The Mysterious Tome

Sifa felt a chill run through the arm holding the gun. His hand was involuntarily jerked up and slammed against the wall.

Only then did he see clearly that a chef's boning knife had cut his arm and pinned his sleeve to the wooden wall of the cabin.

He hurriedly grabbed the boning knife with his other hand, intending to pull it out, when a shrill voice rang out beside his ear. Behind the fallen valet, a small, thin man in a chef's hat rushed toward him.

The ship's chef had remained silent all along, standing behind Jack until only now, when he launched his attack.

In the lantern light, Sifa saw the bloodshot eyes, twisted features, and gleaming white teeth of the man, like a wild beast ready to tear someone apart!

The chef pounced on Sifa in an instant.

Sifa's mind buzzed and went blank, but his body reacted on its own. The hand gripping the boning knife suddenly exerted force, wrenching the blade free from the wooden wall and driving the handle into the chef's face.

Amid a dull thud, Sifa saw the chef's head snap back, his face burst open, and blood spray from his nose.

But instead of frightening or driving the chef back, it triggered an instinctive reaction.

The thin man, whose chef's hat had long since fallen to the floor, sprang up and seized Sifa's shoulder and cheek separately, wrenching them apart to expose Sifa's neck to his gaze.

He opened his mouth like a rabid dog and bit down. Sifa could smell the stench in his mouth, see the spraying saliva, and even glimpse his black throat.

Just as he was about to bite Sifa, the chef's movements abruptly stopped. A boning knife had stabbed up through his chin, pierced his mouth, and driven deep into his head.

The madness in the chef's eyes rapidly faded, leaving them lifeless. Carried by momentum, he crashed into Sifa, and the two slid to the floor together.

Sitting on the ground, Sifa drew in a sharp breath. Only then did his frozen thoughts begin working again.

He hurriedly pushed the chef's corpse away and stared at his bloodstained formalwear, stunned and bewildered.

What was going on with him?

I know the original owner, as a noble, received firearms and combat training.

But whether it was shooting that personal valet or taking out this chef with a boning knife, I was far too proficient.

Sifa held his forehead and pressed against his temples, recalling what had happened.

During both attacks, as someone who had grown up in a stable society, he had had no idea how to respond. His mind had gone completely blank.

Yet his body had reacted on instinct. Such swift, decisive attacks aimed directly at vital points could no longer be explained by mere training.

It was as if the original owner had considerable experience in killing people!

Sifa could not connect a degenerate noble with an assassin. Before he could think any further, he heard the sound of someone falling into the water, followed by a familiar voice drifting faintly over.

"Help, I—"

A blond young man with an aquiline nose flashed through his mind. It was Joyce. Had he fallen overboard?

Sifa hurriedly put away his revolver and ran out of the cabin. The fighting outside had already moved away, and there was no one nearby.

A fire still burned on the deck some distance away. By its light, Sifa saw someone bobbing up and down in the sea below the ship.

Sifa hurriedly removed his coat, kicked off his shoes, and leaped over the side.

He plunged into the icy seawater and swam toward the person in the water. As he drew closer, he saw a head of blond hair plastered wetly against the man's face. It was indeed Joyce.

When Joyce saw someone coming, he shouted, "Please help me! My leg has cramped up—Mr. Sifa, it's you."

Sifa said soothingly, "Stay calm. I'll be right there."

He swam behind Joyce, supported him beneath both arms, and used a reverse breaststroke to tow the blond young man toward the ship. He found a boarding ladder and climbed up.

Back on deck, Sifa pulled the blond young man up. Soaked to the bone, his legs went weak, and he sat down as well.

Joyce panted as he looked at Sifa and said sincerely, "Thank you so much, Mr. Sifa. I thought I was going to die in the sea."

Sifa had no strength to answer and could only wave a hand. At that moment, a burst of cheers rose from the upper deck, followed by someone shouting.

"Eunice is dead! Eunice King is dead! The captain got him! We won!"

Eunice was a scoundrel. He had even committed the atrocity of throwing infants into the sea.

He had led those crazed beasts in slaughtering many people aboard the ship and seizing the bridge.

His death was of great significance!

Upon hearing the news, Joyce, who had nearly exhausted all his strength struggling in the water, excitedly lifted his head. "We won? Oh God, the Catastrophe is finally over!"

Wearing soaked clothes was not pleasant, but Sifa was willing to endure it. He was now standing before the door to the second-class cabin where he had previously noticed something strange. Using the excuse that there might be "remaining Lunatics in the bedrooms," he had easily persuaded the captain to organize a search of the rooms and bedrooms.

Not long after the captain and the others went inside, Sifa, waiting in the corridor, heard a burst of startled cries from within. The situation in the bedroom was probably terrible, but the lack of sounds of fighting surprised him somewhat.

A moment later, the captain in a sailor's cap came out. Under the dim lantern light, his expression was far from pleasant.

Then two Sailors carried out a stretcher. There should have been a corpse on it, covered with a white sheet, and they hurriedly took it out of the cabin.

The captain nudged his hat with the barrel of his revolver and glanced at Sifa. "That corpse was in a bad state. It was missing some flesh."

