The feeling of being on the verge of losing control wasn't pleasant at all. Don almost thought that he would undergo complete personality decomposition due to his own thoughts just moments ago, with every Worm of Spirit coming alive and becoming a completely new segment of consciousness, assimilated by Euclidean space itself.
"Because those aren't my memories, they don't belong to the history of the current 'me'. The future cannot be determined—even the most powerful prophets can only predict an omen, a revelation, rather than actual facts that will definitely unfold in the future."
Such things don't exist in the mystical world. The future is constantly changing, and countless Beyonders skilled in divination and prophecy obtain revelations from the Spirit World at every moment. With each acquisition, each glimpse, the future changes.
In mysticism, 'future' has always been synonymous with 'divination' and the revelations obtained from 'prophecy'. No one can determine what the future truly holds. Even Visionaries, the Visionary Dragon Ankewelt, and now the Sequence 1 Visionary Angel Adam, who possesses the authority of 'whatever future is proclaimed will be enacted and become reality', still cannot truly manipulate the future.
Euclidean space possesses observational capabilities, yet the future likely also possesses a characteristic of being 'unobservable'. It's like a disaster sealed within Pandora's box—whoever opens it will suffer terrifyingly extreme harm.
Insufficient sequence, inadequate Beyonder power, anchors unable to provide stable support—acquiring knowledge of the 'absolutely correct future' would induce madness, cause the observer's spirit to disintegrate, and reduce them utterly to a monster twisted by spacetime.
And that Gold Coin was one of the keys to opening Pandora's box.
"A terrifying phenomenon indeed. Observation through Euclidean space isn't absolutely safe either—it is itself a form of danger."
Don recalled the first time he observed the situation within Euclidean space. Without the Maddening Knowledge filtering information alongside him, he would have lost control in the first instant due to receiving an unprocessable information flow.
The beyonder world is truly dangerous—who knows what might cause one to walk down an irreversible path to death.
"But why would my future self warn me like this? And further ahead in the future... what lies there?"
After becoming Sequence 1, would he, like Emperor Roselle, jump to a non-adjacent pathway and ascend to Godhood?
"The power of the Yesterday Once More charm spreads very far—far enough that it shouldn't only show me as Sequence 1, residing within a mausoleum."
The distinction was clear, as if crossing this line would expose him to unpredictable dangers, complete madness and death.
Moreover, every Yesterday Once More showed this same scene. While his subjective factors were involved, he couldn't possibly have advanced to Sequence 1 within a mausoleum, nor could he have remained there permanently after becoming Sequence 1, right?
This phenomenon, this self-stabilizing element, had a specific mystical term to describe it.
Anchor.
Was his Sequence 1 self, to some extent, his own anchor? Helping him stabilize himself, granting his past self power, giving his future self clear cognition?
Sequence 1 was powerful enough.
So he knew he was destined to become a Sequence 1 Attendant of Mysteries. This wasn't corruption—it was a constant anchor within Euclidean space, a filter. All processes of borrowing power from the future before this point in time would directly point to his Sequence 1 self, rather than progressing further into the future...
No. Can't think about this anymore.
Don's head ached faintly. Even without being in an observer state, his spiritual intuition frantically warned him not to continue thinking, as this would bring terrible disaster.
Don took out the Sun Scepter, and amid the system's chaotic electronic screeching, performed a Psychoanalysis on himself, using the Manipulator's extraordinary power to make himself subconsciously stop thinking about related content.
Sitting in the high-backed chair, Don went limp like a caterpillar, his entire body feeling as if all bones had been extracted, staring vacantly at the ceiling.
Unable to muster energy, as if he'd lost all fighting spirit, having just experienced a mental storm, Don only wanted to lie here lazily, doing nothing, remaining until the end of time.
Faint voices echoed in his head saying 'stop thinking, let things develop naturally, let it be.' Don didn't respond to the thoughts hidden deep in his heart, instead remaining quietly slumped in the chair, silent.
A long time later, he sluggishly sat up, stood, and went to find his dear mother, who was currently attending lectures with a group of 'university students'. He was then gently but firmly told to be quiet by her.
