Chapter 169: Mutated Paper Figurine

Chapter 169: Mutated Paper Figurine

This time, Klein did not directly bring Azik’s copper whistle above the gray fog. Instead, as when he had first divined the “mutated Sun Sacred Emblem,” he planned to complete the process through a manifested projection of the item. Although this would lower the accuracy to a certain extent, and might even result in the divination failing to provide any effective revelation, with the layer of gray fog between them, the object itself could be protected to the greatest degree.

He still remembered that when he had once divined the source of that black ear originating from a Listener, the sealed artifact had been struck by the True Creator’s backlash and had directly collapsed, disintegrated, and recombined into a charm.

Therefore, while suspecting that the divination result might point toward Death’s corpse or some other relic—toward the divine power left behind by a long-fallen Sequence 0 that had changed the Berserk Sea’s environment—Klein decided to leave Azik’s copper whistle in the real world and divine only through its projection, avoiding the possibility that this important object might be damaged. After all, Death and the True Creator existed on the same level!

As for why Klein had dared to directly use Groselle’s Travels to divine its source, that was because the ancient god known as the Dragon of Imagination had fallen long ago. The corresponding characteristics had most likely already been inherited by others and passed from hand to hand unknown numbers of times. Moreover, the travelogue itself was extremely sturdy; even a full-power strike from the Sea God Scepter could not damage it in the slightest. By the same logic, Mr. Door might only be at the King of Angels level, and He was in a banished, isolated state, barely able to pass ravings through, almost incapable of causing substantial destruction.

If I suffer harm or corruption, I can still use the mysterious space above the gray fog to recover quickly and leave no hidden danger. But if Azik’s copper whistle is broken, then it is truly broken. I would no longer be able to contact Mr. Azik, no longer be able to use it to attract undead creatures, or even carry it with me…

Calm and practiced, Klein grasped the projection of the copper whistle along with the paper bearing the divination statement. He leaned back against the chair, half-closed his eyes, and in a meditative state, murmured:

“The reason for this copper whistle’s abnormality today.”

After repeating it seven times in succession, Klein sank into sleep and entered a dream.

After an unknown length of time, he saw a dark and cold mausoleum. He saw deep-colored stairs extending endlessly downward. He saw coffins placed all around.

All those coffins were open. Inside them lay corpse after corpse, and from their backs had grown white feathers stained with pale-yellow grease.

Even inside the dream, Klein felt the scene was abnormally familiar, as if he had seen it before.

Just then, he seemed to smell the stench of rot and hear the slow breathing of something. He only felt the darkness inside the mausoleum grow thicker and denser, giving off a feeling of extreme deathly stillness.

All of a sudden, ravings of various pitches rang out at once. The dead people lying in the coffins, white feathers sprouting from their backs, all floated up and turned their half-rotten, half-pale faces toward the outside of the dream!

Thump!

Klein’s heart lost control. It was as though an invisible hand had seized it and was forcibly dragging it out of his chest.

During this process, his dream instantly disintegrated into fragments and returned to nothingness.

The final image Klein saw was this: not only did the corpses have white feathers growing from their backs, but similar feathers had sprouted elsewhere on their bodies as well. In addition, nearly illusory, fine black tubes pierced into their bodies at one end and extended at the other toward the deepest part of the mausoleum, where boundless black fog—dense, profound, sinister, and cold—pervaded everything.

The black fog slowly contracted and expanded, producing sounds like breathing. After that scene and that sound fell into Klein’s eyes and ears, his complexion rapidly paled. His skin began to rot and ooze pus. From his pores grew fine white down stained with pale-yellow grease. The projection of Azik’s copper whistle in his hand exploded with a bang into a clump of black fog.

Inside the entire ancient palace, the mottled long table decayed and collapsed. The twenty-two high-backed chairs were wrapped in white feathers, as though they had gained a life of their own.

The boundless gray fog silently churned. The mysterious space above it swayed gently. Everything soon returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.

Klein, who had fallen beside his chair, reached out and grabbed the table leg. Slowly, he stood and sat down again, letting out a long breath.

He rubbed his temples and, without quite intending to, began making comparisons:

“Weaker than the True Creator and the Eternal Blazing Sun. Stronger than Mr. Door, though I’m not sure whether that’s because the latter is banished and isolated, causing the power He can transmit here to be very little.

“Why am I thinking about this? In any case, I cannot defeat any of them. Even if I become a demigod, it will still be the same…

“What a pity. I did not directly see the thing hidden deep within that black fog. Otherwise, perhaps I could have gained a potion formula or some mysticism knowledge.”

Klein felt an inexplicable regret and cast his gaze beside the chair, where he saw a clump of illusory black fog floating there.

This was what remained after the projection of Azik’s copper whistle had been shattered.

