Chapter 135: The Returnee

Chapter 135: The Returnee

As Patrick Bryan chanted, the skulls arranged around the pitch-black coffin gradually became tinged with a layer of ghastly green. Blending with their original whiteness, the color produced an effect that sent chills crawling over the skin.

The “spirit dance” grew more and more frenzied. Voices that seemed to originate from the Netherworld echoed without cease. One skull after another floated up, as though each had gained a life of its own.

Then, amid apparent chaos that nevertheless followed a certain order, they flew toward the heavy black coffin, pierced through the lid as if they had no physical form, and entered it.

The coffin instantly transformed into a dark vortex that could never be filled. It swelled in place, emanating an aura that was icy, gloomy, lofty, and superior—an aura that made Patrick Bryan instinctively tremble and lower his head.

It was the aura of an angel, the aura of a Death Consul!

At that moment, the Death believers who had been dancing the “spirit dance” collapsed one after another, twitching on the floor. Their minds grew muddled, and they seemed to feel as though they were wandering through the Netherworld.

Above the gray fog, The Fool Klein, who had extended his field of vision through the prayer light spot of his marionette, secretly breathed a sigh of relief. The probing method used by Haiter, the slumbering angel in the mausoleum and high priest of the Numinous Episcopate’s Artificial Death faction, had not exceeded his expectations: He was making use of the enslavement and control that a higher-ranking Beyonder of the Death pathway possessed over those of lower rank, directly extracting the information He wished to know from Patrick Bryan.

To a certain extent, this was a form of interrogation on the mental level, and Klein was already rather experienced at handling such things.

He immediately had the Red Priest card fly into his hand and enter his body.

In an instant, Klein was draped in a deep crimson robe precipitated from blood, rust, and gunsmoke. A dark golden mask engraved with ancient stripes appeared over his face, and a crown set with red, blue, green, and various other gemstones materialized upon his head.

Then, he mobilized all the power of the mysterious space above the gray fog that he could command, turning it into a surging invisible torrent that carried the prepared paper figurine with it. Through the prayer light spot, it rushed toward the Undying Patrick Bryan.

At that very moment, Patrick, who was trembling in submission because of his teacher’s aura, gave a slight shudder. He seemed to see layer upon layer of sacred wings.

Klein had concealed the specific image of the flaming angel and had shown only part of its feeling. In other words, he had personally interfered with the special effects.

One pair of sacred wings after another covered Patrick, then vanished, leaving him with a dazed sense that he might have hallucinated.

As a Sequence 4 demigod, he quickly recovered. He discovered that he no longer only wanted to obey, and that he was no longer unable to defy his teacher’s orders. It was as though part of his consciousness had been pulled out, placed high above his mental world, where it could calmly look down upon everything.

At the same time, as a fanatic, Patrick Bryan did not hesitate in the slightest to regard that “Angel’s Embrace” as a blessing from Death. He never doubted it.

At that moment, from within the deep vortex formed by the black coffin, an aged and cold voice emerged—a voice that made one feel as if the soul would be torn directly from the body.

“You have done well.

“What progress have you made recently in awakening God?”

Patrick Bryan immediately followed the phrasing given to him by the Blessed, describing his efforts and devotion with a mixture of truth and lies.

After a round of questions and answers, Haiter, the angel of the Death domain on the other side of the vortex, showed no suspicion. In a calm tone, He said, “Very good. Continue. I will support you.”

He paused, then added as if in passing, “I will first assign an assistant to you—a Sequence 5 Gatekeeper. He will help you handle the corresponding matters and ease your burden.”

So this is what the Blessed meant by Him not trusting me? Teacher really is unwilling to see me receive God’s favor and threaten His position… Under the subtle influence Klein had imposed through their routine correspondence, Patrick Bryan’s understanding had gradually changed bit by bit. He was unable to refuse such “good intentions” and could only answer respectfully, “Yes, Teacher.”

The moment he finished speaking, the pitch-black vortex suddenly unfolded, turning into a pair of bronze doors covered in mysterious patterns, impossible to fully describe in feeling.

With a creak, the great doors opened, revealing a crack.

Beyond that crack was a darkness so deep it held no movement at all. In the depths of the darkness, one eye after another seemed to be hidden, quietly watching the outside world.

Just then, a hand reached out and rested upon the crack between the doors.

Its skin was rather pale, and the bluish veins beneath could be clearly seen.

With a pull, a figure leapt out from the doorway.

It was a tall young man with youthful features. He wore a black robe patterned in red and had pulled up the hood.

His facial lines were soft, his skin faintly brown; at a glance, one could tell he possessed Southern Continent blood. His features were relatively good, though they lacked all trace of color.

After stepping onto the solid ground beneath him, the young man did not even glance at Patrick Bryan. He raised his head, looked into the air, the corners of his mouth curling slightly as his eyes narrowed in contentment. He sighed.

“What an intoxicating atmosphere…”

As a Beyonder of the Death pathway, Patrick Bryan was, without question, somewhat angered by being ignored by someone of a lower Sequence. However, in front of his teacher, he had no way to say anything. He could only follow procedure and bring the ritual to an end step by step.

