The Machinery Hivemind Squad

After wrestling with it for quite a while, Klein decided to listen to the strange prayer that had suddenly appeared and was directed at the Fool.

He still had some confidence in this place above the Gray Fog. Last night, when he divined the source of the Mutated Sun Sacred Emblem, he had gazed directly at the Eternal Blazing Sun and ended up scorched. But in the end, he had only been left mentally drained for a while.

He didn't think the Fool worshipped by the other party possessed power surpassing that of the Eternal Blazing Sun.

Otherwise, there wouldn't be seven true gods in this world. There would be eight.

Thinking this, he spread out his Spirituality and touched the crimson star that kept contracting and expanding above the boundless Gray Fog.

In an instant, the crimson light flared, coalescing into a somewhat dim image inside the ancient palace above the Gray Fog.

He saw a figure drenched in blood sitting on a floor strewn with shards of mirrors, their face contorted with agony as they prayed to the Fool.

Klein's gaze shifted from the "blood-soaked person" to their surroundings. He saw candles with wavering flames, strange symbols painted with unknown pigments, a silver dagger commonly used in rituals, crystals, and herbs.

He reconstructed the whole story in his mind in an instant... Another reckless young occult enthusiast had used the wrong method to perform the wrong ritual and attracted some unknown danger.

Unfortunately, some time had already passed since the other party's prayer appeared. Even if I wanted to save them now, it's too late.

Besides, I can only maintain an air of mystery above the Gray Fog. I might not even be able to save them. After all, who would have thought that the mysterious and powerful Mr. Fool was actually only a Sequence 9 Seer in the real world?

Just as he finished lamenting, Klein suddenly froze. He saw the "blood-soaked person" in the prayer scene move on to another target immediately after praying to him, without the slightest pause or hesitation.

"O Black Night Goddess, more exalted than the stars and more ancient than eternity, you are the Lady of Crimson, the Mother of Concealment..."

After a moment of surprise, Klein immediately realized what was happening and couldn't help but complain inwardly:

"This person definitely isn't a proper believer—or even a proper person. Who mixes the Honorific Names of true gods and evil gods together when praying, without even pausing? Are they trying to get themselves killed faster?"

"This probably isn't a trap. Who knows how many true gods' and evil gods' Honorific Names, correct and incorrect, this person had recited before accidentally saying the Fool's Honorific Name?"

As soon as he finished grumbling, another astonishing change took place in the prayer scene.

He saw that the "blood-soaked person," who had been praying all over the place, had actually received a response.

He heard a gentle voice come through the prayer scene, soothing the heart like a warm spring breeze:

"I'm here."

Klein: (@[]@!!)

"This isn't scientific!"

At the same time, a plainly dressed, gentle-looking priest appeared out of nowhere in the prayer scene. A warm smile graced his face, and he wore a simple white robe.

He had a thick, pale-gold beard that covered the lower half of his face, and clear, innocent golden-yellow eyes like a baby's. A silver cross pendant hung on his chest. He looked just like an ordinary priest.

But Klein knew that he—or rather, He—was anything but ordinary.

To respond to a prayer and appear so promptly, He had to be a high-ranking Beyonder.

More importantly, Klein saw and heard clearly that after reciting the Black Night Goddess's Honorific Name, the other party had only said two more words: Adam!

"If some entity didn't deliberately delay the response, then this blond priest must have answered those last two words. In any case, it couldn't have been the Goddess, and it certainly couldn't have been me."

"Adam—is that His name, or part of His Honorific Name?"

As his thoughts shifted, he noticed the prayer scene growing hazy, as if covered by a layer of mist, making it impossible to see clearly.

Clearly, the being who had answered the prayer didn't want anyone spying on Him. Or perhaps His status was simply too high, and His mere presence made the area impossible to observe.

The prayer scene ended, and Klein didn't see anything else useful. But the crimson star above the boundless Gray Fog had become fixed in place. If Klein wished, he could establish a connection with the other party at any time.

