The Crimson Lady's Compassion

When humans think, the gods laugh.

This wasn't born of contempt or disdain; rather, mortal beings simply found it near impossible to align their thoughts with higher-dimensional entities—unless, like a certain someone, one shamelessly loitered in someone else's soul, forcibly lowering their own plane of existence to something mortals could grasp.

Therefore, Lynch didn't waste his energy trying to decipher why the Goddess of the Night wanted to see him. For one, sound deductions were founded on normal logic and causality, and guessing without logical connections was pure conjecture and a total waste of time. On the other hand...

That was his neighbor's mythological mother. Although distinctly different from what humans understood as a mother, from the perspective of pantheonic lineage, there was still some degree of similarity.

When an elderly neighbor invited someone over for dinner at night, while there were certainly paranoid folks wondering if she was scheming to trick them into a trip abroad, they were few and far between. At least, Lynch wasn't one of them.

‘Right, neighbor?’

【You had best not place too much trust in her, Lynch.】

‘Hm?’

Luna's gentle thoughts carried a touch of gravity.

【Shadows may lurk beneath the light, the sun itself may harbor dark spots, and the moon in the night sky may cast its glow, but the darkness... will never turn white.】

‘So?’

【I do not mean this matter in particular; I mean her very nature.】

‘She isn't a good deity?’

【To us, there is no such concept as good or evil—only different objectives. However, the outcomes born of those objectives manifest as good or evil to mortals.】

‘Meaning she might do something bad to us?’

【The dark night is eternally a harbor where the Twin Moons rest. She will harbor no malice toward me, but... toward you, that may not hold true. Perhaps not this time, but you must never let down your guard around her.】

‘I understand.’

Lynch let out a deep sigh. He already had a rough guess, but since his neighbor was willing to warn him, it meant the danger wasn't imminent. It didn't dampen his spirits; in fact, he felt rather pleased.

Bowing in farewell to Archbishop Trinlais, Lynch departed from the perilous backyard. Not only were lions and tigers prowling about back there, but people were also hacking at each other with swords or shooting recklessly with pistols and rifles. Projecting his own marksmanship onto the crowd, Lynch figured the guests back there didn't have enough lives to spare. He decided to steer clear of that place; the forecourt was much safer.

The crowd continued to swell. By rough estimate, two to three hundred people had already gathered, and when he asked the greeting steward at the entrance, he learned that several thousand guests might arrive today.

This was the quintessential social venue, the grandest stage cherished by high-society gentlemen and ladies. The younger ones were putting on displays like peacocks fanning their feathers, showing off desperately, while the mature and steady elders were mild and reserved, exchanging flattery with smiling faces. Their actions differed, yet their purpose was one and the same:

Networking.

Yet to a homebody like Lynch, this was practically a nightmare. Wouldn't your time be better spent at home reading The Moriarty Case Files? Why run all the way here? How terrifying.

In particular, he was no longer the nobody he had been when he first awakened. After nearly fifty days of hard work, his reputation had grown considerably. Every sharply dressed gentleman passing by made a point of greeting him and exchanging pleasantries. Lynch's hair stood on end. Even if you must bother me, wouldn't it be better to send over a group of beautiful ladies? Like that vaguely familiar gorgeous noblewoman over there... Hiss, wait, isn't that the cat-girl Hathaway? Why on earth was a cultist invited too? Never mind, don't you come over here. Better slip away.

Being right by the side of the manor castle, Lynch slipped directly into a small adjacent garden. There were far fewer people here, allowing Lynch to breathe a sigh of relief.

Too damn terrifying. How did Diana even survive when she impersonated me last time?

Glancing around, the garden was relatively small—only about the size of two or three football fields—divided into a maze-like layout by flowerbeds and bushes. At its center stood dozens of large stone sculptures two to three people tall.

Supposedly, these were the creations of Master Baron Willen, a Fourth Age artist who had spent twenty years crafting this sculpture group titled "Day of the Descent of the Gods." Flawless and magnificent, it represented the culmination of the master's life's work.

However, while putting the finishing touches on the final sculpture, "Sigh of the Goddess of the Night," as he chiseled the tip of the Scepter of the Night in the goddess's hand, perhaps because the master was utterly exhausted, his hand trembled and chipped off a piece of the scepter's tip. The sculpture group was no longer perfect. The master coughed up blood and died on the spot, his spurting blood serving as the final adornment for the statue.

Lynch had only heard this from passersby while hiding behind the bushes earlier; he found that this place truly was an excellent spot for eavesdropping on private gossip.

“Did you hear? Her Highness the Princess has quite an unusual taste. Did you know she doesn't have a single man around her, but her maidservants outnumber Prince William's?”

Now you're speaking my language. Tell me more about these tastes.

“The birthday celebration of the Queen Mother of Friedman across the river is about to begin. Word has it she was most pleased with our kingdom's gift, but even more so with the recovered necklace among them. They say every time the Queen Mother brings it out on display, she excitedly recounts its thrilling journey to everyone.”

