Ince Zangwill's face twisted as he clutched his hand, where grotesque masses of flesh erupted from his arm. His aged features were etched with terror. These growths weren't mere "deformations" but new extensions "unfolding" from his arm in an entirely inhuman, irrational structure, forcibly grafted onto him in a distorted manner.
0-08, the Quill of Alzuhod, scribbled frantically on the desk, its nib carving into the wood. Even an ordinary person could sense the top-tier Sealed Artifact's fear and madness. But as it wrote, the words were erased by the "desk" itself. Chaotic wooden planks "unfolded" wildly, transforming the desk into a massive, sanity-shattering geometric form. Gritting his teeth, *Ince Zangwill* severed his mutated arm.
As the arm hit the ground, the anomalies began to fade. Panicked, he clutched his stump, gasping heavily. Shaking his dizzy head, Ince Zangwill retrieved 0-08 from the floor. Testing the quill with a few sentences, he confirmed it still functioned, but a shadow of dread settled in his heart.
Unseen, a pair of cold, slightly dazed eyes watched him. Ince Zangwill looked skyward, where the crimson moon hung high, clouds drifting to reveal scarlet moonlight. Clenching his remaining hand, he unleashed a beastly roar.
Those who thwarted his plans, the Nighthawks in this city—they all had to die!
"Truly foolish," Adrian chuckled, adjusting his attire before a mirror, ensuring no detail betrayed his identity. His body's original owner was a Backlund merchant and covert Abraham Family descendant, securing his invitation to Viscount Glaint's banquet—a young noble eager to broaden his network, unlike aristocrats who shunned less prestigious guests for propriety.
Thinking of the attendees, Adrian's lips curled into a mischievous grin. He pinned the Abraham Family crest solemnly, then drew a monocle from his pocket, tainting it with his pollution to "cleanse" it before placing it over his right eye.
"Mr. A, looks like you really absorbed that book," Adrian said, lounging on a sofa, watching Mr. A nervously adjust his appearance. Teasingly, he added, "You're ready!"
Don't treat a banquet like a martyrdom… Adrian thought, reassuring Mr. A, "Act like you did at Beyonder gatherings—yes, a bit languid. Your cover is a singer, with Sequence 8 Instigator abilities, since that's the lowest you've shepherded. Follow me inside and call me 'Mr. Abraham'…"
They rode in a carriage driven by an Aurora Order Secret Supplicant posing as a servant. Still uneasy, Adrian gave Mr. A last-minute instructions to avoid suspicion. He trusted Mr. A's logic—future A-chan, who could disguise as a girl to assassinate an ambassador—but worried Mr. A might be overly tense.
—Definitely not because he couldn't predict Mr. A's thought process now that the True Creator was clearer-headed.
"Greetings, Viscount Glaint," Adrian said calmly. Glaint paused, then recognized the Abraham Family crest. He recalled a reclusive noble who shunned gatherings for travel, invited by some as a formality. Glaint had tried, though the man never attended.
His name was…
"I'm Adrian Abraham. I received your invitation. My apologies—I've been traveling for inspiration, neglecting your offer," Adrian said, signaling Mr. A to fetch a cloth-covered painting from the carriage. "Viscount Glaint, this is a work from Desi Bay. Please accept it."
Mr. A unveiled a stunning landscape, its shimmering water reflecting a fragmented starry sky with striking realism. Glaint's eyes lit up, but he restrained himself, directing a servant to display it in the banquet hall. Smiling, he nodded, "Thank you. This painting is a true work of art."
"I'm glad you like it," Adrian said warmly. Noticing an ornate carriage approaching, he feigned ignorance, leading Mr. A into Glaint's lavish villa. Amid chatting guests, Adrian signaled Mr. A to mingle, heading to the buffet to select two cream cakes.
Stepping away, Adrian "surprisedly" paused, spotting a woman in a beige, ruffled high-collar gown, curly brown hair cascading over her shoulders—Fors Wall, future Magician, now an Apprentice. "Beyonder?" he whispered, audible only to them. Fors stiffened, glancing casually. Before she could reply, Adrian set his tray aside, extended a hand, and smiled gently, "Adrian Abraham."
"Fors Wall," she replied, shaking his hand courteously, curtsying slightly before moving to leave. Adrian didn't mind, watching her retreat as he reclaimed his tray and savored the cake.
Hmm, not bad—pleases this human body. Shame the True Creator can't taste it… Too dull. Gotta make Him curse me. The High-Dimensional Overseer projected a close-up of the cake to the True Creator, provoking a string of curses. The True Creator suspected this Outer God housed an Old One's human soul—how else could He be so infuriating?
Sometimes, people are worse than dogs.
Adrian glanced at the entrance, where minor nobles flocked like treasure hunters. Amid Viscount Glaint's hosting, Audrey Hall, "Backlund's most dazzling gem," shone. Adrian admitted her beauty suited a tale's heroine: her eyes blended maidenly clarity with unfathomable depth, her demeanor mingling childlike innocence with feminine allure.
Audrey gazed at the displayed painting, captivated. Glaint, beside her, smiled as she gasped, marveling at its beauty. Proudly standing before it, Glaint seemed to boast of his gift.
"This painting is exquisite! Viscount Glaint, the hues are so harmonious, the atmosphere serene… Is this Desi Bay? The ocean flows so vividly… Surely a great artist's work. You're lucky," Audrey Hall gushed. Cooling her excitement, her Spectator instincts caught a subtle discord. Frowning, she asked,
"Viscount Glaint… why is the moon in this painting white?"
(End of the Chapter)