Even Edward hadn't expected this result. Now that he had fully digested both potions, there was no need to keep toying with the four of them. All that remained was to conclude the "Misery Contest" in an orderly fashion and give some vague, half-answers to their questions.
And yet—
"As expected of the first-ever contestants of the Misery Contest—at the final moment, you both chose to switch your votes simultaneously."
Setting the two slips aside, Edward announced with a smile, "Then the final tally stands at three to three. A tie once again. Which means, today's Misery Contest has no winner…and naturally, no reward. That was your choice, so don't blame me."
The Sefirah Castle fell silent.
After a few moments, Edward added, his tone light but tinged with mock disappointment, "To be honest, I'm rather let down that today has no victor. I was actually looking forward to the winner's acceptance speech. Don't you agree, Mr. No-Characteristic?"
Pallez gave a dry cough. "Ahem…I was rather looking forward to it myself."
Edward laced his fingers together, thought for a moment, then chuckled softly.
"Still, your performances today did manage to entertain me. So, I'll allow each of you one free question."
"Of course—since it's free, my answer might not necessarily satisfy you. But this is my domain, and the right of interpretation lies with me."
"Well then—who will go first?"
Pallez was the first to speak, "Chairman, I want to know—how can I make sure that great-grandson of mine walks out of that book alive? Uh, aside from promoting him to Sequence 4."
"Simple," Edward replied. "All he has to do is recite my honorific name. Then I can draw him in here, sparing him from death by the instant passage of a thousand years. Of course, the price is that he'll never leave again—he would become a wraith."
Edward grinned. "
But being a wraith isn't so bad, you know. Just look at Mr. Not-Quite-Dead—he's doing quite well, isn't he?"
"And how am I supposed to make him recite your honorific?"
Edward didn't even let him ask it out loud, simply supplied the answer himself, "Don't worry. The opportunity will come. Oh, and when you return, sacrifice one of your Worm of Time to me."
"…I understand, Chairman."
In the world of mysticism, such an act was unquestionably dangerous—but Pallez had long since resigned himself. What did it matter anymore?
"Good. Next?"
Reinette raised her hand, mimicking how Roselle had done earlier.
"Chairman, how can the Rose School of Thought ever escape the control of the Mother Tree of Desire?"
Tch. Now that's a troublesome question.
Edward tapped the table thoughtfully.
"The easy answer would be: 'Kill the Mother Tree.' But…"
He thought a little longer, then said, "Seek the future Lord of Mysteries. Only He can truly help you. Of course, you could also wait until I've recovered enough strength, and then ask me."
"…." Reinette was silent.
Edward leaned forward, eyes glinting. "And if you truly wish to avoid the fate of becoming 'Miss No-Head,' then abandon the Rose School's Temperance Faction."
She shook her head slowly.
If Reinette had been capable of abandoning the Temperance Faction, she would've done it centuries ago.
Edward hadn't expected otherwise. He turned now toward Medici and Roselle.
"And you two?"
Medici folded his arms and sneered, "If I ask you to release me—would you agree?"
Edward chuckled. "Didn't I just say, you each only get one question? Still…" He paused, then added, "If you insist, then yes."
Medici froze.
"Really?"
"Of course. But only…one hundred and eighty-nine years from now."
"…" Medici's eyes narrowed.
"Playing word games, are we?"
Edward only laughed.
"Then I'll change my question," Medici said darkly. "Earlier you mentioned it yourself…'Is the True Creator really Him?' I want the answer!"
Edward's reply was calm and faint, "When you are finally freed from your seal in the future—He is."
"What do you mean? What about now? What about the past?"
"Have you forgotten? Each of you only gets one question."
Edward's gaze then shifted to the last of the four.
"Finally…Mr. Didn't-Live-Properly. What's your question?"
Roselle didn't hesitate, "I want to know—why would my daughter ever hate me?"
"Ah," Edward said with a smile, "now that is a complicated question."
Edward gazed into the depths of the grey fog, as if he had truly pierced through time and glimpsed the future.
"In the days to come, you will grow deranged—paranoid, irritable. From a great man, a great father, you will become a tyrant and a madman who resorts to any means necessary. Your daughter will be unable to accept such a change in her father. Disappointment will consume her.
"She will try to reach you, to ask why you changed, to bring you back to who you once were. But she will fail."
Edward's voice dropped lower, heavy as iron. "And so disappointment turns to hatred. In the end, she will choose to leave you. Until the day you die, you will never see each other again."
Roselle slumped back into his seat, his body limp, muttering to himself, "But…why would I ever become what you describe?"
