Chapter 191: In History

Chapter 191: In History

The Berserk Sea, upon a barren, uninhabited island.

This place was not far from the Southern Continent, but geographically speaking, it did not belong there. Klein had chosen this island as the site for his advancement to Scholar of Yore for two reasons. First, he wanted to avoid Amon and Zaratul to the greatest extent possible, while also staying away from regions where the Mother Tree of Desire held broad influence. Second, the Berserk Sea was shrouded in the lingering power left behind by Death, which, rounded up, made it equivalent to the domain of the Evernight Goddess. If the ritual truly caused some great disturbance, it could effectively conceal one or two things.

Moreover, this place was extremely desolate, with scarcely any living creatures. There was no need to worry that, if an accident occurred, innocent people would be affected… Klein surveyed his surroundings, then began arranging the ritual, bringing the corresponding materials back from above the gray fog into the real world.

Immediately afterward, he flipped through the thick stack of ancient historical records and pulled out the sections he could not verify—those whose authenticity even divination could not judge.

Snap!

With a casual flick of his hand, crimson flames sprang up and devoured that stack of papers.

The supplementary material required for the Scholar of Yore potion consisted of a large quantity of true ancient historical records. Therefore, Klein did not wish to risk using materials he could not confirm, preferring a smaller quantity instead.

After completing the selection, he first poured the Fog Hound’s blood into the cauldron, then placed several carefully weighed White Frost Crystals inside.

The moment the two supplementary materials came into contact, a faint mist rose. It wrapped around the vessel, reaching half a person’s height and about an arm’s width.

Klein glanced at it and, following his spiritual intuition, temporarily gave up on adding the final supplementary ingredient. He instead had his marionette Enyuni pick up the Flaring Heart of a Fog Demon Wolf and toss that white-fog-like condensed object into the cauldron.

As white frost formed over Enyuni’s arm, the mist spreading from the vessel grew extremely dense. It began to contract and expand, as though it had gained its own vitality, as though a heart were slowly beating.

Without hesitation, Klein controlled Enyuni to pick up the Fog Hound’s pair of eyeballs and shove those two dark-red, flame-like objects into the almost tangible dense mist.

The mist’s color swiftly deepened, and Klein could no longer see the cauldron at its core.

He did not panic. Very calmly, he had another marionette toss the true ancient historical documents into the dark mist one page at a time.

The dense mist gradually collapsed inward. After “digesting” those historical records, it finally fell back into the cauldron like vapor, becoming something that seemed both liquid and gas, dark red in color and nearly the size of an infant’s head.

Seeing this, Klein undid the pendulum hidden at his left wrist and used divination to confirm whether the potion had been successfully concocted.

This time, the revelation he received was that the object was considerably dangerous, but barely within what he could endure.

That meant the potion had been successfully made.

Even when strictly prepared according to the formula, a Sequence 3 potion is basically poison. If you can withstand it, you advance. If you can’t, you go mad, lose control, or even die violently… Klein stared at the yellow crystal pendant rotating rapidly counterclockwise for several seconds, then pulled up the silver chain and wound it around his left wrist again.

His gaze then fell upon the potion floating inside the cauldron. Thoughts rose naturally in his mind, one after another:

“The acting of a Bizarro Sorcerer, aside from key ideas like fright, horror, direction, and incomprehensible abilities, should also involve qualities such as being mysterious in itself, unknown, complicated, and possessing a fate difficult to grasp. Only when both sides are combined does one obtain a complete Bizarro Sorcerer… One side is behavioral style, while the other is inherent nature…

“And as for me, my origins are so mysterious that even I still haven’t figured out the truth. My experiences are complicated enough that I have stopped a true god’s descent and frightened a King of Angels. My fate is hard to grasp to the point that even a Snake of Mercury cannot see it clearly. In that sense, I had already been acting in advance. That portion of the potion digested naturally, without my needing to summarize any rules…

“That is what truly expresses the word bizarro…

“Mm. The ritual for Scholar of Yore requires one to have completely separated from reality for at least three hundred years, to consume the potion only after one has already become history and no longer belongs to the present era. My life sealed inside a cocoon, hanging above the gray fog, more than satisfies that condition. But after becoming Klein, I have experienced far too many things over this past year or so and left my mark upon the current age. Will that affect the ritual’s effect?

“It should… Fortunately, it hasn’t even been two years, so the mark should not be too deep. It should be barely acceptable. After all, I can’t possibly hang myself up again for three hundred years before drinking the potion… The apocalypse is only a dozen or so years away!

“Also, my grasp of ancient history absolutely far surpasses any other Bizarro Sorcerer’s. That counts as very effective acting in advance, and should certainly allow me to avoid quite a few dangers…”

As thoughts rapidly flashed through his mind, Klein inhaled deeply and thought no further.

Dressed in a silk top hat and double-breasted wool coat, his skin suddenly turned transparent. One Worm of Spirit after another, each containing layered three-dimensional symbols, emerged from within him.

Those translucent worms stirred restlessly, as though they wished to crawl into the condensed mist inside the cauldron, leaving only empty clothing and a hat behind.

Barely controlling this state, Klein steadily extended his right hand and scooped up the potion woven from coils of mist.

The potion seemed weightless, drifting lightly up before his face.

Klein opened his mouth and inhaled fiercely.

That mass of potion immediately changed shape, elongating as it entered Klein’s mouth, making him seem as though he were swallowing a dark-red glow.

