Chapter 39: Yesterday No Longer

Chapter 39: Yesterday No Longer

In the Southern Continent, East Balam, inside a room beside a church of the Evernight Goddess, Leonard’s consciousness returned to the real world.

He remained silent for a few seconds, then picked up the cup of coffee before him, now much cooler than before, and took a gentle sip.

Bitterness immediately filled his mouth, gradually clearing his mind.

“Old Man, what exactly happened today?” At last, Leonard could no longer hold back and asked of his own accord.

After a stretch of silence, Pallez Zoroast answered with deep emotion, “Error has fallen.”

“Error”… Leonard nearly failed to react to which existence the Old Man meant.

The next second, unable to hide his shock, he almost forgot to lower his voice as he asked, “Amon?”

That was a true god in the standard sense!

“Mm.” Pallez Zoroast’s voice seemed even older than before. “Strictly speaking, Amon’s main body has fallen.”

Leonard was in no mood to distinguish the subtle implications of the Old Man’s wording. He spoke in disbelief, “How—how could there have been no signs at all?”

He had personally witnessed the abnormalities before and after the God of Combat’s fall. He knew that was a change affecting the entire world, and that it had directly brought about many terrifying monsters and dangerous regions.

But just now, there had only been two abnormalities:

Doors and windows had suddenly shut tight; and he himself seemed to have forgotten something.

The latter was something most people would encounter in daily life. There was nothing strange about it at all.

Pallez Zoroast’s tone sank.

“He should have fallen inside Sefirah Castle.”

Inside Sefirah Castle? Leonard was startled.

The place where he had just attended the gathering was inside Sefirah Castle!

A divine battle had erupted there just now? Amon had actually invaded Sefirah Castle? As thoughts raced through Leonard’s mind, his expression gradually turned solemn.

“Old Man, is Mr. Fool injured because of that, forced to choose slumber?”

“He is going to enter slumber?” Pallez Zoroast asked in return.

He did not sound particularly surprised by this.

Leonard gave an “Mm.”

“He summoned us for a temporary gathering today precisely because of this.”

After a few seconds of silence, Pallez Zoroast said, “His choice to slumber is indeed related to the divine battle just now, and to Amon’s infiltration, but it is not because of injury. It is because He encountered contamination.”

“Contamination?” Leonard blurted in considerable surprise.

At Mr. Fool’s level, could He still encounter a kind of contamination that was difficult to remove?

Pallez Zoroast’s voice recovered its earlier tone of emotion.

“All things have divinity. Those who rely on divinity to grow stronger can never escape divinity’s restraints.

“This applies to you. It applies to me. It applies to The Fool as well. Heh, perhaps He should no longer be called The Fool. He is now equivalent to half a Lord of the Mysteries.”

Lord of the Mysteries… Leonard did indeed understand the issue of spiritual imprints within Beyonder characteristics more deeply than most demigods of the same level. But when it came to knowledge that might involve an even higher level and bring contamination simply through knowing it, he still had many deficiencies. Even though the Old Man had mentioned the term Lord of the Mysteries before, Leonard still did not understand what it truly represented.

However, based on what Mr. Fool had said during the gathering and what the Old Man had just told him, he could at least confirm that Mr. Fool’s status had already surpassed Sequence 0, and that His strength was sufficient to slay a true god.

Leonard rationally avoided asking further. His voice sank as he changed the topic.

“Old Man, why would Klein enter slumber along with Him?

“Do you have any way to awaken him as soon as possible?”

Pallez Zoroast’s tone became somewhat odd.

“How could an old and weak angel like me know anything about divine-level matters like that?

“As for awakening him, even The Fool has no better method. What could I possibly do?”

Leonard fell silent for a short while. He picked up the coffee again and took another sip.

After a while, he hesitantly asked, “Old Man, do you have a way to ‘steal’ someone else’s talent?”

Pallez Zoroast gave a scornful laugh.

“The word talent is too vaguely defined and too loosely categorized. It cannot be ‘stolen.’

“However, if you change it to innate aptitude, there is a way.”

“…Forget it.” In the end, Leonard still could not bring himself to steal another person’s innate aptitude in order to solve his own difficulties.

Pallez Zoroast added with a chuckle, “If you cannot accept that method, then you can find someone who possesses the aptitude you want but lives in great poverty, make a transaction with them, and exchange the money they desire for the corresponding aptitude.”

“That sounds a bit like a devil…” Leonard offered a fair assessment.

Pallez Zoroast laughed.

“There is an even simpler way: spend money to hire talented people to help you solve the corresponding difficulty.”

“…Old Man, why didn’t you say that earlier?” Leonard suddenly saw the dawn of hope.

Pallez Zoroast gave a “heh.”

“You could not even think of something that simple?

“I assumed you had already ruled out that option before asking me.”

Leonard ignored the Old Man’s mockery and seriously considered the idea, finding it indeed workable.

However, he soon felt a little guilty and uneasy, as though he were evading responsibility.

