[Influence: Pulsing Appetite]

Developed by [Rhyme Street Intersection], it was engraved on both sides with [Lamsand Language] symbols that leaped back and forth like cheerful chicken feet. The [Birdsong Tube] glowed faintly, conveying Veronica's challenge word for word to the other end.

The steel shell trembled slightly. The monster beneath her feet relied on the surging vitality of the [Grail] within its body to struggle to raise its head again. Buds of flesh squirmed at the severed edges, trying to piece its two halves back together.

"Bam."

A light chop came down on the unruly monster's head, making its skull shudder with a hollow thud.

She straightened her hem and hopped down from her unruly temporary seat. Ignoring the monster behind her as it was slowly splitting in two, Veronica scratched her long blond hair and continued, looking a little exasperated.

"Doesn't the [Monastery of the Fifth Cup] claim to 'never speak, never be robbed'?"

"So what's going on with the Blood-Thirst Plague in Birmingham, with traces of [Beelzebub] all over it? Don't tell me it grew legs and wandered off by itself. You spend all day doing negative theology, and this is the mess you've made?"

"Don't rush, Miss Cessno. Just take it easy."

From the other end of the [Birdsong Tube], a man's voice answered helplessly, his thick Georgian accent still gentle as an elder's, rich as autumn wine.

"'A feast of wine is better than hoarding wealth. Give, and you'll grow rich; accumulate, and you'll lose it.' That's another of our maxims. Generosity with knowledge is a nature we find difficult to overcome."

"Back when Saliba hadn't yet joined the [Blood Cup Cult], and was still in the forest at Fermier Monastery, working as both cook and keeper of livestock, he already had an astonishing appetite."

"Of course, Fermier Monastery, with its tradition of worshipping the [Cup of Insatiable], has now been struck off the map. You understand what that means, Miss Cessno."

"From every map."

Veronica had personally struck more borderlands off the map during her time with the [Gate Legion] than some Apprentices had ever heard of. Of course she knew what the man meant by "struck off."

It meant total abandonment. No migrating birds would stop there, and not even worms would be interested in visiting.

Under the covenant of the Tree of the Night Watcher, the [Monastery of the Fifth Cup] was one of the nine great libraries. Most of its knowledge had been brewed into wine, sealed away in cellars bound by three layers of shackles, or stored inside the skulls of their fellows.

Even after joining forces under the name of the [Lighthouse Society] with the [Labyrinth of Lions] and [Alexander of Ashes], two libraries that also passed down the Art of Day, the [Monastery of the Fifth Cup] had retained considerable independence. It had always upheld the tradition of saying, "Twice is not a Lydian utterance," and had quietly earned the respect of others.

The man's voice continued over the [Birdsong Tube].

"To be precise, the birth of the Mark called [Beelzebub] was just an accident, a failed deconstruction of negative theology."

"Unfortunately, by the time we realized our mistake, Saliba had already thrown in his lot with the [Blood Cup Cult], having come into too much contact with this unsealed mistake. If you ask me, he understands blood, but he's never understood reproduction. He can't keep his footing on the principles of [Grail]..."

"Ah, never mind. After that, you know what happened."

Listening to the wine-soaked man suddenly launch into a critique, Veronica recalled the files the Prevention and Suppression Bureau kept on record and fell silent for a moment.

From the Fermier incident, when he first made a name for himself, to the City of Disease incident, even several borderland uprisings handled by the [Gate Legion] bore traces of his involvement. With the recent buzz surrounding his suspected return, he'd even just managed to squeeze into the top hundred on the Prevention and Suppression Bureau's list of individuals designated for sealing.

As the only high priest of the [Blood Cup Cult] to have survived to the present day, Saliba's record was impressive. His rap sheet was too long to count.

"If the Blood-Thirst Plague really is something he's orchestrating, Miss Veronica, you'd better be careful."

"Our [Monastery of the Fifth Cup]'s unique brewing technique, [Wine of God], can brew memories into longer-lasting echoes. [ChaCha] is extracted from the residue left after pressing. The technique Saliba learned originated from this, but it's far more aggressive."

The man kindly explained.

"Compared to the original, it's more like a consumable, or a convenient tool. The host's transformation is only a surface effect. Its true function is to serve as a vessel."

—That is, living Alchemy.

"Using this method, he can turn a human body into a brewing vessel. Blood, spirituality, life—everything the host consumes is turned into wine, and eventually all of it returns to him. Ha ha, it's just like the 'Cordyceps Technique' of the [Jade Immortal Garden]. With the right method, it wouldn't be hard to gather a vast amount of [Grail] spirituality in a short time."

"He seeks immortality. The mere Fifth Seal won't satisfy his appetite. Whatever you're planning, Miss, you'd better hurry. Hurry as fast as you can..."

But the blond girl was no longer paying attention to the [Birdsong Tube].

Putting it away, Veronica stared gravely toward the city center.

Reflected in her deep-purple vertical pupils were the scarlet specks visible to her spiritual sight, spreading wantonly like drifting spores, woven together in countless strands and carried on the wind.

And this was only the prelude.

Her door-like vertical pupils split open another fraction. Purple-gold light leaked from their depths, and a more distant vista pierced the veil of the Waking World, reaching into a broader domain.

Veronica saw it.

Between the Manifest World and the many borderlands, scattered like sea sand, there was a narrow, ambiguous region. Its malformed boundary swelled and burst open like a tumor, casting an ominous shadow over the place corresponding to Birmingham.

