Beyond the Gate of Hell.

  Cold, dark, damp… Along the brick-stacked walls, iron cages appeared at intervals, each fitted with a torch that would never go out.

  Rows of icy, black iron doors stood in neat sequence, stretching deeper and deeper into the darkness.

  If the Bureau headquarters above still carried a steam-age feel of reinforced concrete and steel, then beyond the Gate of Hell, Javon felt as though he had returned to the Greenforest era—to the dungeons beneath a noble’s castle.

  “This one.”

  The doorkeeper produced a key, unlocked the cell closest to the Gate of Hell, shoved Javon inside, and locked it again.

  Javon looked around. The furnishings were sparse—just a fixed bed, and little space.

  “A single cell, though? Pretty generous… This is probably to stop Transcendents from killing whoever shares the room.”

  “In the old days, they’d have stuffed six or seven people in here.”

  He surveyed the environment and decided it was acceptable.

  Rumble!

  As the Gate of Hell shut, the air in the prison turned even heavier, and a kind of suppression followed.

  This is the National Bureau’s seal—using the rank of The Spear of the Sun King to suppress all transcendent things, including people.

  Javon felt a pressure from the void itself. “If anyone stays here long enough, no matter who they are, something will go wrong.”

  He looked utterly relaxed, as if he’d come on an outing.

  Because his true body was sleeping in a hidden location outside, guarded by William with Roberts’s Arcane Insect Box. Divination had confirmed that nothing should go wrong in the short term.

  And with Spirit of Null Observance here, he could abandon the possessed body and leave whenever he wished.

  But for now, he had no intention of leaving. Instead, he was intensely curious about the cells beyond the Gate of Hell.

  There was a small window set into the cell’s iron door—probably for passing in meal boxes and the like. Through that narrow opening, Javon could look into the corridor, though he could only observe a small section nearby.

  He saw torches blazing, and shadows wavering under the firelight.

  “Wuwu…”

  From the cell opposite, the low sound of a woman sobbing seemed to drift out.

  “Hm? Someone there?”

  Javon rapped on his own iron door, calling for attention. “Miss across the way—why are you crying?”

  “Heh… a fool’s come in!”

  “Sigh. They locked him so close. Low threat level—probably just a normal man.”

  “Bureau experiments sometimes need normal people as materials. He’s unlucky. Normal people get consumed the fastest…”

  Voices came from different cells—only from this nearby section.

  By Javon’s judgment, this area held the light offenders—not light in crime, but light in strength.

  “Wuwu… Sister, I don’t want to be an experiment subject.”

  A face appeared at the window of the cell diagonally opposite.

  And that voice made Javon feel it was familiar.

  “Don’t be afraid. We’re from The Witch Sisterhood. The order will find a way to rescue us.”

  From the cell right beside Javon’s, another female voice drifted out.

  That one he knew even better.

  The Witch Sisterhood’s sisters… that voice… Lily and Jessica? Right. They do business in Havier’s The Displaced Castle all the time. If the Bureau raided, it’s very possible they were caught…

  Javon felt he had quite the connection with the pair—ending up as cellmates.

  “Heh heh. Foolish women… Once you’re behind the Gate of Hell, whether you’re Sunset School, the Lotus-Eater society, The Starfall Covenant, the Classical Society, The Epicurean Society, or The Oak Circle, The Blood of Decay, and so on… have you ever seen anyone leave alive?”

  A man’s despairing voice sounded from deeper within—carrying, faintly, a transcendent influence.

  He was an Umbral Transcendent, trying to plant a seed of corruption in everyone’s hearts.

  But before Javon moved, he felt the influence dissipating rapidly.

  “Black Dog, trying to control us again. Useless. Under a Deity-grade Eldritcha, your transcendent power is suppressed to almost nothing. You’re barely better than a normal man.”

  Lily spat a curse. “One day, I’m going to slaughter you!”

  “I’ll be waiting… despair… hate…”

  The man cackled. “Your curses and sobbing are my finest lullaby.”

  Listening, Javon felt the man’s voice was also familiar—perhaps another acquaintance from Havier’s castle back then.

