The Black Tulip—also known as the Fairy Tale—set sail once again, the two passengers retreating to the cabin to rest and drink some water.
"Bernie, give me two minutes. I'm going to the washroom—I'll be right back."
"Okay~"
Edward stepped into the lavatory—and immediately took four steps backwards counter-clockwise, ascending into the Sefirah Castle.
"I was wondering how long it'd take before you showed up again."
Amon spoke the moment he appeared. The raven's face held a trace of curiosity. "So this whole 'being worshipped and prayed to, responding to believers' thing—does it really feel that good? I get the sense that those so-called 'gods' didn't just establish religions for anchors, but because they enjoyed being adored and worshipped."
Edward didn't even glance at him. "If you're that curious, why didn't you try it yourself?"
"I did."
Amon's tone was casual. "But I got bored pretty quickly. It's so much more straightforward to just possess them."
"..."
Edward spread his spirituality toward the swelling and contracting crimson star. Soon, Roselle's figure emerged within the depths of the grey fog:
"...Respected Chairman, I believe I've reached the legendary edge of the Abyss.
I'm being eroded by some terrifying power.
I feel compelled—irrationally compelled—to delve deeper into the Abyss.
I don't know what awaits me there, but it can't be anything good.
So I sincerely beg you to lend me your aid..."
Edward frowned. Roselle had already reached the entrance of the Abyss?
He remembered the diary entries describing this part of the emperor's journey—both he and Klein had thought Roselle reckless, even daring to a fault. But now it seemed...he hadn't entered the Abyss entirely by choice. He'd been lured—influenced by the Abyss itself.
And that "Abyss"...what exactly was it trying to achieve by drawing him in?
Edward poured spirituality into the link between them. Through the haze of the grey fog, he saw Roselle standing atop the deck of a black-sailed ship, a telescope in hand, gazing toward the endless dark sea.
The vessel was speeding forward. Around it, the mist thickened, the water darkened, and even through the barrier of the Sefirah Castle, Edward could faintly perceive the distortion seeping from that region.
After a moment's thought, he chose not to respond to Roselle's prayer. Instead, he planned to go see for himself.
To be safe, he materialised a divination crystal in his palm.
"Travelling to the Abyss is dangerous to me."
The crystal began to spin slowly—clockwise.
So there was danger, but not too much of it?
"You're going to the Abyss?"
Amon chuckled with interest. "That's a place even my father wouldn't dare set foot in lightly."
Edward suddenly paused mid-thought. "You have a tomb near Backlund, don't you?"
"Huh? Seems you still don't know me well enough. You think I'd only have one?"
"No, I mean the one that connects to the Abyss."
Amon blinked. "Ah, that one. Yeah, I remember something like that."
"Then why did you leave an entrance to the Abyss inside it?"
"I only used the Abyss as a shortcut—to reach the Forsaken Land of the Gods faster. I'd never actually go into it. Are you kidding? The Devil Monarch, Farbauti, might've been quiet for ages, but he's far from dead."
Amon tilted his head slightly, as if recalling a distant memory.
"As the last surviving Ancient God, I used to admire him somewhat. He was the only one who never joined any alliances, trying to overthrow everything with his own power."
He chuckled. "Then I later learned the truth. It wasn't that he didn't want allies—he couldn't have any. He was already being corrupted by the Mother Tree of Desire. Every ounce of strength he had went into resisting that corruption. He couldn't afford to care about anything else...Oh, and in the end, he failed anyway."
"A pathetic clown, really."
Edward asked, "Then do you think it was that Devil Monarch who tempted my believer to enter the Abyss? What could he possibly want?"
"No idea," Amon said lazily. Then he tilted his head again, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Wait a minute. Aren't we supposed to be mortal enemies? Why do I feel like you're using me as your personal encyclopedia?"
Edward spread his hands. "Technically, it's you who keeps starting these conversations, flaunting your vast knowledge to answer my questions."
Amon scratched the side of his head. "Huh...I guess you're right."
"No, no, this isn't right! You've trapped me here, and somehow I've become your strategist? That's way too unfair! I've decided—I'm not talking anymore. Total silence."
A few seconds passed before he added with a grin, "Unless you beg me."
"..."
Edward was speechless.
Was this Amon trying out a new form of deceit—or had injecting humanity into him unlocked some bizarre new personality trait?
"...Whatever makes you happy."
Edward barely managed to hold that retort in before leaving the Sefirah Castle.
"Bernie, it's time to go home."
The moment he stepped out of the lavatory, he spoke to Bernadette.
"Huh? I thought we were still going to see Daddy?"
"There's been a…troublesome matter that needs my attention. We'll have to save that for next time."
"All right."
Bernadette wasn't particularly disappointed—after all, she had just seen a whole colony of mermaids, and that alone had left her brimming with excitement. Still, she pouted a little and said, "But don't go disappearing for weeks again like last time."
"...I'll do my best."
"Pinky promise!"
She stretched out her little finger.
"Fine. Pinky promise."
Their fingers hooked together, and Bernadette sang softly in that bright, childlike voice as they swayed their hands:
"Pinky swear, hang it high—don't break it for a hundred years!"
"Come back soon, okay~?"
———
Deep within the Fog Sea—at the edge of the Abyss.
