less than a breath, silver Loen words emerged on the mirror surface:

"The supreme and great existence, Arrodes has arrived at your call."

"May I ask what your instructions are?"

Cyril looked at the exceptionally polite magic mirror before him and asked thoughtfully, "Do you know me?"

New words quickly emerged on the mirror's surface: "I do not, but I do now."

After a brief pause, the handwriting on the mirror vanished, and new lines of words appeared:

"Great existence, according to the principle of reciprocity, you must also answer one question for me. This is a rule I cannot violate; please forgive me."

Recalling the socially agonizing questions Arrodes was known for, Cyril suddenly felt a bit uneasy and even a little regretful:

"Is a Spectator not required?"

"Great existences such as yourself always have certain privileges."

After a pause, it added, "That is now two questions."

Cyril nodded slightly: "No problem, go ahead and ask."

As his voice fell, new silver words emerged on the floor-length mirror before him:

"First question: Great existence, may I know your name?"

My name? Does it mean my given name, or the honorific name of a great existence?

The former is easy enough to say, but if it's an honorific name, am I supposed to make one up on the spot? The question is, would it even be effective?

Collecting his thoughts, Cyril deliberated and said, "I am currently called Cyril."

"If you wish to know a more specific name, you may address me as:

The Sublime One from the Unknown...

The Gateway Above Dimensions...

The Incarnation of Art and Fantasy."

He finished reciting the honorific name he had just improvised, pausing between each line. Although it was made up, he intuitively felt there was no issue with it, and it would not point toward the High-Dimensional Overseer.

It was just that at the end, he had originally intended to say the incarnation of mystery and fantasy, but for some reason, it changed to art and fantasy as he spoke. He could only attribute this to an inspiration from his own spirituality.

On the floor-length mirror before him, silver ripples shimmered, and brand-new words emerged:

"Thank you for your answer, respected Sublime One."

"My second question is: Respected Sublime One, may I ask how you knew my name?"

Cyril chuckled and answered without hesitation: "I saw it in a book."

Lines of words drifted across the floor-length mirror: "Answer correct, respected Sublime One. Do you have any other questions?"

Seeing that Arrodes had truly been summoned and was being very cooperative, Cyril was in no rush to ask the questions he had originally planned. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he wanted to ask more about himself:

"What do you see when you look at me?"

The silver ripples on the mirror surface undulated for a long time before a line of words finally appeared:

"Great, supreme, transcendent... and, colors that cover everything."