The cold moonlight still streamed through the window, casting its glow across the floor.
One second... two seconds...
Only when a peculiar ripple of fate had completely dissipated did the outlines of all objects in the room begin detaching from their original positions once more—yet their colors remained intact.
These lines rapidly interwove in midair, gradually forming a human silhouette.
"Hah..."
Aleric exhaled deeply as he emerged from [Nonexistent], dizzy from spiritual depletion. Seizing the moment while his consciousness remained relatively stable, he quickly retrieved his lost spirituality from the shadows before finally feeling somewhat relieved.
"Making a Sequence 9 Veteran harness the power of Sefirah is still too taxing..."
Aleric gave a bitter chuckle. With a thought, an obsidian coffin emerged from the shadows, appearing before him.
The Sefirah [Nonexistent] resembled nothing more than a coffin in appearance. Yet its surface was utterly dark, absorbing all light and information, with the space around its edges alternately tearing and mending—as though reality itself refused to tolerate this coffin's existence.
Its function was simple: it could completely erase him from reality, the spirit world, and the astral plane, entering an "inexistent" state that couldn't be predicted beforehand nor traced afterward.
Initially, when he'd learned of this Source's formidable ability, Aleric had been overjoyed, thinking he'd obtained some ultimate cheat. However, after several rather disastrous tests, he discovered this Source came with an overwhelmingly severe side effect.
When his existence was erased, it was equivalent to violently—and conspicuously—severed the threads of fate.
This act was like setting off a brilliant firework in the dark chaos of the spirit world, extremely prone to attracting the attention of spiritual entities—even if they couldn't locate his existence, their gazes would still turn in this direction.
And this was merely the effect of severing insignificant, faint threads of fate. But if it involved more powerful existences—for instance, 0-08—if he erased his existence after being selected by 0-08 to participate in its script, forcibly severing the fate threads woven by the Nightmare Dragon's characteristics, then from the spirit world's perspective, it would be no different than detonating a nuclear bomb in pitch-black darkness. The consequences were too terrifying to contemplate.
Therefore, Aleric currently only used it to shield himself from the influence of his knowledge, erasing himself before those ancient existences could notice him.
Like now. Aleric glanced at his coffee table, where some weak spirit world creature was slowly emitting eerie ripples—they were being drawn here.
Aleric drew a ceremonial silver dagger from his coat and stepped forward, driving it into the wooden table until the spiritual fluctuations gradually faded.
"Then... my next goal is to advance my Sequence as much as possible."
For Aleric, if this were just an ordinary transmigration, rather than trying to amend the original story's regrets, he'd prefer idling his days as a small-time inventor in some border town.
But the problem was—he possessed a Sefirah.
He understood the principle that "a man's wealth is his own ruin." Moreover, there was no telling whether this might be some hidden existence's resurrection contingency.
Therefore, to uncover his own secrets, he had to become stronger.
Of course, he would also take the opportunity to remedy some of the regrets from the original story.
...
Pritz Harbor was the largest port in the Loen Kingdom, located near the capital, Backlund. Even on the most advanced steam train, it took nearly five hours to travel from Tingen to this destination.
Aleric put on a mask as a disguise, armed himself with his revolver and bullet belt (as a police superintendent, he was legally allowed to carry a firearm), and set off alone with nearly 30 pounds in cash. He arrived at the trading venue—the "Warrior & Sea Bar" tavern on Pelican Street in the White Rose Borough of Pritz Harbor.
In the original story, this was where Miss Justice and Admiral of Red first conducted their transaction. Back then, Klein hadn't yet perfected the sacrificial ritual unique to The Fool.
Pushing open the tavern door, the heat from the kerosene lamps, the stifling warmth of the crowd, and the filthy, vulgar language at the gambling tables made Aleric frown involuntarily. He was unaccustomed to the wretched environment—disgusting and nauseating.
Tightening his leather coat, he strode into the tavern and headed straight for the counter. A bartender approached him.