During this process, The Fool Klein, who remained above the gray fog, reacted far more strongly than Patrick.

That was because, through the “true vision” provided by the gray fog, he saw the abnormality of that newly arrived Gatekeeper!

The Gatekeeper’s “personal underworld” had expanded in a bizarre way, encompassing every single part within his body. And within that “underworld” there was only one soul: young and handsome, with a head of red hair, a face marked by many traces of rot, a flag-shaped mark between the brows, and bloodstained black armor.

Klein was not unfamiliar with this soul at all. He recognized the other party at once.

The “Red Angel” evil spirit, Sauron Einhorn Medici!

This fellow has returned to Backlund again, and He has even established some sort of cooperative relationship with the angel of the Numinous Episcopate’s Artificial Death faction… By instinct, Klein took out the Red Priest card, accommodated the Tyrant card, summoned the Sea God Scepter, and prepared to give the Red Angel evil spirit a lightning storm. But as thoughts flashed rapidly through his mind, he restrained the impulse and gave up on the corresponding idea.

Doing so would expose the problem with Patrick Bryan and allow Haiter, the angel of the Death domain, to deduce that something had gone wrong with Artificial Death!

That would be unfavorable to the Evernight Goddess’s grasp and digestion of the Death pathway’s Uniqueness.

As thoughts surged through him, Klein quickly left the area above the gray fog and returned to the real world. He had his marionette silently yet swiftly leave the ready-made clothing factory, then used Teleportation together with his main body to depart.

He had originally intended, after the ritual ended, to create a terrifying experience for Patrick Bryan, and he had even made preparations in advance. Now, he could only abandon the plan directly, lest he be discovered by the Red Angel evil spirit.

Inside the clothing factory, the young Gatekeeper possessed by Sauron Einhorn Medici pulled his hood a little lower. His head turned slightly as he looked toward a certain spot outside.

That was where Klein’s marionette, Qonas Kilgor, had been hiding just now, nearly a kilometer away from the clothing factory.

After staring at it for a few seconds, the young Gatekeeper revealed a faint smile.

Patrick Bryan had been about to speak, intending to use his identity as the Numinous Episcopate’s Artificial Death faction’s person in charge in Backlund to give his teacher’s envoy a slight warning, when his spiritual intuition was suddenly touched. His body twisted strangely, and his gaze fell upon another building within the clothing factory.

On the second floor of that building, behind the glass window of a certain room, a pair of emotionless black eyes was silently watching in this direction.

Patrick Bryan’s eyelid twitched. His body abruptly vanished.

Whoosh!

A cold wind surged, silently decaying that glass window and causing it to shatter without a sound into countless “snowflakes.”

Inside the corresponding room, Patrick, dressed in a black robe and with a thin face, appeared. He saw that the owner of those icy black eyes was a crudely made clay doll.

Who made this doll… Who moved it here? Patrick Bryan cautiously swept his gaze across the surroundings, not sparing a single corner.

Just as his gaze moved toward the corridor and his body turned at an angle away from the glassless window, the crude clay doll’s pitch-black eyes suddenly rolled. It then raised both hands and reached for Patrick’s neck.

Before that movement could be completed, the clay doll seemed to lose its support. All vitality vanished from it. Numerous cracks appeared across its surface, and it instantly collapsed into a pile of fragments.

Patrick Bryan’s figure first disappeared, then reappeared in the corridor. As though facing a great enemy, he stared at the collapsed clay doll.

In that instant just now, he had truly been startled. Although matters involving spirits were often eerie and frightening in all sorts of ways, under circumstances where no external spirit was exerting influence, a doll suddenly coming to life was still rather terrifying.

The fragments of the clay doll lay quietly on the floor and did not stir again. Patrick Bryan waited patiently for a while and finally confirmed that nothing abnormal remained there.

He once again traversed the spirit world and returned to the place where the ritual had been performed.

At this moment, that heavy black coffin had completely rotted away, as though it had been buried beneath the soil for hundreds or even thousands of years. The believers around it, who had sensed the Netherworld, were gradually recovering from their half-unconscious state.

Patrick Bryan looked left and right, but failed to find the young Gatekeeper his teacher had sent. At some point, the man had already left.

Was he not sent here to monitor me? The demigod of the Death pathway was momentarily bewildered.

Considering the abnormality he had discovered just now—the living clay doll—Patrick Bryan did not delay any further. He hurriedly woke the believers, had them clean up the scene, and dealt with the remaining traces.

When he had finished all this, he suddenly heard a voice.

“Is this ready-made clothing factory yours?”

Patrick Bryan’s figure vanished instantly and reappeared, now facing the speaker. It was precisely the young Gatekeeper who had disappeared earlier.

“No.” Patrick frowned slightly.

How could he possibly conduct such activities in his own clothing factory? If it were exposed, he would have no way out.

“Not too stupid…” the young Gatekeeper said with a soft nod.

Patrick’s eyes narrowed at once. Forcing down his anger, he asked, “Where did you go just now?”

The young Gatekeeper gave a heh-heh laugh.

“I wandered around some familiar places and met an old friend.”