Sitting in the carriage, Lorien took out his pocket watch, clicked it open, and saw that it was almost eleven o'clock. He was starting to feel hungry.
Breakfasts in the Loen Kingdom were not only simple but also hardly provided enough energy for a grown man to work a full morning. This had historical reasons; before Roselle kickstarted the Industrial Revolution, middle-class men didn't need to work all day, so breakfast wasn't really a thing.
Even now, many nobles had begun adopting the habit of eating breakfast, but the variety remained the same. Some old-fashioned nobles still clung to the belief that nobles didn't need breakfast; that was for the middle class. Only "wage slaves" needed it. To show their disdain, they would even refuse to sit down while eating.
To avoid waiting too long and getting too hungry, Lorien instructed his driver, Fitch, to head straight to Laborie Restaurant.
The head chef of Laborie was rumored to have come from the Earl of Hall's household. The restaurant catered to wealthy businessmen, top lawyers, and high-ranking government employees, offering them a taste of aristocratic cuisine they normally couldn't access. It specialized in Backlund's local dishes and was particularly famous for its desserts.
In the past, when his predecessor had been too busy to have lunch, he would send his apprentice lawyer or a law firm clerk to buy desserts from Laborie as an afternoon snack.
This was his first time actually visiting. Lorien just hoped that the chefs here had only learned aristocratic culinary skills and not the bad habits of noble dessert banquets.
His predecessor had once attended a viscount's birthday banquet with his father. Everything was fine; until the dessert banquet.
The most important part of a Loen dessert banquet wasn't the desserts themselves but the sugar sculptures. These sculptures were mainly for entertainment, and some were not even edible.
The viscount's birthday banquet featured an especially "impressive" sugar sculpture; his dessert chef had crafted a sugar piece depicting the viscount receiving birthday blessings from the guests.
Except… it wasn't even made of sugar. It was carved from plaster and wood, then colored with sugar syrup. Worse, sugar sculptures at dessert banquets were meant to be broken apart. This one? Completely unbreakable. And no one dared to try.
The sculpture alone was enough to leave the gentlemen and ladies present in stunned silence, but what followed was even worse. The viscount had his servants bring out two large covered platters and invited guests to guess what was inside. No one got it right.
When the first cover was lifted, a few frogs jumped out, sending the ladies into screaming fits. When the second cover was opened, small birds flew out.
The chaos of birds flapping and frogs leaping filled the entire hall with wails and shrieks. As a result, the viscount was heavily criticized in the House of Commons and was later demoted to baron by George III.
Lorien had no interest in paying for a bunch of sugar sculptures that he couldn't eat and that wouldn't last long.
...
Fitch drove the carriage at high speed. It wasn't quite lunchtime yet, so there weren't too many pedestrians on the street.
Plus, while the "City Family Servant Assistance Association" was in the Cherwood Borough, it was close to the Hillston Borough, where Laborie Restaurant was located. In less than twenty minutes, Lorien arrived.
Jumping out of the carriage and walking to the entrance, he handed his trench coat, hat, and cane to a waiter dressed in a red vest and white shirt, then asked,
"This time of day, there shouldn't be much of a wait, right?"
"Not at this hour," the red-vested waiter replied humbly, well aware of how popular his restaurant was. "Sir, just one today?"
Lorien nodded calmly and smiled.
"Yes."
Lorien followed the red-vested waiter into the Laborie Restaurant. It was only eleven o'clock, and the restaurant was nearly empty. The waiter led him to a window seat.
When Lorien first stepped out of the carriage, he was slightly disappointed. From the outside, Laborie Restaurant didn't live up to its reputation. A small porch, protruding bay windows, and the walls between the windows were all in the traditional Loen architectural style. Other than the restaurant's name written in ornate Anciant Feysac script above the entrance, it looked no different from any other high-end restaurant.
But once he stepped inside, he found a whole different world. The floor was covered in crimson carpets woven with golden vine patterns. Gigantic oil paintings and luxurious tapestries adorned the walls. Under the illumination of elegantly caged gas lamps, the entire restaurant exuded an air of decadence.
The oak dining tables were draped in white tablecloths. Sitting by the window, Lorien could see the growing crowd on the street; lunchtime had arrived.
The red-vested waiter handed him the menu and wine list, flipping through the pages as he introduced the offerings:
"Our specialties here are primarily local to Backlund, Roast Chicken, Pan-Fried Meat and Fish, Deep-fried Sailfish, and Braised lamb. The most popular desserts include Caramel Pudding, Cream Puffs, Lemon Cake, and Carrot Cake."
As Lorien listened to the introduction, he skimmed the menu, written in Loenese, which contained no accompanying pictures.
That made sense. Even the latest cameras couldn't capture color photographs, and black-and-white images would only ruin the appetite. Descriptions of the ingredients were far more effective.
"I'll have the Deep-fried Sailfish, Braised Lamb, Caramel Pudding for dessert, and a Gingerbread."
After noting down the order, the waiter asked,
"Understood. Would you like something to drink? Our champagne, Misty Champagne, and Aurmir Grape Wine all come from renowned wineries in Champagne Province…"
Lorien waved his hand dismissively.
"No need. I have things to take care of this afternoon."
He needed to visit Kane Rister's bar in the dock area and later head to Saint Samuel's Cathedral. Both required his full attention, so alcohol was out of the question.
"Understood. Please wait a moment."
The waiter remained perfectly professional, offering a polite smile before leaving.