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  He ignored the long-distance bickering and lay down on the bed.

  Suddenly!

  The body of Lattrell Lyte on the bed twitched. His expression turned blank, but he still breathed, still displayed signs of life.

  Beside him, Javon stepped out in the state of Spirit of Null Observance, gazing down at that body.

  Oclair was a blank page to begin with. After I end possession, it will keep possessing this body by instinct. Even if it becomes an idiot, it can still fool people for a while—no problem.

  As though he felt no suppression from The Spear of the Sun King at all, he walked toward the iron door.

  Soundlessly, Javon passed through it and entered the long corridor.

  He slipped into the cell opposite and saw Jessica curled in the corner, hugging her knees and sobbing. Then, across from her, he found Lily, her face drawn with anxiety and unrest.

  These sisters are truly unlucky…

  He sighed with sympathy, then continued deeper into the prison.

  The farther he went, the deeper and heavier the atmosphere became.

  The iron doors changed accordingly—some had no windows at all; others were etched with intricate occult sigils, forming a double seal.

  Clearly, these were criminals the Bureau itself considered dangerous.

  There might even be Beyond Mortality existences among them.

  “But unfortunately… no other arcane artifacts in sight. Looks like they’re held somewhere else.”

  At the deepest end of the prison, Javon saw an antique wooden door.

  There was even a handle on it.

  That meant the occupant might not be fully confined—granted a degree of freedom, yet still limited.

  Curiosity stirred. He entered.

  Inside was a spacious living chamber.

  A bed, a table and chairs, a vanity, and bookshelves.

  Ancient volumes were arranged neatly. A white tablecloth covered the table, and a vase held a bouquet of fresh flowers.

  The owner lived with refinement. She lay in a lounge chair, holding a black hardbound notebook against her chest.

  She looked to be in her twenties, with ordinary features—yet possessed a special air, the kind that grew more compelling the longer one looked.

  What attracted Javon more, however, was that strange intuition about her—an unusual, sharp Inspiration.

  At that moment, the woman on the chair opened her eyes, stared at her notebook, and murmured, “The pontiff has arrived. I see it… the fall of headquarters… will be inevitable.”

  “It’s her.” Watching the divining woman, Javon understood at once.

  In the hidden world, there had always been a rumor—no, verified intelligence:

  —Inside the Bureau’s headquarters, there was a divination master who never stepped outside the Bureau, yet was the nightmare of every secret organization.

  On the black market, her bounty was—

  One hundred thousand pounds.

  Of course, no assassin dared take the job. Those who tried had all died.

  Her codename was—

  Firework.

  Madam Firework has it rough too. This kind of life… how is it different from a prisoner’s… Javon stared at Madam Firework and sighed softly.

  Fireworks dazzled, then vanished in an instant—fitting her role all too well.

  And unlike him, her divinations were high-intensity, likely tied to countless secrets. How could she not pay a price?

  She looks like a young woman, but she’s close to death.

  Observing her spirit, Javon made the judgment silently.

  And he had also heard her prophecy.

  “Pontiff Feret… you’ve finally arrived.”

  Javon turned to leave—through the Gate of Hell, out to the plaza to watch the show.

  At that moment, Madam Firework suddenly looked toward where Javon stood.

  Confusion clouded her gaze.

  The black notebook in her hands flipped open on its own, pages fluttering, turning to the newest entry.

  Yet that page was still blank—nothing appeared.

  “An illusion…?” Madam Firework let out a sigh.

  As expected. High-Sephiroth diviners have the sharpest intuition. But that’s no longer ‘intuition’—it’s closer to instinct.

  That woman… is lonely. Incredibly lonely…

  Javon reached the Gate of Hell. His phantom spirit sank into the black door.

  Outside, the old gatekeeper still sat behind the desk, yawning until his eyes watered.

  Javon’s spirit slipped out through the Gate of Hell. Not a single occult sigil on the door lit up.

  He walked with practiced ease into the plaza.

