By The Blood

So, like a phone? Karl marveled at what lay in his hands. For a moment, he wanted to try it out. "What's the difference between this and the finger?" he felt like asking. After all, if this could do it, then why keep the finger at all? Surely, Fredrick knew he would not want to bite into a finger. Who would, even?

Fredrick smiled. "The voicestone is for talking to me, while the finger is for requesting aid or summoning me... abruptly," he said. "Think of the finger more like a weapon. After all, I can't teleport at will like a rabbit hermit."

Karl didn’t know what kind of creature a rabbit hermit was, but he somewhat understood Fredrick. He can’t teleport where a piece of him isn’t, right? So, is me biting it kind of making him aware of me in order to teleport to me? Karl felt this was likely the case. He nodded in affirmation.

"I’ll be leaving, and Ludwig is coming too," Fredrick said.

Leaving me alone? Karl wanted to ask, but instead, he glanced down at the bloodied finger and voicestone and said, "Alright." He needed the silence anyway.

Fredrick smiled, and, guided by Ludwig, they left the hallway. Karl finally exhaled. So, it’s up to me to establish myself here, which probably means I’ll have to kill someone.

After a moment’s hesitation, Karl turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was a desk positioned in front of a brown shelf piled with books. The walls were an unusual greenish color, and a faint scent filled the air, causing slight dizziness. Karl wasn’t sure what the smell was, but it reminded him of fresh paint. As he walked further in, he noticed a small sofa to his right. The room was small but serviceable. He closed the door behind him.

Eternal lamps encased in glass hung on both sides of the room, casting a yellowish light. Karl approached the desk, where books and papers were scattered haphazardly. He picked one up, stared at the scribbled words, and was reminded once again that he couldn’t read. He sighed and put the paper back.

So, where would he hide a soul bomb? Karl glanced at the bed. It wouldn’t be there, would it? He checked beneath and around the bed but found nothing. Not here.

He searched the desk, the shelves—nothing. Frustration began to build. What if there’s nothing here at all? He thought. Then his eyes caught a framed picture on the right wall, mounted with black wood. It depicted the Pure White God, with a bronze face, dressed in white robes, white hair, and a full beard. Could it be?

Before Karl was reincarnated into this world, he’d been something of a movie enthusiast. While he wasn’t specifically a fan of mystery films, he had seen a few. He stared at the painting for a moment before cautiously stepping toward it. Grabbing the frame, he took a deep breath and lifted it off the wall. Then, he sighed in relief at what he saw.

On the other side was a black box embedded into the wall—a safe!

Karl hesitated for a moment but then reached for it. The safe was made of iron with a keyhole in the center. He stared at it for a moment before curling his fist.

Bang!

He slammed his fist into the safe, but it only left a small dent in the surface. His hand throbbed with hot pain, but he shook it off, clenched his fist again, and hit it harder. Bang! The dent deepened, the surrounding metal warping slightly. He waved off the pain once more and clenched his fist, this time ignoring the instinct to pull back and weaken the blow. Bang! The force of his punch bent the outer layer of the safe, creating small gaps along the edges. With cold, determined eyes, he gripped the edges and pulled, the metal screeching as it gave way.

He reached in, taking out the sole object within the safe. It was a white sheet of paper. On it were scribbles, ones he obviously couldn't read. Was this it? He frowned, raising his legs to look deeper into the safe. Just then, he spotted something—a small round bead. He narrowed his gaze, reaching for it. He took out the ball; its surface had a bronze-like color with faint white light seeping from the inside.

A soul bomb!

Karl walked and sat down on the bed, which was a bit comfortable—at least better than the cold floor, right? He looked at the small ball. This was it—his ticket to joining the faction. For some reason, Karl found himself feeling something small, but it was still there... accomplishment. At first, he didn’t want to do it, even hated it. But in the end, regardless of what was done, the feeling of completing something was amazing. He relished the feeling, knowing it would likely soon fade away. Suddenly, he spotted something.

At the opposing wall, a hand was reaching out, passing through the wall like it was a screen of rippling water. This is similar to Anette’s and the cognizer’s power! Did they send somebody to trail me? Karl's fingers trailed, folding the paper and hiding it in his pocket. He didn’t know why, but he felt the contents were the most important thing in the room. Soon after, he took out the whistle given to him by the cognizer. He wasn’t sure who this person might be, but considering he had completed the mission, he could use the whistle as an escape plan. Though what could happen was something he was unsure of, he knew at least something would happen. And in a dire situation, even the smallest distraction could be useful. He learned this from his fight with Harrison. I hope it doesn’t come to that.

The hand grew, a leg stepped out, and soon, a full body emerged from the wall. Dressed in a simple kefna, the stranger carried a stone tablet in his left hand, one he pressed against his chest. He had black hair, black eyes, and skin that bore a pale, grayish-white shade. He was gloomy, almost like a human ghost. Karl surveyed him.

"Who—" He was cut off.

"I'm from the Mysteries School of Thought," the man said dryly.