In this matter, I still have to do something personally… Aside from hiring people to write poems, I should also write some myself… As he thought this, Leonard suddenly stood and walked toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Pallez Zoroast asked, somewhat surprised.

Leonard frowned faintly. With a firm expression, he said, “To the nearby bookstore to buy some poetry collections.”

Ever since advancing to Nightmare, he had given up the poetry collections he had purchased in the past, allowing them to exist more as decorations. After becoming a Spirit Warlock, he had begun having some of the collected spirits with suitable abilities read poetry collections, so they could recite verses in battle, create extraordinary effects, and coordinate with him.

Therefore, when he came to the Southern Continent, he had not brought even a single book of poetry. As for the ones from the past, he remembered only a few he commonly used.

I didn’t expect that, after becoming a senior deacon, I’d have to revisit poetry collections… Leonard sighed inwardly, and his steps grew even more resolute.

Pallez Zoroast had never expected Leonard’s next plan to be buying poetry collections. Only after a while did He ask tentatively, “Is this The Fool’s command?”

“Yes. To spread the corresponding legends.” Leonard gave a simple answer while opening the door and leaving.

Pallez Zoroast fell silent once more before finally saying, “Aside from writing poems, you must also pay close attention to the operation to encircle and purge the Rose School of Thought.”

Leonard finished descending the stairs and walked onto the street. Looking at the pedestrians coming and going, he nodded lightly.

“Mm.”

At this moment, as he walked toward the bookstore, it was as though he had returned to Tingen, to those years when he was still a Midnight Poet. Back then, he had also walked along a bustling street like this, preparing to buy a copy of Early Classical Poetry of Loen and a Selected Poems of Roselle.

…

Backlund, Bridge South Borough, the Harvest Church.

After Emlyn White recovered his senses, he discovered that he was standing before a window.

Outside, the sunlight had dimmed, and flowers and grass grew thick and lush.

Regarding Mr. Fool’s slumber, his feelings differed slightly from those of the other Tarot Club members.

Besides heaviness, sighs, sorrow, and bewilderment, he also carried a certainty that things would probably end well.

Among the Sanguine, some marquises and counts were already quite aged. Even though their lifespan was much longer than that of most demigods of the same level, they had still reached the twilight of life. At such times, they would often choose slumber, using a similar method to prolong their lives. The results were usually quite good.

Therefore, Emlyn had long since seen and heard much about slumber. He knew it was not equivalent to passing away, nor equivalent to falling. He believed that if the right method could be found, Mr. Fool had a considerable chance of awakening.

Looking at the scenery outside the window, he muttered inwardly, Mr. Fool has entered slumber. The Ancestor’s oracles are also frequently interfered with, so clearly they cannot provide help often…

After a brief silence, Emlyn sighed soundlessly.

“In the end, I really do have to face things and bear them myself.

“This is the destiny of a savior.”

When he spoke the word “savior,” Emlyn clearly smiled, carrying a faint hint of self-mockery.

Immediately afterward, he repeated inwardly, I can only rely on myself now.

Just as this thought flashed through his mind, Father Utravsky’s voice sounded behind him.

“It is time to depart.”

Emlyn turned around and saw the priest in brown clerical robes carrying a greatsword on his back.

That sword was longer than Emlyn’s height and nearly as wide as his waist.

Combined with Father Utravsky’s mountain-like body, the terrifying sense of pressure it created seemed almost tangible.

As a Sanguine count, Emlyn only felt a slight suffocation before quickly recovering. He nodded gently.

“All right.”

Today, they would set out for the Southern Continent to participate in the operation to encircle and purge the Rose School of Thought.

Just as he finished answering, Emlyn suddenly remembered something and hurriedly added, “Wait half a day.”

He wanted to summon most of Backlund’s Sanguine and preliminarily discuss the matter of the pharmaceutical company.

Bishop Utravsky did not ask anything. He merely nodded.

“Come find me when you are ready.”

After watching Father Utravsky walk deeper into the church, Emlyn turned toward the Sanguine who would follow him to the Southern Continent and said, “Notify every Sanguine in Backlund to come here. There is something we need to discuss.”

“Yes, Your Excellency Count.” Those Sanguine responded respectfully.

After they split up and began their tasks, Emlyn turned back toward the altar at the front of the church and the sacred emblem of life—an infant drawn in simple strokes, surrounded by symbols such as wheat ears, flowers, and spring water.

This suddenly left Emlyn dazed.

He could no longer quite remember when the amount of time he spent in his bedroom had grown less and less, when the time he spent accompanying his dolls had dwindled, or when even his hobby of studying history had become more purposeful, more utilitarian.

This change had not taken shape all at once. It had come slowly, day by day, month by month, gradually, almost imperceptibly. By the time Emlyn noticed, he had long since adapted to his new life.

Emlyn withdrew his gaze, lifted his chin slightly, smiled, and shook his head.

“This truly is the destiny of a savior…”