Bansy Harbour.
The Naless dropped anchor at a location roughly half a nautical mile from the harbour shortly after 7 p.m., just as Klein had previously agreed upon with Aldrich.
Since those won insisted on going to Bansy, so be it. Let them go. As for Mr. Klein himself—there was no way he would willingly march into a situation he knew to be dangerous. That kind of suicidal behaviour simply wasn't his style.
It had been two days since the murder that occurred that night. In that ti, the witch in question had done absolutely nothing—just as Klein had hoped.
That, of course, was a good thing. Once those won safely reached Bansy Harbour, this bodyguard assignnt would be considered complete. Klein would receive his generous fee of 3,000 pounds—a reward he had essentially earned for doing next to nothing.
Not that Klein felt the least bit guilty about it. That was just the nature of bodyguard work: sotis dangerous, sotis peaceful—it all ca down to luck.
"Mr. Sparrow, are you really not coming ashore to look around?" asked Aldrich.
Klein responded coolly, "If I may, I suggest you don't go either."
After several days of interaction, Klein had developed a relatively good impression of Aldrich. Perhaps it was because the man had once been a soldier—he was efficient, steady, and well-respected by others.
If not for the need to maintain his persona as Gehrman Sparrow, Klein suspected they might have gotten along quite well.
Aldrich continued, "The residents of Bansy Island have an unusual fondness for the fresh blood of animals. They supposedly learned from migratory elves to add salt to it, which makes the blood congeal into a unique jelly-like delicacy. Combined with a few of the island's native spicy condints, the result is tender, flavorful, and a must-try for anyone who visits Bansy."
Wait a minute…isn't that just blood curd?
Klein was montarily stunned. He furrowed his brow and voiced his confusion:
"Elves?"
Weren't elves supposed to be elegant vegetarians? Why would they be into blood-based cuisine?
"Yes," Aldrich affird. "Rumour has it many elves used to enjoy congealed blood. Sadly, elves have long vanished from this world. Bansy Island is one of the few remaining places where you can still taste such a dish."
Truth be told, Klein had harboured a nostalgic craving for the spicy blood curd hot pot from his past life.
But there was no way he would risk his life just to satisfy a bit of culinary nostalgia—not even if doing so would be perfectly in line with his persona as a mad adventurer.
He glanced again at Bansy Island, which lood in the distance, shrouded in a faint mist, and shook his head.
"Forget it."
Aldrich let out a sigh. "Very well…"
At that mont, faint whispers of prayer brushed against Klein's ears. He turned to Aldrich and said, "Good luck to you all," before rising and returning to his cabin.
———
In the seabed ruins, partially fused with the Spirit World—
When Sea King Jahn Kottman arrived, all he saw was devastation: flesh and blood mangled into pulp, a giant sea serpent stripped down to bleached bone.
Nothing else remained.
Suppressing his fury, Jahn Kottman released a surge of spirituality. A wave of seawater cascaded from above and spread across the half-collapsed hall, quickly settling into a still, windless mirror-like surface.
Reflected in the water's surface was a vision of the past:
A familiar figure drew a white bone staff inlaid with aquamarines. That action stirred the surrounding seawater into a frenzy and caused the ancient ruins to tremble.
Sparks of lightning erupted from Jahn Kottman's entire body as he roared:
"Gehrman Sparrow!!"
———
Four steps in reverse—Klein ascended above the grey fog.
He extended his spirituality outward to touch a deep crimson star that pulsed rhythmically in the void. A mont later, Edward's figure appeared within the grey mist.
"Honourable Mr. Fool, I've just acquired a sealed artifact roughly equivalent to Sequence 3. However, its negative side effects are terrifying. I was wondering if you could help neutralise them—or perhaps keep it in safekeeping?"
What? A sealed artifact on par with Sequence 3?
Klein's heart skipped a beat. It had only been a few days—how on earth had Edward managed to obtain such a powerful item so quickly?
But how was he supposed to deal with the artifact's negative effects? Unless…it was similar to Creeping Hunger—possessing so form of sentience that could be suppressed by leveraging the authority of the grey fog?
As Edward's prayers echoed again, Klein extended his spirituality and opened the illusory door of sacrifice behind the bronze chair.
Seconds later, a white bone sceptre inlaid with tiny aquamarines materialised on the bronze table in front of him.
Since they were above the grey fog, Klein didn't need to be overly cautious. He reached out and grasped the white bone sceptre—only to be bombarded, almost imdiately, by a cacophony of overlapping prayers in his mind.
Startled, he instinctively let go. But the layers upon layers of phantom supplications continued unabated, drilling into his consciousness with a sharp ache.
Klein quickly activated the grey fog's power to block the agonising flood of prayers. Only then did he begin to examine the sceptre in earnest.
It didn't take long for Klein to discern the powers and side effects of the sceptre, and he couldn't help but marvel inwardly: As expected of a sealed artifact equivalent to Sequence 3—its abilities are truly formidable, and its side effects, equally deadly.
No wonder Edward had been willing to entrust such a powerful weapon to him for safekeeping. The re fact that it drained the blood of every living creature within a one-kilotre radius every twenty to thirty minutes made it sothing no ordinary person could handle.
Well, if I summon myself through the grey fog, I can remain unaffected by it—but it still risks harming innocent bystanders…
But…why does this sealed artifact receive so many prayers?