Klein leaned back in the high-backed chair and sighed as he rubbed his forehead.

"What a bizarre and ridiculous prayer. The mysterious world is just too dangerous for ordinary people."

"Judging by the room's decor and layout, as well as the person's accent, this fellow who treats the gods' Honorific Names like catchphrases is probably a Loenese. I can ask Miss Justice and Mr. Hanged Man to look into it at the next Tarot Club gathering."

After a pause, he manifested the Citrine Pendant he usually used. The whole affair was full of coincidences. It didn't seem dangerous, but just to be safe, he'd better perform a divination.

Meanwhile, at 93 Weldi Street, South Bridge District, Backlund.

Cyril was being questioned in the living room by two members of the Machinery Hivemind squad disguised as sheriffs.

"Hello, I'm Max Livermore, an inspector with the South Bridge District Sheriff's Office. This is my assistant, Carlson. We're investigating a serious case involving cultists, and we hope you'll cooperate."

The speaker was a middle-aged man who looked somewhat mature. His features were regular, his hairline was high, and the hair at his temples had begun to turn gray.

The black double-breasted formal coat he wore bulged in several places, as if the inspector had a lot of extra equipment on him in addition to his standard-issue firearm.

Carlson, standing half a step behind him, was a young man in his twenties, a little over 1.8 meters tall and on the slender side. He was quite handsome, and his light blue eyes held a maturity well beyond his years.

He, too, carried extra equipment besides his firearm—mechanical gear, standard-issue equipment.

They didn't seem to be making much effort to hide their mechanical gear. Apparently, they considered it perfectly ordinary equipment.

Cyril withdrew his gaze and nodded slightly to the two Machinery Hivemind members disguised as sheriffs.

The reason he could tell they were members of the Machinery Hivemind was simple: compared to the equipment commonly carried by sheriffs, theirs was a bit too luxurious.

Apart from the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery—the world's largest arms dealer—it would be difficult for any other faction to equip even an ordinary member to the teeth.

More importantly, he could see the extraordinarily dense Spirituality surrounding the two men. It seemed to be a special ability that came with his exceptionally high status. He wasn't sure whether it was Spirit Vision, but it was probably something similar. At any rate, he was extremely sensitive to changes in Spirituality and its strength.

Although he hadn't met many Beyonders yet, his instincts told him that the Spirituality surrounding the two men was at the level of Sequence 8 to Sequence 7, which fit the usual setup of an official Beyonder squad.

Suppressing the thoughts stirring in his mind, he sat on the sofa behind him and looked at the two disguised "sheriffs," speaking in a calm tone:

"Officers, I don't think I've had any contact with cultists—or at least, I'm not aware of any."

"I'm not sure what you'd like to ask. I'll do my best to recall everything I know and answer carefully."

Max Livermore nodded gently. "Don't be nervous. This is just a routine inquiry."

"Do you know about the World Truth Society? It's a club formed by students at Backlund University who are interested in occultism."

Cyril nodded without hesitation. "I do. I'm one of its members."

And one of its founding members, at that!

Neither Max Livermore nor Carlson showed any change in expression. Clearly, they already knew this. They had only asked to open the conversation, or perhaps to test him a little.

After a brief silence, Carlson picked up where they had left off. "Last weekend, three people died within two days after performing evil rituals. They had something in common: they were all members of the World Truth Society, and they were among its earliest members."

Cyril froze. The news from the two Machinery Hivemind members was completely unexpected. Familiar faces appeared one after another in his mind, then vanished.

They were all founding members of the World Truth Society. There had been six of them, including him. They were all students at Backlund University, brought together by a shared interest. The society had been established with the help of one member's wealthy son.

Wait, there were only six of us, and half of us had died over the weekend?

No, more than half. If I hadn't been an unexpected exception, the original Cyril would have died tonight too.