“Was that Martin’s teacher?”

  “I clearly went in the opposite direction and still ran into them. In the Ethereal Realm, direction truly has no meaning. Instead, all those inexplicable mystic linkages have a far greater influence…”

  Javon’s eyesight was sharp. He could see the golden-winged hawk beating its wings frantically as it descended, fighting to regain balance as it fled toward the sandstorm’s outer edge.

  On its back, there seemed to be a tiny black speck.

  “An experienced explorer, at least. Looks like he’ll get away. Forget the killing power—this level of sandstorm is loaded with contamination. Getting pulled in wouldn’t be fun.”

  Javon offered his assessment with calm detachment, then shook his head.

  “Looks like this teacher and student have rotten luck.”

  From within the black pyramids emerged a squad of priests dressed in bizarre garb.

  Their bodies were withered, mummy-like, their faces covered by bronze masks. In their hands they carried ash-gray weapons that looked as though they had been ground from stone. The shapes were crude and primitive, yet Javon could feel the force clinging to them.

  One black-robed priest with grotesquely distorted proportions snapped his right arm and hurled the stone weapon.

  The spear-like implement struck the hawk precisely—then detonated. Countless gray-white shards pierced into the hawk’s body. Golden feathers burst into the air. A shriek tore across the storm.

  “So a reshaped spirit-body can still bleed?” Javon lifted a hand to shade his eyes, clicking his tongue in mild fascination.

  He knew those black-robed “priests” were not human at all, but a special type of Ethereal Realm creature. The stone weapons in their hands carried terrifying contamination.

  A third-Sephiroth Transcendent should not have been defeated so easily—except he had come with only a spirit-body.

  “In effect, that’s probably comparable to my tainted bullets. That proud boy’s proud teacher is about to have a very bad day…”

  Javon watched as the hawk plummeted in a straight line from the sky. It seemed to have tried to leave the Dreamworld, yet once those priests locked onto it, the attempt clearly failed.

  “So this is the danger of the Ethereal Realm? A third-Sephiroth Transcendent can die if he’s careless for even a moment?”

  Ahead of Javon, a dune collapsed inward. The enormous hawk crashed down like a meteor, blasting a crater into the sand. Along the crater’s edge lay a sparrow with an injured wing.

  “Teacher! Teacher!”

  The little sparrow threw itself onto the hawk, yet couldn’t budge it in the slightest.

  “Martin, we meet again,” Javon said as he approached.

  “Help me!” The sparrow’s voice carried a sob.

  “I can help you,” Javon replied, “but by the occult world’s rules, it has to be an equal exchange.”

  “I want the Dreamworld knowledge and spellwork you’ve learned. In return, I’ll do my best to drive off your enemies.”

  “Enemies… there are enemies…”

  The sparrow pecked frantically at the hawk’s feathers. “Teacher, wake up! We have to wake up right now, or we’re finished!”

  At that moment, a desert wind swept past. In the heat-haze distortion, the black-robed ancient priests’ silhouettes slowly surfaced.

  Martin could have run. But he stared at his grievously wounded teacher, clenched his beak, and looked at Javon. Then he plucked a feather from himself at lightning speed.

  “I accept your terms!”

  Javon took the feather—and instantly understood its purpose.

  This was a piece of pure spirit intentionally split off, carrying memory that recorded spellwork content. Unless the other party had mastered specialized ritual spellwork to alter memories, it was difficult to falsify. In the Dreamworld, it was also the best medium for exchanging information between Transcendent.

  The feather dissolved into motes of light in Javon’s palm. In that instant, he learned the secret art that allowed Martin’s spirit-body to become a sparrow.

  Pity… only Veil Path Transcendent can use it. Supposedly, this kind of morphing spell can be studied further—once you reach the fourth Sephiroth, you can even attempt to shift into powerful Ethereal Realm creatures.

  Of course, transforming into a creature that possesses actual Transcendent abilities is extremely difficult. If Martin’s teacher could have become a phoenix today, he would never have fallen into such misery.