…
The meal cost Lorien nearly 8 pounds, but it was well worth it. Nothing overly flashy, just a well-executed high-end dining experience. Despite its aristocratic branding, it was still just a restaurant; there was no true noble debauchery here. However, the solid gold-plated cutlery was shocking. He had only ever seen such extravagance in the homes of actual nobles.
Stepping out of the restaurant, Lorien signaled for Fitch to bring the carriage over. Lately, he hadn't been going to the office, nor did he want to disrupt its normal operations, so he simply hired Fitch as his personal driver for a few days at a rate of 2 pounds per day.
The pay was certainly higher than standard rates. In Backlund, a rented carriage typically cost around 3 soli per hour. If the rental was under an hour, it was rounded up; over an hour, every additional 15 minutes cost 9 pence. Bad weather or urgent requests drove prices even higher.
Of course, those were standard rates for informed customers. If someone didn't know better, the carriage drivers might charge as much as 5 soli per hour. Even at normal rates, it was nearly 1.5 times more expensive than in Tingen.
As for when he'd stop employing Fitch, that depended on when his future butler arrived.
Fitch was thrilled. A wealthy gentleman had hired him at 2 pounds per day for at least three days, with the possibility of an extension. This was easy money.
With a flick of the reins, Fitch skillfully brought the carriage to a stop in front of Lorien, then hopped down to open the door.
"Sir, where to next?"
"East Borough, near the Dock area."
After climbing inside, Lorien glanced at Fitch and asked,
"Have you eaten yet?"
"No, I was waiting for you, sir!"
Fitch quickly shook his head, worried that Lorien might think he had been slacking off and would stop employing him.
Lorien chuckled, pulled out his pocket watch, opened it, and showed it to Fitch.
"Look, it's already past noon. After you drop me off at Silver Mirror Street, go have lunch. You can take on other passengers if you like, but make sure you're back at Silver Mirror Street by five-thirty."
"No, sir! I'll eat and wait right there for you!" Fitch answered firmly.
"Suit yourself."
Lorien didn't insist. He didn't care whether Fitch was lying; he was just giving him an easy excuse to earn a little extra money.
The carriage wove through the bustling midday crowd. Outside the window, pedestrians seemed lively and in good spirits, enjoying their lunch breaks. Dressed in nearly identical suits, they walked in groups of twos and threes, their laughter and conversations filling the streets.
This was, after all, the Hillston Borough; Loen Kingdom's economic, commercial, and financial hub. It housed the Backlund Stock Exchange, the bill exchange, the futures market, the headquarters of the seven major banks, various trust funds, railway companies, and bulk commodity trading firms.
The employees here earned around 3 pounds per week, solidly middle class; the backbone of the kingdom. If Hillston ever fell into decline, Loen's economy would take a severe hit.
After watching the street scene for a while, Lorien shut the window, pulled the curtain closed, and leaned back to meditate. The journey from Hillston to the Silver Mirror Street required passing through Chewood Borough, crossing Backlund Bridge, and traveling through part of the East Borough.
…
"Sir, we're almost at Silver Mirror Street. Which number?"
Fitch's voice pulled Lorien out of his meditative state. He opened his eyes, drew back the curtain, and saw that they were nearing the destination.
"Here is fine. Stop the carriage."
Fitch pulled the reins, bringing the carriage to a halt.
"Sir, Silver Mirror Street area is quite long. Are you sure you don't need me to - "
"No need. I'll get off here."
"Understood."
Fitch hopped down and opened the carriage door.
Lorien stepped out, pulling his soft felt hat lower over his face. With his head slightly bowed, he said,
"Be here at five-thirty sharp."
"Understood."
Fitch wisely refrained from asking unnecessary questions. He knew his place; doing only what was expected was the best survival tactic for someone of his station.
Lorien raised the collar of his trench coat. The combined shadow of the coat's collar and his hat obscured his face as he strode into Silver Mirror Street.
By the time he appeared in front of 112 Silver Mirror Street, the Iron Anchor Bar, he looked like a completely different person.
112 Silver Mirror Street, East Borough, Near the Docks, Iron Anchor Bar.
Dressed like a sailor, with a thick beard around his mouth and a tanned face, Lorien stood in front of the bar's entrance. This was the disguise his former self used whenever meeting Kane Rister. Every time he came here, he would first change at a rented room nearby.
Pushing open the heavy wooden bar door, he was immediately hit by the noise; rowdy shouting mixed with the pungent stench of cheap alcohol and sweat, making him instinctively wrinkle his brow.
It was midday, and the bar was filled with dockworkers sneaking in a drink during lunch break, alongside a handful of bar rats who had nothing better to do. It wasn't that they couldn't find work; ships came and went from Backlund's docks every day, and the shipyards were always hiring. But nothing quite compared to the pleasure of downing a cheap beer.
Lorien made sure not to stand out and strode toward the bar counter, where a bartender was busy wiping a glass.
As he knocked on the counter, the bartender glanced up, then his eyes widened in surprise.
"Jeffrey? You've been gone a while. Done with your voyage?"
"Yeah, it's over. Get me a Southville beer," Lorien replied with a grin.
At the moment, he was Jeffrey Rister; a distant nephew of Iron Anchor Bar's owner, Kane Rister. A sailor who spent most of his time at sea, only returning to Backlund once a month.
The bartender, Hank, chuckled as he poured the beer.
