Inside the bar, most of the patrons still seemed immersed in the performance they had just witnessed. They stared at the slowly dispersing smoke—some in astonishment, some in curiosity, some with a dreamy daze, as if they had just watched a film that felt impossibly real.

  “It’s the magician Lucivar!”

  Karl holstered his revolver and walked to where he had fired. He saw the smoking bullet hole in the wall opposite, then asked Javon with an unusually grave expression, “Did you provoke him? If you’re thinking of hiring me to deal with him, I refuse.”

  Hey, hey, hey—aren’t you supposed to be a madman? Do you have to be this rational?

  Javon rolled his eyes inwardly, muttered the complaint to himself, poured a beer, and nodded calmly.

  Balkin looked at the boss, then at Karl, and didn’t dare say much. He was an ordinary man. Handling low-Sephiroth Transcendents was one thing—running into a ruthless figure like that was another. He wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.

  “Then… to compensate everyone here, all drinks are on the house tonight.”

  Javon lifted his head toward the drunkards and announced it loudly.

  “Thank you, boss!”

  “Long live the boss!”

  Many of the half-drunk, half-sober patrons hadn’t really been frightened in the first place. Now that they were hearing about extra compensation, they immediately erupted into excited howls.

  Javon, meanwhile, unhurriedly tidied away the double-barreled shotgun, then carefully stowed the little pennant that read Happy New Year.

  Karl came up to the bar as if nothing had happened, propped an elbow on the counter, and spoke casually. “A magician’s a nasty sort. He’s committed countless crimes in Wynchester and has never been caught. The Blackwater can’t do anything about him. Even the Bureau of Occult Affairs has to put up huge bounties, yet they still can’t find a useful lead.”

  Javon shrugged indifferently and took the pennant down into the cellar.

  “Boss…” William’s face was full of worry. “Just now I heard gunshots. Was it The Blood of Decay? Or people from the Cult of Desire?”

  Javon had already told William the truth about Isabet.

  “I don’t know…” Javon replied as he casually tossed a gold pound to him.

  After a long silence, William finally spoke. “Boss… maybe you should fire me…”

  He felt that no kindness came without reason. The boss had already helped him too much—now, because of him, the bar had consecutively offended two terrifying occult organizations: The Blood of Decay and the Cult of Desire. If a Transcendent had even a shred of rationality, he would have thrown William out by now.

  William felt ashamed. He didn’t want to bring more trouble to the bar.

  Javon didn’t answer directly. Instead, he described what had just happened in the bar, then looked at William and asked, “What do you think he wanted?”

  William thought for a while, then shook his head. “Sorry, sir. I really can’t figure it out. But I feel he definitely had another purpose.”

  “You’re partly right. That magician had no prior grudge with our bar. For him to suddenly come and toy with us—stirring things up—does seem to carry some other intent.”

  “Then let me tell you…”

  Javon chuckled softly. “From that brief contact just now, I’m sure the magician is a pure Veil-path Transcendent—Third Sephiroth.”

  “Usually, they also have decent divination ability.”

  At that, Javon couldn’t help thinking of the last believer from another continent he had met before the world’s end. That person had truly grasped the essence of the Path of the Veil—touching a mysterious symbol tied to a tiny, fragile hope.

  To find hope in the vast sea, to find The Light of Salvation—his ability in divination had indeed been extraordinary.

  “So the magician is a Veil Transcendent!” William said, suddenly enlightened.

  “And by repeatedly creating incidents to attract attention, you can view it as him planning a kind of impact. A Fourth Sephiroth Beyond Mortality-grade being was, in ancient times, also called one chosen by fate. To open the Fourth Sephiroth—Vitality—one must also complete certain achievements, and gather enough impact.

  “Of course, based on my research, it’s not impossible to do without that. But without a ritual, the advancement becomes far more difficult, and the probability of failure rises sharply.”

  “So… Lucivar is doing this for his ritual?” William asked in surprise.

  “Most likely. Which is why I’m very much looking forward to it…”

  Javon smiled as he stroked the pennant in his hand, his tone meaningfully calm. “Looking forward to him succeeding.”

  “That way, he can deliver me a better gift.”

  Somewhere in the sewers.

  Magician Lucivar, dressed in a spotless white suit, stood in still silence.

  Across from him, within a pitch-black tunnel, two crimson points of light suddenly flared into view.

