Inside Havier’s The Displaced Castle.

  Javon strolled through the hall at leisure, casually checking whether any materials suited his needs.

  When he passed Lily’s sisters’ long table, he deliberately paused for a few seconds and offered Lily and Jessica a smile. Lily reacted like a bristling cat, so startled she stumbled backward again and again.

  After a quick scan of the market, Javon went up to the second floor of the castle—into the meeting room.

  Today was Friday, January 15. The regular gathering was held as usual.

  When Javon entered the meeting room, he saw several familiar faces.

  “Elvander.”

  Langley Tannis rose to welcome him, posture respectful—leaving the other Beyond Ones in the room thoroughly confused. Langley offered no explanation.

  After all, this Elvander was not only an outstanding Forgebearer—he could also kill a Black Umbral Beast head-on. He possessed combat power fully comparable to Beyond Mortality.

  A figure like that was enough to found a covert organization that would even rank on the Bureau of Occult Affairs’ wanted notices.

  “Langley.” Javon nodded in greeting and asked, “Is the Professor not coming?”

  “He won’t be able to for a long time.”

  At the mention of it, Langley couldn’t help letting out a sigh.

  The other Beyond Ones around them nodded as well, looking as though they found the outcome unsurprising.

  “After exploring the Fallen City, the fact we came back alive—and without casualties—is already something to be grateful for,” said someone who seemed to know a bit of the inside story.

  Javon looked toward him. The man wasn’t wearing a mask—tall, gaunt, with deep lines beside his nose and mouth. When he noticed Javon’s gaze, he immediately offered a friendly smile.

  That aura felt faintly familiar to Javon’s instincts.

  He thought for a moment, uncertain. “Xander?”

  “It’s me.” Xander nodded with a smile, gratitude clear in his voice. “Last time, we only made it because of you. The Professor also asked me to pass along his thanks.”

  Javon thought of the robust black gorilla in the dream, then compared it to Xander’s real-world build—and an absurd, almost comical contrast rose in him.

  “All right. Let’s begin.” Another female Beyond One spoke. “I need the follow-up mystic materials and ritual knowledge for the Insectmancer path. I’m willing to pay 1,500 pounds for it.”

  Sounds like the Chrysalis path… I wonder if the Webmaster would be satisfied.

  A thought flashed through Javon’s mind, but he didn’t speak. He watched the woman sit back down, disappointed.

  He swept his gaze around and didn’t see Gantiss either. It seemed the true Artisan wouldn’t be attending this meeting.

  “Everyone… Lucivar has completed another theft, and my company has suffered severe losses because of it.”

  A middle-aged man dressed like a wealthy merchant stood up, voice heavy. “I’m issuing a bounty to all of you—Lucivar’s head, 9,000 pounds! I only want his life. The remaining arcane items and materials are yours!”

  “Lucivar’s bounty keeps climbing. It’s almost at Beyond Mortality levels,” Langley said with a complicated sigh. “At that price, plenty of people will be tempted to go after a Beyond One who hasn’t opened the Fourth Sephiroth.”

  Javon nodded in agreement. “Still, we can’t rule out the possibility that he’s hiding his Sephiroth level. Only the maddest bounty hunters would try to hunt Lucivar.”

  Then he saw Xander rise. He scanned the room and said, “A friend of mine was injured by the Black Pharaoh inside the pyramid while dreamwalking the Ethereal Realm. He’s suffering heavy contamination and a curse. I’m hoping to find a way to treat him.”

  “Ahem. Xander—shouldn’t you be going to the Professor with that?” someone asked, surprised.

  “But the Professor has gone away to recuperate,” Xander answered in pain. “He’s carrying serious injuries himself. He can’t treat others for me anymore…”

  Pyramids and the Black Pharaoh… that unlucky hawk?

  A strange sense of déjà vu struck Javon. Martin’s teacher might be Xander’s friend. They both incorporate the Veil element—maybe they’re from the same school!

  He spoke casually. “Treating contamination—only Tower Beyond Ones and certain specialized healers can do that. As for curses… I have a vial of luminous draught here. Want to take a look?”

  It was a potion only Forged Light Beyond Ones could brew—effective at treating and suppressing certain curse-born injuries. With Gantiss absent, no one would fight Javon for the sale.

  Xander took it and examined it carefully. Then he nodded. “This should suppress my friend’s curse effectively. As for the mental contamination, there’s truly no solution—only his own will can be relied upon. If I could get five more standard doses, it might hold him until the Professor returns. Thank you for your help. If I need six doses in total, what price do you require?”

