After two seconds of silence, Cyril, looking as though he were struggling to digest this unfortunate news, asked in a deep voice:
"May I ask who is still alive?"
Carlson looked at him and said in an eerie tone, "You, Welch Stams, and Owen Garcia."
"One society president and two vice presidents. I have to say, that's quite a coincidence."
Max Livermore, standing nearby, glanced at his assistant, who tactfully shut his mouth.
Cyril lowered his head, making it impossible to see his expression.
He did not mind the suspicious, scrutinizing tone of the inspector's assistant. He knew full well that this seemingly casual conversation was actually the two of them working together to interrogate him.
He controlled his expression as he raised his head to look at Max Livermore. In truth, he did not need to control it much. Though he had inherited most of the original Cyril's memories, he truly knew nothing about this matter. Otherwise, he would not have performed the ritual himself and nearly gotten himself killed.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to make his voice sound sorrowful while concealing a trace of relief.
"I might know about that evil ritual. Welch Stams shared it with us. Supposedly, it could help the ritual's host recognize the essence of the mind, cast off the shackles of the body, elevate one's life, and even gain extraordinary powers."
Max pressed sternly, "According to whom?"
"Welch." Cyril did not hide it, nor did he need to.
After a pause, he added, "Some coursework delayed me, and I did not have time to gather the materials over the weekend. So I made up an excuse to take the day off, planning to collect the materials during the day and perform the ritual tonight."
"But I really did not feel well today, so it was delayed."
As he spoke, he tapped his chest three times in succession, drawing the shape of the Triangular Sacred Emblem as he murmured:
"Steam above, my devotion must have earned the god's protection."
Max and Carlson wore solemn and strange expressions respectively, but both seriously tapped their chests three times, making the standard prayer gesture of the Church of Steam.
"Steam above." x2
"The Lord protects every believer who faithfully worships Him."
After that brief interruption, Max continued, "Owen Garcia did not perform that evil ritual either. Do you know why?"
Cyril recalled for a moment before answering, "Ever since his parents passed away one after another, he began distancing himself from the society. Perhaps that was simply a boy growing up."
"Although Welch shared this ritual with him as well, I could tell that he looked down on it. It would have been strange if he had performed the ritual. Similar things had happened many times before, but they had never succeeded."
Max nodded lightly and asked politely, "Would you mind if we took a look upstairs?"
"Of course not."
Cyril nodded lightly, gestured for them to proceed, then led the two upstairs and showed them every room.
Seeing that neither of them reacted unusually, Cyril breathed a sigh of relief inwardly and silently thanked Adam. He finally understood why that big shot had restored the room to its original state after leaving.
Oh, no, Adam might not have left. A Spectator had Psychological Invisibility. Perhaps He was quietly sitting on the sofa, watching this unfold.
At that thought, Cyril shuddered uneasily all over.
Back in the first-floor living room, Max resumed his unfinished questioning. "What do you know about Welch Stams?"
"Welch?" Cyril seriously searched through the memories in his mind and pondered for quite a while before replying:
"The wealthy and generous son of a rich man, and also a fanatical mysticism enthusiast. He was the one who took the lead in founding the World Truth Society."
"Oh, right. About three months ago, he told me at a gathering that he had found true mysticism. But it seemed to come to nothing afterward. Whenever I asked him about it, he would only sigh."
Max nodded without comment. "All right, I understand. If you remember anything important later, you may contact us here."
As he spoke, he handed Cyril a business card the size of a playing card. A prominent row of gold-stamped Loenese words read: House of Celebration Machinery Shop.
Cyril accepted the card and nodded lightly. "Understood."
As he escorted Max and Carlson to the door, Max suddenly turned around and asked, seemingly casually but with a hint of seriousness:
"As far as I know, the History Department at Backlund University does not have particularly heavy coursework, especially since you are close to graduation. So what course delayed you?"
Cyril's expression froze. Only after quite a while did he sigh and say:
"You should have investigated me already. I have a younger brother, Haven Gray. We are twins. Though we do not look completely identical, if we act the part, outsiders have a hard time telling which one of us is which."
"Whenever we occasionally wanted to skip class, we would have the other impersonate us and attend in our place. Most teachers and students at the university could not notice. Earlier, I was helping him conduct an experiment assigned by a Physics Department professor."
"You can conduct physics experiments?"
Carlson looked at him with a face full of surprise. There was now a touch of recognition in his eyes, even a faint trace of admiration.
As an Archaeologist of Sequence 8 on the Savant Pathway, even with the enhancement of a Beyonder Characteristic, he still found knowledge such as physics and chemistry headache-inducing. More than once, he had caused explosions in the laboratory.
Thus, in his eyes, anyone who could become an expert in such fields without relying on potions was a true genius.
Cyril shrugged and said casually, "Of course not. But I can at least bluff my way through the most basic operations of experimental equipment. I did attend a few classes, after all."
After a pause, he continued the previous topic. "At the time, Professor Horamick Haydn, an honorary professor in Backlund University's Physics Department, came to inspect the laboratory. He was the proposer and nominal person in charge of that experimental project."
"He is also one of the few people able to distinguish Haven from me despite our deliberate disguises, so he can verify whether what I just said is true."
"However, officers, could this matter not be spread around? Haven and I still want to graduate from Backlund University smoothly."
Max gave him a deep look, his gaze carrying the helplessness of wanting to complain but not knowing where to begin.
"I will ask the Lord... Mr. Horamick to verify this. However, since Mr. Horamick did not expose you two, there is no need for us to do anything unnecessary."
"Thank you for your cooperation. I hope you will not see us again."
With that, he led his assistant Carlson out the door without hesitation. Under Cyril's gaze, the two boarded a carriage parked at the fork in the road ahead.
An elderly coachman sat on the carriage. In Cyril's vision, the old man also possessed spirituality far surpassing that of an ordinary person, though he was somewhat weaker than Max and Carlson. He was probably Sequence 9.
Seemingly noticing Cyril's gaze, the old man sitting on the carriage's front step suddenly turned his head to look over, and their gazes met across the distance.
The next second, the old man withdrew his gaze in a rush, almost in embarrassment.
Hmm? His eyes... was that feeling of being watched just now?
He seemed to have seen something on me. Damn it, I was careless. I forgot to guard against a Mystery Pryer's Eyes of Mystery Prying. How could a proper Machinery Hivemind team possibly lack a Mystery Pryer?
Could I end up becoming the prime suspect in this case for no reason at all, even a wanted criminal of the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery?
While Cyril muttered to himself and sank into unease, Max suddenly looked at the elderly coachman on the carriage across the road and asked worriedly:
"House, what's wrong?"
The old man called House stiffened for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "N-Nothing. It's an old Mystery Pryer problem. We always end up seeing things we should not see by accident, bringing unexpected yet unavoidable harm."
As he spoke, one hand wiped away the bloody tears streaming down his face, while the other reached into his pocket and took out a bottle of pale green potion, which he gulped down.
Where the two people behind him could not see, the bloodshot veins in House's unusually clear pale blue eyes faded at a visible rate, replaced by barely concealed fanaticism.
He had just seen the truth of the world. He had seen true greatness. That was the goal he needed to pursue and believe in with his entire life, with everything he possessed.
That was the true god, not some insignificant false god like the God of Steam and Machinery.
Before you continue