Chapter Thirty: The Protagonist’s Long-Awaited Entrance

Colin slowly straightened his back, staring expressionlessly at the Beyonder characteristics scattered across the ground.

*The Beyonder characteristics have been completely pulverized.* Colin’s seemingly calm expression masked the shock buried deep within his eyes. He sheathed his greatsword, bent his right forearm to rest his palm before his chest, and looked down at his right hand, which was glowing with an amber light—a glow that extended from his hand to cover his entire body in amber armor.

With a mere thought, the armor rapidly faded, but his right hand remained unchanged, as if he were wearing a glove that could never be removed.

He took a deep breath and whispered, "Path... Preservation... The Amber King..."

From that place known as the Rift of the Paths, he had learned many things: about Aeons, about Paths, and about Emanators.

Was he an Emanator now? It didn't seem so.

Not everyone who received a blessing from an Aeon was an Emanator. Fu Xuan of the Luofu Xianzhou—that "small in stature but peerless in strength" Type-C individual—was a prime example. The third eye on her forehead was not innate; it had been bestowed by the Nous, the Erudition.

"Two thousand five hundred and eighty-two years..."

Colin slowly clenched his right hand into a fist, gripping it tightly.

The other five members gathered around. Mouse couldn't help but shout, "Oh! Oh! Oh! Chief, you were just... just..." He stammered, unable to find the words to describe it.

"Klass." In the end, he chose a word of praise from the legends of the Creator, though its true meaning remained unknown.

Colin nodded, his gaze sweeping over the spot on Mouse’s right side where an arm should have been, before glancing as naturally as he could at Stiark, whose skin was dry and cracked.

He did not show much sadness or pity, knowing that they would never wish to accept such emotions.

Finally, Colin’s gaze rested on Berger. Berger’s skin currently looked as if it had been soaked in water for a long time; it was shriveled and covered in fissures, from which lifeless, dull eyes protruded, staring blankly into the void.

Closing his eyes tightly, Colin still found himself unable to view such things with equanimity, even though they happened almost every day.

Berger, however, appeared quite carefree. He laughed and said to Colin, "When we get back, I’ll submit my retirement application. I get to enjoy my ease sooner than you lot."

While the City of Silver was harsh, it wasn't like the Imperium of Man next door. At least here, the concept of "retirement" existed.

He then cracked a joke: "Of course, if the honorable Chief wishes, you could approve my application right now. I’m sure the other members of the Council wouldn't dare to contradict you."

Everyone laughed along with him. Then, with Annis carrying Berger on her back, the group departed from the ruins.

...

Kingdom of Loen, Tingen, the black market behind the Brave Tavern.

Today, Old Neil brought Klein to browse this crude underground black market.

While conversing with Old Neil, Klein suddenly felt a tremor in his spirituality, sensing a strange phenomenon to his left.

It felt as if something was lurking there, whispering, telling a story.

Klein turned to look and saw a pale young man wearing a tattered linen shirt and the blue-gray trousers typical of the working class. His eyes were unfocused yet filled with a touch of madness, and he was muttering something incessantly.

Klein sensed it for a moment and concluded: the other person’s "spirituality" had triggered his own.

Normally, such a discovery would involve a certain level of interaction, making it almost impossible to hide from powerful individuals—such as a "Spirit Medium" using their abilities or someone with similar specialties. For a novice like Klein, it was usually difficult to notice.

Klein knew well that he was still a fledgling; he realized he could only detect this because the other person’s "spirituality" was either abnormally high or distorted.

As their gazes met, the pale, disheveled young man began to walk over, his expression caught somewhere between sleepwalking and madness.

He stopped before Klein, staring blankly at him. Just as the corners of his mouth lifted to speak, a pair of hands landed on his shoulders, spinning him around to face the wall.

He stared vacantly at the wall for a moment, then began picking at the crevices between the stones, seemingly forgetting Klein's existence entirely.

Klein’s gaze focused on the waist of the newcomer, specifically on the mask hanging there.

Mr. Devil of the Tarot Club, Seirris.

"Mr. Neil, you're here to pay the balance, right?" Seirris didn't look at Klein, greeting Old Neil instead.

"Oh, yes. I remember you, Mr. Bruce. Thank you for the gold and star crystals you provided." Old Neil chuckled and handed a paper bag to Seirris. "Here, check it."

Seirris waved a hand and shoved the paper bag directly into his pocket. "You’re an official member of the Church, after all." He gave a thumbs up. "Your reputation is top-tier."

Old Neil gestured toward the man still picking at the wall. "What’s wrong with him?"

Seirris clicked his tongue. "You know how it is. His spirituality is quite high; he’s always accidentally seeing things he shouldn't and hearing things he shouldn't."

Seirris pointed at the man. "It’s better to just let him play by himself."

Old Neil looked at Seirris thoughtfully, but said nothing, simply shrugging. "Alright then."

Seirris, acting like an old friend, threw an arm around Old Neil’s shoulder. "Come drink at my tavern when you have the time. I’ll give you a discount."

"Ho," Old Neil raised an eyebrow. "You can't go back on your word."

"Hey, how could I?" Seirris patted Old Neil on the back.

As he spoke, Seirris pulled a small bottle from his pocket. "Here, try this."

"What is this? Let me say this first: if it's that addictive stuff, I’m not touching it." Old Neil took the bottle, looking suspicious.

"Why don't you take it to be appraised or use divination on it?" Seirris didn't care about Old Neil’s skepticism. "This is called Dream Syrup, a beverage made by extracting 'sweet dreams' through the Beyonder abilities of a Nightmare."

Seirris was spouting nonsense, but Old Neil was genuinely considering the possibility.

"Hmm, if that’s true, then it must have an extraordinary flavor."

"Isn't that obvious? If it didn't taste good, would I be using it for promotion?" Seirris patted Old Neil a few more times.

"Hey, hey, hey, that’s enough! Keep patting and these old bones of mine will fall apart."

Klein stopped watching their interaction and went to browse the various stalls. He discovered that although it was a black market, not everyone there was a Beyonder; there were many ordinary people as well.

He picked up an amulet from a small stall and took a look.

*Hmm, it's fake.*

Later, Klein encountered a young girl who was also there to buy an amulet. Klein explained some occult knowledge about amulets to her and helped her choose one.

"This was a sweet encounter. Klein and the girl chatted happily. They explored the mysteries of the occult together, learning about each other step by step, their feelings gradually warming."

"In the end, they walked down the aisle and lived happily ever after."

"What on earth are you talking about!" Klein couldn't help but snap at Seirris, who was standing nearby.

[That is, of course, impossible. Even the members of the Tarot Club who have merely brushed against Klein’s aura are unable to find a partner. As the source of the 'single-forever' virus, how could Klein ever escape this fated curse?]