  “I don’t need pounds. I’m interested in ancient secrets and higher-tier grimoires.”

  Javon stated his demand plainly.

  “High-tier grimoires are the foundation of every school. They can’t be shared.”

  Xander gritted his teeth. “I have a book titled Secrets of the Velthyr. It gives brief introductions to the Velthyr who govern the twelve months. Of course—no true names and no concrete likenesses.”

  “Done.” Javon nodded with satisfaction.

  He already had a partial grasp of the Velthyr and their months—but not a complete one.

  A piece of knowledge like this could be called valuable or not particularly so, but it was comprehensive. That was enough to offset the value of six luminous draughts.

  “I only have three doses on hand. I’ll brew the rest as soon as possible and deliver them to you.”

  Javon told Xander.

  “No problem. I trust your integrity, Elvander.” Xander inclined his head slightly and pushed a black notebook across the table.

  Javon accepted it, flipped through a few pages, and then stored it with quiet satisfaction. It was obvious Xander was repaying the favor from before.

  In that situation, if Javon had harbored ill intent, the Professor and the other three wouldn’t have escaped intact—they would have died to the last in the Fallen City…

  After the gathering ended, Javon switched masks and returned to Phoenix Street No. 27.

  In his bedroom, he turned on the light and opened Secrets of the Velthyr with a faint, eager anticipation.

  “I wonder… how many old friends are in here?”

  On the pale-yellow paper, a line of Ethereal script appeared at once before his eyes:

  Within the Ethereal Realm dwell gods beyond mortal imagination. And among those great existences who sit high above the firmament, the twelve Velthyr who govern the flow of time are without question the most powerful—and the ones whose interference in the mortal world runs deepest…

  Their crests, holy names, and symbolic marks are widely used in mystic arts and rituals, becoming indispensable elements.

  January is the month of The Night-Mother. She is the beginning of the year, and is also regarded as the sovereign of feminine power, who brings forth all things.

  February belongs to The Ossuary Lord. He is The Night-Mother’s child, and the patron of ghouls.

  The existence that governs March is called The Breaking Dawn. He is a symbol of light and hope, holding the mighty power of forging and industry.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  April belongs to The Shed Chrysalis, the cast-off husk of a great existence.

  The Fallen Corona governs May. He delights in commanding his faithful to hold frenzied blood sacrifices.

  June is the feast of calamity incarnate, ultimate malice—The Shepherd of Ruin. Fanatics who worship this Velthyr often create horrific bloodshed in this month.

  July is the month of change. It belongs to The Lady of the Greenwood. This Velthyr bears shifting images such as the Stone-Hearted Crone and the Warm-Hearted Maiden.

  The Velthyr of August has never been witnessed in true form. He is The Faceless One.

  September belongs to the wise The Raven Sage.

  October is the month of The Keeper of Secrets. He keeps the secrets.

  In November all returns to its end. It belongs to The Mortis Quietus.

  December is the season of frost. The Velthyr who governs it is The Unmelting One!

  “The twelve Velthyr…”

  Javon closed Secrets of the Velthyr and let out a satisfied sigh.

  “Familiar—and yet unfamiliar…”

  “Of course, in the Ethereal Realm, besides the Velthyr there are also Obscured Existences, like The Mother of Nature and Underworld Moon. They’re exceedingly powerful too, but they’re not as… influential as the twelve Velthyr?”

  In mysticism, symbolism mattered. Sometimes it mattered more than strength.

  Undoubtedly, the Velthyr who held the sequence of time—those who represented the twelve months—held symbolism that was not only crucial to mystic arts, but also carried weight in the mundane world.

  “An Obscured Existence like The Mother of Nature, with druid sects worshiping Her, is one thing. But my Spirit of Null Observance has fallen utterly silent—buried beneath the long years of history…”

  “And yet, the Velthyr don’t truly need faith. What they need seems to be weight in the world. Perhaps that allows them to influence the mortal realm more deeply?”

  Javon recalled the contents of Secrets of the Velthyr, falling into thought.

  The notebook only offered broad introductions to the twelve Velthyr and did not go deep. As a result, he could only combine it with his own experiences to form a hazy conclusion.

  “But it does seem the original divine sovereigns were strong enough. Even after splitting, devouring, stripping, and deprivation… they and their descendants still clung tightly to the Velthyr’s rank.”

  As that thought passed, Javon’s intuition stirred.

  He remembered a line he had seen in Dreamwalker’s Chronicle—

  Three have perished: one swallowed by the great serpent, one burned by the corona, one stripped down to the unstrippable… yet the hidden history will still remember.