Edward traversed the distance in a heartbeat, moving through the stars rather than the astral plane—for obvious reasons. He didn't particularly wish to draw the attention of any gods watching there.
A black-sailed ship was speeding ahead some dozens of meters away. The fog around it had thickened into something almost viscous, like liquid. Even in his spiritual form, Edward could feel a searing, corroding force gnawing faintly at him.
Neither Dullness nor Rebuke could counteract it—meaning this wasn't corruption, but the raw breath of the Abyss itself.
Silently, he alighted atop the mainmast of the Black King. Below him, sailors bustled about in organised chaos, shouting and working in unison to keep the ship cutting swiftly through the black waves.
They were mostly ordinary men or low-Sequence Beyonders, yet somehow untouched by the corrosive fog—as if shielded by a peculiar power.
"Is it the ship itself," Edward mused, one leg crossed over the other as he perched on the mast, "or some extraordinary artifact Roselle got from the Church?"
He watched the man calmly issuing orders below and couldn't help but admit—no wonder this fellow would one day become Intis's Consul and Emperor. He might act like a scatterbrain most of the time, but in critical moments, he was surprisingly dependable.
Still...
Something gnawed at Edward.
If both the God of Steam and the Russian Priest valued Roselle so highly, why had they sent him—first to the Primitive Island corrupted by the Mother Goddess of Depravity, and now into the Abyss invaded by the Mother Tree of Desire?
Either of those journeys could easily kill him. Did they simply not care about his life, or was there some deeper, hidden plan?
If it was divine intent...then looking at how things later unfolded, this very voyage was what doomed Roselle to eternal death—what ensured he could never be resurrected. However you looked at it, the move benefited no one.
Unless...that had been the point—to have him corrupted by the Mother Goddess so that he could never return and ascend as the Black Emperor?
Edward frowned. "Now that I think about it...it's not impossible."
In this age, after all, the rise of a Black Emperor hardly suited the direction the Russian Priest's era was supposed to take.
He recalled the original story—Roselle had only contacted Mr. Door on Hermes's advice. Anyone who thought that suggestion hadn't carried the Russian Priest's will behind it was deluding themselves.
Ah...
"That Jesus wannabe," Edward muttered to himself. "...His solitary defiance of the Outer Gods is admirable—but the way He toys with everything to suit His own vision...it's disgusting."
"...Can you accept such an outcome?"
The question echoed again in his mind, igniting a flare of nameless anger.
That damned thing...one day, I'll make you taste what that feels like.
"Slow down!!"
Roselle's shout jolted him from his thoughts. The man raised his hand high as the ship ploughed through the thick fog. Ahead, a mountain loomed—vast and grotesque, its silhouette monstrous against the abyssal haze. Beyond the peak stretched endless black mist, as though an entire continent lay smothered beneath it.
At the mountain's base yawned an abyss of utter darkness—no bottom, no boundary, no end.
Edward kicked off from the mast, shooting toward the mountain like a streak of shadow. He blinked across space several times, descending along the jagged slopes before curving around to the far side.
Here, the black seawater thickened to a tar-like sludge. Any ship that ventured this close would quickly be mired, unable to move at all.
A nauseating stench filled the air as Edward advanced—and the sight that met him next made even his seasoned heart tighten.
Corpses.
Everywhere—human, demon, beast—piled high in grotesque heaps. They had all been viciously corroded, many reduced to scattered limbs and fragments. It was as though he had stepped straight into Hell itself.
The corrosive energy grew stronger by the second; even a demigod would struggle to last long here.
"These demons...must've escaped from the Abyss. Whatever the Mother Tree of Desire is doing down there—it's bad enough that even demons can't survive."
A thought crossed his mind. She's not...forcing demons to breed with one another, is she?
He grimaced. "That'd be unbearable."
The oppressive silence pressed in.
Edward flipped a coin—it chimed musically as it spun and landed.
Heads—affirmative.
There was danger ahead, of course, but divination before every choice had long since become a habit.
He muttered to himself, eyes glinting. Then he raised his wand and slashed it forward.
Boom!
A crimson blaze roared forth, coalescing into a dragon of fire that surged toward the heaps of corpses. Wherever it passed, flesh and bone turned instantly to ash. The dragon roared on, pressing deeper into the darkness.
Edward followed behind, maintaining the spell's power.
Then—
A deep, guttural whoosh—and the dragon of fire was snuffed out without warning. Darkness swallowed everything again.
Edward frowned and conjured ten more fire dragons, sending them spiralling in every direction—only for each to sputter out after flying a short distance.
His spirituality suddenly throbbed in alarm.
Something—something dreadful—was rushing toward him from the shadows.
He stepped back at once, slipping behind a Phantom Door. Mystical glyphs shimmered in his eyes.
A heartbeat later, his vision pierced the dark—and he saw it.
A towering demon, dozens of meters high, charged forward in agony and frenzy. Its body was overgrown with writhing branches, and from its brow jutted two enormous, curved horns.
Thick saliva dripped from its mouth as the branches spread madly, twisting it into a tree-like monstrosity.
Edward had never seen such a creature in person—but he had read about one exactly like it.
Back in the original story, the governor's mistress had become something similar after being corrupted by the Mother Tree of Desire.
The demon barreled toward him, shrieking in a voice both alien and intelligible—eyes burning with madness and longing.
"Save me! SAVE ME!"
———
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