Gathering his thoughts, Cyril glanced at the white bundle in Owen's hands and shook his head slightly.
"We don't need gold pounds for now."
"Can you check whether we still have any lingering influence from the True Creator? If so, can you help purify it, then send us to the South Bridge District?"
"If we show up on that street right now, we'll be a little too conspicuous."
On the swing above them, Bernadette gently raised a hand. Specks of clear starlight drifted down and landed on Owen beside her.
The starlight seemed to melt invisibly into his body, then stirred up wisps of faint black smoke.
Cyril looked at Owen, who was covered in starlight, then at himself, where nothing had happened. Clearly, only Owen had been affected by the True Creator.
That guy really did seem to be constantly unlucky. If this world didn't lack a Wheel of Fortune, Cyril would have suspected that Fate had taken a dislike to him.
As his thoughts wandered, Bernadette glanced at him and said faintly,
"You originally had some lingering malice and contamination on you as well, but during our conversation just now, they dispersed on their own."
"Uh..." Cyril opened his mouth but said nothing for a long while.
He did not want to pursue this topic. A Mystery Pryer as stubborn as Bernadette in certain matters would definitely dig deep into its secrets.
Seemingly seeing through his thoughts, Bernadette chuckled from the swing and waved her hand. The dense, interwoven blue-green vines around them rapidly shrank away, revealing the night outside, blackness mixed with dim yellow lamplight.
Cyril suddenly felt the ground vanish beneath his feet, and his whole body began to fall.
Instinctively, he created a strong wind blowing upward from below. Although it was not enough to let him ride the wind like a Wind-blessed, it could at least slow his descent somewhat.
The howling wind had only just risen when Cyril's feet touched the ground. He staggered slightly, then quickly steadied himself.
Withdrawing his spirituality and ending the gale around him, he looked up awkwardly and saw that the vines had not yet fully receded, but they were only about one story above the ground.
A yellowed sheet of parchment drifted down from the retreating vines, accompanied by Bernadette's voice:
"We will meet again. I hope you will have more information next time. Of course, I will pay you a reward that satisfies you."
Cyril raised a hand, and under the effect of Object Manipulation, the parchment landed precisely in his palm.
On it were lines of elegant small writing, the ink not yet dry:
Sequence 6: Scribe
Main ingredients: one intact Asman brain, a cursed object from an Ancient Wraith.
Supplementary ingredients: three diary pages over twenty-two years old, 10 milliliters of mercury, 10 drops of Honeysuckle Essential Oil, 30 milliliters each of seawater, lake water, and glacial water.
Cyril: ...
It wasn't entirely useless, but it was pretty worthless to him.
She clearly knew I was a Trickmaster, yet she gave me a Scribe potion formula. Did she do it deliberately, or did she just happen to possess a Scribe potion formula?
Sighing inwardly with slight disappointment, he turned to look at Owen. The latter had just climbed up from the ground and was staring at him resentfully.
"I could have landed smoothly, but then you suddenly created a strong wind, and I lost my balance."
Cyril awkwardly looked away, then handed him the parchment and changed the subject.
"Have you considered changing your faith? The God of Steam and Machinery does not hold authority over the domain of fate. He isn't suitable for you."
"Huh, why?" Owen widened his eyes in confusion, unable to keep up with Cyril's train of thought.
Cyril said seriously, "Don't you think you're far too unlucky? Maybe you should consider worshipping an existence capable of changing your luck."
For example, the King of Yellow and Black who governed good fortune, or that little snake who had yet to turn into a baby. If those didn't work, the Empress of Fear and Calamity would do too.
After two seconds of silence, Owen glared at him. "I feel like you're shirking responsibility. Every time I'm unlucky, it's clearly related to you."
"Besides, even though I'm not a devout believer, faith isn't something you can casually choose like a commodity."
Cyril nodded slightly and did not argue with him. In a world where True Deities existed, faith was sacred and deeply rooted.