Right now, Roselle was in his prime—he had just set out on his first voyage, full of ambition and vitality. He had not yet been tainted by Mother Goddess of Depravity. He did not know that this was Earth, nor that the apocalypse loomed ahead. Naturally, he could not comprehend how, in the future, he would transform into such a person.
Edward dared to "spoil" these truths precisely because he knew—even if Roselle learned of them now, it would hardly alter his future choices.
In time, Roselle would discover the truth. He would learn of the Apocalypse. And when that moment came, nine times out of ten, he would still walk the same path—for by then, no better choice would remain. Roselle Gustav was not the kind of man who would shrink back simply because he knew the ending.
In a sense, Roselle's fate had been sealed the moment he ingested the Savant potion.
Still, there was one thing he could change: not venturing to that primordial island, not being corrupted by the Fallen Mother Goddess' power. If he avoided that, perhaps his future might be different—perhaps he could even resurrect successfully, returning as the Black Emperor, a king reborn.
"Enough. That concludes today's gathering."
"Though the process was a bit tangled and the result somewhat disappointing, overall I am satisfied. I hope each of you also found enjoyment, and perhaps discovered your own kind of amusement."
Pallez asked respectfully, "Chairman, when will the next gathering be?"
Edward shook his head.
"That's uncertain. After all, a Misery Contest requires new participants, doesn't it? Unfortunately, I haven't spotted any suitable candidates lately.
"Oh, but if you happen to know of someone fitting, feel free to recommend them. Then we can all enjoy watching them break down—" He smiled faintly. "—and share in their misery together."
"Until next time. Farewell."
As he severed the connection, the four figures dissolved into crimson light, vanishing.
The vast Sefirah Castle fell silent once more.
"Phew—"
Edward leaned back in his bronze chair, exhaling deeply.
Too exhausting.
Yes, posing as an inscrutable god before three angels and a future emperor-god had been exhilarating—delicious, even—but it was not without psychological strain.
Still, he had kept control until the end. And with Medici's unwitting help, he had fully digested both potions.
In the end, the old saying proved true: the Medici-brand professional potion digestion assistant—hotpot edition. Whoever uses it, swears by it!
Edward steadied his mind, feeling out the changes brought by the complete digestion of the Magister and Spirit Warlock potions:
Secrets Sorcerer—The abilities from the Apprentice pathway had all strengthened again, especially his manipulation of space, which had become even more versatile and potent.
Spiritcaster—Beyond the general enhancements, the ability Silverfish–Solidify had been upgraded, allowing him to fix two abilities instead of one.
This meant that, in addition to Theft, he could now choose another past ability as a permanent skill.
Last time, he had agonised between Magnify and Theft. Now, there was no hesitation—he immediately chose Magnify. After all, this ability magnified all others. To select it was to upgrade everything.
"Now all that's left are two Sequence 3 characteristics and the advancement ritual."
As for the Wanderer characteristic, two avenues remained: the promise from "Intis," or the descendants of the Abraham family who had chosen to migrate. One of them would have to suffice.
But the Dream Weaver characteristic…he still had no lead.
As for the advancement ritual, he pinned his hopes on Groselle's Travels.
Edward drew the book from his spatial pocket and flipped to the end. There were still three blank, stuck-together pages—meaning at least three more people would need to enter before the ending could be unlocked.
"With my current strength, going into Groselle's Travels would be like a max-level boss descending on a starter village. I could steamroll the entire way. So…maybe I should just bring along two servants to make up the numbers, then wipe their memories after we return?"
———
Fog Sea.
Captain's cabin of the Black King.
Roselle lay on his bed, eyes wide open. Slowly, he sat up, gazing blankly at the crimson moonlight streaming through the window. His mind replayed everything he had just seen and heard above the grey fog.
Why…why would I become paranoid, violent, a madman—from a father into a monster?
The truth was, Roselle could accept becoming insane. He could accept being reviled by the world. But the one thing he could never accept was—his beloved daughter, Bernadette, hating him.
It was her birth that had given him a sense of belonging to this world, a feeling of reality. Without her, he might still see everyone else as NPCs in a game.
"I have to end this voyage quickly!"
He leapt from his bed, strode out of the captain's quarters, and told the card-playing knights:
"Plans have changed. From this moment forward, increase speed. Day and night—no stops until we reach our destination!"
The Four Horsemen froze only a moment before answering as one: "Yes, Captain!"
In the darkness, the sails of the Black King billowed open with a boom. The ship shot forward like an arrow loosed from its string, bound for the first stop of this voyage—an unnamed island marked on an ancient map.
———
[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.