Vincent paused — he genuinely hadn't considered that.
He closed his eyes and carefully reviewed the information from the advancement. Nothing about a ritual. "There isn't one. I mean — I received no ritual-related information whatsoever. But whether we actually need one, I can't say for certain yet."
He frowned. "Is a ritual truly indispensable at Sequence 5?"
Bernadette explained: "In a sense, yes. Generally speaking, consuming a potion without ritual support at this level carries an extremely high risk of losing control. The ritual exists to minimise that risk."
"Take the Clairvoyant's advancement to Sequence 5 — one must consume the potion while listening to a mermaid's song. The mermaid's voice provides a kind of equilibrium, a counterbalance. Without it, most people can't resist the Marionettist potion's corrosion of their spirit-body threads and would lose control immediately."
She continued: "In theory, any similar sound or Beyonder ability could substitute for the mermaid's song, but the risk would be extreme."
Vincent thought it over and shrugged in resignation. "All I can say is — maybe our pathway is more special than the rest, and doesn't require a ritual."
"Let's get the Scale into balance first and worry about the rest later."
Bernadette said nothing, but she knew there was no other option.
Vincent entered the Nation of Disorder again. As expected, the massive stone dais floating in the void had changed once more.
When he'd advanced to Sequence 7, the stone pillars on the dais had been repaired. At the time, he'd guessed a roof structure might still be missing from their tops.
Now, that guess was confirmed.
An enormous palace now sat atop the dais. Though still bearing many gaps and fractures, its former grandeur was unmistakable — at least the equal of the space Above the Grey Fog.
It was unmistakably an ancient Chinese palace. Dragon-and-phoenix carvings and paintings adorned the columns and beams; the walls bore a variety of intricate patterns.
Vincent stepped inside. The ancient Scale still hovered in mid-air, but arranged in a circle around it were stone chairs.
Unfortunately, not all had been fully restored. Some were recognisably chairs; others were just a few surviving legs; some were nothing but bare floor. If fully repaired, the ring would contain twelve seats in total.
Vincent reached out and tentatively touched one of the chairs. Cold, rough stone — but nothing happened. He tried the rest. Same result.
"Above the Grey Fog, Klein created the table and chairs himself, according to his own design. So what's the deal with these?"
He stroked his chin in thought. "Could the original owner of the Nation of Disorder have left them?"
Instinct told him: probably not.
"Did He… hold regular gatherings here, like Klein does?"
No — I've tried before. The Nation of Disorder can't pull other people in.
Then again, maybe at a high enough Sequence, with enough authority unlocked, that function becomes available.
Vincent approached the Scale and fed it his spirituality.
Golden fog flowed out like viscous liquid, flooding the surroundings. A stream of information poured into his mind:
First, blessing slots. After advancing to Sequence 6, his available blessings were now: 2 Prosecutor, 4 Shadow Merchant, and 8 Broker — meaning that beyond what he'd already distributed, he still had 2 Prosecutor, 2 Shadow Merchant, and 4 Broker slots remaining.
Second, he could now use the Nation of Disorder's power to significantly enhance the Ambition state while relatively reducing the backlash and self-damage.
Compared to the Prosecutor's ability to use the Nation of Disorder's shattered stone to build one's own "divine kingdom," the Ambitioner's enhancement seemed less impressive — but something was better than nothing.
"Confirmed: no ritual information. So Sequence 5 truly doesn't require one."
Looked at another way, maybe that's a good thing. No ritual means less hassle — maybe I can advance to Sequence 5 in just a few days.
Vincent returned to reality and relayed everything to Bernadette, then added: "After advancing to Sequence 6, my spirituality has grown considerably. But I still can't use Mystical Re-enactment — the kind that channels divine-level power."
Bernadette considered for a moment. "What if you enter the Ambition state while channelling the Nation of Disorder's authority?"
Vincent's eyes widened. Mystical Re-enactment requires divine-level power. But the Nation of Disorder is a Sefirah — above Sequences, above gods. Its power should rank even higher than "divinity."
He immediately focused inward. Azure-gold light blazed in his eyes. His blood seemed to ignite, his heartbeat accelerating, each thump like a war drum. Every aspect of his being surged upward.
He drew a deep breath, held his palm flat atop the cane, and let his spirituality surge. Slowly, in his hand, a long spear coalesced — stained with the blood of some being of lofty standing. In an instant, a terrifying aura billowed outward:
The Spear of Longinus — Bernadette's most devastating attack.
...
Tingen City.
Early that morning, Klein and Leonard arrived at Tingen's train station. Dunn sat in a wheelchair, pushed by Daly Simone, who'd come especially for this. The Nighthawks had gathered to see them off.
Their transfer to Backlund was partly their own wish and partly Church orders. Given their outstanding performance during the Tingen incident and their firsthand combat experience against the defector Ince Zangwill, they'd been specifically reassigned.
Dunn had originally been included in the transfer, but with his legs gone, the Church had him stay in Tingen to recuperate before making further arrangements.
"I'll be joining you soon."
Dunn looked up at Klein and Leonard, speaking softly.
Leonard sighed. "Captain, just take this chance to actually rest for once. Keep going like this and you might lose what's left of your hair."
Dunn instinctively touched his hairline. "..."
Klein turned to Daly. "Ms. Daly — is there any chance the Captain's legs can be restored?"
"Yes."
Daly nodded emphatically. "Both severed legs have been preserved in good condition. Conventional medicine would struggle, but Beyonder methods are a different matter." She hesitated slightly. "The issue is finding the right Beyonder to help. That'll take some doing."
The Beyonders she had in mind were vampires. She knew the relationship between the Sanguine and the Church of Evernight was reasonably cordial — but that seemed to be a high-level arrangement. Whether someone at her or Dunn's level could actually get a vampire to help was another question.
Klein pressed: "What pathway?"
"The Apothecary Pathway."
Daly explained: "But anyone capable of reattaching severed limbs would need to be at least mid-Sequence. And once you reach mid-Sequence on the Apothecary Pathway, there's a universal title: vampire. Though they prefer calling themselves Sanguine."
Vampires?
Klein was startled. The last time he'd heard that word was when he'd asked Mr. Azik about the Captain's blood-drinking and received that letter in reply.
Back then he'd suspected Dunn might have consumed a vampire potion. And now, of all things, it was vampires who might heal Dunn's legs.
"Captain — once I'm in Backlund, I'll keep an eye out for any vampire activity."
Leonard quickly added: "Me too!"
Dunn regarded them both seriously. "Stay safe!"
Whooooo!
The steam whistle echoed across the station. The train bound for Backlund was about to depart.
Klein and Leonard took one long look at their colleagues, then picked up their suitcases, turned, and boarded. Rozanne couldn't help calling out: "Come back and visit us when you get the chance!"
"Definitely!"
Minutes later, the train rumbled to life. Klein and Leonard sat by the window, waving to the crowd on the platform, watching them recede, watching the scenery outside accelerate from slow to fast, watching Tingen shrink into a silhouette.
Only then did the reality of leaving home truly hit.
Leonard said quietly: "I saw your brother just now."
"Mm. I saw him too."
Benson had said he wouldn't come to see them off — but he'd come anyway, lingering in the distance, watching from afar. Probably not wanting to add more sadness to the farewell.
"Oh — sorry."
A familiar voice broke in. Klein's pupils contracted — that was unmistakably Melissa's voice.
To be continued…
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