Audrey sat nearby, resting her chin in her hand and tilting her head slightly as she quietly watched Edward think. At moments like this, he seemed a little less childish than usual—and maybe even a bit more handsome.
After a while, seeing the furrow in his brow gradually relax, she finally asked, "Did you think of something?"
"Not a clue," Edward shrugged. "Didn't the fire dragon stay behind in that village? Maybe it'll all reveal itself in due time."
"Mm, I hope so."
Then Audrey suddenly asked, "When I arrived just now, were you about to head out?"
"I was."
Her eyes lit up with interest. "Where to? Can I come with you?"
Edward considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "Probably not. It's too dangerous."
He was planning to return to No. 8 Williams Street—the site where the fused Medici trio was sealed. His encounter with them earlier in the day left him uneasy. Those three "Conspirators" seemed to have other plans.
He had tried multiple divinations about the matter, but all of them failed—likely due to the involvement of high-level entities. It wasn't until he rephrased the divination question as something seemingly unrelated—"Someone will go to No. 8 Williams Street tonight"—that he finally received a definite answer.
That was telling.
After all, ever since the house had been sold to its current owner, renovations had been ongoing. The site had experienced halts, demolition work, and was currently a chaotic mess.
So someone heading there in the middle of the night…was clearly not normal.
"Ugh, not again…" Audrey was visibly disappointed.
"That's the drawback of the Spectator pathway," Edward explained. "Low and mid-sequence Beyonders don't have much in the way of offensive or defensive abilities. What you need to do now is be patient and focus on growth."
Audrey pouted. "Fine, then I'll head back first. Be careful."
"Don't worry."
He watched her disappear into her handbag before handing it over to Lilith for safekeeping. "Lilith, I'm leaving this to you, okay?"
"Go on, don't worry," she replied, lifting a tiny paw to wave him off.
...Wait. Was that a blessing or a curse?
———
Later that night.
In the middle of Williams Street stood an abandoned chapel, its walls choked with withered vines, and grey stones littering the ground.
Inside, it was a mess of filth and debris, a mix of collapsed masonry and dead grass.
In a half-collapsed corner, a middle-aged man in tight black clothing moved aside the stones that hid a tunnel entrance. He carried digging tools, a lantern, and a basket for dirt. Careful and excited, he slipped into the narrow passage.
His expression was dazed, as though in a trance, but his movements were precise—skillfully avoiding every bump and dip in the dark. His bloodshot eyes gleamed with manic excitement.
He was Rafter Pound, the former owner of No. 8 Williams Street.
Half a month ago, he suddenly learned that the buyer of the old house had discovered a secret chamber in the basement. Remembering the long-faded glory of the Tudor family, Rafter Pound returned to the house one night in secret and found the stone door in the basement.
Unfortunately, his years of self-indulgent dissipation left him too weak to push it open. He had no choice but to leave.
But that very night, he had a dream.
In it, an ancestor of the Tudor family told him: Gather the direct bloodline of the Einhorn family and a vial of holy water. Bring both to the underground chamber, and he would restore the glory of House Tudor.
So he found this abandoned chapel and began digging a tunnel toward No. 8 Williams Street. After days of effort, he was finally near the end.
Now, crawling through the narrow tunnel, he repeated his digging motions with mechanical efficiency.
Dig. Haul. Carry.
Suddenly, the earth ahead gave way—and a vast, dark underground palace appeared before him.
Rafter Pound's face contorted with ecstatic madness. He fumbled in his coat and pulled out a vial of blood and a small basin of holy water before eagerly climbing inside.
"At last…finally, I'm in! The glory of House Tudor will be restored—in my hands!"
His breathing grew increasingly rapid with excitement. Holding up the lantern, he walked through the eerie underground halls, eyes locked on what lay ahead.
Soon, he passed through the palace and arrived at two heavy doors. On the ground before them were two test tubes filled with bright red blood.
A voice echoed in his mind—whispering from the void—urging him to mix the two vials on the floor with his own blood and the holy water, and pour the mixture into the chamber beyond the doors.
Without hesitation, Rafter Pound grabbed the two vials, uncorked all three, and poured the blood into the basin. Then he stepped forward, unable to contain his anticipation.
Suddenly—
Rafter Pound's steps came to a sudden halt. He turned mechanically toward the darkness in the corner and, in a strange cadence, hummed softly:
"Come on out. I saw you long ago."
A moment later, Edward's figure appeared out of thin air in the darkness. He raised his hand in greeting and smiled.
"Yo, good evening, Lord Medici."