  They drew closer, becoming a pair of greedy, bloodthirsty eyes. A heretic in a black robe emerged, gripping a pendant formed of thorns and a crimson figure.

  A heretic of the Cult of Desire!

  Lucivar’s expression did not change. He had come here specifically to wait for this.

  When the man arrived, Lucivar spoke in an even, composed tone. “I’ve done as you asked. I used a performance to draw attention to that bar, and I tested the relationship between the bar’s owner and the arson at Baron Jacques’s estate. As for the result… I’m not sure.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Lucivar felt a faint doubt.

  His performances always produced feedback. Yet tonight’s feedback, the influence it returned, seemed weaker than expected—as if something had slipped through.

  “Either way… after tonight, that bar is finished. Is that what you wanted?”

  There had been many witnesses tonight. The story would spread, and it would reach the Bureau of Occult Affairs. And the Bureau’s job was to suppress all manner of transcendent phenomena. Now that something like this had happened at the bar, investigation was inevitable.

  It was also a small act of retaliation. With the influence of the Cult of Desire, it would be easy to trace Isabet’s relationship to William, as well as William’s workplace.

  And with a bit of deduction, it was obvious: William was surely connected to the church’s exposure. Behind it all, there was faintly the shadow of the Hunter Bar’s involvement!

  “The great God of Suffering watches you.”

  The heretic in black spoke without confirming or denying. “But I must also remind you of one thing. Perhaps recent operations have gone too smoothly, making you arrogant. That is dangerous.”

  “Do not use a mortal’s mind to speculate on a god’s thoughts.

  “Our Lord favors you, Lucivar. Do not forget—after you defected from the Shadowless Cult, it was we who funded you, cultivated you, and even prepared to help you open the Fourth Sephiroth. All of this is Our Lord’s will and grace! When you become a Beyond Mortality-grade being, you will be the God of Suffering’s chosen! His vanguard! His agent upon the earth!”

  The heretic intoned, voice almost hymn-like. “This is an honor beyond what we could reach even with endless prostration. You should be grateful.”

  Lucivar snorted. “No. You’re only trying to use me. You use me to commit crimes across Wynchester, drawing the Bureau’s attention. Or rather—you give someone behind you an excuse, so that his collaborators in the kingdom’s upper ranks have an excuse to make the Bureau focus on more sensational things—like me—instead of noticing your schemes. I’m a magician. Never try to deceive a magician who excels at playing with hearts.”

  “You’re very clever…”

  The heretic holding the God of Suffering pendant fell silent for a long time. On that crimson figure, it seemed as though light descended.

  The darkness in the sewers gradually thickened.

  “Master of thorns and blood.

  Servitor of corruption and crimson.

  Great God of Suffering.”

  The heretic began to chant the honored name of the God of Suffering, as the atmosphere tightened further.

  Then, suddenly, the heretic’s voice shifted—becoming gentle.

  “Lucivar… tell me your choice!”

  Lucivar suddenly smiled and made an absurd bow, like a clown on a stage. “The great God of Suffering descends in person—I can only choose cooperation. I have already seen that door. With just one more grand performance, I can advance through the ritual and become a true The Shadowless! This is my life’s pursuit!”

  Common sense of the occult world: the closer one stands to a god, the less devout one is.

  At Lucivar’s level, he had already vaguely guessed that the God of Suffering was merely a high-Sephiroth Transcendent. Perhaps… directly the leader of the Cult of Desire!

  “I look forward to it…”

  The heretic’s voice gradually faded. The corruption and darkness in the sewers slowly receded, and everything returned to dead silence…

  ***

  Inside Havier’s The Displaced Castle.

  In the corridor, William followed behind Javon, head lowered and obedient, humble like a servant.

  Through his earlier divination, Javon had already largely confirmed that a vast conspiracy stood behind Lucivar—and that it was directly tied to William. After all, Javon’s movements had always been discreet. The Hunter Bar’s only weakness was William. And the only matters recently tied to William were the Bloodcoat Club and the Mary Street case!

  That made it easy for Javon to lock onto the suspect.

  He went up to the third-floor reception room and summoned a servant. “I want to see Mr. Havier!”

  The servant hurried off. Not long after, Havier, dressed in formal attire, pushed the door open and entered.

  That kind of rapid movement made even Javon envy him.

