Lord of the Mysteries

I’m sitting on the chair in a police station, looking at the mouths of two men in black-and-white checkered uniforms opposite me. It’s like they’re talking about something.

The man on the left has a cold expression on his face, as if he has been through too many unfortunate events. The man on the right is a little inexperienced, and there’s a hint of pity in his eyes.

I don’t feel any pain, nor did I regret delivering that final stab. At that moment, I even felt that I had been liberated. The warm blood that sprayed on my body was like salvation from a god.

I only regret my fervent pursuit of money in my youth. I had sacrificed my dignity, my body, and my freedom.

Over the past few days at the police station, I’ve had enough peace and quiet. I had the opportunity to ponder this question at a deeper level, far deeper than whatever that I’ve been thinking about over the years:

Me having a weak will and being immature were the source of the mistakes I made. But they weren’t the only reason.

Ever since I was a child, all the education I received told me that working and striving hard is for that big house, those full floor-to-ceiling windows that let in plenty of light, to have more than three servants, a lawn and garden that I can call my own, silver-plated or even gold-plated cutlery, be able to host a banquet filled with delicacies, run balls that were filled with melodious music, etc.

The newspapers and magazines I’d read also told me over and over again that only those that showed a sufficient level of decency can be called middle-class. They are the true pillars of support for this kingdom. They are people of high-class, excellence, zero mediocrity, and integrity, while having compassion and knowledge.

At the same time, they also told me what decency was. It’s wearing a beautiful dress, matching expensive skincare products, cosmetics, and exquisite fashion handbags for different occasions. It was to attend concerts, high tea, and gatherings filled with class.

And all of this translated means gold pounds, gold pounds, and gold pounds.

I have to admit that pursuing a better life is instinctual for everyone. However, when the influences on a girl tells her in every aspect that, when the mainstream views of society are all about appearance, exquisiteness, and elegance, it’s very difficult to not have her thoughts become influenced.

I don’t know what this phenomenon is called. I only know that if all of this can’t be changed, then a tragedy like mine will continue happening, happening more and more often.

When that happens, someone would definitely curse.

“Look at these gold-digging women, selling out their souls!”

Subconsciously, I turn around and see the beautiful and bustling world outside. I see the bright red blood flowing in this world.

“Miss Tracey, are you listening to us?” A voice distracts my thoughts, coming from the slightly inexperienced policeman.

I grin at him, not telling him I’m thinking about some philosophical questions.

What a joke. A gold digger who sold her soul is actually thinking of such inane matters when she’s being interrogated by the police.

The policeman nods and says to me, “Miss Tracey, you’ll be put on trial soon. We’ll arrange a lawyer for you.

“I’m sorry, We didn’t manage to retain the witness. Just having his testimony isn’t in your favor.”

“It’s okay,” I say quietly to him.

I will try my best to defend myself, and repent for the crimes I have committed. I only hope that I can restart life anew.

I think for a moment and curl the corners of my lips. I say to the two officers, “Can you borrow a few books from the library for me while I wait to go on trial?

“Yes, ‘Phenomena of Sociology and Education’…”

At that moment, I see the two police officers in a daze, and a hint of, yes—surprise.

…

I sit at the far end of the mottled table and hear Miss Judgment describe the Utopia incident.

After she finishes, I look around and hoarsely say, “This is a ritual.”

Unsurprisingly, I see Miss Judgment’s gaze freeze. I can sense Mr. Hanged Man and Miss Justice looking over with a hint of speculation in their eyes.

At this moment, I can almost guess what they’re thinking.

They definitely suspect that this is The World Gehrman Sparrow’s Sequence 1 ritual. And they are already long aware from the talks in the Tarot Gatherings that the existence of a Sequence 0 true god makes it impossible for a Sequence 1 to exist.

Regarding this matter, I have already prepared an explanation. It is to let them think about the ancient sun god and “His” eight Kings of Angels.

Unfortunately, no one raises any questions. They may have already made the connection to the Kings of Angels, or perhaps they believe that the ritual involving Utopia is mainly to help Mr. Fool awaken further.

…

I look at the lady who is lost in thought, and I ask after some deliberation, “Miss Tracey, where do your parents live?”

“They’ve already passed away…” the beautiful lady whose soul no longer belongs here replies with an ethereal voice.

I lower my head and record it.

“Do you have any other relatives?”

The lady turns to look out the window and answers casually, “No…”

I exchange looks with my colleague and raise my voice.

“Miss Tracey, are you listening to us?”

The lady opposite me retracts her distant gaze and smiles at me.

I don’t know what she’s thinking about. She’s so quiet like a flower blooming alone in the night.

This analogy comes from an anthology of poems. My brother told me that reading poems makes me more charming.

Of course, up till now, the poems have only brought mostly mockery. All of the police officers believe that it’s worthless.

