Approaching Fantasy

Birmingham, St. Paul's Cathedral.

The spacious hall originally used for congregational worship had been cleared. The gentle winter sunlight spilled through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful light and shadows that danced across the tables and floor, projecting the circular cross emblem of the Church of the Sun onto the walls, adding a sacred atmosphere to the entire scene.

In this solemn and quiet cathedral hall, filled with a faint scent of incense, those gathered were by no means all devout believers.

A middle-aged priest wearing clerical robes with two golden patterns embroidered on the cuffs sat in the main seat. His eyes were slightly closed, his hands folded on the table with fingers interlaced, and his head bowed in pious prayer, murmuring in a low voice.

"The light is like a wheel that never ceases to burn, rolling away our sins. Others fade away and are forgotten, like a phantom dream withering on the day of its opening..."

"...Wherever the light overflows, it is a place where grace reaches. Your servant, Larry Levendan, prays here."

A non-blinding, milky-white shimmer originated from the Glowstone Necklace on his chest, spreading across Levendan and rippling outward. Visibly, the fatigue on Levendan's face—caused by performing the prayer of purification repeatedly—improved significantly, and his posture straightened.

"Levendan, everyone is almost here. You've rounded up every person of note in all of Birmingham, haven't you? What exactly are you trying to do?"

A burly, brown-haired man with a rugged face and thick beard leaned back in a high-backed chair that was spacious for an ordinary person but appeared miniature for him. He crossed his arms over his chest and asked, looking puzzled.

"It is for the affairs of the Blood Cup Cult, Ralph. The recent 'Blood-Thirst Syndrome' has caused quite a bit of trouble for the local branch of the Prevention and Suppression Bureau. Don't think everyone lives as thoughtlessly as you do."

"Also, Granny Kelly didn't come. Consoling the dead has always been the work of the Children of Silence. With so many corpses appearing from tragic deaths, she might be too busy to handle it."

A young woman wearing a white shirt and a black straight skirt, her flaxen hair neatly tied behind her head and dressed like a scribe, answered the burly man's question with rapid speed while she focused intently on writing and drawing in a notebook.

"Tch, of course I know that, you don't need to remind me, Sophia Ford."

Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Ralph adjusted the cushion under his backside again, secretly complaining to himself.

No, why is this chair so uncomfortable no matter how I sit? How do those people from the Church of the Sun manage to sit still?

Watching Ralph, who was sitting restlessly across from her without even realizing his cushion was upside down, Olive Borlaug, dressed in oversized alchemist robes, pursed her lips to keep from smiling. She swung her legs, which couldn't reach the floor, and deeply felt the species diversity among transcendents.

Sigh, I should think about my apprentice far away.

I hope this little genius I just took in will be impressive enough to show off at the competition.

And by the way, I'll tell those stingy dogs at the Endeavor Society that I, Olive, have an apprentice now too!

"Not quite."

As if awakened by the previous argument, a brown Spotted Forest Falcon on the lectern in the chancel—nearly twice the size of its peers—lifted its black beak and blinked its orange-yellow cere as if it had just woken up.

An aged voice emerged from the Spotted Forest Falcon, the rhythmic tone vibrating through the air, its timbre as hoarse as the buttercup linen fabric it stood upon.

"Apologies, the Sacred Heart Hospital has many affairs, and I could not spare the time. Forced by necessity, I am meeting with everyone in this form."

"It was not Father Levendan's invitation; gathering you all here is my request—I, the acting head of the Birmingham branch of the Prevention and Suppression Bureau, Frank Mills."

"Everyone, the calamity of the Blood Cup Cult can no longer be ignored. Judging by the scale, this is a ritual of Omniscience for a Blood priest seeking to ascend to the Third Mark."

"After these days of investigation, I have found the hub; it is inside an illegal pharmaceutical company in the Lower District. But the antidote for the Blood-Thirst Syndrome is still under development, and with my own strength, I am truly unable to be in two places at once. Here, in the name of the Prevention and Suppression Bureau, I implore you all to lend a hand."

"In the name of the Bureau, I will settle your compensation according to emergency protocols and open all rituals, books, and artifacts within my authority for you to choose from."

By using a ritual, an Apprentice walking the path of Heart can transform a part of their body into a mimetic form, walking the world in a state that is not entirely themselves, nor entirely another. In some situations, this form is even more persuasive than the person appearing in the flesh.

After saying these words, the Spotted Forest Falcon that Mills had transformed into closed its eyes again and fell silent, leaving the people in the spacious hall to their own thoughts.

"Yo, why wasn't I notified about the meeting, Deputy Director Mills? It made me hear the news only just now."

A voice came abruptly from overhead, causing everyone to look up in astonishment. The previously closed-eyed Spotted Forest Falcon suddenly opened its eyes, and on the bird face covered in feathers, a hint of human-like incredulity appeared.

"This young lady, when did she arrive?"

The blonde girl ignored the shackles of gravity, stepping on the religious paintings on the ceiling as if walking on flat ground, moving down along the wall and sitting lightly on the outermost chair in the chancel.

"A familiar spot, there is always a chair 'left for the latecomer, the skeptic, and the worried'—this is the old tradition of your invincible Church of the Sun, right? It's been twenty years, and the squeaking of this chair is still as unpleasant as ever."

Ignoring the varied gazes of those present, Veronica crossed her legs, a strand of unkempt blonde hair falling beside her sunglasses, swaying with her movements.

"Since it's about the Blood Cup Cult, then share it with me, the consultant for the Prevention and Suppression Bureau, too?"

"What do you say, Deputy Director?"

"Ha, ha, a little more, it feels so good."

A soft touch came from behind, bringing a sensation like an electric shock.

Lying comfortably on the slightly raised hospital bed, his head wrapped in a soft pillow, Horn felt the accumulated fatigue and dull pain being gently taken away by the slender, moist fingers on his back. His brain felt numb and tingling, with waves of pleasure coming one after another.

Gasps could not stop spilling from the corners of his mouth.

It felt so good that he was becoming unable to think.

Behind him, a nurse with wine-red hair tied up and wearing a white nurse's uniform was applying ointment to Horn's exposed back. Large patches of purple-red abrasions were gently covered by the rouge-colored ointment, and the fragrance of roses spread out.

In the battle at the Hound Bar, from beginning to end, Horn didn't know how many times he had forcibly sealed his wounds with the Flame of Destiny to avoid fainting from blood loss, barely maintaining the most basic mobility to finish the fight and achieve a 100% participation rate.

But the torn muscles, ruptured capillaries, and overburdened internal organs were all waiting for Horn. These symptoms were merely delayed; they would not disappear obediently just because they were temporarily unseen.

In this sense, the Flame of Destiny only delayed the inevitable fate for a while. Just like every gift of fate, there is a price behind it.

Now, Horn had come to pay his debt.

Holding the bandage with his lips, the nurse freed her hands, gently smoothing them down to let the back muscles relax, then skillfully and neatly wrapped the bandage circle by circle through his raised armpits, covering most of Horn's upper body in the pale white of the bandages.

"Hmm, all done, Mr. Lancaster. The medicine has been applied; please do not remove the bandages until the wounds have improved."

Blinking eyes the same color as her hair, the nurse whispered in a moist voice into the ear of Horn, who had closed his eyes and fallen into a deep sleep at some point.

"Ah, so you've already fallen asleep? Then, have a good dream, little Horn."

"After you wake up, there is still one more thing I need to trouble you with~"