Chapter 194: Plans

Chapter 194: Plans

Backlund, North Borough, 7 Pinster Street.

After a busy day, Leonard finally had the chance to ask the question puzzling him.

“Old man, what is Sefirah Castle?”

The slightly aged voice inside his mind fell silent for several seconds before giving a “heh.”

“The place where you gather every Monday is very likely Sefirah Castle.”

“…” Leonard had never imagined he would hear such an answer. His mind went blank for a moment, filled with astonishment, shock, and complicated feelings like, so it really wasn’t without origin, and so that’s how it is.

After a while, he asked in a somewhat urgent low voice, “Then what exactly is Sefirah Castle?”

Pallez Zoroast laughed in a manner that was half sigh and half self-mockery.

“In truth, I’m not too clear either. I have only heard certain rumors.

“They differ somewhat from the creation myths you know. In those rumors, what the original Creator left behind were nine different things. Some were kingdoms. Some were cities. Some were rivers. Some were seas. Some were keys. Sefirah Castle is one of them.

“It may not actually be a castle, but some other form. As for what exactly it looks like, you may know better than I do.

“The reason I am certain it exists is because when I advanced to angel, I sensed it, but could not look into it or establish a connection with it.

“My great-grandfather once mentioned a conjecture. He said those nine things might be related to the sefirot recorded on the second Blasphemy Slate. Unfortunately, because of various reasons, He saw only limited contents at the time and could not interpret the portions related to the sefirot.”

Leonard calmed down quite a bit and leaned back against the sofa, asking thoughtfully, “Old man, do you suspect that Mr. Fool is an incarnation of a sefirah?”

Based on what he had seen and heard at the Tarot Club and the information Old Man Pallez occasionally told him, he already had some understanding of matters concerning the level of deities.

Pallez Zoroast remained silent for a long time before replying:

“Perhaps…”

…

On the night of strictly enforced curfew, there were almost no pedestrians on Backlund’s streets. Only the occasional carriage passed, and those inside were all people of sufficient status.

After Klein reached the appointed house, he did not hurry inside. Instead, he half-closed his eyes, raised his right hand, and reached forward. From thin air, he pulled out another Sherlock Moriarty wearing a black double-breasted wool coat, a half top hat of silk, and holding a gold-inlaid cane.

This was him as he had been when leaving home just now—a projection from the historical void.

Because Klein himself stood opposite it, the projection was stiff and lifeless, like a prop on a stage.

Based on several previous experiments, Klein knew this was the mystical principle of the “uniqueness of time and consciousness.” In other words, each person’s essence was unique at a single point in time. If the main body could think, the projection could not.

The same was true after projections of the dead were summoned from the historical void. Klein suspected it was because his present level was still insufficient. In short, projections of others could only give relatively mechanical answers and fight according to instincts. If the Scholar of Yore did not know about something, then even if they had personally experienced it, they could not provide the corresponding answer.

This confirmed one of Klein’s guesses: the fragments a Scholar of Yore could see in the fog of history were all things they had learned about and studied to some degree in reality. Simply put, that fog had to be illuminated by the Scholar of Yore, piece by piece.

Of course, Klein also suspected that if the vast majority of historical fragments related to the same event had already been illuminated, the remaining ones might naturally appear.

“At least the corresponding abilities won’t be missing because I don’t understand them well enough. As long as an image exists in the historical void, that moment’s state is completely recorded… That alone is enough…” Klein looked at the historical projection, which could only act according to instinct, and his body suddenly vanished, entering that grayish-white fog.

Since even the Fog Hounds, who were not complete Scholars of Yore, could live within the historical void, there was no reason a true Scholar of Yore could not. The only problem was that there was a time limit. In addition, if he remained for too long, the marionettes in the real world would certainly die. However, that was only another form of companionship at the Scholar of Yore’s side.

As Klein’s main body entered the speck of light within the grayish-white fog, his consciousness abruptly came alive inside the historical projection.

Raising a hand to press the top hat on his head, Klein, in the appearance of Sherlock Moriarty, came before the house. As agreed, he directly took out the Master Key, pressed it against the door, and gently turned it.

His figure appeared directly inside the house. Borrowing the crimson moonlight, he quickly looked around.

The sofa, cabinet, high-backed chairs, coffee table, and other furnishings clearly had no small amount of age. They seemed to come from the previous century and appeared rather old.

Inside the dim environment, Sharron, wearing a Gothic court dress and a small matching soft hat, abruptly appeared atop a high-backed chair.

“Good evening.” This Miss Puppet nodded slightly and offered a greeting.

If she did not speak or open her mouth, she would be the most standard and exquisite doll.

At the same time, near the sofa, Maric, wearing a white shirt and black waistcoat, was also outlined.

…Sir, winter has already arrived. Won’t you be cold dressed like that? Ah, right. You are one of the dead. The dead do not fear the cold… Klein silently lampooned him, then removed his hat and bowed to Sharron, who had pale golden hair, blue eyes, and a pale face.

“Good evening, Miss Sharron.”

Then he half-turned and said to Maric, “Good evening.”

Klein’s deepest impression of this former Zombie, now a Wraith, was that he had once played cards together with the zombies he controlled.