“There is no sense of power. In other words, it cannot be used to make a charm. What use does it have?” As the thought flashed through Klein’s mind, he summoned from the pile of miscellaneous items a spare Paper Angel and threw it toward the clump of illusory black fog.

The instant the two came into contact, they fused together.

The paper figurine rapidly turned black, becoming deep and dark. From its back grew white feathers stained with pale-yellow grease.

This change lasted only one second before the paper figurine returned to its original state. But it no longer seemed real enough; it felt half-illusory.

Apart from that, feather-shaped patterns now covered the back of the paper figurine.

“What can this be used for?” Klein made the mutated paper figurine fall back into his palm.

He did not dare use divination to confirm its effect, fearing that he would once again see the scene from the dream and that the thing deep within the black fog, now prepared, would invade this place.

After repeated inspections, Klein made a preliminary judgment based on his own accumulation of mysticism knowledge.

“It does not contain any real power in itself, but its essence is special. Perhaps when used as a Paper Figurine Substitute or Paper Angel, it can produce strange effects related to the undead domain.

“It is like my adventurer’s harmonica. Although it does not possess any power itself, it can summon a particularly powerful messenger…”

Klein put away the mutated paper figurine and began interpreting the images he had seen in the dream.

“A dark mausoleum, open coffins, dead people with feathers growing from their backs, black fog pervading the depths—these revelations seem to point toward Death, or toward some important item left behind by Death… Or perhaps they point toward a stage product of the Numinous Episcopate’s artificial Death plan?

“Right. Why did I feel it was familiar just now?”

Klein carefully thought back and soon found the answer.

He had seen a similar scene long ago in a divination!

That time, what he had divined was the “consequences of concealing matters related to Mr. Azik within the Nighthawks.”

Back then, he had received two dream images. One showed him sinking into a sea of blood and being pulled out by Azik. The other showed the two of them standing together inside that dark and cold mausoleum, seemingly searching for something.

Klein had once interpreted the first scene as himself being in danger and being rescued by Mr. Azik, and the second as the two of them eventually exploring a mausoleum together—or someplace symbolized by a mausoleum.

The former had already been verified during the meteor incident in Backlund. Today, the latter finally had a clue!

“Could the place Mr. Azik and I are going to explore be the mausoleum I just ‘saw’? But that mausoleum is very dangerous. The thing in the deepest part, hidden by the black fog, has a very high level. Only a little below true gods. And it is filled with malice…”

Klein’s brows gradually furrowed. He believed that the joint exploration might not necessarily be a good thing.

This made him feel it was necessary to stop Mr. Azik. Yet he also suspected that a divination image already seen could not be directly violated. Otherwise, in a dramatic form of fate, it might produce an even worse ending.

“At least in the first divination, there was only the scene of exploration. No danger was shown… Perhaps there is a way to indirectly bypass it… Maybe this is why Seers are always vague and ambiguous. Sometimes, speaking too clearly can produce the opposite effect!”

Klein decided that when he next saw Mr. Azik, he would vaguely mention his dream without giving any interpretation, and see what the other party thought.

After confirming his line of thought, Klein leaned back against the chair and looked up at the dome of the majestic palace before vanishing from above the gray fog.

…

Light—shard-like light, pure and clear dawn light—burst from the body of Waite Chirmont, an elder of the six-member council and another Demon Hunter. It evaporated the white down growing from the pores of his skin and suppressed the subsequent writhing of his flesh.

The muscles of his arm bulged as he pulled back the string of the Dragon-Hunting Bow, letting silver-white lightning and dawn radiance weave together into a resplendent arrow.

The arrow flew out and arrived instantly at the altar piled high with monster skulls, striking the heavy iron-black coffin.

Silently, the arrow of light dimmed, vanished, and failed to produce any effect.

No—the area around the altar became darker, more deathly still!

From inside the iron-black coffin, a voice carrying the sound of grinding bones rang out:

“Why? Why do you disturb my slumber?”

Hearing such words, Waite’s heart sank slightly. The malice was undisguised, and it meant the former Chief might already have become a monster.

The City of Silver’s search for a way out had failed yet again.

With a bang, the coffin lid flew up, shattering into pieces. Great clouds of black fog spread endlessly from below.

Within that scene, Waite saw a figure slowly stand up from inside the coffin.

It was nearly four meters tall, with long arms and legs. Its body was covered in white feathers stained with pale-yellow grease, and from its back seemed to extend illusory black tubes connected to somewhere infinitely far away.

Behind the three elders of the six-member council, the pitch-black river also surged with enormous waves. All kinds of arms, tentacles, and vines rushed out at once.

At that moment, Waite saw the Chief’s body swiftly change. He saw the clothes the other man wore tear apart inch by inch beneath his swelling muscles.