Merchant Lamir.
Siles hadn’t expected to encounter this name here.
It was a character card from the tabletop role-playing game he was playing before his death. The player using that card was one of Siles’s friends.
During the game, his friend had broken character to complain that the merchant’s spirituality stat was absurdly high. Just a merchant—why such high spirituality?
With such high spirituality, constantly running into bizarre events made the character tough to play!
Now, in this world, having heard about Merchant Lamir, Siles formed a hypothesis: perhaps it was tied to his frequent travels in the Endless Lands?
The Endless Lands—that mist-shrouded, gray-black territory—what secrets did it hide?
Siles felt a spark of curiosity. But he had no time to dwell on it. He had planned to browse more, perhaps find a map of Lamifa City, but now those thoughts were sidelined.
He hurriedly pulled out his wallet, spent one marquis coin to buy the travelogue about the Endless Lands, bid the vendor a quick farewell, and rushed out of the large bookstore.
As he stepped outside, he let out a tentative breath. Yet, Atherton Square was still crowded, and the incessant sound of dice in his mind grated on his nerves.
Finally, he frowned, reached into his pocket, gripped the dodecahedral die, and said in a low voice, “Stop.”
No response.
Siles, exasperated, said, “Enough spinning!”
The dice sound finally ceased, and he sighed in relief.
Just moments ago, when he recognized Merchant Lamir’s name, the die had spun frantically, as if eager to make a check for someone.
In that moment, Siles felt an indescribable, inexplicable instinct and sensation. He realized he could act as the game master—the Secret Keeper.
He could make a check for anyone present, simply by tossing the die.
It was a tempting lure to control fate recklessly, and Siles nearly succumbed. But he restrained himself, quickly leaving the crowded building.
Even now, that sensation lingered in his heart.
Did this mean that when the die made checks for him, he could also use it to make checks for others?
Why couldn’t he before?
Then, Siles realized it might be because Merchant Lamir’s appearance activated his identity as a Secret Keeper.
In tabletop games, checks were like gambling with fate.
For players, a check’s success or failure could irreversibly affect their progress. A murderer might slip away, or a hidden clue might leap into view.
For the Secret Keeper overseeing the game, whether a check succeeded or failed, players merely floundered within the web of fate—the scenario—unable to escape its design. The source of this chapter is novelping(.)com.
The Secret Keeper’s usual approach was to use the dice’s random rolls to provide players with engaging experiences, gradually feeding them information, making them feel they were “actively” uncovering the world’s secrets or the event’s truth.
In other words, the Secret Keeper should know the answers from the start.
But Siles, Secret Keeper Noel, knew nothing.
Siles couldn’t help but close his eyes, feeling his role as Secret Keeper deeply challenged and insulted. How could an ignorant ordinary person bear the responsibility of check outcomes and ensuing events?
Siles’s mood was complex. The idea and premonition of making a check for anyone still lingered. But he resisted, taking no action.
With lingering unease, he glanced back at the glass-domed building. Then, he walked around Atherton Square, his mood slowly calming.
He absentmindedly ate at a restaurant serving traditional stews and fried rice. Eating rice for the first time in days, Siles felt a pang of nostalgia.
This fully settled his slightly agitated mood.
He reached into his pocket, thoughtfully rubbing the unremarkable die, realizing his transmigration might hide some secret.
…Was this die his “golden finger” from transmigration?
After pondering briefly, Siles set aside the complex question. Unable to communicate with the die, further thought was futile.
After eating, he paid—eight marquis coins, by the way, quite expensive—checked the time, saw it was nearly one o’clock, and strolled from Atherton Central Square to the Historical Society.
The Historical Society’s entrance was, as usual, deserted. But on his way to the top floor, Siles encountered a somewhat familiar figure—carrying a canvas, lean, with gold-rimmed glasses.
…The painter from Atherton Square’s edge?
