Queen Mystic

The lady on the swing looked down at him. "What's your guess?"

Cyril, not quite used to looking up at someone, raised his head toward her. "One of the Four Kings renowned across the Five Seas, the owner of the Dawn, Queen Mystic of the seas."

After a brief pause, without waiting for her to ask, he began explaining on his own:

"Your attire and bearing clearly mark you as someone of high status, and there's also this mysterious, powerful Beyonder Ability. It fits Queen Mystic's unique fairy-tale magic from the legends."

Of course, there was also her appearance.

But he only repeated those words silently in his heart.

The lady seated high on the swing neither confirmed nor denied it. She merely watched him in silence, faint violet hues rippling through her azure eyes.

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

"A well-informed and greedy Trickmaster. Are you a descendant of the Abraham Family?"

Cyril shook his head openly. "No."

The mysterious lady across from him gave him a deep look, then abruptly shifted her gaze to the tense Owen beside him.

"You're the descendant of the Abraham Family?"

Owen's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.

The mysterious lady smiled slightly. "Looks like I guessed right."

Cyril silently shook his head as he watched Owen's face gradually turn pale... Still too young. If he were a Clown, perhaps he could have acted his way through it.

The mysterious lady chuckled, then asked with some curiosity, "Why did you go rob a gang for money? Well, perhaps 'steal' would be more accurate."

"And why did that Listener from the Aurora Order lose control? Although Listeners were mentally unstable to begin with, they shouldn't lose control just because they lost some money."

Glancing at Owen, who was still thinking about what to do now that his identity had been exposed, Cyril took up the responsibility of diplomatic envoy himself:

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

"As for that Listener who lost control, that was just an accident. He was probably provoked 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 as Cyril thought she would continue questioning him, she suddenly changed the subject. "Your earlier reason for recognizing me wasn't convincing enough. I spend most of my time in the Fog Sea and only arrived in Loen recently."

As she spoke, an invisible pressure radiated from her, as though he had been wrapped and crushed by viscous seawater, making it hard to breathe.

Cyril did not actually find the pressure particularly uncomfortable, but seeing Owen's pale face beside him, he had no choice but to put on a pained expression as well.

To keep Bernadette from discovering that he was faking it and probing him further, he hurriedly spoke to divert her attention:

"I know the abilities of a Clairvoyant, and I know the advancement ritual of a Sage. Combined with the fact that this is Backlund, it was easy enough to guess."

At his words, the pressure around Bernadette receded somewhat, though it did not disappear completely. Cyril could even sense dangerous auras brewing around him in places he could not see.

Clearly, his words had made Bernadette wary.

Helplessly tugging at the corner of his mouth, he continued, "A Clairvoyant can peer into Fate, while a Sage's advancement ritual is to prevent a Catastrophe involving higher-level power."

"Perhaps in half a year, perhaps in a year, a Catastrophe involving higher-level power will occur in Backlund."

A deep violet flashed through Bernadette's eyes. A moment later, she frowned at Cyril.

"Why do you know this? 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 merely happened to join a secret organization recently, an extremely vast secret organization. I pieced together some information from previous meetings and exchanges."

"I can't reveal the specifics. That is a binding restriction that cannot be violated, not even by Demigods or Angels."

Bernadette watched him expressionlessly, her gaze deep, as if contemplating something.

Just as Cyril thought he could gloss over the matter, she suddenly asked, "There are many secret organizations in this world, but once they reach a certain level, they can no longer really be called secret."

"Emperor Roselle once said: Wherever one walks, traces are left behind."

"So which faction is this secret organization you speak of, and what is it plotting?"

Cyril smiled bitterly and shook his head. "I can't say. Hmm... I can't even think about it."

As he spoke, his gaze casually swept over Bernadette's face, curious whether she could glean some hint from his words.

But unfortunately, she controlled her expression far better than he did. He could not read any emotion from her at all.

After a pause, he continued, "Even Emperor Roselle, whom you mentioned just now, was a member of this organization. Well, while he was still alive."

At the mention of Roselle, ripples finally appeared on Bernadette's previously expressionless face, but they quickly faded. She looked at Cyril with a faintly amused smile.

Then, with an apparently casual curiosity, she asked, "Do you think that 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 stern. "What do you know?"

With her words, the air became oppressive and viscous once more, filled with intense malice and a sense of being watched. It seemed as though countless eyes were about to emerge from the dust and cracks.

Beside him, Owen's Adam's apple bobbed as he repeatedly swallowed the saliva secreted from his nervousness. As he struggled to keep himself standing, he warned himself that he could never again go rob the rich and help the poor with Cyril. There was an accident every time, and he was always the more unfortunate one.

Cyril lowered his head, doing his best to control his expression so that she would not notice anything unusual.

"I've seen the second Blasphemy Slate. The Black Emperor possesses the ability to resurrect. As long as no new Black Emperor emerges, He is not truly dead."

"The Black Emperor?" Bernadette's brows drew together slightly. Her eyes first turned a deep violet, then became incomparably profound, like the sea before a storm arrived.

She was using divination, peering into the river of Fate, attempting to follow the fleeting inspiration she had just received and obtain some information.

In a daze, she saw a twisted, utterly discordant shadow. Just as she tried to see it more clearly, an immensely majestic and profound gaze interrupted her.

Cyril curiously watched Bernadette. He could tell that she had just been divining, but what intrigued him was the peculiar sensation she had given him. During that brief moment, he had felt as though Bernadette had somewhat detached from reality.

The essence of a Clairvoyant's divination was peering into the river of Fate, so did Fate truly exist as a real dimension? The absolutely rational world preached by the Life School of Thought?

Bernadette's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You mean that Emperor Roselle changed Pathways in his later years, and to a non-adjacent Pathway?"

Cyril nodded lightly. "That's right. Emperor Roselle changed Pathways with the support of that organization."

"As for the issue of the Beyonder Pathways not being adjacent, wouldn't all his characteristics be expelled after death? The Black Emperor's resurrection wouldn't retrieve characteristics from other Pathways."

After a pause, he added, "This was all told to me by a senior in the organization. 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."

The moment he finished speaking, violet appeared in Bernadette's eyes again as she stared directly at him.

A moment later, she said leisurely, "Although you did not appear particularly sincere, you were not lying."

"I'm satisfied with the information you've provided. What kind of reward do you need?"

"Gold pounds?"

Cyril was not particularly surprised by her attitude. An unknown secret organization connected to her father—she would certainly want to establish contact and obtain more information, and he was the only channel.