We can all play cards together sometime… Klein silently sighed.

The reason he had suddenly thought of cards was that while analyzing a Scholar of Yore’s combat style earlier, he had discovered that if he encountered Zaratul, the two sides might very well begin “playing cards” on the spot:

You play Consul Roselle. I play Emperor Roselle. You play Bernadette. I play Bonova. If you play half a Fool, I’ll answer with Amon…

I never expected the Seer pathway’s battles to truly become “card games” one day—real, extraordinarily dangerous card games… Sigh. But Zaratul is a Sequence 1 angel. He won’t give me the chance to “play cards” at all. Besides, my success rate when summoning projections of those major figures from the historical void is still relatively low… Klein withdrew his gaze and took the initiative to speak to Sharron.

“I recently need to do something. It is somewhat difficult and rather dangerous. One of the steps requires gathering Beyonder blood from all twenty-two pathways. For the Wraith pathway, the only people I can think of asking for help are you and Maric. You should be comparatively skilled in curses and have a way to eliminate the connection between the blood and yourselves.”

In truth, he could attempt to summon Admiral of Blood Senor on the spot and mix his blood into the ceramic jar. But whether that would be effective, Klein did not know and could not divine. After all, this involved a level beyond Sequence 1 and lacked sufficient information. The only thing he could confirm was that drawing that symbol would not bring danger to himself or the providers.

Since a Scholar of Yore could perform far too many operations, Klein had previously even attempted to summon the past witch Trissy, easily subdue her, and smear her blood over Groselle’s Travels.

However, it had produced no effect.

After some thought, Klein believed a logical contradiction had appeared in the timeline, which was why it had failed. That blood had been “additionally provided” by the past Trissy, while the one Groselle’s Travels would pull in had to be the past Trissy. That was equivalent to changing history.

And history could not be changed, so the experiment had failed.

Sharron quietly listened to Sherlock Moriarty’s request. Without any change in expression, she spoke.

“All right.

“How much?”

Miss Sharron’s reaction is exactly as I expected… Klein took out a thin glass tube.

“This tube is enough.”

Sharron, dressed in a Gothic court gown, gently lifted her right hand. The glass tube seemed to gain its own life, leaving Klein’s palm of its own accord and flying over.

Immediately afterward, this doll-like lady lowered her right hand to her left wrist. Her fingernails suddenly lengthened, becoming abnormally sharp.

With only a light cut, a wound opened on her wrist. Bright-red blood seeped out from within, not dripping downward but floating upward in reverse and entering the glass tube.

Once the vessel was full, Sharron’s wound instantly healed, leaving not even a trace. The stopper leaped to the mouth of the tube, rotated several times, and sealed itself.

During the whole process, Sharron, whose face was less pale than before, showed not the slightest change in expression, as though she had suppressed all sensation deep within her heart.

Looking at the tube of fresh blood in her hand, Sharron extended her left palm and touched it, slowly sliding from top to bottom.

She was severing the connection between the blood and her main body.

After all this was done, the tube of blood leaped up and flew back into Klein’s hand.

“Is there anything else you need help with?” Sharron sat upright on the high-backed chair and spoke calmly.

“Not for now. Thank you.” Klein shook his head and snapped his fingers, causing a ball of crimson flame to ignite in his palm.

The flame swiftly surged upward, wrapping around the glass tube.

When the crimson fire dissipated, the tube of blood had vanished.

This was a new change in Flame Jump. It allowed him to transfer an item on his person to a marionette or to his main body.

Aside from this, Klein’s earlier Beyonder powers had also gained corresponding improvements and changes.

While familiarizing himself with his abilities, he turned his gaze back toward Sharron and casually asked, “How is your Puppet potion digestion going?”

When he had first met Miss Sharron, he had thought she looked like a doll. Whether that came from her nature or from strict adherence to the principle of temperance, it counted as acting in advance and would certainly help quite a bit in digesting the Puppet potion.

“Not bad,” Sharron answered flatly. “Another one to two years, and it should be completely digested.”

One to two years… As expected, even fast digestion is measured in years. Only I advanced in less than half a year… That isn’t something to be proud of. I’ve been arranged all too clearly… Of course, if I count the time I was hanging from that door of light, then it should be measured in millennia… Miracle Invoker… If I can escape this fate, perhaps that would count as creating a “miracle”… Klein sighed inwardly a few times and gently nodded.

“What plans do you have recently?”

Sharron said, “We hope to restore our teacher’s body to wholeness.”

Maric, sitting on the sofa, immediately added, “But didn’t you say that the Secret Order’s leader, Zaratul, is in Backlund and has close ties with the Rose School of Thought?”

“That’s right.” Klein smiled. “Wait patiently. There will always be an opportunity.”

This was, in truth, a form of comfort. Even after becoming a Scholar of Yore and gaining the ability to find quite a few helpers, Klein currently had no intention of dealing with Zaratul. A perfectly intact Sequence 1 was absolutely terrifying beyond imagination.

Furthermore, the farther Klein advanced along the Seer pathway, the more he could appreciate just how frightening and difficult to kill Zaratul was.

After stopping George III from becoming a god, Klein planned to leave Backlund directly and give himself more time to grow.