"If your life only had one last day remaining, what would you do?"
Pain.
Excruciating pain.
My head felt like it was splitting apart—just like Klein in the first chapter of "Lord of The Mysteries" when that bullet struck his temple.
Sunlight filtered gently through the villa's windows, casting warm rays across the study decorated in distinctly Ruen characteristics. Behind the mahogany desk, I pressed my palm against my forehead as sweat beaded and dripped steadily.
The black-robed figure standing before my desk remained perfectly still, unsurprised by my distress. He waited patiently as I slowly raised my head, then spoke in measured tones:
"We have discussed this question many times, Mr. L. Even if today were the last day of my life, I would exhaust my final breath to praise the Lord's glory."
I—Lucas, though he knew me only as "Mr. L"—fell silent for a moment before nodding slowly.
"You're right. I believe the same, Mr. Z." I paused, letting a tremor of reverence enter my voice. "I heard the Lord's voice again. Perhaps soon, I will be blessed to stand at His side."
A flash of vigilance crossed Mr. Z's eyes. He studied me intently, and I fought to keep my expression appropriately devout under his scrutiny. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again:
"Thunder, rain, and dew are all the Lord's will. Mr. L, I must verify the status of the Lord's divine descent plan."
He turned toward the door, his voice carrying both warning and admonishment: "I trust you will not betray the Lord's glory."
"Of course. Thank you for your diligence."
I watched him leave, waiting until this mid-sequence Beyonder of the "Secrets Supplicant" pathway had completely departed. Even when my enhanced hearing—courtesy of the "Listener" ability—could no longer detect his presence, I remained motionless. Only then did I finally exhale.
"Finally fooled that fanatic."
I leaned back in the leather chair, my mind drifting to the recurring dream that had just torn through my skull. "That nightmare again—the one filled with gray fog."
Ever since transmigrating to this world, sleep brought the same vision: endless gray mist swirling around what I recognized as Sefirah Castle. And it always ended the same way—with a headache that felt like my skull was cracking open.
"When I first arrived in the world of 'Lord of The Mysteries,'" I murmured, "when I realized the knowledge crammed in my brain hadn't killed me outright, I knew something was fundamentally wrong with my transmigration."
I raised my eyes to the mirror mounted across from the desk. The reflection showed features I'd grown familiar with over the past few days: black curly hair, dark eyes, a broad forehead, and a thin face. At the mirror's edge, I could see the crystal monocle resting on my desk—that telltale accessory that would make any fan of the novel immediately recognize the body's original owner.
"I transmigrated into one of Amon's avatars," I said, still finding it surreal after two days. "Complete with all the complications that entails."
I looked down at the back of my hand, where a countdown made of gray fog flickered and shifted with each passing second. Six days ago, when I'd first awakened in this world, that countdown had been my first clue that my situation was far from ordinary.
Fortunately, I hadn't inherited Amon's memories or felt any connection to His true body. Otherwise, this would have been a truly hellish beginning. Instead, I'd spent those first days desperately trying every method from the original novel to contact Sefirah Castle—all ending in failure while the countdown steadily decreased.
[9:17:12] [9:17:11] [9:17:10]
Now, with roughly half a day remaining, I still had no idea what would happen when it reached zero. The optimistic part of me hoped for a return to my original world, but I'd learned not to expect the best-case scenario.
"I need to maintain this charade as 'Mr. L' until the end," I told my reflection. "Whatever happens when the countdown reaches zero, I can't let these True Creator fanatics discover my true nature. The convenience of this identity might be the only thing keeping me alive."
Suddenly, a sound cut through my thoughts—a faint ringing in my ears that grew steadily louder and more distinct:
"Fusheng Xuanhuang Shangdi, Fusheng Xuanhuang Tianzun."
My pupils contracted. As the chanting filled my ears, deep red light began bleeding into my vision, followed by the endless gray fog from my dreams.
Sefirah Castle.
Moving quickly before the fog could completely obscure my sight, I fumbled for the pocket watch in my vest and snapped it open. The hands pointed clearly to three o'clock.
"The Tarot Club meeting," I whispered, my voice breaking with urgency. "My attempts to reach Sefirah Castle failed because it already has an owner—Klein."
The implications crashed over me like a wave. "I'm being pulled in without his knowledge. But what sequence is Klein now? And what about the others?" My mind raced through possibilities. "If Alger is still Sequence 7, then this avatar might be the highest-sequence Beyonder in the entire club."
The most terrifying thought struck me: "But this is Amon's avatar. What if He can sense the Tarot Club through me? What if I've just exposed everyone?"
There was no time to shield myself from these risks. I'd seized one of Amon's avatars and become entangled with Sefirah Castle—the die was cast.
Still, I reasoned that if Amon could easily locate this avatar, He would have done so already. The fact that He hadn't suggested either He couldn't find me, or He remained completely unaware of my existence. Given Sefirah Castle's power, the latter seemed far more likely.
These thoughts flashed through my mind in an instant. Then the gray fog and crimson starlight consumed my vision entirely, my heart hammering with anticipation and dread.
I found myself almost looking forward to Klein's expression when he discovered he'd accidentally pulled up an extra member.
The fog dispersed, and my surroundings became hazy and indistinct, as if shrouded in impenetrable mist. Eagerly, I turned my head to take in my new environment.
But I saw no familiar stone table.
Instead, cocoons woven from nearly transparent light hung suspended around me, held by black threads thin as spider silk. In the far distance, through the gray fog, I could make out an ancient long table with three blurry figures materializing in blooms of deep red light.
The Tarot Club—but impossibly far away.
"So," I said aloud, my voice echoing strangely in this space. "Where exactly has this brought me? Is this still Sefirah Castle?"
I stared at the distant meeting, feeling oddly excluded.
"Having a Tarot Club meeting without me, are we?"