"Sir, what would you like to drink?"
"I'm here to see Williams. He should be the owner of this place."
"Tell him I was referred by the 'Captain.'"
Aleric deliberately adopted a slightly hesitant and uncertain demeanor.
"Very well, please wait a moment."
The bartender nodded, set down the napkin and glass in his hands, and turned toward the back.
The wait was somewhat tedious. After sitting at the counter for only a short while, Aleric closed his eyes, seemingly resting.
However, with his keen intuition, he immediately sensed someone watching him. A cold smirk formed in his heart as he swiftly drew a dagger and stabbed it to his side with lightning speed.
"Ah!"
A scrawny old man, who had been sitting quietly beside him, now let out a howl as his hand was pierced by the blade. His fingers had already been reaching toward the outer pocket of Aleric's coat, as if trying to steal something.
The tavern patrons halted their activities, all eyes widening as they turned to stare. For a moment, the place fell eerily quiet.
No one had ever dared to cause trouble in Williams' territory. Was this guy really that bold?
Didn't he fear being beaten to a pulp and thrown into the sea?
"If you still want this hand, keep it to yourself!"
Aleric sneered, flicking the dagger to toss the withered, decaying hand away from his pocket. At that very moment, the scrutinizing gaze from the shadows vanished.
From behind the bar, the bartender hurried over, cursing loudly:
"Get lost, you old wretch! Shameless scum like you deserve retribution!"
Watching the old man slink away, Aleric withdrew his gaze.
This was likely just a test from Williams, and Aleric had responded in kind.
The bartender bowed respectfully and gestured toward a door at the back.
"Sir, our boss is right through here. Please follow me."
Aleric gave a slight nod and followed.
Yet the moment Aleric left, murmurs erupted in the tavern.
"Who the hell is that guy? Never seen him before. Dares to stir up trouble here?"
"Who knows... Could be another spy from somewhere..."
Passing through the door, only a faint kerosene lamp provided limited illumination. In the flickering light, a simple round table and five chairs were barely visible.
Behind one of the chairs sat a rough-faced old man, his expression unreadable in the wavering glow.
"Take a seat."
Aleric smiled slightly and unceremoniously pulled out the chair opposite before sitting down calmly.
"You said you were introduced by the 'Captain'?" The old man snorted, his cunning eyes sizing Aleric up.
"I don't recall ever hearing about someone like you."
He was still probing, but Aleric had long been prepared. He replied indifferently:
"For certain reasons, I can't explain the specifics to a former member of the Mandated Punishers."
"It's also for your own good—unless you want to get dragged into the Captain's messy maritime affairs."
This explanation didn't fully convince Williams, but upon hearing his former identity as a Mandated Punisher member, he regarded Aleric with slightly more respect.
If this man had simply come to him with reckless audacity, trying to exploit the Captain's name for profit, he either didn't know Williams' background—or if he did, he wouldn't dare provoke him.
"What do you want?" Williams chuckled, his tone now more relaxed.
"Two things. The first is important—it concerns a certain cargo of the Captain's."
"Oh?" Williams grew intrigued. This might help confirm the man's connection to the Captain.
"Later, someone will send a package to the Captain. Inside will be ghost shark blood—you can probably guess what it's for."
"If this doesn't happen, notify me. I intend to repay a favor to the Captain by doing him a small service."
Williams quickly processed the information. He could guess this was material for Alger's advancement—after all, as a former Mandated Punisher, he was highly sensitive to materials used in the Sailor pathway's promotion rituals. But why hadn't Alger informed him? It seemed he had other plans.
Still, Williams had long been aware of Alger's ambitions. As long as they didn't cross certain lines, he could turn a blind eye.
"Fine," Williams smiled faintly. "And the second matter?"
"The second matter..."
Aleric grinned before casually saying:
"I need a rifle—powerful, with long range."
"How about... a high-pressure steam rifle?"
At this, Williams' expression gradually turned peculiar.