  “Elvander, what happened?” After exchanging greetings, seeing the faint gravity in Javon’s expression, Havier asked at once.

  “Something did happen.” Javon briefly described Lucivar’s troublemaking at the bar that night.

  “Damn it—Lucivar. He knows perfectly well there’s my castle behind the bar. This is a provocation!” A flash of anger crossed Havier’s face.

  Whether gangs or hidden forces, they were always sensitive about territory.

  “But that magician really is hard to catch.” Havier sighed afterward. “You should already suspect that there’s a major power supporting him. Otherwise, his whereabouts would have been divined long ago.”

  “Yes…” Javon said to Havier. “I came mainly to notify you—let’s move the bar’s marker to a different location.”

  Havier immediately felt as if he could breathe again. “It’s good that you thought of that. I assure you—the ownership of this entrance remains yours.”

  After what had happened at the Hunter Bar tonight, there was no way to contain the news. By tomorrow, it would be everywhere—and it would draw the Bureau’s attention.

  Neither Havier nor Javon wanted to face the Bureau of Occult Affairs head-on. There was no benefit in it.

  Fortunately, the castle’s entrance could be moved at will. They could simply shut the door on the bar-side entrance, then find another location to set it anew.

  It could be a door in an alley. It could be the inner wall of a cupboard. It could even be the sewer entrance of any toilet.

  When it came to arranging passages, Javon felt Havier had some peculiar fetishes—perhaps because of those unspeakably awful experiences of being transported.

  “Then I’ll leave it to you.”

  Javon smiled. “As for me, I’ll rest for a while. Together with William.”

  Even if the bar was exposed, the only one unlucky would be the identity of Elvander. It had nothing to do with the middle-aged man renting No. 27 Phoenix Street.

  Javon could take William and lie low for a time. He turned to glance at William and found the boy looked exactly as moved as expected.

  Mm. With a bit more instruction, he’ll make a fine manservant.

  Javon thought with satisfaction.

  “Elvander, you probably didn’t come just for that, did you?” Havier asked.

  “Yes. I want to buy a few pieces of intelligence—about the magician.” Javon answered plainly.

  “No problem. I can give them to you at the lowest price, or deduct them from the forging fee.” Havier snapped his fingers. A servant immediately stepped forward. After Havier gave a few instructions, the servant bowed and left, returning with a stack of documents.

  Havier picked up the top file, glanced over it, and suddenly smiled.

  “How convenient… there happens to be a sensational piece of news about him, very recent. Want to hear it?” He blinked at Javon.

  Javon was momentarily speechless. “Just say it, Havier.”

  “Alright, alright—I just wanted to liven things up.”

  Havier raised both hands in surrender. “Mm. That bold Mr. Lucivar sent The Blackwater a postcard today.”

  “He announced that on February 11—next Thursday—at the Royal Art Exhibition, he will steal Queen Mary’s diamond necklace—the Heart of the Sea. It’s famous, and extremely valuable!”

  “The Royal Art Exhibition?” Javon asked.

  “Yes. Hosted by the royal family. They put a portion of their treasured jewels, famous paintings, sculptures, and other art on display—mostly to show off. Don’t believe any of that ‘cultural refinement’ nonsense the schools tell you…” Havier curled his lip. “And the host is House Sodoma, so… you understand.”

  “The dignity and face of the royal family won’t allow them to cancel the exhibition just because they received a threat,” Javon said, thinking of aristocratic habits.

  “So… Lucivar will definitely go to the exhibition and attempt to steal that Heart of the Sea necklace?”

  Javon linked the clues together and silently offered the magician a brief moment of mourning.

  “Yes. I think it’s very likely. It involves certain knowledge about Beyond Mortality-grade advancement—something I worked out with my professor.” Havier laughed. “In our shared view, that magician’s behavior all this time has most likely been to manufacture impact, to satisfy some ritual. That may be the key to him opening the Fourth Sephiroth. The final ritual factor may lie in a grand performance—and he must inform his opponent in advance!”

  “An extreme challenge where you warn the other side beforehand?” Javon considered it. The requirement sounded a bit nasty, but it was still far simpler than his own advancement ritual.

  “And the target he chose is also very deliberate. It’s a top-tier exhibition. The people who attend are all major figures in high society. Once he creates an impact there, the influence will expand rapidly—more than enough to meet the Fourth Sephiroth’s needs.”