On the carriage leaving North Borough for South Bridge District, Owen watched Cyril, who had been deep in thought ever since entering the carriage. He opened his mouth, then hesitated.
After all, he had boarded the carriage alone. If he suddenly started talking to someone inside, the carriage might end up taking him not home, but to a mental hospital or the police station.
Cyril leaned back against the carriage wall as thoughts drifted through his mind. He was not reviewing what had happened that night, but pondering another matter: his potion digestion progress was unbelievably fast.
Not even one night had passed, yet his "Apprentice" potion was already more than half digested.
When he had left the Blood Axe Gang's hideout earlier, he had suddenly stopped not only because he sensed a nonexistent gaze, but also because the potion within him had shown signs of substantial digestion.
Then, when he threw the paper airplane toward Saint Samuel Cathedral, he had likewise felt traces of the potion digesting after returning to the carriage.
The Abraham Family's acting principles for an "Apprentice" were: do not force yourself, do not be arrogant, and understand the insignificance of your own strength.
The first two were understandable, and I did manage them today. But as for the last one... if reporting the matter to the Church counted.
By that logic, I perfectly fit the "Apprentice" acting principles. But acting wasn't just self-indulgence; it also required feedback from Spectators. Yet today's Spectators...
He glanced sideways at Owen, then inconspicuously withdrew his gaze and shook his head inwardly.
It couldn't be him. A normal person's feedback wasn't enough to help me digest this much potion.
That meant there had been other Spectators today—Spectators of extremely high quality. A... uh, was it Him?
Because I muttered about Him in my heart, He looked over and even helped me digest the potion?
And the feedback I received at Saint Samuel Cathedral—had it come from the Archbishop of the Church of Evernight, or the Evernight Goddess?
If that was the case, could I directly digest the "Apprentice" potion by taking a few walks under the eyes of these important figures?
In the end, he dismissed the bold idea. If he ran into someone as hot-tempered as the Lord of Storms, he feared even his ashes would be scattered on the spot.
Gathering his thoughts, he leaned against the carriage wall and dozed for a while, until the carriage reached Weldi Street in South Bridge District.
He reached out and held the window frame. A deep-blue radiance spread outward, expanding the window into an open illusory door. Then he flipped himself out of the carriage.
Watching the carriage gradually move away, he muttered softly:
"Seems pretty convenient. In the future, I can dodge fares no matter what transportation I take."
The carriage had not gone far before stopping at the fork ahead, and Owen got out.
Only after watching the coachman drive away did Cyril step forward to meet him.
"Today wasn't a complete loss. I digested part of my potion, and this counts as a mystical item too. It's just too dangerous to be of much use."
"When we trade for potion ingredients later, I'll ask whether that person is willing to buy it. We can turn it into money and split it evenly."
Owen considered it briefly before nodding in agreement. He could already foresee a future where he lacked money; the little family property he had left was not even enough to buy a complete set of Sequence 8 potion ingredients.
However, he then added, "If you still can't gather enough money for the potion ingredients, use it as payment instead. I'm not short on money right now."
Cyril nodded with a light laugh. "Don't worry, I've already gathered most of the funds. A bank loan can cover the rest."
"As for repayment, once you become a Seer, we can rob the rich to help the poor."
"By then, normal divination definitely won't be as full of accidents and hidden dangers as your Crystal Ball."
Owen nodded awkwardly. Though he wanted to argue, the revelations he had received through the Fate Crystal Ball truly had not been very reliable.
After chatting for a little while, the two bade each other farewell and returned to their respective homes.
Using the Door Opening ability to return silently to his room, Cyril glanced at the wall clock and saw that it was already past midnight. He decisively gave up on washing up in the bathroom; if he made too much noise and woke Harvin, he would have to figure out an explanation.
After taking off his coat and lying on the bed for a while, his mind remained filled with the painting on that tablecloth and the third floor corroded by unknown power. He could not fall asleep no matter what.
