Logically, it wasn't a full moon, and this Abraham, not yet an extraordinary, shouldn't have heard Mr. Door's voice.
But Adrian was different. With his main body beyond the barrier acting as a "radio antenna," he could transmit Mr. Door's ravings, tainted by corruption, directly from the starry sky in real time.
Don't save me!
Please save me!
Don't save me!
The High-Dimensional Overseer heard *Mr. Door's anguished roars. He shifted his massive form, making other Outer Gods tense about what this unpredictable kin might do. But he merely changed direction, floating above Mr. Door, silently overlooking the King of Angels who, under the Mother Goddess of Depravity's control, refused to return to Earth.
Tragic, pitiful,yet admirable, the High-Dimensional Overseer thought. If Mr. Door hadn't willingly sealed himself in some lost darkness, Earth might have collapsed before the apocalypse, and the divine war—a grand drama Adrian loved—would have ended in a vibrant, final curtain.
"Extra! Extra! Major burglary in Tingen City! Two dead, and the murderous maniac remains free!"
A child's bright, piercing voice carried a lively energy. The sound grew closer as a newsboy darted past passersby.
His eyes scanned greedily, reading every person's expression. Spotting anyone showing interest, he'd rush to sell.
He was about to run on when he noticed Adrian, dressed in refined attire at the alley's entrance, showing a hint of curiosity. Slamming to a halt, the newsboy sprinted to Adrian's side.
"Sir! Would you like a newspaper? One for two pence, two for just three pence!"
Impressive observation skills and professional sales tactics. In this child, I see a shadow of his childhood—hardship, yet vibrantly alive, a reflection of this world's poor… Unlike those monotonous workers, his life is quite intriguing.
Adrian indulged his Outer God habit of overlooking, subconsciously critiquing the boy's life drama. Yet, his face wore a gentle smile befitting a gentleman as he said to the boy, "Of course, I'll take one. Such news is rare and worth reading."
He pulled a small, exquisite wallet from his suit pocket, bypassing thick gold pounds to find two pence. The newsboy, seizing the moment, carefully drew a fresh newspaper from his bulging satchel and handed it to Adrian with both hands. "Here's your paper, sir. Please take it."
"Are you the local newsboy? Sold many papers today?" Adrian's eyes glinted, feigning casual interest. He could see the boy's satchel, still stuffed with papers. It was vendor time, yet with so many unsold, the boy might take a loss today.
As expected, the newsboy's face fell. Reluctant to discuss work, he feared offending this wealthy-looking gentleman and mumbled, "Not yet… still got a lot, sir."
"Sorry about that," Adrian said with an "apologetic" smile. He tapped his crystal-inlaid cane on the ground, holding his open wallet, and asked, "Do you know where the nearest Church of the Storm is? I need a messenger to deliver a letter. A friend wanted it sent to the bishop here—oh, I can't go to the Storm Church myself, being a follower of the Goddess."
Adrian produced a letter sealed with an elegant wax stamp.
It was a lie. The letter claimed "a rampaging monster is here," framing the Secret Supplicant's death as the work of the Lord of Storms' Punisher, while Adrian posed as an Abraham who, admiring "the Lord's glory," chanced upon a family potion recipe.
To hide a sinister identity, adopting a less sinister one was best. The High-Dimensional Overseer's pathway resembled the Reader pathway early on, allowing a "wild extraordinary" persona. He might even join the Nighthawks as an informant.
After all, the Aurora Order's divine envoys wouldn't question the Church of the Storm, and the Evernight Goddess wouldn't descend in this small place.
He tapped his chest four times to signal devotion. The newsboy hesitated, then cautiously said, "I could deliver it, sir, but I've got all these papers unsold…"
Adrian saw through the boy's intent and drew a one-suler note from his wallet. The newsboy's eyes lit up, reaching for it, but Adrian gently blocked him with his cane, calming the boy.
"This can be your payment, but you must deliver the letter to the Storm Cathedral properly. Also, find me a carriage to the South Continent Trading Company. Earning money isn't as easy as you think, kid."
The newsboy, quick to read the situation, knew a mere delivery wouldn't earn a suler—his father, when alive, earned only two sulers daily slaving at the docks.
Taking a deep breath, he bowed humbly, accepting the letter with both hands. "You're a generous sir. I'll deliver it. "Five no three minutes, no now —I'll be back with a carriage"
"Good. I hope your reliability proves trustworthy. Do well, and this money's yours." Adrian handed over the letter, watching the boy sprint down the street.
He gazed at the child running desperately for a suler, almost pitying him. To the slightly wealthy, a suler was a post-dinner cake or a piece of meat; to the poor here, it was days of food or even a life.
"What a farce. Does Adam really think he's God Almighty?" The High-Dimensional Overseer severed his avatar's thoughts, sneering. That master playwright's twisted scripts aimed to control everything from behind the scenes. Compared to becoming the Ancient Sun God, Adrian felt Adam was better suited as God Almighty.
The High-Dimensional Overseer realized he disliked Adam even more. That guy was too much like God Almighty.
To him, the Supernova Dominator was the most entertaining, diligently "watering" his planets daily. The Lord of the Mysteries was somewhat amusing, as Adrian enjoyed watching his marionette dramas from behind the veil, though his strikes hurt. God Almighty was the dullest—His pasture never changed.
In under few minutes, the panting newsboy returned, leading Adrian to a carriage. Wiping his sweat, the boy beamed as Adrian handed him the note. "Thank you, sir! You're truly generous!"
"To the South Continent Trading Company," Adrian said coolly, dismissing the boy and addressing the coachman.
The carriage, pricier than public ones, was cleaner and more elegant. Adrian didn't want to be turned away from the company for a shabby ride.
The original Abraham was wealthy, even owning a small factory in Backlund. Inheriting his body, Adrian seamlessly assumed his identity from high-dimensional space—everyone would see him as the original Abraham.
Stepping off the carriage, Adrian walked forward with his cane. At the South Continent Trading Company's entrance, a staff member sat behind a desk, conversing with a slightly balding man. It was early, so few people were around. The door creaked open, drawing their attention.
"I have business for your company to handle—though it seems I'm early; not many arepeople here?" Adrian tapped his cane, making a light joke to ease the mood. The staff exchanged glances, and the balding man approached, extending his right hand.
"Good Morning sir, we always have staff on duty, but our business negotiation leaders aren't here yet. If you don't mind, you can sit, have tea, and wait. I can answer some questions within my authority. I'm Benson Moretti. And you are?"
"Adrian Abraham," he replied, shaking Benson's hand warmly. They sat on a sofa, and Benson thoughtfully had staff bring two cups of freshly brewed tea, placing them on the wooden table between them.
"First, Mr. Abraham, thank you for trusting the South Continent Trading Company. What business brings you here? Are you seeking services or a partnership?"
Benson, driven by the prospect of more clients equaling more commission, was eager to retain this refined gentleman—his brother Klein was soon attending an interview, and Benson wanted him to focus on his studies.
(End of Chapter)