Chapter 1024: The Psychological Alchemy Council eting
With this newly completed Transformation Belt, even if Ebner were to encounter an angel unexpectedly as he had last night, he would still have the strength to fight back.
No wonder, despite its "chūnibyō" flair, Ebner loved it deeply.
"Still, the special properties of mystical items usually reflect the will or personality of their creator or the material’s provider... So, with its flashy look and the overly dramatic activation chant, is that my doing, or is Daphne also a few centuries deep into a case of chūnibyō herself?"
While thinking this, Ebner glanced at the visibly exhausted Daphne beside him. After a mont of silent judgnt, he concluded—
Maybe... both?
After sending Daphne off to rest, Ebner took the chance—under the pretense of offering up the Shining Mirror—to pray to The Fool and schedule a eting with The World above the gray fog.
At the sa ti, his other body, Owen Delean, woke up at one of his mistresses’ hos. After washing up and eating breakfast, he waited for the Psychological Alchemy Council’s high assembly to begin.
.....
Above the Gray Fog
Within the grand palace resembling the dwelling of a giant, Klein examined the full-length mirror that had turned ek and compliant the mont it entered the Source Castle. Then he looked toward The Tower and said with a grin:
"I didn’t expect you to get your hands on a Faceless Man characteristic that fast... I thought it would take Sharon at least two or three weeks to obtain it."
"I just happened to beco friends with a vice president of the Secret Order," Ebner said casually.
Klein gave him a deep look and nodded aningfully. "That vice president—she’s a woman, isn’t she?"
"...How did you know?" Ebner asked, genuinely surprised. In theory, Klein shouldn’t have known much about the Secret Order, and Daphne—being the youngest and most low-profile among its three vice presidents—wasn’t widely recognized, even by most mbers.
Klein’s gaze said it all—Do you even need to ask? You should know exactly what kind of person you are.
"The Fool," Ebner muttered inwardly, what kind of image do you have of ? Why do I feel like you’re lumping
together with Roselle?!
He resisted the urge to argue and swiftly changed the topic:
"You’re arriving in Backlund tomorrow, right? Without a mystical item that allows Miss ’Temperance’ to change her appearance, it’ll be difficult for her to deceive her fellow Nighthawks... Also, Miss Daly’s speaking mannerisms—Miss Temperance will need to practice those."
Hearing this, Klein’s expression grew troubled. He’d been working with Sharon on that exact problem for days, but Miss Temperance just couldn’t mimic Daly’s lively tone.
"I’ve heard pregnant won’s personalities sotis change... Maybe you can use that to cover for her differences," Ebner suggested with a smirk.
"That might be the only way. Luckily, I’ve already made arrangents for Leonard—the person most familiar with Daly—to beco one of our own soon. Once that’s done, he can help us, and Sharon can use the excuse of pregnancy to stay ho. That should make things easier." Klein sighed.
"You’re ready to reveal yourself, then?" Ebner raised an eyebrow. He’d already suspected as much when Klein asked him to deliver that ssage to lissa, but seeing him act earlier than in the "original tiline" still surprised him.
Less paranoia, more initiative... Is that the Captain’s influence? Or Miss Sharon’s? Or... my interference?
Klein didn’t notice Ebner’s quiet musings. He only nodded slightly.
"Letting Leonard bear a hatred for our supposed deaths—hatred for sothing that never even happened—it’s too cruel.
"And, as you said, with The Fool involved, it’ll also help suppress the ’Old Man’ within him."
He paused and looked at Ebner again. "I just don’t know what attitude the Evernight Goddess will take toward all this."
Ebner thought for a mont and replied, "The Goddess probably won’t intervene. After all, when I passed along your ssage earlier, She didn’t stop —that counts as tacit approval."
Then, realizing how that might sound, he added quickly, "That’s just my speculation—I don’t truly know what’s in Her mind."
"Right, right, I get it." Klein nodded—but his expression scread disbelief. In his heart, he’d already decided Ebner was basically the Ilminster of this world—one of those mysterious sages who knew way too much.
Ebner could tell from Klein’s eyes exactly what he was thinking and almost rolled his own. But before he could speak, his face suddenly grew serious.
"It’s starting."
At his words, Klein imdiately made a show of praying to The Fool. The next second, an image appeared before them—seen from Owen’s perspective.
Owen was sitting in the parlor of his mistress’s mansion. Greeted by several impossibly beautiful maids, he boarded a luxurious carriage, which then drove straight into a bizarre dreamscape.
