“The curse’s carrier is memory. As long as you see that wound—and you can’t forget the memory of it—you’ll be cursed.”

  Inside the inn, Javon opened his eyes and looked at the map.

  “So the nest was in The Lower District. Once they’re all dead, I’ll have Oclair go pick through the leftovers… Not bad. A fine curse, a fine punch—pity it’s only a one-shot.”

  The curse that wiped out “Vulture” came from the cursed force sealed within the dried hand. In effect, Javon had used that Umbral curse to craft a single-use talisman, then thrown it to Tasha.

  From then on, even if he used The Weeping Blade, at most he could leave someone with a single wound that would not heal and would not stop bleeding. It would no longer possess the power to spread and multiply.

  “‘Vulture’ is dead to the last rat. Good—cuts off the memetic channel, avoids collateral damage. But I still have to mop up. If that curse keeps spreading, The Lower District could end up with heavy casualties—until it alarms the National Bureau of Occult Affairs.”

  Late at night.

  A ghost named Oclair drifted through Wynchester’s The Lower District.

  Its expression was indifferent. Ordinary people could not see it with the naked eye, yet they could feel a chill rising from the depths of their souls.

  Javon, inhabiting Oclair, passed through one building after another and slipped into “Vulture’s” headquarters.

  He saw vast pools of blood. Near the entrance, corpses lay facing outward, as though they had tried to flee.

  Terror and distortion at the moment of death were perfectly preserved on their faces. Together with the darkened blood beneath them, it looked like an oil painting torn straight from hell.

  “It hasn’t been discovered yet, it seems. Thanks to ‘Vulture’s’ arrangements, their headquarters was hidden to begin with—and they had warding spellwork to keep ordinary people away…”

  Oclair floated into the hall. Marek lay there, despair frozen on his face, collapsed in the blood pool. More Transcendent bodies surrounded him… their Essence either dissipating or crystallizing, scattering multicolored glimmers across the floor.

  With a faint gesture, Javon drew those Sephiroth remnants toward him as though lifted by an invisible hand. They settled on the table before him, piled into a small hill.

  He glanced around. His soul slid into the wall and found a safe concealed behind a painting. Inside the safe, the first tier held piles of pounds, gems, pearls, along with stock certificates, bonds, and property documents. The second tier contained a handful of spiritual materials—the most valuable item was an arcane artifact, though it was only Extraordinary-grade.

  “Poor bastards.”

  Javon ripped the painting aside and extended a hand toward the safe.

  A biting frost surged out, spreading as it went, brutally wrecking the lock.

  “No address for that ruin… a shame.”

  Javon reached into Oclair’s chest, pulling from within the soul-body a flesh-colored pouch—

  The Flesh-Eater’s Pack.

  With a spatial item like that, everything became easier.

  After stowing the spoils one by one, Javon pushed the flesh-colored pouch back into Oclair. His figure thinned, turned translucent, and finally vanished.

  Outside the building, it was as if an invisible film had been torn away. “Vulture’s” headquarters now stood brazenly in full view of ordinary people…

  January 8th, Friday night.

  Inside Havier’s The Displaced Castle.

  Wearing the silver mask once more, Javon returned to the market.

  This time it was clearly more crowded. Transcendent gathered in clusters, discussing what had just happened.

  “Did you hear? Every Transcendent in ‘Vulture’ is dead…”

  “They died in their headquarters. Bodies covered in wounds, blood everywhere. The ordinary people who found it suffered severe mental trauma—almost ended up in an asylum.”

  “An ancient curse must’ve revived. Those scavengers dug up an old ruin before, a lot of people died. I thought Marek had found a way to deal with it. Looks like it didn’t work.”

  “Why did I hear… ‘Vulture’ offended some mysterious powerhouse, so they got wiped out?”

  “So many Transcendent dead—this will definitely draw the Bureau’s attention!”

  “Hah. I’ve hated those carrion animals for ages. Marek took advantage of Mr. Havier’s mercy—of the castle’s twenty entrances, he occupied three!”

  In the Black Queen District these days, the case everyone talked about was still the extermination of “Vulture.”

  Javon listened only in passing. After walking a lap, he headed back to Lily and Jessica’s stall.

  He had already confirmed it last time: the value here was the best.

  “It’s you? Elvander?”

  Jessica stared at the unforgettable outline and the half-face silver mask, and cried out in delight.

  “You really are lucky!”

  Lily looked at Javon, then at her excited sister. For some reason, something sour rose in her chest. Her tone turned strange. “Still—congratulations on dodging disaster. Pick whatever you like. Today I’ll give you a discount.”