Thrilling, my foot. That was fake—I made it up in five minutes, you idiot.

“Here's major secret news: former Mayor Howard is dead, and it was likely our great King who took him out in secret. He was the leader of the local council, after all. Smear him, drag him down from his position, and then secretly kill him to eliminate all evidence—they didn't even dare let anyone view the corpse. Hehehe, His Majesty thought too fondly of his plan, but unfortunately, everyone else has a brain too.”

“I heard that as well. Norin has been quite lively lately too. The tensions between the lords of the House of Lords and the gentlemen of the House of Commons have nearly reached a boiling point. Several clashes have broken out, supposedly even resulting in bloodshed.”

“Hehehe, when Princess Sophia was attacked a few days ago, the King's old dog suspected that people from the Rhine City Council hired someone to do it, just to avenge Howard's death.”

“Was it really them?”

“Who knows? And even if it were true, so what? Let's see how this whole mess plays out.”

Whew, looks like there really is something complicated behind all this.

The chatty figures walked away, but Lynch remained seated on the stone bench, lighting his pipe and falling into deep thought.

During his recent interactions with Baron Boivar—the so-called King's old hound—Lynch had merely shared his guesses and analyses with him. The other party hadn't shared everything behind the scenes, nor had he disclosed how they intended to respond.

He found this quite reasonable. He was an outsider after all, and it was already impressive that they were willing to listen to his opinions. They couldn't possibly tell him everything, especially regarding security measures.

For instance, today, the suggestions he had put forward—tightening security, verifying identities with one invitation per person, and barring vehicles prone to concealing dangerous goods—had all been adopted. However, he believed they had certainly taken many other measures he didn't know about, much like adding an extra layer of substitute insurance the day before yesterday.

I hope I'm just being overly sensitive. It'd be best if no one causes trouble at the ball and none of anyone's precautions end up being needed.

Letting out a deep breath, Lynch was lost in thought when a sharp, intense pain suddenly stabbed through his brain, as if pierced by countless steel needles.

Something's wrong—a powerhouse has appeared.

The last time Lynch had felt this way was when facing Kelvin, the rank seven cultist of the Ancient Flicker. Only a high-ranking Soul Severer could trigger such a strong reaction in his mystery intuition.

He darted his eyes around, peering in all directions. Before he could spot his target, the sound of footsteps came from around the bushes behind him.

“Those collections displayed earlier aren't truly that valuable. The real treasures have all been stashed away by Vane. But he can't hide the one in front—the most famous Bloodstained Goddess of the Night,” an aged voice spoke as its owner walked along. “I visited once in my youth. It is indeed a Fourth Age antiquity of immense research value. Since he dared to invite us over at the last minute today, we must seize this chance to study them all thoroughly and not let such a prime opportunity slip by.”

Why are you still so cunning? Scheming to sponge free knowledge again—is that how you've lived your eighty-plus years?

Lynch recognized the speaker immediately: President Olei of the Archaeological Association, the pinnacle combat powerhouse in Rhine City and a rank eight authority.

Wait, invited at the last minute? Could this be Boivar and Duke Vane's countermeasure?

It's just assassination prevention, and purely hypothetical at that. There's no need to bring out a nuclear warhead to scare people, is there? Or was my guess right, and they really discovered some unimaginable crisis?

A sense of foreboding welled up in Lynch's heart. Before he could ponder further, the group rounded the bushes and ran right into him.

“Mr. Levive, we meet again.” President Olei took the initiative to nod, his voice full of vigor. “This exam question is about the Arke Dynasty of the Third Age. The nobility of the Arke Dynasty worshipped Glaaki, the Inhabitant of the Lake, and carved guardians onto their tomb entrances. The question is: what is the image of those guardians?”

You old coot, pulling this routine again. If I could beat you, I'd march over and punch you right now. Damn freeloader, acting without dignity for your age and having zero shame.

Gnashing his teeth in exasperation, Lynch nevertheless gave a wry answer: “A headless, rotund humanoid figure with long limbs.”

“Y'golonac. It seems that's right; the Arke people truly were worshippers of Glaaki. Many of their royals were turned into servants of Glaaki.”

The surrounding professors exchanged glances, each brimming with delight as if they had struck gold. Lynch was slightly baffled. Is this really valuable knowledge? Is there any need to be this ecstatic?

Yet no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the old president's next words poured over him like a bucket of cold water.

“Second question: did you hide the Revelations of Glaaki?”

???

“Wh-what 'Begging-for-Alms of Glaaki'? Does it taste good?” For the first time, Lynch experienced the delicate guilt of a caught thief. Darting his eyes around, he said, “Can you even hide something like that?”

The group of old men sighed in unison. It was Lynch's former professor who spoke up indignantly: “What were you even listening to in class? Important funerary goods are always recorded inside the tomb! If you wanted to play dumb, you should have destroyed the records first! Furthermore, the most crucial funerary goods are protected by display cabinets; they wouldn't be lost in a cave-in. Someone could only have taken it!”