"Same old Jeffrey. Every time you're back, you only drink Southville beer. You're practically pouring your wages straight into Kane's pocket!"
"If you can convince my captain to stock Southville beer instead of Rye beer, then I swear I won't drink it on land."
This was the character his former self had crafted; someone sick of drinking Rye beer on the ship and only drinking Southville beer when on land.
Hank placed the beer in front of him and laughed.
"Southville beer costs four times as much as Rye beer. Any captain who did that would be broke in no time."
Freshwater was precious at sea and spoiled easily, so pirates and sailors drank beer instead. But most of it was garbage-quality. If they drank beer like they drank water, no shipowner would survive the costs.
Southville County in Loen was known for its beer and wine, beloved by the upper class and absurdly expensive. A single pint cost four pence, while a pint of rye beer only cost one pence. The difference per barrel could be several soli.
After chatting with Hank for a bit and finishing his beer, Lorien slipped past the bar counter and headed to the back. Kane Rister, his "uncle," lived in a room near the storeroom.
Opening the door, he found a burly, bald man with a thick beard waiting inside. The man's white shirt was stretched so tightly over his muscles that it looked like it was about to burst.
When Kane saw Lorien enter, he shut the door and frowned.
"You were chatting with Hank again?"
"Of course."
Lorien smirked and plopped down on the chair opposite Kane.
"Was that necessary?"
"Come on, 'Uncle Kane.'" Lorien shrugged and mimed strangling himself. "If anyone finds out what we're up to, we'll be hanged."
"And the beard? That's necessary too?"
"Obviously. We're family, even if we're distant relatives."
Lorien dramatically pointed at Kane's own beard.
Kane stroked his beard with an annoyed grunt.
"You have intel on the ironclad ships? Sir Mustang mentioned - "
"Shh."
Lorien pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.
"I already said, we're in a business where people die. You should really stop shouting about it."
Kane exhaled heavily. Sometimes, he seriously suspected that Lorien was a top-tier stage or opera actor. The way he exaggerated every little gesture while making sure everyone in the bar knew he had a sailor for a nephew…
"What do you want this time?"
If Lorien could hear Kane's thoughts, he'd have wholeheartedly agreed; every top-tier lawyer in court was also a top-tier actor.
"I want to get into some Beyonder circles. Sir Mustang said you could help."
Even in private, Lorien addressed Viscount Mustang with respect, never exposing their real relationship.
"Why the hell do you want to mix with those people? No matter how good your acting is, you won't fool them."
Kane Rister had no idea Lorien was a Beyonder. He didn't even know his real identity.
Lorien stroked his beard and asked seriously,
"Just tell me how to get in."
Kane studied him for a long moment. He was beginning to suspect Lorien had already become a Beyonder. 'Was it a gift from sir Mustang?'
"There's a group I know about, but I can't guarantee you'll get in. You can hire them, though."
"How do I meet them?"
Kane gave Lorien a long, searching look before sighing.
"Come to the bar on the 2nd in the afternoon. I'll let you know if it's possible then."
"Alright."
Lorien agreed, then grinned and asked,
"Every time I see you, you're always hiding in the back. Why's that?"
"I'm the owner, not a bartender!" Kane shot him a glare. "That's what Hank and the others are for."
"Don't bar owners need to entertain customers?"
"Dockside bars never have to worry about customers."
Lorien shrugged and changed the subject.
"You know Beyonders; why haven't you tried becoming one?"
The moment Lorien said that, Kane's face went pale. Sweat beaded on his bald head.
"I don't want to die..."
…
Back at the counter, Lorien ordered another Southville beer and resumed chatting with Hank.
When the time was right, he feigned drunkenness, stumbling out of the bar under Hank's amused jeers.
Still acting the part, he staggered back to his small rented room, washed his face, and changed out of his sailor outfit. He slipped into his trench coat and pulled on a soft felt hat. It was a shame he didn't have a bath; otherwise, he could've scrubbed off more of the alcohol scent. Then again, having a bath here would be too luxurious, and that was even riskier.
Chuckling to himself, Lorien pressed down his hat, raised his coat collar, and left.
At the end of Silver Mirror Street, Fitch was already waiting.
Without acknowledging him, Lorien kept his head down and climbed into the carriage.
"Phelps Street in North Borough; Saint Samuel Cathedral."
…
The carriage rattled along the streets. Lorien lifted the curtain to glance outside and saw that they had entered the North Borough. He hadn't been here since his transmigration.
Even though the North Borough housed St. Samuel's Cathedral, it wasn't nearly as prosperous as the equally Nighthawk-patrolled West Borough.
The three major churches divided the management of Backlund quite rationally:
- The Empress Borough, where the nobles resided, was under the jurisdiction of the Church of the Lord of Storms' Mandated Punishers, the favored faith of the royal family and aristocracy.
- The West Borough, home to top-tier merchants, fell under Church of the Evernight Goddess' Nighthawks.
- Hillston Borough, the economic center of Backlund, was overseen by the Church of the Steam and Machinery's Machinery Hivemind.
With another similar-sized area rounding things out, the power of the three churches remained balanced.
Lorien suspected that a Sequence 2 "Balancer" of the Justiciar Pathway might have had a hand in maintaining this equilibrium - after all, the Augustus royal family had both a Sequence 1 and a Sequence 2 of that pathway.
Watching pedestrians pass by outside the carriage, Lorien suddenly frowned. He had forgotten to change his outfit. It wasn't about his sailor disguise, but rather that his trench coat and hat didn't align with the expected "rules" for attending a mass.