  “Disaster?” Javon chuckled. “So everyone in the market knows Tasha isn’t a good woman. Yet nobody warned me last time.”

  “Because you were a stranger—and a week ago ‘Vulture’ was a nasty force.” Lily shrugged. “As for now? Time is the greatest magician.”

  “That’s fair.” Javon didn’t care. He selected a few materials and placed them in front of Jessica.

  “This time it’s so little,” Jessica muttered, then seemed to remember something. “Mr. Elvander—your contract with Tasha should be void now, right? What about that material?”

  “Yes. I completed the commission. Unfortunately, this arcane artifact has lost its original owner.”

  Javon lifted his coat, showing the dagger at his waist. “But I like it. I kept it. A thousand pounds for an arcane artifact—then I still profited quite a bit.”

  “You forged it successfully?” Jessica’s big eyes blinked. She looked like she wanted to touch it, but didn’t dare. “I don’t even have an arcane artifact of my own. What’s it called?”

  A mischievous grin surfaced at the corner of Javon’s mouth. “It’s called The Weeping Blade. Because men touch it and scream—women touch it and cry…”

  “Mr. Elvander, don’t treat us like children.” Lily rolled her eyes. “My sister isn’t your joke.”

  “I’m telling the truth. Want to try?”

  Javon gripped the sheath, pointed the tip toward himself, and offered the hilt to Lily.

  “I’ll try it, then!”

  Lily was curious, but wary too. She raised her voice. “This place is under Mr. Havier’s protection. You can’t harm me—no matter what, not even through an arcane artifact’s drawback!”

  “Mm-hm. I swear I won’t harm you!”

  After Javon nodded, Lily drew the dagger and saw the blood-colored patterns on the blade.

  In the next instant, she felt her skin become unbearably sensitive. Even the friction of cloth against her body turned into unimaginable torment.

  Just as she was about to scream, Javon reached out, brushed the back of her hand lightly, and took the dagger back.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Yet that brief contact of skin produced something indescribable. Lily’s face flushed deep red. Her eyes turned watery as if she were about to cry. She crumpled to the ground, limp.

  “姐姐!”

  Jessica went pale. She looked at her tearful sister, then at Javon as though he were some great villain, about to shriek.

  “Relax. I know the rules. Look—The Displaced Castle didn’t attack me.”

  Javon put on an innocent face. “Because your sister wasn’t harmed in the slightest… she’s just… very happy.”

  Jessica didn’t believe him, but seeing that the castle truly hadn’t reacted—and no steward or guard appeared—she barely accepted the explanation.

  “All right. One last piece of advice.” Javon smiled as he pulled out pounds and packed his purchases away. “In the world of mystery, stay humble. Sometimes an insignificant nobody has methods that are… exquisitely horrific.”

  With that, his back receded into the crowd.

  Only then did Lily manage to stand. Her legs were still weak.

  “Sister… are you okay? What Mr. Elvander said just now…”

  “Don’t say another word!”

  Lily’s face reddened again, her eyes nearly misting over. But when she looked toward Javon’s retreating figure, fear filled her gaze.

  “That man… that man is dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Either his will is so firm that he completely resists that drawback, or he has sealed it with profound occult knowledge and terrifying power. Either way—he’s not simple!”

  “I even suspect ‘Vulture’s’ downfall has something to do with him!”

  “So he’s that powerful.” Jessica blinked, still half-lost. When she saw Lily turning away, she asked, “Sister, where are you going?”

  Lily quickened her pace. Her voice carried a hint of embarrassment and irritation.

  “I’m going to change my clothes!”

  In the hall.

  As usual, Javon rented a long table, displayed a few arcane artifacts, and waited at leisure.

  Before long, Gantiss arrived again.

  He swept his gaze across the three new arcane artifacts on the table. When he looked at Javon, there was caution in his eyes.

  “Elvander, it’s very good that you’re unharmed. These are new works?”

  “Yes.” Javon nodded, and felt the faint tremor of shock from the other man.

  He wasn’t trying very hard to conceal it. And the conflict between Elvander and “Vulture” was no secret. Anyone with even slightly decent information would suspect Elvander’s connection to “Vulture’s” extinction.

  It was intimidation.

  In Javon’s view, it simply meant widening the net’s holes—letting the small fry slip away. Whatever still swam into the net after that… would be real fish.

  “What an exquisitely skilled master.” Gantiss smiled. “Elvander, you only recently arrived in Wynchester, correct?”

  “Yes,” Javon answered honestly.

  “Then are you interested in gatherings of a deeper kind?” Gantiss’s smile widened—both goodwill and a test. “Not the hall’s salons, but meetings that are more hidden, more… elevated.”

