“Damn it—he’s absolutely connected to the Cult of Desire! How could he be just an ordinary man?”

  After Feret’s party departed, Jacob stared at the altar. He could no longer maintain etiquette or composure; fury broke through his restraint. “Did The Spear of the Sun King malfunction, or is someone pulling strings?”

  “No. I supervised the entire process. Everything complied with the examination protocol.”

  Xistos shook his head gloomily. “Pontiff Feret… may truly be nothing more than an ordinary man!”

  “This Deity-grade Eldritcha came from the Royal House. Perhaps the Royal House possesses a secret method—a backdoor—to manipulate it?”

  Fiona offered a conjecture, and at once everyone felt their hearts tighten.

  “It’s useless. We’ve already… lost!”

  Heisinger slammed his fist into the wall beside him, seething.

  The investigators lowered their heads. From within the crowd, there were even low, choked sobs…

  …

  “Passed… the speech on the twenty-ninth? Heh…”

  From the side, Javon watched everything with cold indifference, a trace of contempt in his expression.

  “The Spear of the Sun King really ought to be called the Oathbreaker’s Spear. This arcane artifact is a traitor.”

  Just now, Feret’s interaction with The Spear of the Sun King had been perfectly clear in Javon’s Essence-sight. The moment Feret touched the spear, that swath of black night within it had shifted.

  “So that’s why the pontiff requested an examination—he wanted an opportunity to touch The Spear of the Sun King.”

  “And with that contact… he’s already activated some hidden failsafe that The Night-Mother planted within the spear?”

  The Spear of the Sun King might originally have been a gift from The Night-Mother to the Sun King.

  And from what Javon had witnessed, the true permissions over The Spear of the Sun King ranked unmistakably: The Night-Mother was first; The Breaking Dawn, due to the residual blood upon it, was second; the Sun King Arthur was, at best, third—holding not even a tenth of the authority.

  If even the Sun King was treated like that, then the Sodoma Royal House and the Bureau were in an even more pitiful state…

  “So the Cult of Desire, with The Night-Mother’s tacit approval, successfully pulled off a ‘swap the heavens for the sun’ trick inside the Bureau headquarters?”

  “Did The Night-Mother once support the Sun King, yet now has fallen out with the Sodoma Royal House as well? Is it because the Royal House and Inves have grown increasingly arrogant— or because She has always trusted Her own sects and believers more?”

  “Once this hidden hand is set… the next time the Bureau dares use The Spear of the Sun King against the Painbringer, they’ll receive a very big surprise.”

  Having enjoyed the spectacle, Javon returned to the holding cell, satisfied.

  Inside the cell, the Lattrell Lyte lying on the bed snapped his eyes open. He looked through the iron door, an arcane smile on his face.

  Finally, Javon stood and went to the window. “Jessica across the way—and Lily!”

  “Who are you?”

  Jessica hadn’t reacted yet when Lily’s voice came through. “You know us?”

  “Yes. I’m merely the leader of a small congregation. I’ve been to Mr. Havier’s castle a few times and had the fortune of meeting two beautiful ladies.”

  Javon spoke slowly.

  “Heh… a normal man who understands nothing of the hidden world, yet still dares to found a church.”

  In the darkness, “Black Dog” made no effort to hide his ridicule.

  “Your name?”

  After a long silence, Lily asked again.

  “Lattrell Lyte.”

  Javon answered with a smile. “Lady Lily, perhaps we can make a deal. I’ll get you out…”

  “Ha! Did I hear that right? A normal man wants to fish people out of the National Bureau’s prison?”

  Black Dog continued to strike and sneer—yet his tone also carried a hint of provocation and anticipation.

  Transcendents weren’t fools. If this “Lattrell Lyte” truly had a method, and they could needle him into exposing a flaw, that would be profit.

  Of course, the odds were small. They didn’t really believe a normal man could escape, so mockery outweighed hope.

  Not only Black Dog—laughter rose from other cells as well.

  Crude chuckles from old men followed in a row:

  “Did you hear that? The Lily sisters—he wants to ‘deal’ with you…”

  “I’ll bet one hundred pounds he’s after your bodies. If you’re willing to trust me, my price is better than that idiot Lattrell Lyte’s. Just toss me your original scent and we’re square.”