The transparent worms swarmed back into his body, each tearing off some of the potion and swallowing it into their bellies.

Because of the special nature of his mythical creature form, which was both one whole and divided into many tiny parts, Klein could only take the potion in this manner.

Of course, if he could control his incomplete mythical creature form, it would have been far simpler.

Silently, Klein felt an icy sensation spread through every Worm of Spirit, carrying with it a faint burning pain.

Before his eyes appeared the familiar boundless grayish-white fog. It covered the entire world, presenting beneath it the many experiences of Klein’s past.

These included creating terrifying legends, speaking with the Red Angel evil spirit, finding Miss Justice to treat the demigod Luca’s signs of losing control, hunting Hvin Rambis, dealing with Amon’s avatar, taking revenge on Ince Zangwill, exploring Calderón City, infiltrating Saint Samuel Cathedral, running rampant across the seas, preventing the True Creator’s descent, saving Tingen, and all manner of ordinary details from daily life.

They tangled with different people and objects, becoming vast and complicated, converging into an ocean. Klein “flew” above it, unable to find a self-positioning clear and precise enough. He felt as though he were about to lose himself in this region, while the icy meaning and burning pain drove him constantly forward, forcing him to vent their influence and making it difficult to return to the real world.

Klein barely controlled this feeling. As his consciousness grew gradually muddled and his body slowly descended, he struggled to search for something that could determine himself.

At last, deep within the gray fog, at the far end of the ocean, he saw a broken speck of light. His heart stirred. Following his intuition, he flew toward it in a posture like one swimming through the starry sky.

Within that speck of light was a figure hanging from a blurry door of light. He was enclosed inside a transparent cocoon, swaying gently. His appearance was that of the original Zhou Mingrui. He had no connection with his surroundings, standing alone and isolated, making him very easy to grasp.

I couldn’t see this before with the Yesterday Once More charm, but now I can… In other words, during advancement, I can indirectly influence Sefirah Castle above the gray fog? Wait. My ability to think has recovered… Klein’s consciousness instantly cleared considerably, and he finally understood the essence of the ritual.

It was to eliminate the interference of details and provide clear, precise positioning for oneself as a Scholar of Yore, preventing oneself from becoming lost!

Following similar specks of light, Klein began “flying” deeper into the grayish-white fog, toward a place where no end could be seen. On the way, he discovered fragments of light scattered throughout the surrounding fog. Some belonged to the colonial era, some to Roselle’s rule, some to the War of the Betrayed Oath, the White Rose War, and the Twenty Years’ War… They were all Fifth Epoch histories Klein understood.

As he passed through them, Klein’s consciousness naturally divided, completing invisible connections and making his positioning clearer.

The Pale Era, the War of the Four Emperors, the Trunsoest Empire, the Tudor Dynasty, the United Empire, the First and Second Solomon Empires, the Red Angel’s fall, the Blood Emperor’s apotheosis, the Black Emperor’s return… As Klein continuously traced backward, historical fragments appeared one after another in different places within the endless gray fog. Like stars in a black night sky, they illuminated the traveler’s path home.

During this voyage, Klein felt himself grow increasingly clear-headed. The coldness and burning pain within every Worm of Spirit became weaker and weaker.

He could have turned back long ago and returned to the real world, but he did not stop. He continued flying forward with exhilaration.

The fatal strike of Rose of Redemption; the three great angels Pure White, Storm, and Wisdom dividing and consuming the ancient Sun God; the conspiracy in the Giant King’s Court; the Churches of Evernight, Earth, and the God of War skulking and hiding as secret organizations—patches of light flashed one after another within the gray fog. The farther back Klein traced, the more unrestrained he felt, as though he were running so swiftly that he was about to fly.

At some point, a group of terrifying dog-like creatures appeared beside him. Their eye sockets burned with dark-red flames, and their bodies were covered in short black fur. They sprinted through the bottomless gray fog, following Klein’s left and right like companions, like guards.

Among them, two had only one eye.

Klein looked left and right, smiled, and did not stop. He continued roaming deeper into the gray fog.

Portions of history from the Second Epoch’s Twin Era and Era of Fire’s Initial Blaze swept backward past him, pointing out the path ahead. Finally, Klein stopped before a solitary fragment of light. Inside were a withered, decaying forest and a tomb of ordinary size.

When he looked farther ahead, the grayish-white fog was quietly and densely spread everywhere. He did not know where any more fragments of light might be floating.

Sensing that his spirituality was drying up, Klein did not search further. His consciousness connected with the positioning at his starting point, and he abruptly plummeted downward.

As the gray fog rapidly faded, Klein felt his body again and saw the cauldron in front of him.

He had no time to experience his current state. By instinct, he raised his head and looked into midair.

He directly saw the gray fog. He saw the ancient, majestic palace above the gray fog.

That mysterious space was gently trembling.

…

Backlund. A bicycling postman came to a stop, turned his head slightly, and pressed the monocle over his right eye.

Then he muttered in a low voice, “Sefirah Castle…”

After standing dazed for several seconds, the thin-faced young man raised the corners of his mouth and smiled, his expression full of anticipation.

In the same city’s East Borough, inside a rented room, figure after figure hanging in midair swayed gently and spoke at the same time:

“Sefirah Castle…”

Beneath Saint Samuel Cathedral, Leonard Mitchell, who was assigning tasks to his team members, suddenly heard a slightly aged voice ring out inside his mind:

“Sefirah Castle…”