Siles cast him a glance, then looked away. The painter, descending from the top floor, might also be a Revelator. But he hurried along, seemingly eager to attend to something.
Siles was slightly curious but didn’t greet him.
At the top floor, he stood before the door with the eye symbol, took a deep breath, gripped the handle, pressed down, and pushed it open. The space beyond was as awe-inspiring as ever.
The towering ceiling and bright ambiance gave the impression not of a mysterious space but a suitable, comfortable reception area.
Following Carol’s advice, Siles didn’t linger in the hall or greet anyone, hurrying to Room 666.
Several people were already seated, including Angela Clayton and the elderly woman. The latter, during introductions two days ago, had said they could call her Mrs. Fuller.
Miss Clayton and Mrs. Fuller were chatting. Siles nodded to them and the young boy who had also arrived, refraining from joining their conversation. Instead, he approached the bookshelf wall, curiously browsing the titles.
He had been intrigued by the books when he first saw the wall. Arriving early, he now had time to explore.
Scanning the spines, he found they were history books, covering everything from Godbirth Era myths to the founding of modern nations and the development of the Endless Lands. Most were ancient and weighty.
Siles wondered if these books could be borrowed, but considering his upcoming tasks, he likely had no time to read them.
He returned to the sofa, quietly listening to their conversation about Lamifa City news and the marvels of Revelators.
The Church of the Past and the Konst Duchy authorities had issued a joint warrant, but they mentioned nothing of the heretic’s specific crimes, only that he had committed an unforgivable “offense against the divine.”
The matter had caused a citywide uproar, and days later, the heretic remained at large, his whereabouts unknown.
In this world, the church’s influence over faith wasn’t oppressive, not mandating worship of Antinam. Thus, when discussing the heretic, they expressed curiosity about his actions.
What had the heretic done to so enrage the Church of the Past?
Siles, with some knowledge from his tabletop game scenario, remained silent. Powerless, merely an ordinary professor and uninitiated Revelator, he had no intention of getting involved.
Even if he knew the heretic’s possible whereabouts, aligning the scenario’s details with reality was problematic.
He knew the heretic, injured, would seek a doctor newly arrived in Lamifa City, renting an apartment in West Lamifa—but which apartment?
The scenario glossed over this, offering no specific address. So, Siles couldn’t act recklessly.
Throughout the conversation, he maintained a silent, listening stance.
Soon, the other two men arrived.
At exactly two o’clock, Carol Hausman entered the room. Seeing the six, he gave a relaxed smile. “Looks like you all really enjoy the Revelator talk, don’t you?”
Angela Clayton replied cheerfully, “Of course! I love mysterious things.”
Carol laughed at her response. “Last Monday afternoon, I mentioned that today you’d try the simplest, safest Revelator ritual.
“So, who wants to go first?”
Angela and the young boy raised their hands almost simultaneously.
They glanced at each other, neither yielding.
Carol said, “Miss Clayton.”
The boy reluctantly lowered his hand. His name was Darell Hobbs. The lively, young boy was clearly enamored with the mysterious power of Revelators.
Angela nodded at Darell with a bright smile. Darell blushed at her beauty, momentarily stunned.
Carol ignored their brief interaction, focusing on explaining the upcoming ritual. “The first ritual for Revelator initiation, over long years, has been fixed as a harmless but useful ritual.
“Its name is: [Flowing Wind]. Its effect is to conjure a harmless breeze in front of someone. It causes no harm, at most offering a bit of coolness in the hot August.”
Is that so? Siles thought. What about blowing wind into an enemy’s eyes during a fight? Or directly into their body?
…Ugh. He was too caught up in Earth’s internet novel tropes of fighting and killing. Siles thought, ashamed.
Angela stood beside Carol, her expression eager.
Carol smiled. “Alright, alright, I’m sure you’re all impatient. So, let’s see—what is the time track for this ritual?”
He pulled an object from his pocket.