“Interesting help…”
Roger’s mouth twitched at the words.
For ordinary people, “interesting” is a commendatory term in most cases, but if Amon said it, it could often be equated with “tragedy.”
Therefore, he desperately didn’t want to know what this “interesting help” was; he just wanted to go home early now.
But he still patiently drank the cocktail Amon gave him to the bottom, and unexpectedly found that Amon’s bartending skills were surprisingly good.
Thinking about it again, this “Angel of Time” had been active in human society for so many years and was once a great noble, so mixing a drink would certainly be effortless for him.
“Another glass.” Roger’s eyes lit up.
“One gold pound.” The bartender Amon glanced at him through his monocle.
“Farewell.”
Roger felt somewhat helpless.
He refused his boss’s extortionate behavior, put on his wide-brimmed top hat, and turned to walk out of the “Family” bar.
Along the way, Roger bought a bottle of Intis red wine at Harrods Department Store, then packed two servings of paella, one each of white bread, Feynapotter noodles, and Desi pie, before arriving home and eating one of the paella servings.
Seeing Bandit sound asleep, he quietly went to the underground storage room, cleaned his workbench, put on his scholars ring, and entered his “Silent Focus” personality.
Roger first placed four brand-new sandalwood-scented candles at the four corners of the workbench, and then placed four main dishes respectively.
Then, with the help of coarse salt, clear water, and Hermes’s incantations, he sanctified a small silver knife and used it to create a sealed “Spiritual Wall” around himself.
Taking a deep breath, Roger dripped one drop of essential oil, which had been pre-mixed and distilled from moonflower, golden mint, deep sleep flower, golden bergamot, and rock rose, onto each candle.
A pleasant fragrance instantly wafted up, making Roger’s already calm mind even more relaxed.
“The Fool that does not belong to this era, you are the mysterious ruler above Above the Gray Fog, you are the King of Yellow and Black who controls good luck…”
“I beg for your help.”
“I beg for your favor.”
“I beg for you to grant me a good dream.”
“Deep sleep flower…”
After a period of low chanting, Roger immediately felt a breeze blowing within the “Spiritual Wall,” and at the same time, there was a faint, deep red starlight swirling in the position of his right hand.
But suddenly, this crimson light underwent an unexpected change; an almost imperceptible rust color inexplicably mixed into it.
At the same time, Above the Gray Fog rapidly spread at Roger’s feet…
Inside Blackthorn Security Company, Klein, who was on overtime duty guarding the armory, suddenly felt dizzy and almost fell, quickly supporting himself with his hand on the table.
His forehead throbbed wildly, and the uncontrollable pain deep in his brain made him gasp, and he quickly rubbed his temples.
Klein?
Are you alright?”
Hearing Klein’s voice, Old Neil, who happened to be nearby, hurried over and asked with some concern from the doorway.
“No, I’m fine.”
Klein straightened up and let out a long breath, because he saw the four small black dots, like natural moles, that had appeared on the back of his right hand, originating from the “Luck Transfer Ritual.”
This made him realize that a Tarot Club member was performing the ritual magic to appeal to the The Fool, which they had previously agreed upon.
“What is this?
This wasn’t here before?”
Klein suddenly noticed that in the middle of those four black dots, a blurry, tiny, almost imperceptible rust-colored circular pattern had appeared.
And he didn’t know if it was an illusion, but he seemed to feel a gaze from within that circular pattern, watching him…
He quickly rubbed his eyes, but found that the circular pattern had already disappeared, and the four black dots also faded quickly.
“Could it be that something went wrong with that ritual magic?
Does it need improvement?”
Klein felt a bit uneasy in his heart, because the circular pattern that seemed to hide a gaze reminded him, for no reason, of the illusory eye he had seen behind Old Neil when he had just gained his Spirit Vision earlier.
He decided to go above Above the Gray Fog later to check what exactly went wrong.
…
Roger, who was almost completely engulfed, quickly pricked the Spiritual Wall with his silver dagger, ending the ritual.
The moment he did so, the Above the Gray Fog vanished without a trace in an instant.
Panting heavily, Roger muttered:
“I remember the The Fool’s prayer ritual wasn’t like this…”
In his memory, as long as a deep red starlight appeared, it meant that the practitioner of the ritual magic had successfully left their plea above Sefirah Castle, and then it was a normal Release ritual, waiting for Mr.
The Fool’s reply.
But just now, some kind of anomaly seemed to have occurred; the Above the Gray Fog unique to Sefirah Castle had actually spread within his Spiritual Wall.
This gave Roger a very bad premonition, and he quickly stopped the ritual.
“Could it be that Star of Judgment and Sefirah Castle interacted in some way?”
This made Roger shiver slightly.
This kind of matter was too high-level; he decided not to easily pray to Mr.
The Fool again until he understood the whole story. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
It was just a weekly meeting, and Roger was confident he could ensure his attendance.
Of course, if he really had something urgent, he would go next door and subtly hint to Klein that he was very busy, so Mr.
The Fool would naturally know the relevant situation.
After all, he and the head of his secret organization were neighbors; it would be a waste not to use this connection…
The next day, three in the afternoon.
Perhaps it was because the first ritual magic consumed too much spirituality, or perhaps the prayer to Mr.
The Fool had an effect, Roger only woke up at this time.
He yawned while washing up, then tied a simple cat collar made of string and the scholars ring around Bandit’s neck and tossed him into the scattered word cards on the floor.
Watching the kitten enter a focused state, diligently reading the cards, he nodded with satisfaction and walked into the kitchen.
“Bang bang bang!”
Just as Roger was frying an egg in a pan, preparing to eat something simple, his front door was suddenly knocked upon.
“This early?
Didn’t Klein say we were eating in the evening?”
With doubt in his heart, Roger still went forward and opened the door.
Standing at the door was a young man with black hair and black eyes, carrying a backpack.
Seeing such a color scheme, Roger was startled at first, but quickly calmed down.
If the other party didn’t have very peculiar natural curls, he probably would have instinctively closed the door.
“Excuse me, are you Mr.
Roger Abraham?”
The young man bowed slightly, speaking with some uncertainty.
Roger was about to say “yes” when he suddenly realized something was wrong.
Because in Tingen, he was Meters Bonwe, not Roger Abraham.
“I’m not.
Who are you?” he counter-questioned.
Seeing this, the young man quickly waved his hand and replied:
“You don’t need to be nervous.
My name is Ethan Weissman, and I’m from the ‘Fiery Dragon’ bar in Pritz Harbor.”