The Marionette Professor on the podium: ...
The supporting Marionette students: ...
The System: ...
Don: ?
Huh? I'm your favorite baby! Mommy, don't you love me anymore?
Theater Core: Haha, hilarious.
It decided! This lady's treatment gets upgraded! Marionettes, show your enthusiasm! Serve the finest food and drink!
It was going to infuriate this little bastard into losing control! Lose control! Now!
Mrs. Boianca still maintained her dignified appearance, eyes smiling, though one could see the slight wrinkles that appeared with advancing age.
"Be quieter, Don. Didn't you establish those... rules... stating no disruptions during class time?"
Don: ...
He opened his mouth but was speechless.
Fine.
What the professor was discussing—uh, sorry, poetry collections and such weren't really his forte...
Without realizing it, Don fell asleep.
When he woke up again, it was an hour later.
[Host, you slept for so long~ Mama is so gentle, hehe~]
That's my mom, you know...
[But Host, your mental state seems to have some problems...]
The system had all of Don's information. Apart from special aspects of his Spirit Body, the digitized host panel allowed the system to quickly analyze problems with its host.
"It's fine." Don rubbed the red marks pressed into his face, pushed back his disheveled hair caused by sleeping so deeply, and used the Faceless ability to quickly restore it to its original state.
Walking one after the other with Mrs. Boianca, amid the obviously more enthusiastic attitudes of the Marionette students, they left the classroom and sat on a bench beside a bustling square.
Don remained silent, as if his soul was wandering beyond the heavens, sitting beside his mother without saying anything.
Mrs. Boianca similarly asked nothing. The two sat together quietly, but it didn't feel awkward.
Staring vacantly into the distance, Don's anxiety about facing Amon and the future was gradually soothed under the warm, gentle sunlight. He withdrew his gaze and looked at his mother beside him, who seemed to be gazing into the distance. Mrs. Boianca also returned his gaze when her youngest son looked over.
"You look like you haven't rested well for a long time, Don. Go back and sleep properly now. Nothing is more important than your health."
Just like when he was small, Mrs. Boianca was always this gentle, harboring concern but never saying much in the way of dissuasion.
Don responded with a low sound, then heard his mother say, "Do you need a hug? Though my child has grown, as a mother, I think perhaps that's what you need now."
She had no ability to do anything else. She appeared to understand nothing, didn't comprehend the terror of the Beyonder, didn't understand Amon's danger, didn't know about the future.
Her youngest son's strange behavior, this place related to the extraordinary, her husband's departure, her eldest son's leaving—she had never proactively asked about any of it.
But she seemed to understand everything, like a true sage. When Don was on the verge of losing control, when his thoughts wavered, when he most needed psychological comfort, she provided what she could give as a mother—the most useful thing.
Don's thoughts found peace in his mother's embrace.
He knew that what he needed now was sleep—to push back all the anxiety that had accumulated recently, the fatigue and pressure from working non-stop, and the faint mental splitting that had occurred after advancing to Bizarro Sorcerer.
Only then would he have more energy to deal with Amon, to deal with the Angel King lurking behind the scenes.
After saying goodbye to his mother, Don went to find the psychologist at the school infirmary—a Sequence 6 Hypnotist from the Spectator pathway.
Taking control of the Hypnotist Marionette from the Theater Core, Don also installed a 'Bionic Marionette' module for his new marionette, set up the corresponding persona, and then conducted a formal Psychoanalysis.
As a Bizarro Sorcerer whose mental body could split, he had to constantly monitor his own mental state. Otherwise, if the anchor effect produced by rituals couldn't restrain the Worms of Spirit, he might end up splitting off several self-willed Worms of Spirit to sing songs.
Leaving the infirmary, Don went to find Olsen, asking him to help watch for any newcomers.
"Newcomers?"
Olsen looked puzzled, glancing around suspiciously. "New marionettes?"
"No, they're all normal people—those who have no exposure or only superficial contact with mystical knowledge." Don said. "Most are abandoned children. For the few that need special treatment, I'll find someone to handle them. Don't worry."