So they trailed me? Or is this some specialty that comes from their branch? Fredrick once said they could know things. Karl remained quiet, waiting for the other to speak. However, this lasted for a while, causing even Karl to feel a certain cringe from the situation. This person seemed to accept the silence more than he did.

Finally, "What do you want?" Karl was the first to speak, something he didn’t like at all.

"My name is Louis," the man said in the same flat voice that seemed almost dazed. "I'm here to welcome you to the faction and to give you this." He reached into the pouch attached to his trousers. He took out a small silvery coin and tossed it toward Karl.

Grabbing the coin with a single hand, Karl looked down at it. Simple but crude, the surface had cuts and rust, making the exact markings on the body unreadable—not that he could read them anyway. Is this some kind of branding? Karl read Louis' expression and got nothing. Just cold, dead passivity. He suddenly felt strange since he too made similar expressions. But his was different. He didn’t do it because he wanted to. It just... happened. He felt like sighing.

"The bomb?" Karl asked. At this point, it was obvious he was the one who would have to take the initiative. He didn’t like this. It meant the other would likely end up learning more about him than he would about them. He felt like sighing again.

"Give it," Louis said, his gaze seeming not to care about anything around him. Karl frowned, took out the small bomb, and tossed it to him. The latter raised his hand to catch it but missed it by a bit, causing the ball to fall and roll on the ground.

There was a moment of silence after this. Karl wondered whether he should smile. Was this revenge? He wondered. Louis glossed past him to the bomb, and with a fluid, uncaring walk, he picked up the coin and said, "By the ranking system of the faction, you are assigned a diviner."

Diviner? Likely the lowest rank, Karl thought, waiting for any other words. But as he expected, they did not come. "Anything else?" he had to say.

"You will be given a mission soon," he said to Karl.

Mission? Then what was all this? It seemed he still hadn't proven his worth to the faction. Alternatively, maybe he had, and this was simply something done to all newcomers. Karl glanced at Louis. Which rank or class is he? Stronger or weaker than Anette and the Cognizer? Likely not. The Cognizer appeared to be a prominent figure within the faction.

"Use the whistle once you have finished a mission," Louis said plainly.

I was planning on using it now. Karl felt like being curt. This person was throwing him off. Despite the suppressed emotions, it would seem getting him rattled was something Louis specialized in. Karl did not like being rattled.

Just then, Louis turned around and sank into the walls, vanishing. That's it? Karl thought, finally releasing the deep sigh that had gnawed fervently at him. He leaned back on the bed, looked around for a moment, and eventually realized he would not be going back to the basement tonight. He lay flat on the bed, looking at the ceiling. Tomorrow will be another day. Who will have to die for me to accomplish something? The question echoed in his thoughts.

Having regained his strength, Aurelian made his way through the misty, scarce streets. The swirling fog hugged tightly as he felt strength within it. He heaved a breath that pushed back a swirl of mist, his single uncovered eye staring ahead. How would I do this? He thought.

Despite being part of the Black Sand Regiment, Aurelian had no skills in infiltration, which was understandable considering the Chaos Hunters did not fancy stealth attacks. If anything, brute frontal assaults were their way. They lost many Death Runners that way. But this did not mean he had no knowledge of secrecy-based attacks; it simply was that he wasn't good at deception—most times he accomplished the same using his mind-worm powers.

For someone like that... the boy. My mind-worm powers will likely not work in any situation, even if he were weakened. After all, to have a vortex that even a bishop is apprehensive of, he should be far stronger than a desolation! But he didn’t seem that way to me. He pondered a possibility. Could he be in a weakened state? Or is it a uniqueness due to him being... a saint?

He rubbed his temples. Pure, give me wisdom! He moved calmly, eventually seeing the slightly sinking building. He moved to it, grabbed the cold doorknob, and twisted.

The dim darkness appeared, fog pouring in as if hungering for what was inside. A glass-encased lamp burned a few steps down from the door. Who even kept that there? He stepped down the descending steps, making a glance through the room.

Just then, a pillar of black flames erupted by the bed. He glanced at the flames, tense at what they meant. That woman? She’s back.

The flames soon outlined a slender figure. They soon fluttered away, silent as if they were never there. In their wake was the red-haired vixen, her left knee bent, the right stretched out while her hand supported her shoulders, pressing down on the bed.

That was a dramatic entrance.

She no longer dressed in that obscene kefna; now it was a simple, light gown, revealing enough that it outlined her inner-wear. They were white, edging toward red. Aurelian looked away. Couldn't she wear something better?

These vixens!

The girl trailed her backhand through her hair as if trying to make it longer. She smiled and tilted her head. "Are you just going to stand there, or will you actually do something?"

Aurelian remained silent.

The vixen frowned, but her gaze soon relaxed, becoming very clear like glass. She appeared extremely beautiful for some reason. It was almost divi— Aurelian tensed. She’s doing something to me!

Like many, Aurelian also had bare knowledge of the powers of the vixens. Despite being very public, they were a secretive lot. Even claiming not to be an evil faction, but just one look at those Lost would reveal their words blackened. Aurelian sighed.