Missing some flesh... Sifa did his best not to think about where that missing flesh had gone.

The captain clearly did not wish to discuss the matter further. He said to the people around him, "Everyone is tired tonight. The Lunatics aboard have received their due punishment. You may choose any clean room to rest in."

"Tomorrow, we'll discuss where to go from here."

The crowd dispersed.

Following his "memories," Sifa found the first-class cabin that had previously belonged to him.

It was a suite that could accommodate three servants, with a private chef, a dining room where one could enjoy the view, a separate room for smoking cigars, and an area for gatherings and card games.

But now, it was merely a sufficiently spacious room.

Sifa removed his soaked clothes, took a bath, and threw himself onto the bed.

Within moments, he had fallen sound asleep. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the pale sky outside the window.

It was already the next morning.

Sifa opened the wardrobe and found his shirt, vest, formal suit, trousers, silk top hat, and an ironheart wood cane inlaid with gold.

After getting dressed, he picked up the heavy cane, walked into the sitting room, and sat down on a sofa.

"Let me think. What exactly did I do to end up transmigrating for no reason?"

Sifa crossed his legs, rested a hand on the sofa's armrest, and rhythmically tapped it with his fingers.

Memories rose like boiling water, bubbles surfacing one after another.

"Hmm, during this period, after reading the masterpiece Lord of Mysteries, I developed a strong interest in occult magic..."

"I collected a great deal of information on the subject and even found a copy of Kabbalah of the Tree of Life on an online marketplace..."

"Right, I remember now. I received an email containing an ancient ritual. Out of curiosity, I performed it, and then..."

Sifa stood up.

If I transmigrated because of that ritual, then what would happen if I performed it here?

The worst that could happen was that I could not return and would remain in this mysterious world forever. How much worse could it get?

Sifa set down his cane, found a dagger left behind by a bodyguard in the room, and gathered several candles. Recalling the contents of the ritual, he lifted the carpet and began carving lines into the wooden floor with the dagger.

To make things easier, he took off his coat. Wearing only his shirt, he lay on the floor and carved a somewhat uneven hexagram.

Next, he carved two concentric circles outside the hexagram. Then, along the ritual track between the circles, he carved twelve symbols representing natural elements such as earth, water, fire, and wind, arranging them according to the twelve positions of a clock face.

Finally, Sifa took out three candles, lit them, and placed them at the left, right, and lower points of the star.

Once everything was prepared, he stood at the center of the hexagram.

He regulated his emotions with his breathing. Only after feeling completely calm did Sifa softly say, "Begin."

He solemnly raised his left hand, palm upward, and softly recited, "The eye that sees through all things."

Then he raised his right hand, palm upward, and recited again, "The deity who overlooks all things."

He exhaled a breath of stale air, clasped his hands together, and devoutly chanted, "You are the master of knowledge. You mock fate and toy with time."

Finally, he spread his arms as if embracing the morning light. "You are the witness of truth, the uncrowned king above the starry sky!"

The ritual was complete.

Sifa looked around.

Nothing happened.

Had it failed? Or had there simply been no response?

A wave of disappointment rose within him. Sifa sighed and was about to leave.

Suddenly.

He saw the curtain before the window, lifted by the morning breeze, remaining suspended for a long time without falling.

He saw dust motes in the morning light, seemingly frozen, quietly hanging in midair.

He saw the colors of everything around him gradually deepen. Red became redder, blue bluer, yellow yellower. The scene before him seemed to transform into a vividly colored oil painting.

Then a heavy sensation appeared in his hands. A thick tome emerged from nothingness, its illusory, hazy glow outlining a pattern. An eye staring at a stable triangle appeared on its cover.

Then, a line of information appeared beneath the pattern: Knowledge Authority - 9.

Above the tome was a pair of illusory hands covered in all kinds of strange patterns and symbols. They were slowly withdrawing, disappearing into the void.

Sifa merely glimpsed one tiny pattern on those hands by accident, yet he felt inexplicably terrified and panicked.

Unable to dare look directly at them, he hurriedly focused on the tome in his hands and unconsciously forgot what he had just seen.

A tome that had appeared from the air, a book summoned by the ritual.

So strange, so mysterious...

Sifa stood dumbfounded. Wasn't this the "book" he had seen when he first woke up last night?

Looking closely, Sifa discovered that one of the seven blurry symbols surrounding the eye on the cover was now becoming clear.

The mist shrouding the symbol gradually dispersed in the morning light, allowing Sifa to see it.

It was an open book surrounded by many illusory, ethereal eyes. They circled the book as though observing it, reading it!

Compared to last night, this book had clearly changed. Filled with anticipation, concealed fear, and restrained unease, Sifa reached out to touch the cover.

His fingertips encountered a solid texture, as though it were a real object. Gritting his teeth, he opened the cover and saw a white quill pen resting on the slightly yellowed paper.

Sifa tried picking up the quill pen. It felt weightless, yet he truly had the sensation of holding something tangible.

Suddenly.

His pupils contracted slightly.

He saw that the information on the first line of the page had changed, and the page now contained much content that had not been there last night!

Collection: 1+

Record: Your adventure biography has received one or more collections and follows. You have met the conditions. Unlocking...