Technically, attire didn't matter too much - as long as one wasn't dressed too provocatively or outright naked, the church wouldn't throw them out. But that applied to ordinary people. For someone of Lorien's social standing, dressing inappropriately for an occasion was a blatant sign of disrespect.
It was like what Audrey's personal maid had once said: a dress couldn't be worn twice to formal events. Though the Ashford family wasn't quite at that extreme, showing up to a solemn mass in a trench coat and a soft felt hat was still unsuitable.
Soft felt hats were usually worn by writers, painters, and the like, but even they only wore them in casual settings. And trench coats? That went without saying. Plus, Lorien's was a high-collared trench coat, making it even worse.
He had chosen this outfit to avoid suspicion while roaming the docks. He hadn't known about tonight's Moon Mass at the Evernight Church - attending it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision.
"Fitch, find a nearby tailor shop."
Lorien couldn't be bothered to go home and change. He might as well just buy something new.
"Understood, sir."
Fitch responded and gently tugged the reins, slowing the carriage.
Lorien picked out a double-breasted long coat, paired it with a light-colored waistcoat, and topped it off with a silk top hat before changing into the new attire.
Staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror - black short hair, brown eyes, a handsome face - Lorien felt a moment of disorientation. It was as if he was still the same person, just playing a long game of cosplay.
He stepped out of the tailor shop with a heavy heart and looked up at the darkening sky. The crimson full moon was beginning to emerge.
Boarding the carriage once more, Lorien arrived at Phelps Street in the North Borough.
There, a completely black cathedral stood, flanked symmetrically by two bell towers - a sight of perfect balance. This was St. Samuel's Cathedral, the headquarters of the Evernight Church's Backlund Diocese.
Stepping down from the carriage, he instructed Fitch to grab a meal and return later to wait for him. Lorien had no idea what might happen tonight or how long he'd be staying.
Crossing the square, Lorien arrived outside St. Samuel's Cathedral but did not enter. He had arranged to meet Baylin and Delia there. While waiting, he exchanged greetings with familiar faces attending the Moon Mass.
…
"Hurry up, hurry up!"
Baylin had just stepped off the public carriage and was already urging Delia to move faster. They had run into a picky client right before clocking out, keeping them at work until nearly six. Afterward, they had to rush home to change before catching a carriage here.
"Relax, Baylin! It's only seven; the mass hasn't started yet."
"Don't forget, we promised Mr. Ashford. Being late wouldn't look good."
"Alright, alright."
"Look, there he is!"
Following Delia's pointing finger, Baylin saw Lorien standing outside the cathedral, waiting.
"Mr. Ashford."
Lorien followed the voice and looked over. Baylin and Delia had changed their clothes, both now wearing black ruffled long dresses with veiled hats, walking towards him from the other side of the church square.
Lorien stepped forward, took off his hat, and greeted them with a bow.
"Good evening, ladies. We meet again."
Baylin and Delia returned the gesture before Delia asked,
"Have you been waiting long, Mr. Ashford?"
"Not at all. I just got here as well," Lorien replied with a smile, turning to gesture at Saint Samuel Church. "The Mass is about to start. Let's head inside."
"Ah! It's starting! Delia, I told you we were late!"
Baylin turned to Delia, sounding a little annoyed.
Lorien chuckled, waving his hand. "It's fine. You haven't missed the Mass. Besides, being late is a woman's right."
Delia's face lit up with admiration as she whispered, "Emperor Roselle really was thoughtful toward women."
Emperor, my ass! Is there anything you haven't said already? Thoughtful toward women? If I translated your damn diary before the transmigrator Bard, and show it to everyone, then you'd learn what real fucking surprise feels like!
Lorien forced an awkward smile and quickly changed the subject.
"Let's go in."
...
The three entered the church quietly. Outside the grand prayer hall, a sizable crowd had already gathered, waiting.
After a short wait, Lorien and the other Moon Mass attendees followed the priests into the hall.
In the dim and tranquil atmosphere, they were welcomed by a solemn, ethereal chant:
"Full-faced above the land stood the crimson moon;
"And sweet it was to dream of themselves,
"Of child, and wife, and parents; but evermore..."
As the holy and rhythmic voices echoed, the congregation gradually calmed, as if momentarily freed from life's troubles, no longer burdened by the worries of the material world.
Led by the priests, they each found a seat. At the altar, Bishop Elektra, holding the Revelations of the Evernignt, began delivering a brief sermon.
As this segment neared its end, the priests took up water and bread, distributing them to Lorien and the others. This was the loving grace of Evernight - food that both the living and the dead could share.
After finishing the bland bread and drinking the water, Lorien noticed candles lighting up one by one on the altar. Against the darkness, they resembled stars in the night sky, radiating a warmth that brought a sense of peace.
At this moment, Bishop Elektra, the priests, and the choir began another solemn chant:
"We look upward into the night sky,
"We tenderly say her name: 'Evernight Goddess!'
"We know no other words, except 'Evernight Goddess,'
"May the Goddess draw out from the angel chorus
"With the silence sweet to gather,
"And hold both within 'Her' right hand which is gentle.
"'Goddess!' If 'She' heard us, 'She' would surely agree,
"Smiling with purity at the dead:
"Come, rest and sleep well, my children!"
The empty yet sacred voices seemed to seep into the ears of every believer, resonating with all the spirits present.