When I tell the lady opposite me about the trial, I see a faint smile on her face as she pleads us to borrow a few books from the library—ones that I believe are difficult just from the title.

The smile and the names of the book combine together into an indescribable beauty.

After sending Miss Tracey back to the temporary detention room, I pack up the materials for the case and prepare to pay a visit to the lawyer. It’s something that had been pre-determined long ago.

…

I lean back in my chair and listen to The Moon Emlyn describe his dream.

After Father Utravsky’s appraisal, this dream has been confirmed to have not originated from the Earth Mother.

This inevitably makes people cast their looks of suspicion at The Moon, towards a state prior to being corrupted by the Mother Goddess of Depravity… I’m nearly amused by my own thoughts.

As an experienced Seer, a master at deciphering dreams, I’m not held back by modesty. I frankly reveal what I know:

“The three possibilities are that this dreamscape is trying to bait you into exploring and pursuing something. To a certain extent, it can interfere with your fate. Secondly, this dreamscape hopes that you can interpret it deeply and understand it. Then, through this, corrupt you in an indiscernible manner. Thirdly, you are too worried about the matter of becoming a Beauty Goddess, so you dreamed of that remarkably terrifying scene.

“The third possibility doesn’t need elaborating on. The action needed for the first two possibilities are the same: don’t think about it, don’t investigate. There’s no need to leave Backlund.”

With that said, I see Emlyn nod without any hesitation.

I know it’s his way of handling things.

…

“A murder case?” I browse the information on the case in my hand, and I use the changes in the tone of my voice to express my doubts. “You should hire a senior lawyer.”

I’m just a solicitor, and strictly speaking, I don’t have the right to represent anyone in court.

Of course, this is only in the strictest of cases, but in reality, that never happens. As long as the case isn’t too serious and doesn’t involve the criminal courts, a solicitor can provide assistance to the court.

The policeman in a black-and-white checkered uniform opposite me says with a smile, “Utopia is only a small city. We don’t have senior lawyers; we’ll have to hire them from elsewhere.

“Besides, this case is a case of self-defense. The sentence period will be very short, and the monetary aspect of this case doesn’t even exceed 400 pounds. The trial can be done at the magistrate courts. When self-defense is deemed invalid, it’ll be handed over to the criminal courts.”

He knows plenty. Is he planning on switching professions to become a lawyer? However, in normal circumstances, he still has to hand a homicide case that has unjustifiable self-defense to the criminal courts. Heh heh, this is the benefit of a small city. There are many things that aren’t that strict… I think for a moment and reply tersely, “I’ll try defending the client by claiming innocence.

“Also, please arrange for me to meet Miss Tracey as soon as possible.”

After flipping through the information from before, I’m already quite confident in this case. The biggest problem now is whether Miss Tracey’s image can lead to the sympathy of others.

Yes, although my solicitor license was forged from elsewhere, this cannot deny my professionalism. It just so happened that I made mistakes on that examination.

…

Bansy? Verdu wants to go to Bansy? I sit at the bottom end of the long, mottled table and look at The Hanged Man who has reported to Mr. Fool. I have some doubts about the development of the matter.

Verdu, who’s engrossed in mysticism and is trying to save Mr. Door, does have certain reasons to search Bansy Harbor. Furthermore, he has stayed in Bayam for almost half a year, so it’s very normal for him to come into contact with information about Bansy… The main problem is that The Hanged Man’s previous surveillance didn’t provide any corresponding signs, making Verdu’s actions seem a little out of place… The importance placed on this matter has to be raised… I nod inwardly and hear Mr. Fool instruct, “Continue monitoring.”

…

I play the seven-stringed guitar by the fountain in the municipal square. I use my knife and fork to slice the steak. In the cathedral, I describe the teachings of the Goddess to the believers. I reach out my right hand and leave the carriage with the help of a gentleman. I get the new dress I had been eyeing for so long, and I can’t wait to change into it. I stride forward with my four legs as I’m being chased by a child. I laugh loudly as I totter about and play with a dog…

Suddenly, we tremble. We look up into the sky and see illusory, thin lines drilling out from our bodies. They extend to an infinite height, extending beyond the grayish-white fog. They extend into an ancient palace and land in the hands of a tall figure shrouded in fog.

During this period of time, Klein’s state had always been very strange, as though he had completely transformed into thousands of lives. Every clone had their own will, thoughts, knowledge, and fate.

However, above this collective consciousness was a primary consciousness that held control. It constantly suffered all kinds of attacks, as though it could be assimilated by the sea of consciousness that had been formed autonomously at any moment. However, it eventually withstood the barrage of attacks, allowing Klein to maintain a certain level of clarity.

His true body had been lying underground in Saint Arianna Cathedral. His consciousness would occasionally rise and enter Sefirah Castle, and occasionally sink into his body.

All the scenes that the marionette clones experienced constantly flashed in his mind like a dream formed from large amounts of fragments.