  “This line seems to hint at wars among the Velthyr. And one fallen existence being burned by the corona—perhaps that’s why The Fallen Corona can still exist, and even thrive? The remnants of Black Sun consumed another Obscured Existence, stabilizing itself and growing even stronger.”

  “Which unlucky one did it burn? It should have been of the Umbral path as well. Otherwise the Fallen City would show a clear change.”

  “And which one was swallowed by The Ossuary Lord? Which one was stripped down to the unstrippable?”

  Javon pressed his lips together. A sudden hunger rose in him.

  “I still need more… more ancient texts, to show me what the Ethereal Realm endured during the thousand years I slept.”

  A few days later.

  Morning.

  Javon left his servantless villa, put on Elvander’s mask, and went to a café for breakfast. While eating bacon toast, he sipped hot cocoa and casually picked up a newspaper beside him.

  The Daily Prophet!

  It was a fairly famous tabloid in Wynchester, notorious for reporting upper-class gossip.

  It was said to have accurately “predicted” an earl’s affair, three viscountesses’ infidelity, and King Arthur VI’s romantic escapades.

  Gentlemen of high society condemned the paper with righteous fury—while quietly sending servants to buy it and read it.

  When Javon saw the front-page headline, he was genuinely startled.

  The King’s True Face…

  He read on. In an ambiguous tone, the journalist described King Arthur VI’s interactions with several famously handsome male nobles and gentlemen—then concluded with a “prediction”:

  In the author’s judgment, our king has a particular fondness for handsome men with strong masculine charm—such as Viscount Noxford, Baronet Wilson, and even the Primate of the Holy Spirit Church… and it is rumored the Queen is somewhat dissatisfied with His Majesty’s private tastes, and their marriage has been strained.

  The author believes our great king is simply a deeply concealed bisexual, and our Queen can no longer tolerate competing for favor against several men…

  “Bold,” Javon muttered. “Even though the Inves king’s authority has waned since parliament took hold, the honor of Wessex is not something to be smeared. Aren’t these reporters and editors afraid the Occult Constabulary will come knocking—eighteen bullets in their backs, declared a suicide?”

  He added with a grim sort of amusement, “Paparazzi really are the terror of important figures. They can even dig up a king’s bedroom scandals…”

  After breakfast, Javon walked to the square where The Marshal’s Rostrum stood, fed pigeons at leisure, and watched a street magician perform.

  Time quickly reached noon. He went to Hunter’s Bar and found Balkin at work.

  “Prepare me lunch.”

  Javon sat on a round stool and ordered, then brought up the gossip he’d read and voiced his confusion.

  “Are Wynchester’s reporters really this fearless?”

  “Boss, you’re not local, are you?” Balkin answered without the slightest surprise. “Anyone who knows even a little about House Sodoma understands this: beneath the royal radiance, there’s no shortage of filth. Though nobles were always meant to live lavishly and decadently.”

  As a born-and-raised Wynchester local, Balkin seemed to know the Sodoma family’s dirt inside and out, and he launched into it with relish.

  “The great Sun King—Arthur I, the wise monarch who ended the age of chaos—did plenty of foolish things in old age. The most criticized was his intimate involvement with several nieces and even granddaughters…”

  “Arthur III in the histories only liked men. He even refused to marry for it, and it caused a massive uproar at the time.”

  “And there’s the famous ‘Demon Queen’ Julian—she was a witch who drank young girls’ blood to maintain her youth. She kept several male lovers. The king of that era didn’t care at all—he even often played and frolicked with them in bed.”

  “Compared to that, our current king is practically normal. Truly!”

  “So in the minds of the kingdom’s people, that’s what House Sodoma looks like?”

  Javon had never paid much attention to this sort of thing. Hearing it for the first time genuinely shocked him.

  “And our king today is a double-plug, but otherwise normal, so he’s accepted. Have the people’s standards really fallen this far?”

  At the same time, he roughly understood why The Daily Prophet hadn’t been raided.

  Because House Sodoma itself no longer particularly cared about its reputation in this regard.

  “Of course, even so, the forces behind The Daily Prophet are probably quite strong. Otherwise they couldn’t withstand the collateral ripples. Even if the royals don’t care, plenty of departments eager to curry favor will.”

  “And if you want to think darker—maybe some big shot in parliament supports it in secret, smearing the crown to weaken its authority…”

  At that moment, Balkin brought up the real matter.

  “Karl the Mad left word. He says the previous commission has results. He can deliver the investigation report tonight.”

  “So fast?”

  Javon was slightly surprised. He’d thought William might offer him a bit of amusement. He hadn’t expected him to be so careless.

