Patient persuasion

Even an adult would be terrified if someone's voice suddenly came from inside their own Bedroom, let alone a small child.

Even though he is mentally gifted and much more capable than his peers.

Little Percival turned deathly pale instantly, scrambling to the corner of the bed, frantically turning his head to search for the source of the sound, and asking in a trembling voice:

"Who are you?!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he was horrified to hear that aged voice chuckle softly, the sound resonating directly in his mind:

"Me? Heh, I've been asleep for too long. Now that Awakening, the era has changed, and there's no point in talking about my past name anymore."

"But don't worry, Percival boy, I mean you no harm."

He said he meant no harm and even knew my last name?! Little Percival calmed down slightly, his Brain racing:

"You—no, you are—you came out of that painting?"

After a brief silence, an aged voice, tinged with surprise, rang out:

"Not bad." Seeing that the other party's attitude was relatively friendly, Little Percival's eyes flickered slightly as he asked again:

Why are you hiding inside the painting?

"Do you have so many questions?" the aged voice chuckled mockingly.

Upon hearing this, Little Percival.'s face flashed with Awkwardness.

Just when he thought the other person wouldn't answer his question anymore, he suddenly heard a sigh, "Well, it's been so many years since I last spoke, satisfying your curiosity won't hurt."

Then, the aged voice sighed, "I have suffered severe trauma and can only recover slowly with the help of a host. Moreover, I need to avoid a very terrible enemy."

"So he asked Percival to help him seal me inside his portrait, waiting for the right opportunity to reappear in the world."

Trauma, host, escaping the enemy... one key word after another flashed through Little Percival's mind, and he couldn't help but exclaim in surprise:

Percival?

"Do you know my ancestors?"

The aged voice scoffed, "Isn't this quite obvious? Otherwise, why would I appear in his portrait?"

"How could that treacherous and cunning fellow have such a stupid descendant?" Judging from his tone, he seemed to know Percival quite well.

"But..." Little Percival frowned slightly, "This painting was copied by someone my father had done; it's not a real portrait of our ancestors."

The aged voice remained silent for a full ten seconds before speaking in a helpless tone:

"Is it possible that he copied this painting because the original was on the verge of collapse, and you think such an environment is suitable for slumber?"

Little Percival made an "uh" sound and answered honestly:

"Not suitable."

Then he asked:

"You just mentioned the right opportunity, what do you mean by that?"

"The literal meaning," the aged voice explained.

"Each time Awakening, my condition inevitably deteriorates further, so I must be extremely careful when choosing a host."

"We need to examine not only a person's talent and age, but also their character and intelligence to see if they are qualified."

"Over the years, I've Awakening several times, but haven't found a suitable candidate." -- Due to the agreement I made with Percival years ago, the host must possess his bloodline, and I am obligated to provide certain assistance. "Such a candidate is not easy to find. For example, your father, while his character and intelligence are barely acceptable, is too old and lacks the talent to become Beyonder."

"Listen, "Little Percival blinked, as if understanding something, "You mean, I'm the right person?"

"Do I possess the talent to become Beyonder?"

He knew of Beyonder; he had heard his father mention them back in Loen, but they were too young to withstand the transformation caused by the Potion.

An aged voice chuckled softly.

"Kid, don't get too cocky."

"You are indeed better than your father, but you're only barely passing."

After saying that, it thought to itself:

What talent is needed to become Beyonder? Simply collect the necessary materials, concoct Potion, drink it, and if you survive, you're Beyonder.

Automatically translating the other person's words into an affirmative response, after the Oldest One excitement, Little Percival instinctively hesitated:

"What do you mean by 'host'?"

"The host I'm staying with," the aged voice spoke softly, "Similar to sleeping in the portrait before, only this time it's a person. This will make it easier for me to avoid that enemy and recover my strength."

"I see..." Little Percival asked hesitantly.

"May I think about it first?"

"Of course, this is your right, and your freedom," the aged voice said calmly.

"But you cannot reveal my existence to anyone in any form, otherwise you will be violating the agreement that Percival and I made back then."

"Once you breach the agreement, I will no longer be required to abide by it and will have to choose a suitable host from among his bloodline descendants."

Not even your aunt?

Little Percival asked, but this time he received no answer. The aged voice spoke to itself:

"Once you've thought it through and are ready to accept it, hold the portrait in both hands and say the word ' Percival ' in any language."

Having said that, it ignored the boy's question and pretended to have returned to the portrait, quietly lurking inside him.

Onboard the "Golden Dream" in the Fog Sea.

In the Third Mate's room, Lorry sat by the window, enjoying the sea breeze. A child barely ten years old, yet so suspicious... really... He picked up his red wine, took a sip, and let his thoughts wander freely.

To be honest:

If it weren't for concerns about the possible presence of Angel within the Sauron Family and the methods of detection, Deep-Level Parasitism would undoubtedly be the simplest option; why would there be any need to deceive a child like this?

Alright, let's leave it at that for now... Anyway, he's already begun to Parasitism, and I have plenty of patience to wait until he leaves the Sauron Family's Castle...

With that thought in mind, Lorry put the matter of Intis aside.

Suddenly, he turned around as Spirituality sensing something, and saw the "Messenger" lady, now dressed in a new black dress, tossing him a letter.

"Remember to pray." After saying goodbye, she turned and left without any hesitation.

Lorry shrugged and opened Fors's letter.

After a moment, he frowned slightly, put down the letter, and looked at the darkness outside the window with a hesitant expression, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

Fors wrote in the letter:

The First Manager of the Face Mask Factory is planning to resign. He formally submitted his resignation to her this afternoon and asked when she would like to return to the Factory for an inspection.

If possible, he hopes to express his gratitude and apology to himself in person.