  “Of course. If you’re willing to guide me, it would be my honor.”

  Javon didn’t hesitate. He packed everything from the table into The Flesh-Eater’s Pack and followed behind Gantiss. The appearance of a spatial arcane artifact only made Gantiss even more cautious.

  They passed a staircase guarded by stewards, reached the second floor of the castle, opened a pair of doors carved with complex patterns, and entered a meeting room.

  “I meet here regularly with several friends, in Mr. Havier’s castle,” Gantiss said warmly. “Friday night, nine o’clock. After I bring you once, the doorkeeper won’t stop you the second time.”

  Javon nodded and took a seat at random.

  Only seven or eight Transcendent were present, conversing casually.

  “Oh, Master Gantiss.”

  A young Transcendent with golden hair and deep-blue eyes—handsome, polished—stood and greeted him with a smile. “Found another newcomer?”

  “Good evening, everyone. I’m Elvander,” Javon introduced himself.

  “The Elvander who has a master Artisan supporting him behind the scenes, and who’s suspected of wiping out ‘Vulture’?” The blue-eyed Transcendent turned solemn at once and rose to bow. “I’m Langley Tannis!”

  “Mr. Tannis.” Javon nodded.

  “You didn’t even refute the claim that you wiped out ‘Vulture’?”

  At that moment, another Transcendent spoke—wearing a black mask. The voice was hoarse, weathered, as though the speaker was not young.

  “As far as I know, they all contracted a curse from an ancient ruin. But that ‘curse’ is actually a high-tier ritual called Blade. In its earliest form, it was invented by priests who worshipped The Night-Mother. It isn’t a curse—it’s a method of raising one’s perception, so it becomes easier to touch the great existences…”

  Finally, someone with real knowledge. The core effect of the Blade ritual isn’t bleeding to death—it’s that, at the brink of death, the senses rise to an inconceivable height. You see what you couldn’t perceive before. You may even touch the Path’s source…

  But The Night-Mother—another new existence? Is She also tied to Sanguis?

  Javon nodded inwardly, then chuckled. “You’re correct.”

  “I like knowledge.” The black-masked elder continued. “I’m very interested in the old rites of ancient religions. If you have the Blade esoteric transmission, trade it to me.”

  “I won’t disappoint you on price. And as a side note—people call me Professor.”

  “I’ll consider it carefully,” Javon said.

  A strange feeling rose in his chest.

  Interested in ancient knowledge—either Tower or Secret, or a dual-Path Transcendent.

  After the Professor spoke, the remaining Transcendent merely glanced at Javon, offering no questions. Some continued talking among themselves.

  “I heard the Bureau of Occult Affairs’ Occult Constabulary has been frictioning with the Druid sect, The Oak Circle…”

  “Isn’t that normal? Those hounds would be abnormal if they weren’t clashing with hidden organizations.”

  “Heh. This time it’s truly different. You’d never guess it: the Bureau was extremely restrained. They only kept the bare minimum of surveillance, but unfortunately got spotted. Even then, no conflict broke out—despite taking a bit of a loss…”

  “So restrained… are they really those lunatics?” Several Transcendent who had been uninterested suddenly leaned in.

  Javon’s expression turned faintly odd.

  It’s probably because of me.

  And it matches my guess. The Bureau doesn’t dare move against Javon Yuggs—not even against his friend. So Bruce likely got away with a scare, nothing more.

  He had needed to act once with his true face. Otherwise, how would the Bureau learn he had arrived in Wynchester?

  “Speaking of the Bureau—Victor still hasn’t been caught?”

  “Catching a Beyond Mortality existence—how could that be easy?”

  “He’s nearly fully insane. Cruel, cold-blooded, bloodthirsty… even we independent Transcendent want to see him taken.”

  “Instead of thinking about that, think about how to catch Lucivar. That wretch wouldn’t still be free if not for that arcane artifact that nullifies many Transcendent abilities. Master Gantiss has always been interested in that item, hasn’t he?”

  A Transcendent looked toward Gantiss.

  “Cough. Yes.” Gantiss cleared his throat. “If anyone brings me Lucivar’s arcane artifact, I’ll pay six thousand pounds.”

  “That plus his bounty… over ten thousand!”

  “The price of a Beyond Mortality combat asset.”

  The room murmured in awe, yet few looked eager to act.

  Lucivar’s methods were strange and vicious. Not a target to be taken lightly.

  “Now…” Gantiss looked to Javon kindly. “It’s your turn. You may exchange knowledge here, post tasks, sell items.”

  “Cough.”

