Samuel looked at Celt, pressing his fingers against the corners of his mouth and pulling downward with a bit of force, making the corners droop into an exaggerated expression of sorrow.
Yet his eyes were still smiling.
"It seems you've indeed been quite affected, even starting to develop obsessive-compulsive tendencies," he said with a sowhat feigned tearful tone. "Oh, poor little Celt, suffering such tornt on the very first day of your existence."
"He's just a child, what has he done wrong?"
Then he pushed his fingers upward, making his mouth curve into a smile.
The speed of this expression change was unnaturally fast, as easy as tearing off a cheap sticker.
"Well, but it's actually quite fine," Samuel maintained that brilliant smile, but his voice returned to its usual lightheartedness.
"With many lice, you stop itching; with many debts, you stop worrying. I was already a madman with schizophrenia anyway, adding a bit of OCD doesn't change much."
It could be considered another addition to the collection, in a sense.
Collecting ntal illnesses.
At that mont, the waiter who had initially guided Celt earlier pushed a small cart over once more.
"Here are the set als for you two gentlen, please enjoy," the waiter's voice was steady and gentle as he smoothly and carefully placed several porcelain plates covered with gleaming silver cloches on the table between Samuel and Celt.
The mont the silver covers were lifted, rich aromas spread along with billowing steam: slow-roasted beef short ribs with a perfect pink hue, drizzled with a thick black truffle sauce; erald green asparagus garnished with golden, glistening pan-seared foie gras; lobster gratin with a golden color, exuding the scent of caralized cream and cheese; and elegantly plated seasonal vegetables with side dishes glazed in amber-colored sauce.
"Uh, why is there foie gras again?" Samuel blinked.
"This is prepared using two different thods, sir," the waiter bowed slightly, hands folded in front of him, responding in a calm and respectful tone. "Allow
to explain for you, sir..."
"Not needed, thank you," Samuel raised a hand, cutting off the waiter's impending lengthy explanation.
The waiter closed his mouth without the slightest hint of negative emotion, bowed, and stepped back.
Regarding what had just happened earlier, the waiter acted as if he had seen nothing at all.
He completely "ignored" Samuel and Celt's behavior, even though he had been observing from not far away the entire ti, waiting to see if the guests needed any assistance.
This ability wasn't re illusion magic; it ca from his Sixth Life, specifically the "Performance Artist" within the Law Marks.
The Sixth Life, which was also his previous life, the last one before his transmigration, was when his power was closest to what it is now.
Back then, he could effortlessly beco anyone, from the inside out, from appearance to physique to internal organs. He could synchronize with any ordinary person's thoughts and mories through "imitation."
This took only a few seconds.
He could easily influence others' thinking, mories, perceptions, or simply overwrite that person's consciousness.
Again, this took only a few seconds, and the affected person wouldn't even notice anything abnormal.
After all, from their perspective, their own thoughts originated from themselves. No one would doubt their own thoughts, because they would lose the very notion of "doubt" before it could even form.
His control over his own body had beco sowhat eerie. His manipulation of his own physique had long surpassed biological limits, reaching a level of absolute free will, even defying common sense.
Flesh buds could instantly surge beneath his skin, bones could twist and rearrange under his will, and the positions of internal organs could flow like liquid.
The items he created grew increasingly bizarre, increasingly peculiar, and increasingly effective.
He could create a quill that made people instantly forget what they had written; a "copycat" that, no matter the viewing angle, only showed its rear; an umbrella without ribs, with eight small stone balls evenly distributed along its edge, opening via centrifugal force...
He even created a divine sculpture that could respond to prayers: the Flying Spaghetti Throne Oreo Deity.
And one of the core abilities granted by "Performance Artist" was control over "presence." It wasn't re psychological invisibility, but sothing more fundantal—the "power of definition" over a target within others' cognitive perception.
He could make himself vanish completely from everyone's perception like a roadside pebble, even if he was standing right in front of them breathing; or, as he did now, precisely make the waiter "overlook" all the unreasonable aspects about him and Celt, seeing them only as a pair of diners whose behavior might be slightly odd but still within the bounds of "normal humans."
He could just as easily make himself the sole focus of the entire space, like a spotlight in darkness, drawing all attention and reducing everything else to a blurry backdrop.
He could also make people within a certain range perceive and think sluggishly, to the point where they'd need to think for a while about whether to step with their left or right foot first when walking.
The illusions he created could be large enough to cover an entire city, precise enough to replicate a city in detail.
When he turned these illusions into reality, people could even move and work within this illusory city.
He could also directly create a city and drop it from the sky, getting revenge for his previous "death by giant stomach."
Finally, he awakened "Visual Perception," allowing him to understand the world from a new perspective...
Snap.
Samuel snapped his fingers, drawing the waiter's attention.
"May I ask, what is the na of that pianist over there?" Samuel lowered the fingers propping up the corner of his mouth and asked with a smile.
The waiter thought for a mont and replied with a smile, "That is Mr. Falsen Boles, sir. He is the resident pianist of our Flora restaurant."
"Excellent," Samuel nodded, took out a one-yur banknote, and placed it on the waiter's serving tray. "His piano playing is very pleasant. Please pass this to him on my behalf, expressing my appreciation."
"Very happy to be of service, sir. Mr. Boles will certainly be delighted," the waiter bowed once more, then turned and left at Samuel's gesture.
Samuel's gaze, however, didn't follow the waiter, but returned to the table. He opened the Travel Guide again, flipping to the profile page.
Based on previous experience, after learning a na, the Travel Guide would display the profile of a madman.
But this ti, it remained blank.
"Nothing?" Samuel's tone carried a hint of confusion. "Does it not et certain conditions?"
His mind raced, considering over twenty possibilities within a single second.
It shouldn't be. He simultaneously knew the target's na and so of his abilities, yet it wasn't recorded? Was it because it's a fake na? Or were his guesses about the abilities inaccurate? Or could the other party block the Travel Guide's detection? Or perhaps...
"Could it be that he's actually not a madman? That he's a normal person?" Celt suggested a possibility.
His control over his own body had beco sowhat eerie. His manipulation of his own physique had long surpassed biological limits, reaching a level of doing as one pleases, even defying common sense.
"Hiss..." Samuel drew in a breath of non-existent cold air. "It seems... that's not impossible either."
"But..."
"Tsk, does this world actually have Law Seekers who aren't madn?"
Celt elegantly placed a small piece of foie gras into his mouth.
Samuel widened his eyes dramatically.
"What do we do? I suddenly feel a bit eerie."
"This world actually has normal people? What's going on? Is the world about to end?"
Celt shrugged. "Huh? It's just a normal person, could it really be that serious?"
Is this right?
"You're being a bit absurd."
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