He looked around, quickly confirmed their current location, and said, "Let's head back first. Weldi Street isn't far from here."
"There have been too many accidents tonight. I really don't want to run into patrolling Sheriffs again."
"You mean those two walking over from across the street?" Owen raised a hand and pointed ahead.
"Just my luck..."
Muttering a complaint under his breath, Cyril grabbed Owen and charged straight into the courtyard wall beside them.
Inside Owen's home at 32 Weldi Street.
Cyril reclined half on the sofa, watching the sky outside the window brighten with the first pale light of dawn, and sighed silently.
Over the short distance of just three streets, they had run into two separate groups of patrolling Sheriffs. If an Apprentice could not easily pass through walls, they probably would have been stopped on that final stretch tonight.
Pulling himself together, he looked at Owen. "Let's split the loot. I still need to get back before dawn."
Owen pointed at the calendar nearby and added gloomily, "Not just that. Did you forget that Old Fells's vacation for us has already run out? We have to go back to school and start classes again today."
...(⊙_⊙;)...
"..." Cyril pursed his lips, then said,
"It's fine. Old Fells said himself that he would guarantee we could graduate normally."
Owen rubbed his forehead helplessly. "That was obviously just something he said to comfort us. You actually took it seriously?"
Cyril tilted his head back, a malicious smile appearing on his face. "Then I'll tell him, Professor, you don't want to lose another two students from your class, do you?"
Owen: ...
"Whether I can graduate successfully depends on you."
"Is a Seer afraid of exams?" Without waiting for an answer, he waved a hand again. "Let's split the money first. I need to hurry back, and if there's enough time, I can still get a little sleep."
Owen nodded and said nothing more. He unfolded the white shirt that had been wrapped into a bundle, revealing several gold bars the size of ink sticks, as well as neat stacks of gold pounds, several gemstones, and a gun.
Cyril had taken all of these from Jacob's Wallet while the Black Wolf Gang members clashed with the out-of-control Beyonder.
"Casinos really are a profitable business," Cyril murmured.
With another gang, they might not have been able to easily rob so much cash, so many gemstones, and so many gold bars.
From this small portion alone, he estimated their total value had already reached around 2,000 pounds.
After dividing everything between them, Cyril looked at the two stacks of cash, one gold bar, two gemstones, and handgun in his hands, his mood lifting slightly.
He had finally experienced what it felt like to become rich overnight. Although this money might not even be enough to buy the potion ingredients for his next Sequence, it was undoubtedly a huge sum for someone still in debt.
And he had unexpectedly obtained a Scribe potion formula. Though he did not urgently need it and had other ways to obtain one, no one ever complained about unexpected gains.
After putting away his share of the spoils, he bid Owen farewell and hurried home while the sky had not yet fully brightened.
Meanwhile, in the Backlund Bridge area, inside the casino controlled by the Black Wolf Gang, explosions and bursts of gunfire rose and fell without end.
Yet strangely, not a single sound could be heard outside the casino, nor could any firelight be seen. Though only a step apart, it was as if they were two different worlds.
Before long, an extraordinary squad clad in light battle armor, carrying steam backpacks and steam rifles, armed to the teeth, emerged from the casino building.
Several others wearing the same style of black long coats stood beside them. They looked energetic, like seasoned night owls.
There were men and women among them, and their ages varied, yet the expressions on their faces were strangely alike. Mixed with envy and amazement was a hint of pain, as though people who had always been short on money had suddenly watched someone lavishly squander it before their eyes.
The two groups, so different in style, had just emerged from the casino building and had not yet gone their separate ways when a sudden gust of wind swept through the area. Then, a burly figure in a dark blue priest's robe descended from the sky.
He first looked at the casino building ahead, filled with smoke and the stench of blood, then swept his gaze across everyone present and asked in a deep voice,
"What happened here?"
Before you continue