  “Oh, oh… Sjenkin, you filthy bastard.”

  Prisoners were mostly like this—spewing obscenities, cracking jokes of every color without restraint.

  Forget Lily—even Jessica had nearly grown numb to it.

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  Javon didn’t get angry either. There was no need to argue with the dead. He simply waited, calm, for Lily’s answer.

  “Why should we trust you?” Lily’s voice finally came.

  “I’ll let you take delivery first and pay afterward.”

  Javon replied. “That is—once you’re outside, you can pay me my reward.”

  The instant he said that, the cells around them fell into silence.

  “H-hey… kid, you really have a way out? What do you want as payment? Women? No problem—I can give you a whole ship of the prettiest slave girls!”

  Black Dog tested him.

  If someone dared offer ‘goods first, payment later,’ then that person must have immense confidence. That alone was enough to stir many hearts.

  “Kid, I can give you a lot of money once I’m out—ten thousand pounds, how about it?”

  “You want esoteric transmission? I have the highest-grade transmission—taken directly from the Ethereal Realm.”

  “A great treasure… I have a map. Fabrin dynasty.”

  …

  Offers poured out from the cells. When Javon gave no response, the voices shifted into pleading, wailing—

  and finally, into curses hurled at him.

  Human ugliness, laid bare in full.

  Javon didn’t care at all. After all, they were cursing Lattrell Lyte, not him. He waited, perfectly even-tempered, for Lily’s reply.

  “Fine.”

  Lily’s answer was firm. “I can agree to any condition—but that does not include Jessica!”

  “Sister, don’t agree to him!”

  This time, Jessica across the way was the one who shouted.

  “Ahem… I need both of you to pay the price. One person isn’t enough.”

  Javon wore a confident smile. “You can take your time deciding. There’s no rush.”

  He knew they would agree in the end.

  If they refused, the only outcome was becoming the Bureau’s test subjects—things more cruel than death.

  If they agreed, there was no downside.

  When will the Cult of Desire make their move?

  He leaned against the wall, hands behind his head. “No matter. I can take a look around the Bureau while I’m here…”

  His possessed body had protections, and after advancing as a Forgebearer, his constitution far surpassed that of an ordinary man. Going a few days without food or water was hardly an issue.

  What he needed to weigh was only how much Secret Power he would spend.

  Before he realized it, three days passed in a blur.

  During that time, the Bureau’s management seemed chaotic. No one came to drag prisoners away for experiments. By sheer luck, inmates like Lattrell Lyte escaped disaster.

  Javon enjoyed the calm.

  Throughout those days, he moved as Spirit of Null Observance and wandered everywhere in the National Bureau: restricted-book zones, arcane-artifact sectors, rookie training areas, classified offices…

  He’d toured them all.

  It had to be said: as Inves’s mystic administrative institution, the Bureau’s sealed materials and occult archives were anything but ordinary.

  Though constrained by Spirit of Null Observance being unobservable and untouchable—unable to flip pages directly—Javon still gained a great deal simply by watching and eavesdropping.

  Night.

  As usual, Javon became Spirit of Null Observance and walked the Bureau with clear purpose, as if strolling through his own home.

  The original restricted-book zone no longer satisfied him. The investigators turned pages too slowly—some even fainted halfway through reading.

  He entered a vast room. On the doorplate hung a brass sign:

  Director’s Office!

  Director of the Inves Bureau of Occult Affairs—

  Claude Nite.

  The director was a man with little presence, because the Bureau operated by a board council system. Only directors—or powerhouses like Xistos—truly held a voice.

  Claude, who had not yet opened the fourth Sephiroth, was more like a signboard, or a coordinator between factions.

  Perhaps the Inves Royal House also feared giving the director too much power—enough to endanger the kingdom—so they had always refused to appoint a high-Sephiroth strongman to the post.

  But from what Javon observed, Claude Nite was not so simple.

  Average height, middle-aged, large eyes, thick lips, a high bridge of the nose, ordinary features—so ordinary that in a crowd he would be automatically ignored.

  Not like the Philosopher, twisting cognition through ability, but simply born plain—naturally overlooked.

  At this moment, Director Claude was reviewing documents.

  After a long while, he set down his pen, removed thick black tortoiseshell glasses, and rubbed his aching eyes.