"You're planning to turn this place into, uh, an orphanage?"
Olsen hesitated before producing this word. "But I have no experience caring for children."
"Learn. You might pick it up with practice." Don shrugged. "By the way, Olsen, how's your potion digestion going?"
Olsen was a Sequence 5 Traveler. Ever since problems arose within the Abraham family and the high-sequence demigods went mad one by one, Travelers found it difficult or didn't dare to advance even after fully digesting their Sequence 5 potions.
But now, within the Theater With Curtains That Never Draw, where one wouldn't lose control due to the Ravings of the Full Moon, Olsen had previously expressed wanting to attempt advancing to Sequence 4 Secret Sorcerer.
"I have the Beyonder characteristic of a Secret Sorcerer. Um, I should be able to attempt advancement in a while." Speaking of this, Olsen paused, looking at his friend several times. "You've already digested your potion?"
No, no, no.
"Sequence 4, Bizarro Sorcerer." Don's lips curved upward as he pointed to himself. "I'm already a demigod."
Olsen was stunned. Wait, how long did it take you to become a demigod?
"Who did you kill?" he asked instinctively.
Which poor soul ran into your crosshairs?
"A Sequence 4 Demon."
Don's reply was casual, and of course, he didn't elaborate further. After all, if he continued explaining, there would be much more to unpack.
Even with a friend he'd known for a long time, Don wasn't planning to reveal all his cards.
In front of the petrified Olsen, Don waved goodbye.
Returning to his room, Don instructed the system, "I'm going to sleep well for a while. This might be just one night, or it might be very long."
"Handle everything according to the plans I made earlier. If something particularly special happens..." Don paused, "...ask your main system, or the Theatre Core, or the War Bishop. If it's extremely urgent, wake me up."
[Understood, Host.]
The psychologist's advice was correct—he couldn't do everything himself. Bearing too much pressure could literally crush a person.
At this time, appropriate mental relaxation was the perfect remedy.
Lying on the bed, Don exhaled deeply. He finally allowed the tension that had been wound tight since finding the Dark Side of the Universe's Avatar, battling the old grandpa, and the recent mental shock of glimpsing the future to truly relax.
'Don't think about anything, don't think about anything.'
Soft music began to play. The system had downloaded light music favored by hosts from the old era in the knowledge library and played it.
Soon, the host's breathing became steady, his consciousness sinking into the sea of subconsciousness, clearing mental debris with the help of Psychoanalysis, alleviating the mental body splitting caused by losing control.
The system thought it should do something.
So the system decisively crawled along the network line toward the main system.
Knowledge Moor: ??
——
"Warren Jefferson, you killed four young women within half a month. Once your crimes are made public, the gallows will be your only choice."
In a dimly lit room, an unkempt middle-aged man struggled desperately, his hands and feet bound to the table and floor by invisible forces. Terror filled his wide eyes, yet he couldn't utter a sound. Before him sat three glass bottles emitting hazy auras, their contents either twisting or bubbling.
A young man in a white coat and glasses, looking like a doctor, picked up one of the glass bottles on the table, causing the liquid inside to slosh.
"You have two choices."
"First, follow the territory's code and be executed by hanging..."
"I choose the second! I choose the second!"
The middle-aged man screamed in terror.
"A very correct choice." The young man in the white coat sighed.
"Who are you? Why did you tie me up? I only killed a few people! Even without me, they wouldn't have lasted more than a few days!"
The young man showed no intention of answering. He walked over methodically and poured the liquid from the bottle into the man's mouth.
"Now, you're a Hunter."
Red Priest pathway, Sequence 9 potion—Hunter.
After drinking the potion, the middle-aged man coughed. Those things he'd never noticed before—he felt himself rising, as if undergoing some degree of...
"T-This is..."
He widened his eyes. The young man in the white coat beside him tilted his head as if listening to something, then continued to pick up another potion from the table, showing no concern for potion digestion or whether anyone might lose control and become a monster.
"No! Stop!"
He picked up the 'Provoker' potion and continued pouring it down amid the middle-aged man's terrified gaze.
(End of Chapter)