Lorien felt something cleanse his soul. The memories of the past month flashed before his eyes like a film reel, and both his body and mind relaxed completely.
Then, his vision darkened. A silent, endless blackness spread before him.
In the darkness, corpses lay motionless, their faces pale yet peaceful, as if not truly dead, merely sleeping.
Lorien walked calmly through this darkness until he suddenly stopped, his gaze fixed ahead -
There, among the quietly blooming moonflowers, lay an elderly man in a lawyer's wig and robe.
It was Lorien's father - Mason Ashford.
His eyes were closed, and a gentle smile graced his lips, as if caught in a pleasant dream.
Lorien closed his eyes as the sacred and ethereal voices whispered in his ears:
"Cross your hands humbly,
"Over your breast!
"Make the silent prayer,
"And shout from the bottom of your heart:
"The only escape is tranquility!"
Lowering his head and closing his eyes, Lorien lifted his hands, crossed them over his chest, and silently repeated:
"The only escape is tranquility!"
"The only escape is tranquility!"
...
Inside the Grand Prayer Hall of Saint Samuel.
"The only escape is tranquility!"
Amid the silent repetitions, Lorien felt as if he were falling into a deep sleep. He sensed his body plummeting downward while his spirit drifted upward. In this tearing sensation, he tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt as if they were glued shut.
Suddenly, everything fell silent. He could no longer hear the prayers.
Lorien abruptly opened his eyes and found himself standing amidst gray fog that seemingly radiated a golden glow.
Gray Fog? No, it's pale-white.
He looked at his hand and saw that it was transparent; he had seemingly appeared here in his spirit body.
What is this place? Lorien wondered as he looked around and carefully examined the floating, shifting fog before him. He wasn't mistaken - this mist was indeed pale white, not grayish-white!
This pale white, almost ethereal mist stretched endlessly, filling his entire field of vision. Looking down, Lorien realized he was floating within it.
Is this the reason I transmigrated? With Klein's case as a precedent, Lorien instinctively associated this space of pale white mist with Klein's Sefirah Castle.
Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a strange murmuring that sounded in his ears, faint enough to be almost imperceptible, yet it slithered through his mind with a persistence that made it impossible to ignore.
The moment that followed brought the sound again, though this time it was louder, allowing him to finally catch the words in simplified Chinese:
"The Immortal Sovereign of the Thirty Three Heavens for Blessings…"
"The Celestial Emperor of the Vast Heavens for Blessings…"
"The Exalted Celestial Thearch of the Heavenly Court for Blessings…"
"The Supreme Heavenly of the Dao for Blessings…"
What the fuck? Lorien frowned as his mind raced. Honorific names? But corresponding to who? I don't remember reading about these titles in the book…
When the chant repeated itself, he barely had time to process it before it echoed once more, continuing in an unrelenting cycle.
No, wait. It's not just repeating. It's multiplying.
His heartbeat quickened. A weight pressed against his chest.
By the time his vision began to blur, the chanting had grown deafening, hammering against his skull as if something inside him was trying to split his head open.
His face distorted into pain as he clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers.
The chanting roared in his ears, hammering against his skull. It was multiplying, layering upon itself in an endless, suffocating cascade. His vision blurred. His body trembled violently. He was coming apart.
His breathing turned erratic. A weight pressed against his chest, suffocating him with an onslaught of greed, paranoia, and unbearable resentment. Every failure, every regret, every fleeting insecurity twisted into festering wounds in his mind. His Spirit Body warped, pale gray-golden mist seeping from his very being, corroding him from the inside out. His blood boiled, his nerves burned...
Then...
A thunderous boom split the air.
The mist around him parted.
Lorien barely had time to react before the sky itself unfurled before his eyes.
Above him, faintly visible through the thinning mist, were thirty-three layers of sky, each adorned with numerous buildings. At the highest layer stood a majestic and grand palace.
At its center was an incredibly enormous, empty imperial throne. The throne was exquisitely designed, radiating both order and disorder simultaneously.
A jagged crown rested upon the vacant throne. Behind it, several imperial figures stood, each with distinct appearances but with their faces obscured by spiked helmets. Through the openings where their faces should have been, there was only an endless void.
Lorien's bloodshot eyes locked onto the throne.
The chanting ceased.
A suffocating silence followed.
For one fleeting second, clarity washed over him. The agony, the warping of his body, the madness clawing at his mind - all of it faded into stillness.
Then -
A flash of azure light consumed him.
Lorien gasped.
His eyes fluttered open.
He was back.
He looked down at his hands, which were trembling uncontrollably. He was bathed in sweat, and his breaths came in heavy gasps.
His face was as pale as could be, and his heart was thrumming in his chest like it was going to burst out at any moment.
His hand was shaking like no other, and his mind was still stuck on the voices chanting the Honorific Name, but luckily the intense feeling of greed, paranoia, resentment had vanished like nothing happened.
He licked his lips involuntarily; they were as dry as a desert. The feeling of fatigue was excruciating.
His spirituality had depleted to the last strand. If he had remained there for more than a second, he would have died, along with being assimilated by that place.
What the fuck was that? he questioned himself as he looked around. Under the candlelight, he saw that Baylin, Delia, and most of the congregation had tear-streaked faces, their eyes closed and tears still unwiped.
His eyes went to Bishop Elektra, who also had his eyes closed.
He quickly lowered his head, keeping his eyes down as he looked at the back of his palm. A black, pyramid-shaped mark with two crossed swords before it had appeared, only to rapidly fade, vanishing into his flesh.
