After meditating to adjust his state, Truman took out a crucible and began brewing the potion.
This step held no difficulty for him whatsoever.
By his own assessment, anyone from the modern era who could cook instant noodles wouldn’t make a mistake here.
Simply add the ingredients in the correct proportions in sequence, stir, and it was done.
Truman glanced at the sky outside.
It was roughly noon, with golden sunlight spilling across the curtains, leaving no trace of crimson.
He placed the statue of the Primordial Demoness on the desk before him and adjusted his spirituality to its optimal state.
Then he raised the potion, shimmering like a cluster of stars, and downed it in one go.
The cool liquid slid down his throat into his stomach, and every cell in his body felt a sense of satisfaction and fullness.
Truman’s spirituality began to absorb the supernatural power contained within the Astrologer potion.
Everything proceeded smoothly—until a layered, overlapping murmur suddenly sounded in his ears.
Hum~
Before Truman’s eyes, a illusory crimson moon seemed to appear, accompanied by a chaotic babble like storms and waves crashing together.
Truman clutched his forehead in agony and fell to his knees.
His spirit felt as if it had been ripped from his body—every wisp of spirituality that merged into every drop of potion and every cell suffered some intense corruption.
Sweat ran down his cheeks, soaking the carpet.
His skin began to redden and emit white steam, like a shrimp about to be boiled.
Truman gripped his head tightly with both hands.
He did not immediately seek the Primordial Demoness’s protection—he knew well that he could not place all his hopes on so-called gods.
“Ha.
If this is all there is.”
He let out a grim laugh, his gray eyes swirling with intense madness like shattered mirrors.
Truman’s body continued to tremble uncontrollably, but he steadily controlled himself to absorb the power within the potion.
The starlight radiating from his body grew thinner and thinner.
The Astrologer potion’s power was ultimately absorbed without running amok in his body…
Just as Truman allowed himself a slight sigh of relief, his spirituality suddenly began to blare with fierce warnings.
Truman’s face turned extremely grim.
“Why?
This isn’t fair.”
He barely had time to cry out in resentment before he was drowned by the overlapping murmurs in his ears.
Unlike the previously indistinct murmurs, something terrifying happened again—he realized the overlapping whispers in his ears had become…
clearer.
In the supernatural world, hearing what others cannot hear and seeing what others cannot see means encountering what others will not encounter.
The stronger one’s inspiration, the more susceptible one becomes to the influence of dangerous things.
Truman let out a pained wail.
With the increasingly clear murmurs in his ears, all kinds of complex hallucinations appeared before his eyes.
An illusory glowing door seemed to materialize before him, dense eyeballs flickering like scattered stars.
“Ah!”
He painfully slammed his forehead against the floor, trying to use physical pain to disperse the relentless torment on his spirit.
The spirituality absorbed from the potion also began to stir, polluting, corrupting, and twisting the cells within his body.
Thump!
Thump!
“The source of all disasters…”
Truman painfully rose from the ground.
Crimson blood traced across his cheek from his forehead.
With dazed eyes, he reached toward the statue of the Primordial Demoness on the table.
His vision was filled with patches of color flickering in alternation, and his ears rang with layered murmurs that came and went, near and far, until his hand touched a round object.
Crimson ripples flooded everything within his sight like ocean waves.
July 9, Monday.
“The Fool that does not belong to this era.”
“The mysterious ruler above the gray fog.”
“The King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck.”
Klein Moretti spent roughly the entire morning designing the incantations that would point to himself.
“Before the Tarot Club meeting this afternoon, I’d better test it out first.”
To ensure the Tarot Club meeting would go smoothly, Klein silently recited the incantations he had devised, walked four steps backwards, and ascended above the gray fog.
Above the gray fog, within the majestic palace like a giant’s dwelling, Klein focused his thoughts and sat at the head of the long bronze table that held twenty-two high-backed chairs.
“It seems my ritual really did work!”
Klein muttered to himself.
He tapped his brow, and thick gray mist enveloped his entire body.
“Even if Miss Justice has become a Spectator, the gray fog’s concealment will prevent her from noticing anything unusual.”
The clock was approaching 3 PM.
Without time to deliberate further, Klein reached for the two familiar crimson stars.
But just before those two crimson stars, a crimson star closest to Klein—one that was constantly expanding and contracting—caught his attention.
As a recently transmigrated soul, Klein still retained some habits from the modern era.
For example, when he saw a constantly blinking notification icon, even if his mind hadn’t quite processed it, his hand had already subconsciously clicked on it.
The next moment, three figures shrouded in gray mist appeared within the magnificent palace.
Mr.
Fool quickly withdrew his mischievous hand.
Under the cover of gray mist, no one noticed the intense bewilderment and embarrassment on this mysterious powerhouse’s face.
Miss Justice also noticed the new member.
She had been about to offer a warm greeting.
But her keen observational skills as a Spectator made her realize something was amiss.
That unknown gentleman had both hands braced on the mottled ancient bronze long table, his fingers gently pressing against his temples on either side, his breathing mixed with a hint of raggedness.
“Shh, his condition doesn’t look right—seems like there are signs of losing control.”
“The Hanged Man” Alger narrowed his eyes slightly.
He glanced at the silent Fool at the head of the bronze table and whispered a reminder to Miss Justice.
Good heavens.
“Justice” Audrey covered her small mouth in surprise.
She made no sound, only casting a sympathetic look at the poor gentleman.
In previous Tarot Club meetings, Audrey had heard Mr.
Hanged Man emphasize on multiple occasions just how dangerous a Beyonder losing control could be
But she herself had been very smooth when taking her own potion, seemingly not sensing any danger…
It was only now, witnessing this with her own eyes, that Miss Justice finally suppressed her excitement and pride about becoming a Beyonder.
After a long silence, Truman opened his tightly shut eyes.
With the interference of the overlapping external whispers gone, he soothed the restless spirituality within his body back under control.
He looked around somewhat dazedly and confusedly.
“Where is this?”
“The Goddess’s divine kingdom?
Or am I dreaming right now?”
+++
T/N: Thanks for reading!