Chapter 67: “Response”

Chapter Sixty-Seven
“Response”

High in the sky, the crimson moon hung quietly in the darkness, shining upon Tingen, the City of Universities, as it gradually returned to silence.

Klein stood before his desk, looking down through the bay window at the cold, empty Daffodil Street. In the distance, he heard a carriage drive swiftly past without making much noise.

He picked up the silver-white pocket watch with vine patterns, snapped it open, and glanced at it. Then he reached out and drew the curtains shut, allowing the gas lamp’s yellowish light to reflect more fully within the bedroom.

Klein turned at an unhurried pace, locked the door, and closed the gas valve.

The entire room was immediately swallowed by darkness. Only a little faint-red moonlight seeped through the curtains, bringing color, bringing the deep-night scene that had bred countless folk tales.

In such an environment, Klein took out the silver knife he had applied for. He outlined a sphere of light in his mind, entering a half-meditative state in advance.

He gathered his spirit and, according to his earlier practice, allowed spirituality to surge from the tip of the knife, following his own movement and merging mysteriously with the environment, sealing the room.

He did this to guard against abnormal fluctuations that might appear later. He feared Benson and Melissa might be awakened by them.

After that, Klein set down the knife and walked four steps counterclockwise, each step accompanied by incantations from Earth.

The unchanging howls and whispers struck him once more. The unchanging madness and pain seized his body. Klein did his utmost to control himself, enduring the most difficult and dangerous phase while in a state close to half-confusion.

The gray-white fog stretched endlessly. Crimson stars lay near and far. The towering temple stood like a dead giant. Compared with every previous visit, nothing before Klein’s eyes seemed to have changed. Silence and age accumulated across thousands or tens of thousands of years rushed toward him.

No. There is a change!

Klein spoke silently to himself, his gaze locking onto a nearby crimson star.

It was the star that symbolized Justice!

That star’s crimson light was shrinking and expanding in succession. The movement was not large, but it persisted without pause.

Klein carefully unfolded his own spirituality, extending it toward that deep red glow.

The instant the two touched, his mind buzzed. He saw a blurry, twisted scene and heard illusory, overlapping prayers.

“O Fool that does not belong to this era;

“You are the mysterious ruler above the gray fog;

“You are the King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck.

“I pray for your help.

“I pray for your favor.

“I pray that you allow me to have a good dream.

“…

“I pray that you allow me to have a good dream.

“…

“I pray that you allow me to have a good dream.

“…”

The woman’s voice echoed again and again, layered upon itself. Klein’s mind grew agitated and disordered, as though he had just been about to fall asleep when the upstairs neighbor began pounding the table and smashing the floor.

He suppressed his emotions, using meditation to smooth away the impulse. Then he carefully identified the blurred scene before him.

It showed a girl in a white robe with smooth, beautiful blond hair. She stood before four flickering flames, respectfully bowing her head and reciting the prayer again and again.

Through the warped image, Klein barely recognized her as Miss Justice.

At that moment, he completely confirmed that the ritual incantation he had designed could accurately point here—point to himself!

This filled him with a sense of accomplishment. He felt that the exploration he had built from nothing had been quite effective.

I will refrain from praising myself as amazing…

Klein’s mood improved. Even the buzzing, fly-like prayers hovering by his ear became tolerable.

His heart stirred, and he tried sending the “answer” he imagined in his mind through that subtle connection into the crimson star.

“I know.”

…

Gray fog billowed layer upon layer. A twisted and blurry figure stood in its deepest reaches.

At the position of his eyes, crimson light flowed. His voice echoed again and again through the empty, objectless world.

“I know.

“I know.

“I know.

“…”

Audrey Hall suddenly woke. She sat up under her blanket, her mind filled with the scene she had just dreamed.

She knew clearly and unmistakably that she had dreamed of the Fool: the mysterious Fool who sat high above the gray fog.

“Is this a response to my morning prayer?”

Audrey, who quickly entered the Spectator state, analyzed calmly.

Although she did not understand why the Fool had not responded on the spot and had instead waited until night, she was still deeply shaken by the effectiveness of the ritual magic, by the fact that those lines of incantation truly worked.

When she had prayed to the Evernight Goddess in the past, she had never once received any response!

Even if Mr. Fool is not a god, he should not be far from one…

Audrey slowly inhaled, then slowly exhaled.

Since the other party was a powerful existence she could not resist, she quickly pushed some of her worries aside and began thinking about what she should do next.

First: thoroughly digest the Spectator potion… My acting has been fairly good.

Second: search for the Psychology Alchemists.

Third: see whether I can obtain the potion formula for Telepathist from Mr. Fool, or clues regarding the Psychology Alchemists.