  Sure enough, a ring of people had already gathered, and there were many familiar faces. Xistos, Jacob, Fiona, Heisinger—Bureau high command, all present. Rows of investigators stood solemnly behind them, eyes fixed on the arriving figure.

  The pontiff of the Holy Spirit Church—

  Feret.

  He wore a purple robe. Golden hair fell loosely to his shoulders, like a golden war-god bathed in sunlight. But such presentation did not move the iron-willed Bureau investigators in the slightest.

  Behind Feret stood two witnesses, their expressions severe.

  “We are witnesses from the Royal House and the Upper House. We will oversee the entire process!”

  The two witnesses—apparently nobles—spoke with meticulous restraint.

  Submitting oneself for examination was, in essence, a foolish act. Even if you had no problem, problems could be found. If the Royal House and Upper House had not sent representatives, Feret might have been declared guilty on the spot—or even died in the National Bureau’s prison.

  For precisely that reason, even Xistos could not understand Feret’s choice.

  He looked at Fiona and received her signal—everything was prepared. Then he spoke.

  “The highest-level examination requires Lord Feret to ascend the altar and touch The Spear of the Sun King.”

  “I must remind you: you may carry no transcendent items, and there may not be even a trace of Essence within you. Otherwise, you will be burned to ash immediately.”

  The white-haired noble representing the Upper House nodded, confirming he had already checked the altar: its effect matched Xistos’s warning.

  The Royal representative looked at Feret with concern. “Crowned One, His Majesty has always trusted you. There’s no need to attempt something this dangerous.”

  If the pontiff died here, this royal envoy would surely be torn apart by Arthur VI.

  “I must prove my loyalty to the kingdom!”

  Feret declared with fervor. “The Holy Spirit will protect me!”

  At that, disdain flickered across many investigators’ faces.

  Among Transcendents, who didn’t know The Holy Spirit was only a banner—deliberately raised to seize the high ground of faith? And this pontiff seemed to be showing signs of fanatic madness.

  Before all eyes, Feret removed his magnificent purple robe, leaving only linen-colored underclothes. Like a saint, he stepped onto the altar and approached The Spear of the Sun King.

  He raised his hand.

  His palm halted in midair, and he looked instead at Xistos. “My lord…”

  Below, countless investigators were silently offering affectionate greetings to Feret’s parents.

  “If the pontiff chooses to withdraw, we have no right to force him.”

  Xistos asked calmly, “Is the Crowned One abandoning the test?”

  “No… I only wish to say…”

  Feret’s hand continued forward. His eyes seemed flooded with the spear’s naturally overflowing radiance.

  “We all know it was born of that War of Betrayal. It may be our king’s weapon—but it is also proof of his broken covenant. Its true name should be—Oathbreaker’s Spear!”

  As he spoke, his palm pressed against the shaft of The Spear of the Sun King.

  One second.

  Two seconds.

  Ten seconds passed. Everyone’s hearts rose into their throats, plunging and soaring like a runaway carriage.

  But in the end…

  Nothing happened.

  Feret withdrew his hand calmly, nodded to the two witnesses, then looked to Xistos.

  The Philosopher seemed to age ten years in an instant. In a weathered voice, he announced, “Verified by The Spear of the Sun King: there is not the slightest trace of Essence on Feret. He is a complete ordinary man.”

  At that conclusion, even Jacob’s face showed astonishment.

  “Lord Xistos, I have always respected you. The Bureau has indeed rendered outstanding and indelible service to the kingdom.”

  Feret stepped down from the altar and bowed to Xistos.

  “But the age has changed. In the future, the Holy Spirit Church will take on the Bureau’s duties. A pontiff with not a shred of Essence is, without question, the most reassuring steward for all parties.”

  “Please hand the burden and responsibility to me.”

  As he straightened, attendants draped the purple robe back over his shoulders.

  In an instant, Feret again looked like the lofty pontiff, high above the world.

  “I will announce shortly that on the twenty-ninth of this month, at The Marshal’s Rostrum, I will deliver a speech to all believers—proclaiming the dawn of a new era.”

  “This has the approval of the king and the Upper House!”