"What is this?" I mutter, my face twitching as I pat my cheeks, struggling to keep my expression neutral. Mr. Z looks sheepish but oddly proud. Sheepish because he suggested this garish "welcome ceremony" to his Backlund comrades—making him the mastermind. Proud because he believes he's more attuned to the Lord's will than his peers, grasping my intentions as the favored one.
Mr. Z lowers his voice. "Your Excellency, I'll have them take down the signs…"
"No, don't bother," I say, taking a deep breath. "They're coming over. This is too ostentatious. We can't keep doing this—it's far too conspicuous."
"Understood," Mr. Z nods gravely, striding toward Mr. A, who's approaching with the welcome party. "Put that down!" he barks. "Don't… uh, don't disrupt public order!"
As expected, nine out of ten Aurora Order members are unhinged, and the tenth has some serious issues… I watch Mr. Z silently, sighing inwardly, then step forward.
Mr. A's eyes flash with irritation at Mr. Z's reprimand. As a Rose Bishop weaker than him, Mr. Z seems a prime target for divine retribution. But Mr. A hesitates, glancing at me—the Lord's favored one—behind Mr. Z. The boss is here; better make a good impression.
"Your Excellency," Mr. A says, bowing respectfully as we exit the train station, "we received the Lord's oracle and prepared a plan for your visit to Backlund. Would you prefer to head to our… gathering place, or shall we arrange a carriage to take you home?"
He glances at the passersby, wisely avoiding the words "Aurora Order."
"To your gathering place, Mr. A," I nod. "Time is tight. The false gods who betrayed the Lord never rest, always seeking to confine Him in dark shadows. We must act swiftly to restore His glory."
"You're absolutely right," Mr. A says, a smile breaking across his face. His features, perfectly aligned with the True Creator's aesthetic, glow in the sunlight, belying his "cultist" identity. To onlookers, he's just a slightly delicate, handsome youth. "It's our greatest honor to serve the Lord. Welcome, Your Excellency, to inspect the Backlund 's Aurora Order."
Above, I, the High-Dimensional Overseer, gaze at the True Creator, inverted on His cross, a grin spreading across my face. The smile widens, teetering on the edge of mania. "Let me guess where that line came from," I chuckle. "You taught them to say that? It's so formulaic! A scientist like you spouting this? Did you learn it to scam funding back in the day?"
"…I didn't teach them," the True Creator rumbles.
"Sure, sure," I say, adjusting the eroding ribs of my avatar. "You just etched it into your pathway's instincts. Tsk, your followers are all master actors. I've been meaning to ask—when oil ran dry, just how broke were you?"
"…Mind your own business."
The True Creator glares at me, suddenly finding Amanises's parting words too kind. Far in the starry skies, the Supernova Dominator warily eyes my laughing form behind the veil, braced for me to impulsively punch his "potted plants."
"Like the God Almighty, these chaos-loving gods are the worst," the Supernova Dominator grumbles through gritted teeth.
I follow Mr. A into a vacant house, descending to its basement where Secret Supplicants and Listeners pray silently, heads bowed in the shadows. Faint candlelight illuminates their faces. The True Creator's improved state has made their prayers less frenzied, almost normal, but I narrow my eyes, faintly dissatisfied.
"The Lord that Created Everything,
The Lord who Reigns Behind the Curtain of Shadows,
The Degenerate Nature of all Living Things"
Mr. A intones, eyes closed. He's sent Mr. Z to "rest" nearby upon returning to the Aurora Order. Opening his eyes, he notices my displeasure and asks cautiously, "Your Excellency, is something amiss? Have we done something wrong?"
"I recall the Lord revised the scriptures, Mr. A," I say sternly. "The current prayer method is too superficial, easily exposing us and illogical. I propose silent prayers in the heart, enabling constant devotion around the clock. Replace the inverted cross gesture with visualizing a radiant upright cross in the mind to anchor the Lord's updated scriptures."
"Hm…" Mr. A ponders, increasingly convinced of my suggestion's merit. It aligns with the Secret Supplicant's acting principles, accelerating their progress. Testing it mentally, he receives the Lord's response—not a splitting headache but a sense of honor in bearing the suffering of others. Overjoyed, he feels a hidden glow in the shadows. He snaps his gaze to me, stunned by the method's efficacy.
"But how will others hear the Lord's glory?" Mr. A asks hesitantly. "Won't this hide our faith? And I worry false believers might infiltrate, profaning the Lord's light…"
"Of course, you can combine this with the old methods," I say with a smile. "Hold regular gatherings for sermons or collective prayers. Many of the Lord's followers are illiterate commoners who can't read the scriptures. Without understanding His light, they're swayed by His burdens. As for preaching, if you bishops conceal yourselves and infiltrate Backlund's various classes, you can naturally grow the Lord's flock."
Mr. A listens intently, nodding thoughtfully. I pause, then continue, "Of course, lower-tier Secret Supplicants and Listeners can also recruit. I believe they need unified education and a union to actively spread the Lord's light. The Lord's favor won't grace lazy devotees who only pray."
"Your wisdom is awe-inspiring!" Mr. A praises solemnly.
He springs into action, eager to prove his devotion to the True Creator. I stand by the basement door, watching as Mr. A pulls Secret Supplicants to their feet and opens the windows, transforming the oppressive atmosphere into one of solemnity. The once-mad, sinister devotees now bear a faint holy glow.
"The Hanged Man pathway's top-down influence is impressive…" I murmur. A cold voice interrupts from beside me.
"Your Excellency."
I turn to see a man shrouded in darkness. Sensing his identity, I smile and greet him. "Greetings, Your Excellency, the Gloomy Saint."
"No, no, you're too kind," Kosma, the Gloomy Saint, waves off the formality. "Your wisdom humbles us. The Lord's light surely shines through you. What are your plans next?"
"I need a place to advance to 'Listener,'" I say, improvising. "By the Lord's grace, I digest potions swiftly." In truth, I don't need to digest potions. The pollution in them barely affects my Ancient God's soul, and my outer god characteristics were fully digested eons ago. The True Creator's mental imprints in the potion pose a slight issue, but I've sealed them with my unique abilities for other uses.
"Praise the Lord," Kosma says, tracing an upright cross over his chest. "Since you've come to Backlund, is there anything else you require?"
"There is something, but it doesn't need your effort," I say with a smile. "My body's original owner was an Abraham descendant with some minor connections here. Tomorrow night, I plan to attend a banquet as a painter. Please lend me Mr. A—I'd like him to mingle with high society. It'll benefit our overall growth."
"Then, the Aurora Order's current gathering point is too shabby," I add casually. "I intend to donate a small manor to the Order in my personal capacity."
The True Creator eyes me, a flicker of envy at my outer god wealth.
"Didn't they say evil gods are supposed to be broke?" He mutters.
"Only you and the future 'Fool' are evil gods, dear True Creator," I say earnestly. "My pathway ensures I'm never short on funds."
(End of Chapter)