A few minutes later, he sat up from the bed, clutching his hair.
"Why do scenes from the Blood Axe Gang keep surfacing in my mind? Is it a spiritual warning, or some kind of hint?"
"If only I knew how to divine..."
As he muttered, his gaze swept over the full-length mirror in the corner, and a bold idea flashed through his mind.
Driven by the powerful motivation brought on by insomnia, he went directly to the full-length mirror. Using his own blood as material, he drew a symbol blending peering and Concealment onto its surface, while instinctively murmuring:
"Arrodes..."
He had outlined and refined this symbol in his mind based on the mysticism knowledge he possessed. He could not guarantee that it would work, and he felt somewhat uneasy himself. It would be troublesome if he ended up contacting some unknown existence.
At the same time, beneath Saint Hillan Cathedral in Saint George District.
An ancient silver mirror with strange patterns and black gemstones decorating either side like "eyes" suddenly came alive. Clear ripples spread across its surface, weaving into silver words:
"Someone is calling me?"
The next second, the ripples on the mirror's surface grew more violent as it attempted to search for the call within the void.
Soon, an ambiguous symbolic mark appeared in the mirror.
In Cyril's bedroom in South Bridge District, the already dim room, unlit as it was, suddenly became shrouded in a dark twilight. The temperature in the air dropped by several degrees as well.
The full-length mirror before Cyril abruptly darkened. The reflection it had held vanished, replaced by layer after layer of spreading silver ripples.
In less than a breath, silver Loenese words emerged one after another upon the mirror's surface:
"The supremely great existence, Arrodes answers your summons."
"May I ask what orders you have?"
Cyril looked at the unusually polite Magic Mirror before him and asked thoughtfully, "You know me?"
New words quickly emerged on the mirror's surface. "No, but I know you now."
After a brief pause, the writing on the mirror disappeared, only for new lines of words to emerge:
"Great existence, according to the principle of equivalence, you must also answer one question from me. This is a rule I cannot violate. Please forgive me."
Remembering the mortifying questions Arrodes tended to ask, Cyril suddenly felt uneasy and even slightly regretful.
"No Spectators required?"
"Great existences such as yourself always have certain privileges."
After a pause, it added, "Now it's two questions."
Cyril nodded lightly. "No problem. Ask away."
As his words fell, new silver words appeared one after another on the full-length mirror before him:
"First question: Great existence, may I know your name?"
My name? Did it mean my actual name, or the honorific name of this great existence?
The former was easy enough. But if it meant an honorific name, did I have to make one up on the spot? The question was, would it work?
Gathering his thoughts, Cyril said carefully, "My name for now is Cyril."
"If you wish to know a more specific name, you may call me:
The Sublime from the Unknown...
The Door Above the Dimensions...
The Incarnation of Art and Fantasy."
He spoke out the honorific name he had made up on the spot, pausing between each line. Though he had improvised it, he intuitively felt that there was no problem with it and that it would not point toward the High-Dimensional Overseer.
Only, at the end, he had originally intended to say the Incarnation of Mystery and Fantasy. Yet when the words left his mouth, they somehow became Art and Fantasy. He could only attribute it to a revelation from his spirituality.
On the full-length mirror before him, silver ripples swayed as brand-new words emerged one after another:
"Thank you for your answer, honored Sublime One."
"My second question is: honored Sublime One, how did you learn my name?"
Cyril chuckled and answered without hesitation, "I saw it in a book."
Lines of words drifted across the full-length mirror. "Correct answer, honored Sublime One. Do you have any other questions?"
Seeing that he had truly summoned Arrodes, and that it was being highly cooperative, Cyril was no longer in a hurry to ask what he had originally intended. Since he had the chance, he wanted to ask more questions about himself.
"What did you see from me?"
The silver ripples on the mirror's surface undulated for a long time before a line of words finally emerged:
"Greatness, supremacy, exaltation... and colors that cover everything."
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