Rafter Pound's face was streaked with lines of blood, his grin eerie and twisted. "Knew you wouldn't be that easy to fool, kid."
Edward sighed. "Lord Medici, we had a deal. I help you break free, and you give me the Card of Blasphemy. I've diligently found two of the required blood types for you. Why pull a stunt like this now?"
Rafter Pound let out a low chuckle. "Honestly, I do think you're a decent kid. But I don't trust Adam."
"Why would someone like him kindly arrange for someone to unseal me? Even if that person is a favoured one of the Lord, there's gotta be some hidden agenda behind it."
That caught Edward off guard. When he'd first received the commission from the Twilight Hermit Order, he'd been puzzled too. Later, he speculated that maybe Adam wanted to instigate a war fitting the tides of times by unleashing them—but that was only a theory based on later developments.
With that in mind, Edward asked bluntly, "So what kind of scheme do you think he's planning?"
"How would I know?" Rafter Pound snorted. "But I know it can't be anything good!"
Edward narrowed his eyes. "Somehow, I get the feeling you're just making excuses…planning to go back on your word about the Card."
Rafter Pound laughed mockingly. "And what do you think I need that thing for?"
Edward considered it. "Hmm…maybe to cooperate with the Demoness Sect?"
"Pah. What would I want with them?"
"Then you're just plain reluctant to give it to me."
Rafter Pound fell silent for a moment. Then he suddenly laughed lowly. "Wrong guess."
"You think I don't want to give you the Card of Blasphemy?" His grin grew wider. "Then I'll give it to you just to prove you wrong."
???
As the words left his mouth, a palm-sized Tarot card shot out from the innermost chamber, flying straight toward Edward.
It struck his palm with a bone-chilling cold. Edward's heart filled with suspicion—he had no idea what the fused Medici trio was really planning. Rather than perform a divination, he chose to 'activate' the Card of Blasphemy, selecting the Iron-Blooded Knight at Sequence 4 and using the ability of Bookworm.
Since he already had five abilities 'stored' and less than 48 hours had passed, he couldn't successfully consume a new one. But that didn't matter. What he wanted was to verify whether this Red Priest card could be 'eaten'—and whether it was genuine.
There was a reaction!
So it really was the Red Priest Card!
"Hahaha! I love that look on your face. If every little scheme of mine could be guessed so easily, wouldn't that make you thousands of years older than me?"
Medici paused, then grinned. "So? How does a genuine Card of Blasphemy feel? Like it?"
"…I do."
"Glad to hear it. But you know…" His tone darkened. "My favourite thing is stealing what others desire most."
Edward's heart clenched—and the Card vanished from his hand.
A semi-transparent figure suddenly appeared a few meters away. At first glance, it looked like a man in bloodstained black armour—translucent, young, and handsome, with red hair. But his face was marred by rotting patches so deep they exposed bone, and a banner-like mark grew from the centre of his brow.
Every few seconds, the face would flicker—shifting into that of an old man—before reverting again.
"Cut the crap, you two," Medici growled at himself. "Don't mess with me."
Then he grinned slyly.
"Well? Surprised? Didn't see this coming, did you?"
Edward's nerves were taut as a bowstring.
"You…how did you break free?"
"Just because I said the seal could be undone by mixing the three blood types and holy water, then pouring it into the chamber—did you think that was the only way?"
Medici laughed. "Sure, that's the fastest method—but it doesn't mean there aren't other ways."
"Why do you think the three of us old geezers spent the whole night chatting with you, instead of just giving you the info right away?"
"…"
Damn. He'd still fallen into their trap.
A sly grin crept across Medici's face. "Are you scared?"
"Relax. Since you've been running around helping me this whole time, I won't make it too hard on you."
He paused, then began walking straight toward Edward.
"But before I find a suitable host, I'll borrow your body for now."
Before Edward could react, he lost control of his limbs. Helplessly, he watched as his body turned and walked into the tunnel Rafter Pound had excavated.
"Oi, what's with the silence?"
"Don't tell me you're scared stiff?"
"Hahahaha, I actually quite like this kid."
"You really are a sassy little thing!"
Three distinct voices—each in a different tone—sounded from his mouth.
Edward's thoughts were racing. In the original lore, when Medici faced the Sequence 3: Unaging, Katerina, he had only bluffed his way through. That meant his real strength probably didn't exceed Sequence 3.
Having just broken out, they might even be weaker than that.
So I still have a chance. With the right combo, he might be able to throw off the control of these three evil spirits.
But that was all just speculation for now. Who knew what other tricks these old schemers had up their sleeves?
Best to wait and observe for now.
———
[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.