As a streak of dark light slipped into the room, Snow, sprawled on the bed, sprang up. He quickly sealed the window's gap and reached out to scratch the kitten's chin.
With a soft "meow," the kitten's unusually vibrant eyes dimmed, losing their otherworldly gleam, leaving only a spark of cunning to hint at its beyonder nature.
Snow chuckled, ruffling the kitten's head and topping up its energy. He pulled a bag of cat food from his luggage. As the kitten began to eat, Snow's mind wandered again.
Though his plan was set, executing it brought hesitation.
He had to admit, this was a risky move—far more dangerous than sending Trissy to steal the Antigonus family notebook, ambushing Hanass Vincent and Sirius Arapis, or facing Dunn Smith in a dream.
One misstep, and he'd find himself in the Church of the Evernight Goddess's basement.
But…
"There's no other choice."
Snow flung his arms wide and collapsed backward onto the bed, lying spread-eagled. It had been a month since his transmigration.
In other words, a month since he consumed the Secret Supplicant potion.
For most Beyonders, a month isn't long, but for an Aurora Order Secret Supplicant, it's a dangerously tight deadline.
The reason? The Acting Method.
For most Beyonders, the Acting Method is a precious tool, allowing them to mitigate the risk of losing control. For Secret Supplicants, however, it's a trap.
Their acting principle is painfully straightforward—
As their name suggests, they need only pray devoutly to a hidden existence.
And for members of the fanatical Aurora Order, who to pray to is obvious.
The problem lies exactly there.
The True Creator, a Sequence 0 true god, is among the most powerful hidden existences. Praying to Him yields near-perfect acting feedback. Even the dullest Secret Supplicant, with sincere devotion, can fully digest their potion within two months.
But if a Secret Supplicant hasn't completed digestion after two months…
It means they're not devout enough.
For a fanatical cult like the Aurora Order, being labeled "not devout" has predictable consequences.
Over the past month, Snow had tried mimicking Klein, praying to himself to gain feedback through the authority of White Horse, Not Horse. But whether because his pathway was foreign to this world, or because he knew he wasn't a high-ranking entity, or for some other reason, the results were negligible. He could craft talismans with White Horse, Not Horse, but the feedback was minimal.
He'd also considered alternative acting principles, like preaching. While not entirely useless, the effect was barely better than nothing. To date, his potion digestion progress was less than one-tenth complete.
Even Klein, the protagonist who took three years to reach a true god and five to become an Old One, spent a month and a half acting at Sequence 9. This past month was the final deadline Snow had set for himself.
With no breakthrough in sight, the time had come to make a choice.
Sealing the room with a spirituality-infused silver coin, Snow drew his three-hundred-year-old silver dagger and plunged it into the table. Activating White Horse, Not Horse, he triggered Concept Substitution.
Feeling his spirituality surge, Snow began to recite silently in his mind—
"Derrick could pray directly to Mr. Fool through an ancient relic. This dagger in my hand is also an ancient relic, so I, too, can pray directly to Mr. Fool through it."
Repeating the phrase several times, it morphed into layered whispers echoing in his ears. A stabbing pain pierced his mind as a faint connection formed between the dagger and a point above the Spirit World. Snow began reciting his prepared lines—
"Great existence, I beseech Your response. I beseech Your gaze."
…
"Another prayer?" Klein, still grappling with his inability to understand foreign tongues, was about to leave the gray fog when a crimson star began to pulse and contract.
"This better not be another one in ancient dragon tongue," he muttered to himself, extending his spirituality to touch the crimson star. A blurry, distorted image appeared in his vision—
A young man with faintly discernible black, short hair stood before a pure silver dagger.
Above his head, a white cloud shaped like a galloping horse flickered, likely due to his sequence or some extraordinary item.
The youth wore casual, homely clothes, and his surroundings were simple yet tidy—a guest room in an inn, judging by the furnishings.
Klein intended to observe further, but the youth's voice snapped him to attention, hammering his heart with a few heavy words: "An evil god is about to descend upon Tingen."
Before Klein could listen closely, the youth stood, his tone shifting to frustration. "Another failure. Is this ritual even real? Should I report to the orthodox churches? But I've already… Or abandon the Panredax family's honor and turn to an evil god… No, no, never! I can't pray to the True Creator, no matter what…"
As the youth's words grew hysterical, switching from ancient Hermes to common Loen, Klein's brow furrowed. The vaguely familiar surname "Panredax" eluded him, but the mentions of "orthodox churches," "report," and "True Creator," combined with the earlier warning about an evil god descending on Tingen, sparked a sharp sense of crisis.
The youth had exited his prayer state, and the connection would soon break. Gathering intelligence through covert observation seemed unlikely.
Taking a deep breath, Klein tapped the edge of the bronze table, his decision made—
It was reckless, but with Tingen at stake, he had to find out.
…
"Did it fail? Of course it wouldn't work on the first try." Snow felt a pang of disappointment, though failure was within his calculations. Committed to playing the part, he returned to the table to retrieve the dagger. Suddenly, a burst of crimson light erupted from it.
The light engulfed him like flowing water. When his senses returned, he found himself in a majestic hall, supported by towering stone pillars. An ancient, mottled bronze table stretched before him. Across it, a figure shrouded in gray fog regarded him with an inscrutable gaze.
(End of Chapter)