  Night, Hunter’s Bar.

  Inside the office.

  Karl the Mad strode in. When he saw there was no liquor, he looked disappointed.

  “I thought a bar owner’s office would have good booze hidden somewhere.”

  “Not every seller of liquor likes drinking it.”

  Javon tossed over a roll of banknotes. “You got results?”

  “Yes. This Mr. William Charle is truly not simple.”

  Karl wore a grin with a faint edge of madness as he handed over a handwritten report.

  Javon took it and read. The first section was background:

  “William Charle. From Lane County. Both parents dead. Family fallen. Relatives wiped out. Only him left.”

  “Yes.” Karl said. “I used certain illegal methods—paid people to investigate the death records of William’s parents and kin. Found some interesting inconsistencies. They may not have died by accident, but by skilled murder—hidden inside coincidences and ‘accidents.’”

  Karl continued, “And Mr. Charle seems to possess some secret. Perhaps he knows part of the truth. After the funerals, he fled his hometown without hesitation. He’s dangerous—and the force against him is dangerous. Boss, you’ve heard of the mystic world, right? It may be connected to that.”

  “Mm. I know. Continue.” Javon laced his fingers together on the desk.

  For a top-tier bounty hunter, knowing the existence of the mystic world wasn’t surprising. In fact, Karl himself might be a Beyond One.

  “After arriving in Wynchester, Mr. Charle enrolled in a grammar school. He’s extremely interested in ancient languages and frequently spends significant money to ingratiate himself with an ancient-language professor. The detailed intel is on page two.”

  Karl went on. “He sold property earlier, but he’s still short on money, so he had to take part-time work to earn. While tailing him, I discovered he often frequents high-end auction houses and clubs. He’s likely searching for the local mystic market—the so-called Black Queen District. He’s burned a lot of cash on it and achieved initial results. He’s most closely connected to an entertainment venue called the Blood Robe Club. He’s probably a regular there.”

  “Blood Robe Club?” Javon frowned slightly.

  “Wynchester has many clubs,” Karl said, splitting his mouth into a grin. “The Blood Robe Club is famous for ‘specialty cuisine.’ Strict entry. You need serious money and a member’s introduction. I suspect it’s a mystic gathering founded by a covert organization. No proof, though—unless you pay me to get inside and investigate.”

  “No need. Continue.” Javon waved it off.

  “And then—the target likely possesses some Beyond abilities. I strongly suspect Harris’s death was his work.”

  Karl’s smile sharpened. “The target has become an extremely dangerous figure, even with the tendency to found a sect. He’s preaching to your other employee—the girl named Isabet. Once he establishes a covert organization, he’ll need money even more. I have reason to suspect Mr. Charle will attempt to use mystic knowledge to influence his boss—meaning you—to get more money!”

  Karl’s grin widened, faint madness in his eyes. “Want to hire me to kill him too? You can eliminate the danger early—and you might even gain a key into the ‘mystic world.’ Of course, that costs extra.”

  “What a fright,” Javon sighed, closing the report. “So my employee might be a cult leader, a murderer, tied to a mystic organization, preaching to another employee, and possibly preparing a spell to deal with me? I’m truly unfortunate…”

  He looked at Karl and asked, “Didn’t you say you don’t kill?”

  “I don’t kill normal people.” Karl’s grin turned sickening. “Cultists are an exception!”

  “Believe me, I’m a professional. Those cultists may have all sorts of bizarre abilities, but if you observe patiently you’ll always find their weakness. Then it’s one shot to the head—watch the bullet tear their veins, the hot blood spill out… that’s the highest pleasure.”

  Karl licked his lips.

  “Mm. You really are a madman. But this ends here.”

  Javon waved him off. “It’s only your speculation. William’s a good kid. Maybe he doesn’t intend to harm me.”

  “You’ll regret it.”

  Karl glared at him and strode out.

  “Doesn’t even shut the door on the way out. Rude.” Javon let out a final sigh. “And the other one—his technique is too raw, too careless. He left far too many cracks…”

  Then he said to the side, “Come out.”

  Balkin stepped from the corner behind the wardrobe and bowed. “Boss. Your orders?”

  “You heard everything?” Javon asked.

  “I did. Should we deal with William?”

  Balkin answered calmly. “He hasn’t trained in systematic combat and lacks experience. If I suddenly put a round through his forehead, he’ll probably die.”

  In Wynchester, Beyond Ones who died to gang shootouts and poison were not rare at all.

  What Balkin feared were the big figures of the mystic world—not a clumsy novice.