  Javon stepped forward and examined the hawk. There was still a ripple of soul—he wasn’t dead.

  By then, the black-robed priests with weapons had reached the crater’s rim.

  Perched on Javon’s shoulder, the sparrow trembled.

  “What do we do? What do we do? They’re here, they’re here… You took payment—you have to protect me and my teacher…”

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  “You shouldn’t have become a sparrow,” Javon said. “You should’ve become a common finch. That suits you best.”

  He seized the sparrow’s beak, silencing him, and stepped forward with cold indifference.

  In an instant, the spirit-body that had seemed “real” due to his arrival in the Dreamworld turned faintly intangible again. On his body, a set of ornate, classical court attire surfaced by itself. One blood-red wound after another appeared across the garments, spilling blood that streamed outward.

  To Martin’s eyes, that wasn’t blood.

  It was horrifying contamination and curse.

  Crack. Crack. The desert began to freeze. The temperature plunged—low enough to freeze a spirit-body.

  A presence unique to the opening of the fourth Sephiroth spilled outward: the aura of a Malevolent Spirit.

  A layer of white frost appeared across the black-robed priests, yet they did not retreat. They raised both hands, chanting hymns of praise in a tongue even Javon did not understand.

  Behind them, the shadow of a black pyramid rose.

  Along its sides, animal sigils—lion, crocodile, cat, goat, and more—flashed one after another.

  “As expected. These priests aren’t that strong. The reason they could severely injure the hawk is the pyramid’s amplification.”

  Javon’s gaze shifted toward the pyramids.

  “The greatest danger in this region isn’t these priests—it’s those black pyramids.”

  Drip. Drip.

  Drops of blood fell onto the ice.

  Javon spoke softly.

  “LAW—Death.”

  An invisible ripple swept past. The black-robed priests toppled like wheat beneath a scythe.

  Bang. Bang.

  Those still standing were struck almost instantly by Javon’s revolver. One luminous bullet after another carried purifying radiance, igniting on their bodies in blazing fire.

  “This…”

  Martin stared as Javon, with casual ease, forced the priests—who had nearly killed his teacher—into utter ruin. Even Martin’s thinking seemed to stall.

  “Disperse,” Javon said, closing his hand in a light fist toward the void.

  The black pyramids within the yellow sands turned translucent—then vanished into nothingness.

  Martin suddenly felt the darkness and suppression on his body snap away. He could finally leave the Dreamworld under his own power.

  “Thank you, sir!”

  He bowed in awe toward Javon. “You destroyed the pyramid and saved us…”

  “No.” Javon chuckled. “Those pyramids are alive. They think. They simply didn’t want to trade blows with me.”

  He glanced at the unconscious hawk and shook his head.

  “Your teacher’s condition is terrible. Even if his spirit returns, he’ll likely be left with dreadful aftereffects.”

  The hawk-shaped Transcendent had been contaminated by the Dreamworld. Once awake, he might become a madman.

  “What do we do? What do we do?” Martin sounded close to tears.

  “Find a psychiatrist as soon as possible,” Javon said with a wave, “or a Tower Path Transcendent. There may still be a way.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Sir—sir, please! I don’t even know what to call you!” Martin cried, staring at Javon’s back.

  “My name is Elvander.”

  Javon lifted a hand, and his figure vanished quickly from sight.

  Martin could only press his small body close to his teacher, chanting a spell to exit the dream.

  “A broken world…”

  Phoenix Street 27. Javon opened his eyes slowly.

  This first probe gave him a direct, visceral understanding of what the Dreamworld was like now.

  He glanced at his right hand, and when he saw sunflower petals and Essence crystals resting in his palm, he smiled again.

  “Still—if you don’t run into danger, even a first-Sephiroth Transcendent, even an ordinary person, can pick up quite a lot of good things in the Dreamworld.”

  “The gains are too great. No wonder, even knowing the danger, people still throw themselves in headlong.”

  Javon walked to the window, pulled the curtains aside, and found it was already early morning of the next day. Golden sunlight was gradually piercing the darkness.

