After carefully reviewing all his memories and confirming that he had no so-called believers, Cyril stared solemnly at the full-length mirror before him.
"Are you sure he's my believer?"
Seemingly sensing Cyril's emotions, the ripples spreading across the mirror grew chaotic. Only after a while did silver words emerge:
"I'm certain. To avoid making a mistake, I secretly observed him for some time."
As Arrodes answered, it constructed a lifelike portrait within the mirror:
It was an elderly man with half-white hair, wearing a gray-collared shirt and a woolen coat. His light blue eyes were exceptionally clear, like a pristine lake beneath an azure sky.
"His name is House. He is a member of a Machinery Hivemind team in Backlund, a Sequence 9 Mystery Pryer."
Cyril looked at the figure in the mirror, and a memory immediately flashed through his mind. It was from shortly after he had transmigrated, when a Machinery Hivemind team came to investigate the evil ritual that had caused the original owner's death.
He remembered that the old man named House had met his gaze from afar inside the carriage. Cyril had felt that House had seen something within him at the time, and he had worried about it for days. Yet the Machinery Hivemind members never came looking for him, and he had nearly forgotten about the matter.
So, because of the Mystery Pryer's characteristics, he really did see something he shouldn't have seen in me, suffered contamination because of it, and became my believer?
But he might not necessarily be my believer. The High-Dimensional Overseer in the cosmos may have noticed him too and taken the opportunity to turn him into a believer.
If it was the latter, then his plan to steal the sealed artifact beneath Saint Hillan Cathedral was probably aimed at me.
Was it simply to gain the power to deal with me, or was he planning to frame me and push me into opposition with the Church of Steam, using the power of an orthodox god's church against me?
Hiss, if that's the case, that's pretty ruthless.
He needed to respond. Whether House was his believer or the High-Dimensional Overseer's believer, he could not be allowed to continue with this plan.
At that thought, he looked at the rippling mirror before him and said gravely:
"Stop him, but don't harm him. That is not my intention."
Truthfully, he would have preferred for Arrodes to find a way to kill the man, but unfortunately, it was merely a restricted sealed artifact and might not be capable of doing so.
Moreover, he was worried that House might expose something after his death and draw the Church of Steam's attention to him. Until he came up with a solution, it was better to keep him alive.
Following his words, lines of text rapidly appeared across the surface of the full-length mirror:
"No problem. I will convey Your oracle to him."
Though they were merely words, Cyril could sense the hidden disappointment behind them. The mirror truly seemed to want to leave the Church of Steam.
I thought this little mirror only wanted to follow Klein and leave the Church of Steam after he appeared. Turns out it had always harbored thoughts of betrayal.
That made sense. Once something possessed the qualities of life, who would still want to remain a sealed artifact held in someone else's hand?
As he thought, he suddenly froze. Only then did he realize that he seemed to have gained an extraordinary ability to interpret words. Through simple text, he could see the emotions and vague thoughts in another's heart.
Did advancing to Trickmaster grant me some of the High-Dimensional Overseer's abilities as well?
This seems different from potions. I need to discover it, understand it, and master it myself...
When he came back to his senses, he saw a line of words that had long appeared on the full-length mirror but had not dared to vanish because he had not answered:
"Exalted existence, do you have any further questions?"
Cyril gently shook his head. "No."
On the mirror's surface, the words instantly came alive:
"Exalted existence, Arrodes takes its leave."
"I will now convey Your oracle to Your believer."
As the silver-white words vanished from the mirror, the full-length mirror instantly brightened, once more reflecting the room's layout and Cyril's image.
Knock, knock.
At that very moment, someone knocked on the door. Before Cyril could go open it, the person outside had already pushed it open.
Hawen stood in the doorway, dressed in a well-fitted formal suit, a bowler hat on his head and gold-rimmed glasses on his face. He tossed a letter toward Cyril.
"You have a letter. It's from Cuckoo Newspaper. There should be news about the submission you sent in a couple of days ago."
"Also, you didn't go to school this morning?"
Cyril reached out, and the envelope landed neatly in his hand. "It's not a big deal. I already took two weeks off. No one will notice if I miss one more morning."
Hawen seemed to have grown used to his behavior and did not ask further questions. Instead, he said:
"You'll need to figure out your own lunch and dinner today. I'm attending a gathering later. It's an invitation from Professor Portland Mormont."
"Oh, right. Do you need me to leave you some of today's living expenses?"
Cyril waved the envelope in his hand grandly. "No need. I'll be able to repay the money I borrowed from you soon."
Hawen raised an eyebrow slightly and teased him in a good mood. "Just repay it?"
"Shouldn't this time be your turn to lend me some startup capital for a laboratory?"
"You're planning to establish your own laboratory?" Cyril looked at Hawen in surprise.
He somewhat suspected that part of the intelligence meant for him had been snatched away by Hawen while their mother was pregnant. Otherwise, why was there such a huge gap between twins?
With a restrained smile on his face, Hawen nodded lightly. "That depends on the outcome of today's gathering. But Professor Portland Mormont said he thinks highly of me. If things go smoothly, I may be able to attract some investment through his connections."
"Then I wish you every success." Cyril raised both hands and gave him an air hug.
After a pause, he added, "To show my support, if the investment you manage to secure falls short of expectations, no matter how much is missing, I'll make up the difference for you."
Hawen raised a hand to press down his bowler hat and chuckled. "You can have a little more confidence in me. I also hope you have enough confidence in your own savings."
"Alright, I need to get going. I have to meet Professor Portland Mormont first."
With that, Hawen turned and walked toward the stairwell.
After watching Hawen's back disappear, Cyril sat down at his desk and lowered his head to open the envelope in his hand.
The reply from Cuckoo Newspaper consisted of only a single sheet of paper with a few lines written on it. The paper was damaged in several places, and the handwriting was far from neat.
Even without relying on his ability to interpret words, he could tell that the person writing the reply had not been calm.
A moment later, the letter and the envelope beneath it suddenly burst into flames in his hand, turning into ashes that were swept out the window by the flowing air.
His submission had been rejected. The reason given was blasphemy, and the newspaper's reviewer stated that if there was a next time, he would report him to a nearby Church of Silent Night.
"A newspaper affiliated with the Church of Steam actually says it'll report me to the Evernight Goddess's Church of Silent Night. This reviewer really knows how to protect himself."
After muttering a complaint, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the gloomy gray sky outside the window, lost in thought.
He could roughly guess which part of his work had caused the rejection: the Abyss Order, the street performers, and the God of Wind who scammed drinks.
"If I wrote about the False Sky, wouldn't the churches of all seven orthodox gods come knocking at my door to check my gas meter?"
"How stingy. They don't understand what freedom of thought means at all."
"Sooner or later, I'll spread the will of freedom throughout this world!"
"But before that, I need to come up with literary material that Roselle hasn't plagiarized and that can be published in this world. I still need to make money."
After murmuring at the sky outside the window for a while, he suddenly sat upright and picked up the round-bellied fountain pen beside him:
This was a story about technological development and environmental pollution, about the class conflict between upper management and the common people.
It was a story that brought together love, family, friendship, struggle, conspiracy, and adventure.
In another distant world, there was a city renowned for its advanced technological development. It was called Zaun...
Before you continue