Klein's expression twisted into sothing rather strange. Counting carefully, the total number of true followers of "The Fool" shouldn't even reach double digits. And yet, this sceptre seems to have tens of thousands—maybe even hundreds of thousands—of "believers."
Am I—The Fool—actually inferior to a re sceptre?
What a disgrace to evil gods everywhere…
Klein gave the Sea God's Sceptre a light wave. "Well, now that I have this thing, I finally look a bit more like an actual 'evil god.' Next ti a mber of the Tarot Club seeks my protection, I won't be limited to just throwing out a Paper Angel—I can also offer up storms, lightning, and so forth. Judging by their power levels, the problems they encounter shouldn't exceed what this sceptre can handle."
"Except…Edward."
The mont Edward ca to mind, Klein felt a mild headache.
Strictly speaking, I'm only "safekeeping" the sceptre for him, but in practice, I've basically been given full usage rights for the majority of the ti.
Edward might not know that, but Klein certainly did—and he couldn't pretend otherwise. In other words, he now owed Edward a massive favour.
How the hell am I going to repay that?
Klein ruffled his hair in frustration. After a mont of hesitation, he traced the extended spiritual connection and pulled Edward's spirit up into the space above the grey fog.
Edward had just finished offering the Sea God's Sceptre as a sacrifice to Klein and was preparing to teleport back to find Lilith and the others. But the next mont, the surrounding air beca dense with mist, and in a blur, he found himself inside the palace of the Sefirah Castle.
He quickly placed his right hand over his chest and bowed. "Good evening, Mr. Fool."
"Good evening, Mr. Tower," Klein responded, allowing himself a trace of warmth.
"I wonder," he asked, "could you tell more about this sceptre…? Ah, you called it the 'Sea God's Sceptre.' What's the story behind that?"
Edward paused to think before answering, "Mr. Fool, have you ever heard of the native inhabitants of the Rorsted Archipelago? Most of them worship a deity called the Sea God."
"Mhm."
Klein had indeed heard Aldrich ntion this over the past few days during their idle conversations. He'd even wondered why the Seven Churches—especially the Lord of Storms, the primary deity of the seas—would tolerate the worship of a rival, possibly heretical god among those natives.
If it were up to , I'd have wiped out that so-called Sea God ages ago. How can one allow a rival to snore beside their own pillow?
"This sceptre," Edward continued, "was ford from the Beyonder Characteristic and teeth of that Sea God after its death."
Klein fell silent for several seconds.
"How did it die?"
Edward scratched his head, putting on an honest expression. "I killed it."
"…"
Klein's pupils involuntarily contracted. Excuse —what did you just say? You killed a god? Even if it was an evil god—it's still a god, isn't it?
As a fellow "evil god," Klein felt an uncontrollable chill.
"Well, to be precise, I only delivered the finishing blow when it was already gravely wounded and on the brink of death."
'It'?
In Loenese, there were clear distinctions between "he," "she," "it," and the divine "He" ("Thou" in so interpretations). Yet Edward had just used "it" to refer to a god?
...Do evil gods really have so little dignity these days? If not "He," then at least use a proper "he," won't you? muttered a certain anonymous evil god in the back of his mind.
Edward explained further, "Actually, the so-called 'Sea God' worshipped in the Rorsted Archipelago was just a sea serpent that accidentally consud a high-sequence extraordinary characteristic. Thanks to an absurd amount of luck, it didn't die or beco a monster, and instead beca a Sequence 3 extraordinary being."
"However, it remained in a semi-mad, half-deranged state for years, relying on the faith of the Rorsted natives to barely stay sane."—Of course, the more crucial stabiliser was the Book of Calamity.
"For many years, the archbishop of the Church of Storms in the Rorsted Archipelago had been searching for its hiding place—until today…"
Edward then recounted the cooperation between the Church of the Sea God and the Numinous Episcopate, and the events that transpired after he lured Kottman to Tiana Island.
Klein listened with wide eyes and an increasingly dazed expression.
So you're telling …you first enraged the sea serpent and drove it berserk on Tiana, then lured Sea King Kottman to join the fight. While three demigods were battling it out, you sabotaged the Numinous Episcopate's ritual, located the Sea God's lair, and delivered the killing blow to seize the Sea God's Sceptre…
A textbook case of pitting tiger against wolf, redirecting calamity, and reaping the spoils as the fisherman.
But…
Klein's scalp tingled. Why—why did you do all this under the identity of Gehrman Sparrow?
Should I consider…changing aliases while I still have ti?
Edward spoke again. "Mr. Fool, because of the role I'm playing, I may need to request the sceptre back from you quite frequently in the near future. I hope you won't find too botherso."
He paused, then added, "Also, please help inform Mr. World that if he wishes to digest the Faceless potion more quickly, he may also request access to the sceptre."
Klein leaned back slightly, a look of intrigue spreading across his face. "Oh?"
"Mr. Fool, you must already know this—but the sceptre doesn't just receive prayers from those who worship the Sea God. It can also be used to convey will and divine intent to them. So…"
Klein imdiately understood and said calmly, "You want Mr. World to impersonate—or rather, to play the role of—the Sea God?"
"Exactly."
Edward looked visibly nervous. "Mr. Fool…would you mind?"
Why would I mind?
What's the big deal about playing god? I'm a professional at this point.
"I'll convey your suggestion to him."
"Thank you, Mr. Fool."
Klein's expression grew complex: It's who should be thanking you, honestly…
———
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