1349, July 8, Sunday.
Loen Kingdom, Awwa County, Tingen City.
After losing contact for more than twenty days, the Alfalfa, returning from the Southern Continent, finally crossed the Berserk Sea and arrived at Enmat Harbor.
A handsome silver-haired youth stood at the harbor, watching as the disembarking passengers were taken away one by one by a contingent of police officers.
After the survivors of the Alfalfa were taken away, the police sealed off the entire harbor, and bodies wrapped in white cloth were carried out one after another.
“It seems Tris should have already successfully digested the potion of the Instigator.”
Truman watched the round-faced youth being led away by the police and followed at an unhurried pace.
Arriving at the side wall of the police station, Truman pressed his palm lightly against the wall.
A hazy, insubstantial, deep-blue door suddenly appeared before him.
He stepped through the watery curtain-like door and entered.
Inside the police station, a cross-examination of the survivors was already in full swing.
A brutal bloodbath and massacre had occurred aboard the Alfalfa, and every officer on duty was on high alert, not daring to slack off in the slightest.
Truman moved along the wall, draping his gray cloak before him like a curtain.
Every officer who passed by him completely overlooked his presence.
Some even subconsciously took detours around him, as if the obstacle before them wasn’t an intruder sneaking into the station, but simply a wall blocking their path.
A flash of deep-blue light shimmered.
Tris saw Truman step in soundlessly and effortlessly through the door.
He strolled leisurely behind two officers, pulled out a pocket watch, and gently swung it a few times before their eyes.
The two upright officers slumped over the interrogation table, fast asleep.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Tingen, fooling around with your mistress?
You actually had time to come pick me up?”
Recognizing Truman, Tris shed the affable, bashful expression on his round face, and his demeanor shifted from that of an unremarkable ordinary man to something far sharper.
“A true assassin must learn to conceal his edge.
Why are you backsliding, Tris?”
Unfazed by the youth’s sarcasm, Truman sat on the interrogation table and snapped his fingers.
The shackles on Tris’s wrists clicked open.
“I don’t think dealing with a trickster like you would pose much of a challenge.”
Tris rubbed his wrists and gave a heavy snort through his nose.
“You should have chosen to sail with me—then you could have witnessed the pirate fleet of ‘King of the Five Seas,’ Nast.”
Truman looked at Tris with a hint of schadenfreude, seeing the lingering fear on his face.
All he’d done was go to sea to digest his potion and play the role of a Sequence 8 Instigator—and he just had to run into that Pirate King?
What rotten luck.
Truman pulled out a female deity statue carved from bone and placed it on the table.
The statue had extremely long hair, trailing all the way to its ankles, each strand distinct and sharp, like a serpent flicking its tongue.
At the tip of every strand was carved a half-open or half-closed eye.
“So, what would you do if I pulled out the statue of the Demoness herself?”
Tris trembled slightly at the sight of the palm-sized statue on the table, looking at Truman in disbelief.
“Y-you…
you just stuff the statue of the Primordial Demoness right in your pocket?
Blasphemy…
this is pure blasphemy!”
Truman waved dismissively at Tris’s overreaction.
“Carrying it with me at all times proves my unwavering devotion to Lady Demoness.
Those who enshrine it and offer incense are the real superficial frauds.”
If he didn’t carry the Primordial Demoness’s statue—which had anti-divination properties—on him at all times, would he really dare act so boldly?
The reason he’d managed to go from being a Ghost Driver to an aberration wasn’t just luck.
It was just a pity that, after somehow arriving in this world, all the malevolent spirits he’d once controlled had vanished.
Even the very body he’d transformed into as an aberration had fallen into some kind of dormant state.
“Heh!”
Tris let out a cold laugh.
He knew this guy’s character all too well now—he wouldn’t believe a single word out of his mouth.
“Let’s go.”
Truman opened a luminous door on the wall of the interrogation room and extended an invitation to Tris.
“Flashy and tacky.”
Tris gave a cold critique before asking Truman, who was ahead of him:
“Why didn’t you choose the Assassin Pathway?”
“The Apprentice Pathway, to me, is just circus acrobatics.”
Strolling along the docks of the harbor district, Truman fell silent for a moment at Tris’s question.
He touched the statue of the Primordial Demoness in his pocket and recalled the maddening whispers he heard every full moon.
He had actually considered choosing the Assassin Pathway back then, but he happened to come across the diary left by the previous transmigrator.
That Emperor Roselle had expressed deep regret for not choosing the “Seer,” “Marauder,” and “Apprentice” pathways.
So, at the time, Truman, lacking information, followed his fellow countryman’s advice.
But unfortunately, the hidden danger caused by that lack of information still surfaced.
The words in Emperor Roselle’s diary probably weren’t meant to trap later transmigrators.
It’s just that the “Apprentice” pathway isn’t suited for just anyone—at the very least, others probably don’t hear the whispers of that Mr.
Door during the full moon.
Even if someone like the Emperor overheard them by accident, he could still chat with Mr.
Door in a relaxed, cheerful tone.
But Truman, during the full moon, could only endure the stabbing pain incessantly.
If it weren’t for the protection of the Primordial Demoness’s statue, he’d find it extremely difficult to walk this divine path for long.
He could also try reaching out to the Deceiver Ghost, with whom he’d lost contact.
But every time he had that thought, his own spirituality would frantically warn him, as though some unknown disaster would befall him the moment he tried to tap into the Deceiver Ghost’s supernatural power.
“Instead of worrying about my chosen pathway, aren’t you going to consider the consequences of taking me away directly?”
“With your original disguise, you might have fooled the official supernatural organizations for a while.
But leaving outright like this—they’ll quickly realize you’re the mastermind behind the Alfalfa bloodbath.”
Tris noticed Truman dodging his question and a faint, barely perceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
You must be regretting choosing that useless Apprentice pathway now, right?
Especially after seeing how powerful I’ve become since advancing to Instigator.
“It doesn’t matter.
With Madame Sharon’s connections in Tingen, even the official supernatural officers won’t be able to pin down my whereabouts anytime soon.
And once I’ve sacrificed those survivors of the Alfalfa, I’ll leave Tingen directly.”
“By the way, what about the Sequence 7 potion formula and three main ingredients you promised me?
Given how close you and Sharon are, she should have entrusted them to you for delivery to me.”
Tris couldn’t contain his excitement as he asked Truman.
“Uh…”
Truman paused for a moment.
This question was genuinely somewhat difficult to answer.
He patted his good brother on the shoulder, looking at the other’s still-charming face, and said meaningfully:
“Wait until we get back to Tingen City, and you can ask her yourself.”
“Are you hiding something from me?”
Tris suddenly had an inexplicable sense of foreboding.
“You’re overthinking it, my friend.
With your intelligence, what could I possibly do to you?”
Truman shook his head decisively.
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T/N: As a fan of LotM it’s only right I translate this.