This was exactly where the importance of the ritual came into play.
The "Sage" ascension ritual, at its core, required forming some kind of connection with information already embedded in the Spirit World through that ritual act — information carrying a distinctive imprint, tied to something of sufficiently high standing that it remained unusually stable, resistant to being scattered by other information for a short while.
This gave the one ascending a way to initially stabilize their own consciousness, gradually drawing back together the diverging, dissolving flood of information that made up their true self.
Instantly, the scattering information streams felt an irresistible pull, drawing them back together, gathering, growing from small fragments into larger ones, slowly reforming into their pre-dispersal shape.
Eventually, all those fine, scattered threads of information converged into two large streams — one was Bernadette. The other was also Bernadette — except, this one had spent the past several months living in the Harry Potter world.
The two streams attempted to merge, again and again, only to separate once more, each time. As the potion's "effects" fully took hold, the two streams — unable to merge — finally settled into a different arrangement entirely.
They orbited each other, centered on one another, spinning, drawing together, connected — and yet independent all the same, forming something like a DNA double helix: fused and separate, entangled and distinct, all at once.
And it was in that exact moment that Bernadette completed her "Sage" ascension, officially becoming a Sequence 2 Angel.
She slowly opened her eyes, and the hundreds of eyes that had opened across her body while drinking the potion closed in turn.
But her face showed no trace of joy. "Strange. When the other soul returned before, it merged completely with mine, with no independent consciousness left at all. So why, during this ascension, did it settle into this separate state instead?"
The downside of this outcome: she had no idea what this strange state actually meant, or what hidden risks it might carry.
The upside: her own humanity hadn't been touched at all by the advancement to Sequence 2 — it remained just as full, just as rich as ever.
"Hah."
After a long moment, Bernadette shook her head, setting the question aside for now, and pulled out the sea route chart. "Next... is seeing Dad."
She found herself hesitating, though — because Vincent had repeatedly stressed just how dangerous the primordial island where their father waited actually was. If Vincent were still here, at least there'd be someone to think it through with, if things went wrong. But now, she'd have only herself to rely on.
She genuinely wanted to see her father. But that didn't mean she'd let that desire cloud her judgment, walking knowingly into danger regardless.
Maybe... better to wait a little longer?
...
The god-forsaken land, Silver City.
Three days had passed since that incident.
For most of those three days, Derrick had stayed obediently in his room, rarely venturing out at all. He hadn't spoken the Fool's honorific once in all that time — playing it as safe and careful as possible.
Until this morning, when he received an invitation from the Chief, granting him access to the core area of the Round Tower normally reserved for Elders alone, where the Chief personally handed him an ancient book concerning the "Angel of Time."
Throughout the entire exchange, the Chief hadn't said much, hadn't asked any question Derrick couldn't answer — only telling him, just before he left, "If you ever have questions, come to me directly."
"Thank you, Chief."
Even knowing, from Mr. Lovers's analysis at the Tarot Club gathering, that the Chief's "tolerance" was really about finding a way out for Silver City, Derrick couldn't shake a lingering sense of guilt at being trusted this completely.
But guilty or not, he held firm, revealing nothing about Mr. Fool — per Mr. Lovers's advice, he was allowed to disclose a little, selectively, but never the full truth.
Back in his own small room, Derrick eagerly opened the book. The very first page left him a little stunned:
"In the beginning, this world was pure chaos, steeped in blood and savagery. Humanity lived beneath the rule of the Old Gods, reduced to mere food, surviving without dignity."
"Then, the Lord's most trusted Angel awoke."
"Unable to bear witnessing humanity's suffering, this Angel resolved to wake the sleeping Lord, bringing the world's very first ray of hope for change."
"That Angel was the Angel of Time."
Well, this wasn't common knowledge at all.
Normally, in a history like this, it should be the "Lord" who awakens first, going on to create, to conquer, to reshape the world.
And yet this book claimed the Angel of Time had woken before the Lord — waking the all-knowing, all-powerful Lord itself.
Practically turning the natural order upside down.
Reading further, the rest of the account matched what he'd read before — describing, under the Lord's wise leadership, how the Angel of Time helped conquer the Old Gods, restoring humanity to its rightful place as the world's protagonist.
Once the Old Gods had been defeated, one by one, the all-knowing Lord, moved by the Angel of Time's years of tireless labor, split it into two — one "Angel of Time" remaining to oversee Silver City in the Lord's stead, the other staying by the Lord's side.
This detail hadn't appeared in any history book Derrick had read before.
After that passage, everything matched the official history again.
"So there really were two 'Angels of Time.'"
Derrick murmured to himself. That would explain why the half-ruined temple had shown two differently-featured murals of the Angel of Time.
He closed the book and pulled out the silver cross bracelet Mr. Lovers had lent him — time to return it. Might as well hand over the book to him at the same time.
Derrick lit the two candles before him with spirituality, holding the book in one hand and the cross bracelet in the other, watching the flickering flames, closing his eyes, lowering his head, chanting the Fool's honorific:
"Fool not of this age, mysterious sovereign of Beyond the Grey Fog, King of black and gold who wields good fortune."
"Honored Mr. Fool, I would like to return Mr. Lovers's bracelet to him..."
Instantly, the ancient incantation rippled outward across the wall of spirituality, stirring a swirling gust, a tremor of natural force, and Derrick scattered a handful of pre-prepared, spirituality-infused matter into the air.
A normal-sized illusory door slowly began opening before him.
...
Backlund.
Two days had passed since Klein had crawled his way out of his own grave.
His "Magician" potion had long since fully digested. If he hadn't died once already, by now he'd likely have already earned enough "merit" to advance straight to Sequence 6, Faceless.
But now, he had to start over, essentially.
He still had the Faceless's extraordinary item on hand, but the item itself couldn't be used to advance directly — it could only help disguise his identity, letting him sneak into extraordinary gatherings to buy up the necessary materials.
So far, he'd gathered every supplementary material he needed — but the primary material still eluded him.
I remember Miss Lovers mentioning she'd once killed a Faceless from some Esoteric Society. Maybe she still has the Faceless Beyonder Characteristic on hand? Hmm — should I just ask her directly, through "Mr. Fool"?
Klein sat at the desk of a cheap hotel room, rubbing his temples, thinking it over. In front of him lay a notebook filled with Chinese characters, laying out the various directions he could take going forward.
Two points stood out, circled emphatically. First — once he advanced to Faceless, he'd need to head out to sea in search of a mermaid, to complete his Sequence 5 ascension ritual. Normally, the Church could've handled this for him easily enough.
But now, he'd have to go find one himself.
Second — pray to Lord of Chaos, reveal his identity as a fellow countryman, and try to secure himself a powerful backer.
Yes — just as he'd thought, back when he'd been captured as the god's descent vessel a few days ago, Klein now understood clearly: living in this dangerous world, caution wasn't wrong. Care wasn't wrong.
But being too cautious, too careful — that was another matter entirely.
If he'd revealed his identity to Lord of Chaos sooner, maybe, out of fellow-countryman sentiment, he'd have stepped in to help — and Klein would never have had to die, never have ended up in this awkward situation at all.
As for whether Lord of Chaos might have some ulterior motive toward him?
Please. He'd already died once.
What could possibly be scarier than that?
To be continued…
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