However, every god-like existence possesses a complete Sequence chain of His own. He may not necessarily know the formulas of other Sequence pathways… A new Beyonder organization like the Psychology Alchemists may also not have the qualification to draw Mr. Fool’s attention…

…

Breaking contact, Klein sat in a rather good mood at the head of the bronze long table.

His whole body shrouded by gray fog, he leaned back against the chair, held his fist to his mouth, and recalled and reviewed the process just now.

At that moment, within this world of gray fog, he was the only living being. Other than him, all was silent.

“It seems I can only transmit information through that connection. I cannot use it to mobilize this place’s power… In that case, one of my earlier shortcut ideas will not work.”

Klein tapped his mouth lightly, silently summarizing.

His original plan had been that if the incantation and ritual he designed proved effective, he would attempt to use this method to bind himself and the gray-fog world together, thereby leveraging the power of this mysterious space.

At that point, he could pray to himself, cleverly bypassing limitations, mysteries, and danger, and make fuller use of the gray-fog world.

For example, he could first perform a ritual and pray to “himself” for the bestowal of a spell. Then he could enter above the gray fog, respond to his own request, and grant himself that boon.

“It seems I was thinking too beautifully… My understanding and control of this gray-fog world are still far from reaching that level…”

Klein shook his head in self-mockery and prepared to leave.

Just then, he saw that the crimson star symbolizing the Hanged Man had also begun to shrink and expand, and he heard illusory, formless sounds ripple outward in ring after ring.

“I happen to have caught the Hanged Man performing the ritual?”

Klein nodded thoughtfully.

Sitting at the head of the bronze long table, he lifted a hand and pointed faintly toward the star.

Spirituality spread outward, touching the crimson glow that continually contracted and expanded.

He heard the Hanged Man’s deep, overlapping prayer. He also saw a blurry image.

In that image, the Hanged Man wore a pure black robe and stood before four flames. Around him, spirituality had formed walls, separating him from external influence.

Klein did not respond immediately. He simply watched and listened in silence.

“…You are the King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck.

“I pray for your help.

“…”

After the Hanged Man finished praying, he waited for a while. Seeing no response, he began removing the wall of spirituality, extinguishing the flames, and tidying the altar.

At the very end, he wiped his hand across the table. Watery light spread, and the table that had served as the altar immediately looked as good as new.

“Water spells… the blessing of the storm… The Hanged Man is indeed, at the very least, a Seafarer…”

Klein nodded slightly. Before the image vanished, he sent the “response” into that crimson star according to the method he had imagined.

…

Alger Wilson was currently in the City of Generosity, the capital of the Rorsted Archipelago.

He had not gone with his crew to the famed Red Theater here. Instead, he remained inside the inn, closed the doors and windows, and attempted the ritual described by the Fool.

Having completed the prayer with practiced skill, Alger waited patiently for a while, yet received no response.

“It seems this attempt was not especially successful… Mr. Fool will have to change to another method…”

He felt both relieved and a little disappointed.

After handling the aftermath, Alger planned to go downstairs and ask for a glass of strong Langqi. Alcohol helped the Folk of Rage bring out their abilities, so the Mandated Punishers of the Lord of Storms rather liked this “beverage.”

Opening the door, Alger had just been about to step out when his vision blurred. He saw illusory, boundless gray fog filling the corridor. He saw a vague figure sitting at its deepest point, as though seated upon a high, exalted throne.

“I know.”

The familiar, deep voice echoed invisibly beside Alger’s ear, freezing him in place and making his head ache faintly.

Alger’s eyes abruptly darkened. When he looked around again, he discovered that everything was no different from before: the floorboards still creaked beneath his feet; the wall-mounted candleholders were still old; the corridor remained not particularly clean.

I know…

The words still seemed to echo beside Alger’s ears.

His expression darkened. He clenched a fist and lightly struck his chest, yet he failed to speak any words of reverence toward the Lord of Storms.

After a long silence, Alger’s expression returned to normal. Only his gaze had deepened a little further.

…

Above the gray fog, Klein did not delay for long. Once the remaining voices all returned to silence, he wrapped himself in spirituality and fell into the fog, falling back into the material world.

Light and shadow flashed before his eyes like a film played dozens of times faster. After a wave of dizziness, Klein saw the curtains tinted by crimson moonlight, the vague outlines of the desk and bookshelf.

He once again picked up the silver knife and removed the room’s spiritual wall. Then, amid a sudden gust of wind, he quietly opened the door and glanced into the corridor.

Seeing no movement from the rooms of his elder brother Benson and younger sister Melissa, he finally relaxed completely.

“This luck-changing ritual is practically essential for home and travel… Both secretive and miraculous…”

Klein murmured silently, closed the door again, and walked toward his bed.

His “mission” tomorrow was to visit the underground market for extraordinary items together with Old Neil.