Mystic Queen

The lady on the swing looked down at him from her vantage point: "What is your guess?"

Cyril looked up at her, feeling somewhat uncomfortable: "One of the Four Kings famous across the Five Seas, the owner of the Dawn, the Mystic Queen of the seas."

He paused for a moment, and without waiting for her to ask, he began to explain the reason himself:

"Your attire and temperament are undoubtedly those of a high-ranking figure, and this mysterious, powerful Beyonder ability fits the unique fairy tale magic of the legendary Mystic Queen perfectly."

Of course, there was also her appearance.

However, he only muttered this sentence to himself in his heart.

The lady sitting on the high swing neither admitted nor denied it, but instead watched him in silence, her azure eyes shimmering with a hint of purple.

After a long while, amidst Cyril's silence and Owen's nervousness, the lady on the swing finally spoke:

"A knowledgeable and greedy Trickmaster, are you a descendant of the Abraham family?"

Cyril shook his head quite candidly: "No."

The mysterious lady opposite him gave him a deep look, then suddenly shifted her gaze to the nervous Owen standing to the side.

"Are you the descendant of the Abraham family?"

Owen's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.

The mysterious lady opposite smiled slightly: "It seems I guessed correctly."

Cyril watched Owen, whose face was gradually turning pale, and shook his head silently... he was still too young. If he were a Clown, he might have been able to act his way through it.

The mysterious lady chuckled softly, a hint of curiosity on her face as she asked, "Why did you go to the gang to rob them—well, perhaps 'steal' is more accurate."

"And why did that Listener from the Aurora Order lose control? Although the mental state of a Listener is inherently unstable, it shouldn't be enough to cause them to lose control just because of the loss of some money."

Glancing at Owen beside him, who was still pondering how to handle the fact that his identity had been exposed, Cyril took the initiative to shoulder the responsibility of being the diplomatic ambassador:

"Because we were poor, so we went to the gang to rob the rich and help the poor."

"As for that Listener who lost control, that was just an accident. He must have been stimulated by the statue of the True Creator."

"Rob the rich and help the poor..."

The mysterious lady repeated the phrase, then gave Cyril a deep look.

Just when Cyril thought she would continue to press him, she suddenly changed the subject: "The reason you recognized me earlier isn't convincing enough. I spend most of my time in the Sonia Sea and only recently arrived in Loen."

As she spoke, an invisible sense of oppression emanated from her, as if he were being enveloped and crushed by viscous seawater, making it feel difficult to breathe.

Cyril didn't actually feel that this pressure was making him particularly uncomfortable, but seeing the pale face of Owen beside him, he had no choice but to follow suit and put on a pained expression.

In order to prevent Bernadette from discovering that he was faking it and thus provoking further probing, he hurriedly spoke to divert her attention:

"I know the abilities of a Prophet, and I know the advancement ritual of a Sage. Add the fact that this is Backlund, and it becomes very easy to guess."

Upon hearing this, the pressure on Bernadette subsided slightly, but it did not vanish completely. Cyril even felt dangerous auras brewing in the surrounding areas he couldn't see.

Clearly, his words had made Bernadette wary.

With a helpless twitch of his lips, he continued: "A Prophet can glimpse fate, and the advancement ritual of a Sage is to prevent a disaster involving high-level powers."

"Perhaps in half a year, perhaps in a year, a disaster involving high-level powers will occur in Backlund."

A flash of deep purple crossed Bernadette's eyes. A moment later, she frowned as she looked at Cyril:

"How do you know this information? What is the Abraham family plotting? No, the current Abraham family shouldn't be capable of this."

Cyril shook his head slightly: "Of course not. I just happened to join a secret organization recently, a very vast secret organization, and I pieced together some information from previous meetings and exchanges."

"I cannot say the specifics; this is a constraint that cannot be violated, not even by demigods or angels."

Bernadette looked at him expressionlessly, her gaze profound, as if she were contemplating something.

Just when Cyril thought he could skip this question, she suddenly asked: "There are many secret organizations in this world, but once they reach a certain level, they can no longer be considered secret."

"Emperor Roselle once said: 'Whatever has been walked, leaves a trace.'"

"So, which faction is the secret organization you speak of, and what are they plotting?"

Cyril smiled bitterly and shook his head: "I cannot say this. Well... I cannot even think about it."

As he spoke, his gaze inadvertently swept across Bernadette's face, curious if she could hear any hints in his words.

But unfortunately, her emotional management was far superior to his; he couldn't discern any emotion at all.

He paused and continued: "Even the Emperor Roselle you mentioned earlier was a member of this organization, well, back when he was still alive."

At the mention of Roselle, the previously expressionless face of Bernadette finally rippled, but it quickly returned to calm. She looked at Cyril with a faint, unreadable smile.

Then, with a hint of casual curiosity, she asked: "Do you think he... Emperor Roselle, is truly dead?"

Cyril nodded slightly, then shook his head: "He should be dead, but not completely dead."

Bernadette's tone suddenly turned serious: "What do you know?"

Following her words, the air became oppressive and viscous once again, carrying a strong sense of malice and surveillance, as if eyes were about to crawl out from the dust and cracks.

Beside him, Owen's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the saliva secreted by his nervousness. While struggling to stand steady, he warned himself in his heart that he must never go out to rob the rich and help the poor with Cyril again; every time, an accident happened, and he was always the one who ended up with the worst luck.

Cyril lowered his head, struggling to control the expression on his face so that she wouldn't notice anything unusual:

"I have seen the second Blasphemy Slate. The Black Emperor possesses the ability to resurrect; as long as no new Black Emperor appears, He cannot be considered truly dead."

"The Black Emperor?" Bernadette frowned slightly. Her eyes first turned a deep shade of purple before becoming incredibly profound, resembling the surface of the sea just before a storm.

She was using divination, peering into the river of destiny, attempting to follow the flash of inspiration she had just experienced to obtain some information.

In a daze, she saw a distorted, highly incongruous shadow. Just as she tried to see it more clearly, a gaze of extreme majesty and depth interrupted her.

Cyril watched Bernadette with curiosity. He could tell she had just been divining, but what intrigued him was the peculiar sensation she had given him moments ago; for that brief period, he felt as if Bernadette had drifted away from reality.

The divination of a Prophet is essentially peering into the river of destiny, so is destiny actually a real, existing dimension? Is it the world of absolute rationality advocated by the Life School of Thought?

Bernadette's voice interrupted his thoughts: "You mean that Emperor Roselle switched pathways in his later years, and they were non-adjacent pathways?"

Cyril nodded gently: "Yes, Emperor Roselle switched pathways with the support of that organization."

"As for the issue of the Beyonder pathways being non-adjacent, wouldn't all of one's characteristics be expelled after death? The resurrection of the Black Emperor would not recover characteristics from other pathways."

He paused, then added: "A senior in the organization told me all of this. He seemed to be very familiar with Emperor Roselle."

Bernadette narrowed her eyes slightly: "He?"

Cyril nodded calmly: "Yes, an angel of the Spectator pathway."

As soon as he finished speaking, purple light appeared in Bernadette's eyes once more, and she stared directly at him.

A moment later, she said leisurely: "Although you are not as sincere as you appear, you are not lying."

"I am satisfied with the information you have provided. What kind of reward do you require?"

"Gold pounds?"

Cyril was not surprised by her attitude. An unknown secret organization, one that was also related to her father—she would certainly find a way to establish contact and obtain more information, and he was the only channel.