  Javon cleared his throat softly.

  “I want a safe Dreamworld positioning technique.”

  It was what he’d been seeking all along. In truth, the greatest source of resources for Transcendent was still the Dreamworld. And at higher tiers, that only became more so.

  “Dreamworld positioning?” The Professor gave a low chuckle. “I have a copy of Notes of the Dream-Seeker Solin. It should meet your needs.”

  Wynchester really is more developed than Verdant City—even in the occult world…

  The thing he had been hunting finally came into view. Even Javon felt a faint, restrained delight.

  “That’s exactly what I want. What do you want in exchange?”

  “I don’t lack pounds. Books are thought made solid, and thought and knowledge are hard to measure by value…”

  The Professor considered a moment. “One thousand pounds, and one condition. That’s my bottom line.”

  “What condition?” Javon’s brows drew together.

  “I recently obtained a key to the Fallen City—Diat.” The Professor said. “I’ve been trying to form a team bold enough to explore it.”

  “Unfortunately, I’ve lacked manpower. If you’re willing to join, I would be grateful.”

  “The Fallen City is too dangerous.” Gantiss shook his head. “It’s full of corruption, decadence, and shadows. Dreamworld explorers almost never end well there.”

  He was afraid Javon didn’t understand Diat’s terror and would accept too easily, so he offered the warning.

  “The Fallen City—Diat?”

  Javon murmured the name, a thread of memory surfacing, his heart thick with emotion.

  So the place that once housed The Light of Salvation, the last hope of the end-times, became the Fallen City… what bitter irony.

  “You still haven’t given up, Professor,” Langley Tannis sighed.

  “The pursuit of knowledge and mystery never stops,” the Professor replied solemnly.

  “What does ‘key’ mean?” Javon asked.

  “You know Dreamworld is hard to describe. Space and time are unstable. There is no map.” The Professor explained. “To reach a destination, what matters most isn’t distance or coordinates—it’s a key.”

  “It can be a notebook, a roadside stone, even a strand of memory. But they share one trait: they have a mystic linkage to the destination. They guide you—like a compass in the Dreamworld.”

  “And I guarantee this—Solin’s reputation is easy to verify with a little inquiry. The techniques in his notes may not be the newest, but they are the most common, the safest. They’ve been validated by countless people.”

  “After all, we cannot enter the Dreamworld with the flesh. A disembodied spirit lacks the necessary protection and is easily contaminated and influenced by external information.”

  “Deal.”

  Javon pretended to struggle before agreeing. He pulled out a stack of cash.

  “How do I contact you?”

  “I’ll give you a time,” the Professor replied. “Then we meet directly in the Dreamworld. The notebook has the specific location. That’s the safest way.”

  “You don’t want to hand your body to us for safekeeping while you wander in sleep, do you?”

  “Good. Then it’s decided.”

  Javon accepted the thin notebook and a slip of paper, and nodded.

  “Mm.”

  Beside them, Gantiss sighed. “Elvander, I must warn you: Diat is extremely dangerous. If you insist on going, prepare more Forged Light talismans. You have the advantage there.”

  “Thank you.” Javon thanked him sincerely. But inside, his thoughts surged.

  Diat’s decay… and the birth of The Mother of Nature—are they connected?

  An hour later.

  Hunter Bar.

  Balkin the bartender saw Javon step out, his mask removed, and immediately bowed with a smile.

  “Boss!”

  “Mm. Keep up the good work.”

  Javon nodded and left Hunter Bar through a special hidden door. This bar had already become his property.

  In “Vulture’s” safe there had been several property documents, including Hunter Bar. After finding a black-hearted lawyer and throwing money at him, Javon completed a controlling stake acquisition.

  “Based on what I learned today, ‘Vulture’ controlled three entrances like the castle’s.” He spoke to himself. “I’ll take one, and that’s enough.”

  Even if he had become the bar’s owner, that place—frequented by Transcendent—was clearly unsuitable as a residence. He didn’t intend to live in any of “Vulture’s” remaining properties, either.

  After a period of scouting, he had taken a liking to a detached small villa in Jeston District. The key was that it was quiet—and spacious enough for a solitary man to conduct all kinds of occult experiments at home.

  Using a false identity forged under another face, Javon bought the property at Phoenix Street 27.

  Now, wearing a Skinmask, he became an ordinary-looking middle-aged man. He took a key from inside his coat and opened the door to Phoenix Street 27.

  After turning on the lights, he drew the curtains, still dissatisfied.

  “The residence is still not hidden enough. I don’t need it to vanish entirely… but if it had spatial effects like Havier’s castle, that would be ideal…”