Then, like a virus invading a cell, the malformed boundary came under the command of a will. It tore away most of its own body without hesitation, and fragments that broke off from its core fell in a scarlet downpour onto the surface of the Manifest World, sending ripples outward.

Adhesion, invasion, shedding, biosynthesis and assembly, release.

That was how viruses survived. It was also the path Saliba had chosen.

—The Rite of Ascension!

Under this generous offering, even the world's surface found it hard to refuse. Instead of expelling the invading foreign matter as it usually did, it allowed the fragments to fall into the intervals of nonexistence, where they were dissolved, absorbed, and strengthened as nourishment.

This heavy sacrifice, which had exhausted ten years of the [Blood Cup Cult]'s resources and every last reserve, had bought them a fleeting opportunity.

It was called the [Right of Flesh Passage]!

The most difficult step, adhesion, had already been completed. As scarlet blood poured out without regard for the cost, the boundary carrying [Beelzebub] embedded itself in the Manifest World like a real tumor, clumsily overlapping with Birmingham.

So ugly.

Invasion complete.

Amid this overlapping interlacing, the scarlet cup-shaped emblems that were being triggered one after another throughout the city, heedless of secrecy and flaunting their presence, beckoned a huge shadow that flickered above the clouds.

Shedding had begun.

And the most intense scarlet glow, with the widest reach, was at—

Sacred Heart Hospital!

A short while earlier.

In a spacious hospital room at Sacred Heart Hospital.

Pulled from dreamless sleep by a sudden, inexplicable palpitation, Horn opened his bleary eyes. Bathed in the blood-red light of the setting sun outside, he stretched comfortably.

He expanded his chest, flexed his muscles, stretched his neck and raised his arms, lifting his elbows above his chest and arching his head dramatically backward. He performed a gymnastic-level pose smoothly, without the slightest stiffness.

It was as if his old joints had been replaced and lubricated. Horn was delighted to feel how smooth and comfortable every movement of his body was, nothing like the half-dead state he'd been in before bed.

Not only had all his old injuries vanished, even his skin, usually dry from constant exposure to Alchemy reagents, seemed ten years younger—soft, smooth, and dewy. He even felt tempted to pinch himself just to see how it felt.

It was like he'd been reborn.

"Self-healing alone couldn't do this... Is the massage treatment really that effective? I'll have to ask the nurse what brand of ointment she used."

Horn experimentally clenched his fingers, looking at his hands, which seemed a little fairer and smoother, and muttered to himself.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and glanced at the door. After making sure no one was about to come in, he decisively took off his blue-and-white-striped classic hospital pajamas and changed into the clean Apprentice uniform that had been neatly folded in the clothes basket by the bed.

When his hand touched the cold piece of iron in his pocket, he broke into a delighted smile.

Battle-scarred Browning M1900 semi-automatic pistol, get da☆ze!

He took out the magazine and weighed it in his hand, savoring the security that only a full magazine could provide, then happily pocketed his spoils.

Now that he was almost healed, there was no need to keep occupying medical resources. It was time to head back to the Alchemy Academy and continue studying Alchemy under Mentor Olive. Getting his official Alchemist certification as soon as possible was what really mattered.

Horn clenched his fist and made a silent vow.

As for the supernatural? Dangerous stuff was best left alone. He'd take the advice and stay away. If the sky fell, the tall folks could hold it up, after all~

With that, he suppressed his restless thoughts. Horn wanted to open the window for some fresh air and clear out the incense, which had grown far too strong at some point. He didn't want the scent, like burning incense, to make his appetite soar.

"Creak—"

The window opened obediently, revealing the world outside to the boy without reservation.

Horn saw it.

A ruined setting sun hung on the horizon, like an eclipse, no longer what it once was. Only a faint golden light at its edges barely announced its presence, while its center was pitch-black, like a bottomless cup.

All around it, a thick, deep crimson had painted the entire sky into an unrecognizable mess. Everything beneath it was shrouded in a dim red filter.

All color was lost.

The clouds floated across the sky like rotting chunks of flesh, swollen and on the verge of bursting. They twisted and churned in the heavy crimson, colliding with one another and sending down a fine rain like threads of blood. Scarlet spirituality rode the raindrops like parasites, burrowing into every living thing left exposed and growing vigorously inside them.

Ignoring the blood rain about to fall, Horn stretched his neck as far as he could to peer out the window. The streets, usually bustling with pedestrians and traffic, were now blocked by abandoned cars strewn every which way. Their driver's seats were empty.

The bustling city center was deserted.

It was like being in another world.

It was as though an invisible curtain had been lifted. A wave of nausea hit him, and Horn suddenly retched. His dizzy mind, clouded from staring at the sky, cleared.

Only then did he finally notice the pop-up panel, almost pressing against his face.

[Influence Recorded: Pulsing Appetite!]

[Pulsing Appetite: All senses are heightened, all emotions are intensified, and appetite surges beyond your control.]

[Aspect—Influence: A certain reaction, resonance, and harmony. It will soon fade.]

[Aspect—Grail 4: Food, color, and sensuality—those who sink into them never return.]

[Aspect—Heart 4: To protect the surface of the world we know, the unceasing heart keeps beating.]

The air was filled with a sweet, cloying smell of blood. Faint rumbling thunder echoed, and the "domain" enveloping the entire city center had been reduced to a few lines of text floating before him.

On the desktop, a card appeared, its pink and red colors intertwined. It vibrated, tugging at Horn's heartbeat.

"Thud, thud, thud."

Never before had Horn understood anything so clearly.

—The sky was falling, and it would come down on everyone equally.