The Moon Mass's purpose was to resonate with each participant's spirit, allowing them to see their lost loved ones in the darkness, release their grief, and find peace.
But that wasn't what had happened to him. He did see his parents, but in the next moment, he had been transported to somewhere.
Taking a deep breath, he thought, Wait, I need to calm down. My spirit body just visited the divine kingdom of Evernight. The Evernight Goddess must have sensed what happened there. Was my journey orchestrated by "Her"?
Do I consider it a response from "Her"? "She" definitely knows something isn't right with me.
"Mr. Ashford, are you alright?" Baylin's concerned voice broke him out of his contemplation as she took in Lorien'ss exhausted appearance.
"I'm fine… just feeling drained after crying so much," Lorien replied, wiping the sweat from his face. Normally, he would have shed tears like most of the congregation, but after the unexpected incident, he felt only shock. There were no tears left to shed. Exhaustion gnawed at his bones, weighing down his every movement.
Baylin and Delia exchanged glances before nodding in understanding.
The mass was nearing its end. The believers seated at the front had already risen, walking toward the altar to make their donations.
Lorien took out his wallet, pulled out 100 pounds in cash, and stepped into the aisle. His limbs felt heavy, his steps sluggish, but he forced himself forward. As he approached the altar, he pressed his fingers to his chest in a clockwise motion four times, tracing the symbol of the Crimson Moon. Under the compassionate gaze of Bishop Elektra, he placed the money into the donation box before the altar.
Repeating the gesture once more, he nodded to Bishop Elektra and stepped aside, his movements slightly stiff. Baylin and Delia, who had been waiting behind him following suit.
Normally, unless someone personally requested a donation or left part of their estate to the church after death, the collection box rarely saw large sums of money; at most, a few dozen pounds at a time.
Even the most devout donors didn't contribute every visit. Depending on their household situation, they typically donated once or twice a week or every two weeks.
That was under ordinary circumstances. During the annual Holy Evernight Festival, also known as Winter Gifts Day, the amount of donations skyrocketed. Wealthier commoners would donate two to three soli, while the middle class gave around five pounds. As for the upper class, they didn't bother with the donation box. Instead, they gave directly to the Borough bishop or the church's charity organizations, with contributions ranging from hundreds to thousands of pounds.
Klein had donated 300 pounds during the Moon Mass, partly overwhelmed with emotion after seeing the Captain and Old Neil again. But more importantly, it was a way to establish himself as a wealthy man in the eyes of Bishop Elektra, laying the groundwork for his plan to steal the Antigonus family's notebook from behind St. Samuel's Cathedral's Chanis Gate.
For deeply rooted believers like the Ashford family, large donations weren't necessary to gain the church's trust. Simply attending mass and services regularly was enough to ensure both the church's protection and recognition.
Once Baylin and Delia finished their donations, the three of them exited the grand prayer hall together.
Lorien, feeling the dull ache of fatigue settle deeper into his bones, barely had the energy to observe them. Even so, old habits lingered. He noticed that both women had likely donated one pound each.
Baylin's donation made sense. Her family was in the liquor business. Even though the upcoming repeal of the Grain Act was causing them trouble, they weren't so hard-pressed that they couldn't spare a pound. Once they weathered this challenge, they could focus entirely on importing wine from Intis, perhaps even expanding their business further.
Loen's beer was famous, especially the renowned Southville Beer. On the other hand, Intis was known for its fine wines. Their most prestigious and expensive variety was named after the Giant King "Aurmir," who was said to have loved blood-red wine.
Lorien also speculated that Baylin's job at the City Family Servant Assistance Association wasn't just about working under the influence of the Evernight Church. It was probably a way to help her father expand his network.
After all, those who sought butlers and servants through the Household Servants Association were at least middle class - the primary consumers of fine wine. Nobles, however, had their own wine estates and were incredibly particular about their selection. They wouldn't bother with the kind of wine Baylin's family imported, nor would her family have an easy time making inroads with them.
Compared to Baylin, Lorien knew far less about Delia. But from the way she dressed, tasteful yet clearly wearing older clothes and jewelry, he could make some guesses. Either her family had fallen on hard times, or they were merely modestly well-off, with her interests shaped by women's magazines or etiquette classes.
Such magazines often taught women simplified versions of noble etiquette and social rituals. They would also host courses or salons to give attendees practical demonstrations.
For Delia, donating a pound must have been a stretch. She likely went along with Baylin out of pride, giving nothing or too little wouldn't look good. Then again, what man wouldn't do the same in her position?
-
"Phew."
As they stepped out of the cathedral, Baylin let out a soft sigh and said, "Every time I attend a Moon Mass, I feel so much lighter, like all my fatigue has been washed away."
Lorien nearly let out a bitter chuckle but lacked the energy to do so. His entire body ached, weighed down as if he were walking through lead.
"Yeah, too bad only Moon Mass and Winter Gifts Day give that feeling," Delia added quietly, shooting a brief glance at Lorien, who looked utterly drained.
Lorien could guess the real reason behind this sensation, but he couldn't say it outright. Instead, he forced himself to reply, "It's probably the gathering of faithful believers and the Goddess's blessings that create the effect."
Baylin sighed wistfully. "If only we could have this every week."
The Chanis Gate beneath the cathedral relied on the devout prayers of believers to help maintain the spiritual energy needed to reinforce the seal. If they held a Moon Mass every week, the entities sealed behind the Chanis Gate would definitely start acting up.