  He drew back the heavy curtains embroidered with gold thread, letting the sunlight spill into the room. Then he lay on the bed and used meditation in place of sleep.

  At noon.

  Hunter Bar.

  “Boss!”

  Bartender Balkin—white shirt, black vest—was polishing a glass when he saw Javon enter. He stepped out from behind the counter at once and bowed.

  The bar hadn’t opened yet. Stools were flipped upside down on round tables, and the room was quiet.

  Javon chose a seat at random. “Get me something to eat. Are our liquor and food supplies still sufficient?”

  “We’ve replenished a batch,” Balkin replied respectfully. “We signed a long-term supply contract with merchants. They’ll deliver regularly.”

  Balkin was only an ordinary person, but he vaguely understood there were things beneath the surface of this world. He also knew the bar had once belonged to a “big figure” from the occult world.

  Now the owner had changed without a ripple. Balkin wanted to live, to earn money for his family. He had no desire to pry into what lay behind the curtain.

  “Good.” Javon nodded. “We’re short-staffed lately. Put up a few recruitment notices.”

  He was satisfied with Balkin. The other employees with ideas of their own had been dismissed without hesitation, leaving the bar understaffed.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get it done right away.”

  Balkin hurried off. In this city there were too many unemployed; people desperate for work were everywhere. The moment word spread, applicants would line up.

  Before long, Javon was drinking orange juice and eating grilled sausage and fried chicken from the back kitchen.

  Time drifted into three in the afternoon.

  Mottled sunlight fell through the windows. Javon sat quietly, savoring the comfort of an unhurried life.

  He had come to Wynchester mainly to divert the Lotus-Eater’s attention. Beyond that, he needed to gather materials and prepare the ceremony to advance to The Omniforge.

  In truth, he wasn’t in a hurry. So long as he waited for the accumulation of Secret Power, he held a table-flipping trump card—though that power might carry hidden risks even he did not fully understand.

  “Mm. Time to write letters.”

  Javon had Balkin bring hot cocoa, along with paper and a pen, and began writing swiftly.

  He intended to write to Lilia and Nicholas, leaving a contact address that belonged to another safehouse he rented in The Lower District.

  It was troublesome, but unavoidable. It also strengthened Javon’s desire to craft an arcane artifact specifically for communication.

  “One for Lilia, one for Nicholas. The Unseen Order has been quiet for far too long. As for Percy… forget it.”

  He slid the letters into envelopes, affixed postage, and was about to head out to mail them.

  Just then, Balkin approached and bowed.

  “Boss, applicants have arrived.”

  “Oh? That fast? Bring them in.”

  Javon nodded.

  Balkin led in two applicants, one man and one woman, both very young. The woman wore a simple plaid skirt, chestnut hair falling to her shoulders. The young man wore a linen shirt, the fabric worn and mended in places. He looked at Javon with a hungry kind of reverence.

  “This is our boss, Mr. Elvander,” Balkin said. “Introduce yourselves.”

  “Mr. Elvander, I—I’m Isabet. I can do anything. Please give me a chance.”

  Isabet spoke with stubborn resolve.

  “Mr. Elvander, I’m William—William Charle! I’m from Lain County. I’m currently enrolled at the nearby grammar school.” William was tall, his words bright with confidence and vigor. “I’m looking for an evening job. I believe I’m well suited to this position.”

  Even Javon felt the energy of it.

  “Isabet, William… our customers can be crude and violent.” Javon sipped his cocoa and spoke unhurriedly. “Working here, you may encounter situations you don’t expect.”

  “Are you certain you understand the risks—and still wish to work here? Especially you, Isabet.”

  “I have no problem,” William answered at once.

  “I… I have no problem as well.” Isabet’s temperament seemed timid—exactly the sort men liked to bully.

  Javon ignored that and said, “Good. Hours are six p.m. to one a.m., seven days a week. Weekly pay is ten shillings. If that’s acceptable, come in tonight and start.”