Huh? There's such a thing? Lynch blinked innocently. No, you definitely never covered that in class.

“Don't look at me; I don't have a student like this.”

Seeing that the old professor was practically ready to die of embarrassment and indignity, Lynch could only offer an awkward chuckle. “Perhaps someone else took the thir... took the funerary goods away. Besides, it might not necessarily have been the Revelations of Glaaki in there, hahaha.”

“Factions worshipping Glaaki often held the custom of producing transcripts of the Revelations, a process drenched in blood. They forced illiterate slaves and prisoners of war to copy it letter by letter. After copying just a few words, the slaves driven mad by the mental shock were executed, and replaced with another expendable soul to continue the copying. Thus, a transcript of merely a few hundred words could condense the souls of thousands or even tens of thousands of slaves. Of course, that is not the main point; the main point is the Revelations itself. With Y'golonac guarding the door, there was a one hundred percent certainty that a transcript of the Revelations of Glaaki was buried inside.”

President Olei explained personally, “We are not here to dispute funerary goods with you, child. In truth, your contributions entitle you to take any funerary object, and we have no objections to that. But as for the Revelations alone, holding onto it is truly of zero use to you—unless you enjoy losing your sanity. What's more, that item is exceedingly dangerous. Once you read any single page, Glaaki's servant, Y'golonac, will lurk by your side, waiting for an opportunity to kill you. At your current strength, escape would be near impossible. Holding onto it is tantamount to slipping a noose around your own neck.”

Really? I don't believe you. You bad old geezer are full of tricks.

In reality, Lynch already believed him; he was just hesitating.

You expect me to spit out something that's already in my pocket?

“We are not the type to take your things for nothing.”

No, you absolutely are. You freeloaded last time.

“Hand the Revelations over to us, and we won't ask about any of the other funerary items. On top of that, we will give you a disaster grade mystery relic—one of no lesser value than a transcript of the Revelations of Glaaki. Furthermore, we promise that once your strength is sufficient, you may visit the association at any time to read this transcript, though I cannot fathom what benefit you would derive from such an act. Additionally, should you ever find any other transcripts of the Revelations in the future, you may hand them over to the association, and we will trade valuable items for them.”

Lynch was genuinely tempted.

He was already agonizing over how to dispose of the item. Handing it over to the Archaeological Association would at least save Natalie from worrying about an impending disaster. Moreover, doing so meant he would no longer have to carry the psychological burden of having engaged in grave-robbing.

“What is the mystery relic?”

Hearing this, President Olei chuckled so broadly that his beard trembled. Closing and opening his right hand, an ostensibly silver ring appeared in his palm. “The Crimson Lament. It absorbs the wearer's naturally radiating energy each day. When activated, it shoots a beam of single-target moonlight at the target once per day. Its power escalates with accumulated wear time: the minimum power equates to the mid-tier destructive force of a rank two authority, while accumulating for a month caps it at the mid-tier destructive power of a rank six authority. Additionally, as your own strength increases, the time required to accumulate maximum power will shorten accordingly—reaching a minimum of just one day once you attain rank six.”

【The Crimson Lady's Compassion: May my compassion transform into moonlight to cleanse all sins in the mortal world.】

Hiss... Lynch's expression stiffened. Right now, his combat style relied entirely on reckless brute force, suffering from a severe lack of offensive power. This item arrived at the perfect time. Although a rank six attack could only be unleashed once a month, it belonged in the category of ultimate weapons and wasn't meant for casual use anyway. For daily use, accumulating power for a few days to reach rank two or three potency was more than sufficient.

Most importantly...

‘Neighbor.’

【Mm. This is not a Red Moon Memory, but it is the mortal world's memory of the Red Moon, similar to The Passion of the Blazing Lady.】

Then what was there to hesitate about? Lynch snatched the ring and slipped it directly onto his index finger.

‘So ugly, neighbor. Mortal impression of you isn't very flattering.’

【You may sacrifice it to me; that way, it will no longer offend your eyes.】

‘Don't even think about it. I'm never taking it off.’

Stroking the ring, Lynch suppressed his inner excitement and spoke with a straight face, “Well, I'm not overly interested, but seeing as we're all old friends, I'll reluctantly accept. I'll deliver the transcript to the Archaeological Association tomorrow.”

Clap, clap, clap. The group of old men began high-fiving each other, leaving it unclear who had actually gotten the worse end of the deal.

After admiring the ugly silver ring for a moment, Lynch finally remembered business: “This isn't the first event the Governor's Mansion has hosted over the years. You gentlemen haven't attended in years, so what gave you the sudden interest today?”

“The Duke invited us at the last minute today, mentioning that a situation might arise where he'd need the President's assistance.”

Lynch's professor gave a vague reply before the group clustered around President Olei and hurried toward the sculpture group.

Just as I thought.

A shadow was cast over his good mood, and the faint sense of unease grew ever stronger.