Ebner had invited Klein to observe this temporary eting mainly to watch the Psychological Alchemy Council’s Supre Tribunal session firsthand.
It wasn’t just for Klein’s education—it was also because Ebner feared that Owen’s body might unknowingly exceed his control range once inside the dream, so he needed the Source Castle’s distance-ignoring power as a relay to maintain connection.
Monts later, through the carriage’s window, they saw a city cloaked in endless night.
The city stood grand and eerie, filled with gothic structures exuding mystery and darkness. On the streets walked gentlen in top hats and coats, and won in somber yet elegant dresses.
So had innocent, childlike smiles; others bore patches of black fur and sharp canine teeth.
"What is this place?" Klein asked, intrigued. He knew Ebner possessed Owen’s mories.
Ebner didn’t delve into them—instead, he recalled the original text and explained:
"This is the city within everyone’s heart. Wherever there are people, this city exists.
"If you know its coordinates and the proper thod, you can enter it from any corner of the human world."
He gestured toward the street outside.
"Everything here symbolizes psychological concepts. Those furred ones represent bestial desire, while the clean, innocent ones stand for pure thought."
Klein’s gaze swept over the "citizens"—werewolves, upright bears, lazy cats, spider-faced figures, red-eyed rats, serpents flicking their tongues, and doglike creatures whose eyes glead with carnal hunger.
They all wore coats and hats or intricate dark gowns, striving to mimic humanity—but never quite succeeding.
By contrast, the "pure" ones were extrely rare. After all, in dreams, desire runs rampant, while "sage-like calm" almost never appears.
The carriage rolled through the dim streets between these gothic buildings, finally stopping before a cathedral at the city’s heart.
The church was over eighty ters tall, supported by towering black pillars, each embedded with skulls—so human, so beast—all staring hollow-eyed at those below, watching every being that entered.
Like most architecture here, the church was exquisite yet filled with elents of nightmare, horror, and mystery.
Under the servants’ guidance, Owen stepped down from the carriage and entered the vast, empty hall.
Unlike a normal church, there were no pews or candle stands—only a long table placed before a massive dragon-entwined cross. Ten chairs lined the table’s sides, all empty except for one at the head, where an old-fashioned gentleman sat.
His pale-yellow eyebrows were long, his neatly slicked-back hair showed faint wrinkles on his forehead, and his face was deathly pale.
"...That’s Pauli Derlau?" Klein recognized him instantly. As a detective, he’d once seen this man’s file—and even glimpsed him at Prince Edessak’s residence.
"Indeed," Ebner confird with a faint smile. "Besides being the royal dical adviser and forr dean of Backlund dical College, he’s also Barros Hopkins, the ’Black Throne King’ of the seas—fad hermit Eric Drake. As a demigod of the Spectator pathway, his disguises outnumber even yours."
Klein shot him a look. "I feel like you’re taking a jab at ..."
Ebner cleared his throat. "Let’s keep watching the ’live broadcast.’"
Inside the image, Pauli Derlau stroked the armrests of his chair and said warmly,
"I didn’t expect Lust to be the first to arrive. Sit down—no doubt the others, especially Miss Sloth, will take their ti."
"President," Owen greeted with a nod, glanced left and right, and calmly took his usual seat to the right.
Derlau watched him closely the entire ti, but Owen’s movents were perfectly natural, betraying no guilt or unease.
Derlau clasped his hands before him, resting them on the table, and said casually:
"Mr. Lust, during our last eting you hired Pride, Sloth, and Greed to assist with a certain task. Was it successful?"
"Very successful. I still need to thank the three of them later," Owen replied lightly—though internally he muttered, Why is he so talkative today? Did he suspect sothing? My act shouldn’t have any flaws... Maybe it’s about the carriage? No, even the real ’Lust’ wouldn’t fool around in the carriage every ti.
To dispel suspicion, Ebner had Owen ask directly, "President, do you think I’ve done sothing wrong?"
That straightforwardness caught Derlau off guard for a mont. Then he smiled, locking eyes with Owen.
"Not quite," he said smoothly. "I just noticed that the Mask of Lust’s corruption on you has almost vanished... yet only a few months ago, you were still deeply affected by it.
"I’d like to know—how did you manage that?"
Because I switched bodies, Ebner grumbled inwardly, then straightened up and replied with complete seriousness:
"Perhaps I’ve achieved the utmost fulfillnt of Lust itself—my desires surpassed the mask’s, so it can no longer influence .
"Or perhaps... I’ve devoted my faith to a Being whose na cannot be spoken."
—Of course, he ant Liu Bo.
(End of Chapter)
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