  Those Transcendents the Bureau captured or executed could hardly imagine it: this unremarkable, slightly plump middle-aged man’s signature could instantly release a prisoner—

  or send more Transcendents to the gallows.

  He could mobilize the vast majority of the kingdom’s intelligence resources, and when necessary, even direct parts of the military to cooperate.

  Ever since Javon discovered this office, he had enjoyed visiting.

  Through Claude’s conversations with Xistos and the flow of reports, Javon understood the current hidden-world situation even more clearly than the king himself.

  At that moment, the office door opened, and Heisinger stepped in.

  “Director, the response from Thronehall of Wessex…”

  “A concrete plan is already in place. I’ll explain it at the meeting later.”

  Claude looked at this Beyond Mortality existence, sensed the anger he was suppressing, and forced himself to push down his own fatigue as he explained,

  “The adjustment plan is out. If the hidden world is disclosed to the public, the Bureau may be merged as a whole into the Holy Spirit Church—becoming an independently operating department.”

  “In practice, it’s not much different from now. The only change is that every investigator will also carry a layer of clerical identity.”

  “What does Feret want—make a god?”

  Heisinger gave a cold laugh. “And we become something like an inquisition?”

  “The kingdom will establish a Ministry of Religion, with Pontiff Feret as its first minister.”

  Claude’s tone already held dissatisfaction. “In theory, by passing this bill, the kingdom places all ecclesiastical authority under parliament and the administrative ministries. That was one of the Upper House’s conditions for approval.”

  “Heisinger, everything is for the kingdom!”

  “Yes… everything is for the kingdom.”

  Heisinger’s smile turned sharper. “Not for some individual within the kingdom.”

  “I will never agree.”

  Beneath his skin, something indistinct seemed to writhe. The office atmosphere turned tense in an instant.

  Then Heisinger turned and strode out.

  “Sigh…”

  After he left, Claude rubbed his face and murmured,

  “Heisinger is hot-tempered, but manageable. The ones who never make a sound are the real trouble.”

  “But as a subject of His Majesty, I can only do my utmost to carry out his will.”

  “The resurgence of the Essence tide has entered an entirely new stage. The old system truly can’t adapt to the present situation… but is His Majesty moving too quickly?”

  He spread two reports across his desk. The headers read—

  Top Secret:

  Research on the River of Death—An Investigation into Where Mortal Spirits Go After Death!

  Field Survey Report on the Customs of the Cocoonfolk Tribes in the Southern Great Forest of Inves!

  …

  In the River of Death report, after consuming enormous manpower and material resources, the Bureau concluded that the Ethereal Realm’s Velthyr The Mortis Quietus appeared tranquil—yet was secretly plotting to forge a River of Death as the destination for the spirits of most ordinary mortals after death… Once successful, He could use the River of Death to pierce the boundary between the two realms and intervene in the mortal world with force!

  And the Cocoonfolk… were even more familiar.

  Javon swept his gaze over the opened documents, his mood turning slightly heavy.

  Don’t be fooled by how active The Night-Mother and The Ossuary Lord—those Velthyr aligned with Sanguis and Umbral—appeared, making the others seem low-key.

  It was only because their rites leaned toward bloody decadence, and when something happened, it drew the eye immediately.

  Through the Bureau’s network, Javon discovered that in places he hadn’t been watching, the other Velthyr were also quietly stirring.

  And the consequences and impact were not one bit smaller than world-level events like the birth of a Divine Scion.

  Still—so long as it doesn’t affect me… I can’t be bothered.

  Javon was somewhat attentive to The Mortis Quietus.

  Among the Velthyr who had once besieged the Crimson Creator, he recognized only three—The Black Sun, The Flesh-Mother Tree, and Cocoon.

  And this Velthyr The Mortis Quietus might well be the incarnation of that ancient Mortis-source deity—the one who had taken the concept of the Sun’s Death for himself.

  More than that, The Keeper of Secrets was equally suspicious.

  Back then, at least five Velthyr took part in the siege of the Crimson Creator*. The remaining ones would be Mortis and Secret.

  They may not be as powerful as The Flesh-Mother Tree or The Black Sun, but the benefits they gained from* the Sun’s Death could well be greater than either…