"The Goddess's gifts can't be demanded," Lorien said, pressing his fingers to his chest in a clockwise motion four times to trace the Crimson Moon.
Seeing his gesture, Baylin and Delia followed suit.
Lorien retrieved his pocket watch, flipping it open with a click. The time read nine o'clock.
"It's getting late. May I have the honor of escorting you both home?"
"No need, you should take a rest," Baylin said immediately. "We'll take a public carriage back."
After a brief exchange of polite refusals, the two women ultimately chose to ride a public carriage home.
A short while later, a carriage arrived. Lorien helped them aboard.
As the sound of hooves echoed in the night, Fitch pulled his carriage up beside Lorien. He had been waiting near the cathedral, watching as Lorien, Baylin, and Delia exited. Knowing better than to intrude, he had discreetly followed from a distance.
Jumping down from the driver's seat, Fitch greeted him, "Good evening, sir."
Unlike some of his fellow coachmen, Fitch refrained from making pointless jokes. His sharp eyes noted Lorien's sluggish steps and weary posture. The man looked dead on his feet.
"Good evening," Lorien murmured, too tired to notice Fitch's careful observation. He climbed into the carriage without hesitation.
Fitch was relieved. His passenger wasn't in a foul mood, which meant his earnings for the next couple of days were secured.
"Head to Grimm Garden Street, West Borough."
"Yes, sir."
With that, Fitch cracked the reins, and the carriage set off toward the west.
Lorien removed his silk top hat, setting it atop the bag holding his overcoat and soft felt hat. He leaned his silver-handled black cane against the side of the carriage and let himself sink into the cushioned interior, exhaling deeply.
Raising his right hand, he gazed at the back of his palm. A black, pyramid-shaped mark with two crossed swords was there.
But now, it was gone.
Lorien extended his spiritual sense, trying to perceive any lingering traces of the mark. Even as he did so, the exhaustion threatened to pull him into the depths of sleep.
The carriage rumbled down the sparsely populated streets and arrived at Lorien's residence - Grimm Garden Street, West Borough.
Stepping out of the carriage, Lorien yawned and instructed Fitch to pick him up here at eight the next morning.
Once inside, he retrieved a book from his secret chamber and began to decipher the Honorific Name he had heard at the Moon Mass.
Recalling what had happened there sent a chill down his spine. He had entered a very dangerous place while being a Sequence 9 Beyonder.
Taking a deep breath, he wrote the Honorific Name on paper in simplified Chinese.
In his previous life, he had spent his teenage years living in the Foodholic Empire, in the home of his uncle. It was during that time that he learned simplified Chinese, and it was there that he started reading novels. Lord of the Mysteries was one of his favorites.
"The Immortal Sovereign of the Thirty-Three Heavens for Blessings…"
"The Celestial Emperor of the Vast Heavens for Blessings…"
"The Exalted Celestial Thearch of the Heavenly Court for Blessings…"
"The Supreme Heavenly of the Dao for Blessings…"
If his suspicion was correct and he understood what this Honorific Name corresponded to, it would answer some of his questions but create a thousand more.
Lorien took the pen and paper and began translating it into Hermes. His studies differed from Klein's. Coming from a family of prominent lawyers, with a father who was a Beyonder, he was already proficient in most mystical languages - Ancient Hermes, Hermes, Ancient Feysac, and even some Elvish.
After finishing the translation, he sat back and took some deep breaths.
He was going to take a really big risk. He was going to try to enter there again - voluntarily this time. If it was what he thought it was, then it would be worth it. If he successfully entered, he needed to be ready to leave at any moment, since the ravings of the Honorific Name could start at any time. If he heard even the slightest murmur, he needed to get out.
Lorien took a deep breath again. His spirituality had regenerated but not fully. He needed to enter cogitation to fully restore his spirituality if he wanted to survive.
Lorien's predecessor had all but abandoned cogitation. Now, he was finally picking it back up.
Closing his eyes, he began cogitation.
He visualized a teacup in his mind, focusing all his attention on it, sketching and refining its details over and over before replacing it with countless overlapping, distorted halos of light.
His body and mind gradually entered a tranquil state.
A couple of hours later, Lorien broke out of cogitation.
He sat down in a thinking pose and pondered. What would be the proper prayer method to enter there?
The luck enhancement ritual required four steps in the four directions, with four staple foods at the four corners.
What would - Then a thought struck him.
In the original story, the Nation of Disorder was considered the Heavenly Court from Chinese mythology. What if I perform the ritual as if I'm praying to the Jade Emperor?
As an avid reader of cultivation novels and a keyboard researcher of Chinese mythology, he knew that the proper way to pray to the Jade Emperor was to bow in the direction of the prepared altar while praying to him.
It was, again, a risky venture, but what if he changed the preparation for the altar to resemble the luck enhancement ritual with the Honorific Name he heard from the ravings? Change the four-step clockwise steps into bowing in four directions clockwise... And the most important thing for the ritual - he already had it: the marking on the back of his hand.
Lorien retrieved the necessary items from the secret chamber's bookshelf and cleared off his desk to serve as a makeshift altar.
He placed four candles at the corners of the desk, closed his eyes, and ignited them in sequence - left to right, top to bottom - by infusing his spirituality against the material world.
He focused his mind, willing his spirituality to envelop the blade, visualizing energy surging from the tip.
Immediately, he felt an invisible force flowing outward. Holding the dagger, he circled the altar, sensing a spiritual barrier forming around him, isolating the space from all impurities and disturbances.
Exhaling softly, he set the dagger aside. Facing the east, he bowed for the first time and solemnly intoned:
"The Immortal Sovereign of the Thirty-Three Heavens for Blessings…"
Straightening, he turned south and bowed again.
"The Celestial Emperor of the Vast Heavens for Blessings…"
He shifted to the west and performed another bow.
"The Exalted Celestial Thearch of the Heavenly Court for Blessings…"
Finally, he turned north, lowered his head, and chanted:
"The Supreme Heavenly of the Dao for Blessings…"
The black pyramid with two swords crossed in front of it appeared on the back of his hand. The next second, it glowed with an azure light and consumed his vision.
When he opened his eyes again, Lorien saw it - this pale white, almost ethereal mist stretched endlessly, filling his entire field of vision.
Looking down, he realized he was floating within it.
The murmuring arrived, but this time, it seemingly did not have any purpose. Nonetheless, he waited with bated breath. If he heard another murmur - louder this time - he would flee, no questions asked, and he would never return until he was at least a demigod.
He waited and waited. Nothing happened.
It was a success. With that ritual, he could enter here.
Out of curiosity, he raised his hand and tried to grasp the floating mist. The moment he did, it gathered together, forming a wisp of soft, white hair in his palm.
Lifting it to his eyes, he saw the condensed mist-hair quietly resting in his hand. Lorien instinctively blew on it, and it immediately floated away, dispersing back into the surrounding mist.
He reached out again, and the hair dissipated on contact, returning to its misty form.
Frowning, he looked at his now-empty hand before reaching out once more. The pale white mist gathered again in his palm, taking the shape of another soft strand of white hair.
Staring closely, he realized this was nothing more than condensed mist in the form of hair. A slight force was enough to make it scatter back into mist.
He looked up and only saw the scattered, deep pale white-golden mist.
He then closed his eyes and demanded to be in front of the throne.
The pale white-gold mist swirled and dissipated instantly.
When he opened his eyes again, he was standing right in the middle of a royal court.
He looked around and saw that towering stone columns supported an expansive dome.
At the very heart of the hall stood an enormous throne, intricately carved with orderly yet paradoxically disorderly patterns and set upon a platform of nine stone steps.
Beneath these stone steps, on either side of the hall, five high-backed stone chairs stood sentinel, surrounded by that swirling pale white-golden mist.
Below each of these chairs, an array of thirty three peculiar stone seats was arranged in a bizarre pattern, collectively evoking a blend of uncertainty, order, and disorder.
The knights without faces were nowhere to be seen.
Lorien walked directly toward the throne.
"What is this?" he asked as he looked at the throne more closely.
He stepped onto the first step without any difficulty, but when he tried to go further, his leg stopped as his spirituality warned him of grave danger. If he took another step, something bad would happen.
Lorien hurriedly stepped back.
Okay… then I'm not going any further.
My conjectures are correct. I somehow entered the Nation of Disorder, one of the Seven Sefirot sealed in the Western Continent by the Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth.
But how is that possible? Klein hasn't awakened yet. The Western Continent barrier is still sealed. How was I able to enter here?
Where is the Celestial Thearch, He should have already become the owner of the Sefirot. But now it's empty, and somehow I have entered the barrier and gained partial ownership.
Going to the Moon Mass was the most dangerous thing I had done since my transmigration.
I wanted to see if the Evernight Goddess was aware of my transmigration, and if so, what "Her" attitude toward me was.
Well, at least I got my answer… but it's not what I wanted.
From the looks of it, "She" was the reason I was able to enter this place.
My guess is that I already had a small connection to the Nation of Disorder. After sensing my connection to the Sefirot, "She" could have strengthened it.
That would also explain my apparent immunity to knowledge-based corruption related to my memories of the book.
It's also possible that it was done by a third party and the Goddess remains unaware.
Fuck, so many questions.
Does "She" or whoever scripted this want me to become the Anarchy?
At any rate, if I really want to become the Anarchy before the apocalypse, I need to be wary of the Heavenly Court Sect, the Tamara family, the School of Truth, the Theosophy Order, and the Outer Deities - especially the Son of Chaos, or Uncertain Mist as it is now called.
According to Mr. Fool, the Son of Chaos was divided into three parts. One became the Sefirot, the Nation of Disorder, after the OG awakened. The second was screwed over badly by the Celestial Worthy, with most of its fragments sealed in the Wishing Lamp. And the third part was in the cosmos, in the form of the Uncertain Mist.
Furthermore, the Celestial Worthy was the one who accommodated the Nation of Disorder, which means whoever wants to become the Anarchy needs to fight his will within it as well.
Unfortunately, this pathway doesn't have the potential for divinity above the Sequence, since the Nation of Disorder's consciousness is interwoven with too many external spirits - meaning the people of the Western Continent who merged with the Sefirot.
Even if I fully accommodate the Sefirot, I won't be able to become a full Great Old One unless I find a way to make the Sefirot undergo a fundamental transformation and make myself the ultimate unified consciousness, enabling the Anarchy to truly manifest in reality.
Looking back at the throne, he could guess what would happen if he sat there. There would be a battle of wills between all the consciousnesses within the Sefirot. Whoever won would become a half–Great Old One. That was why his spirituality warned him from going closer to it.