I stepped out of the carriage and arrived at the event location alongside the prince. The place was garishly decorated in the characteristic red hues, with numerous uniformed guards of the Loen Kingdom standing in formation to secure the area.
The air, saturated with abundant fragrances, filled my nostrils, replacing the previously pungent smell of steam.
I observed everything carefully, trying to detect the slightest anomaly, yet all seemed normal.
"Honestly, I'm curious how many Beyonders are here," a random thought crossed my mind before I finally stepped inside the room.
The room was filled with many people wearing clothing that looked extremely expensive, adorned with shimmering gemstones.
Several large paintings were visible, depicting magnificent castles and other artworks of extraordinary beauty and splendor. The room was also saturated with the scent of expensive, sharp perfumes that assaulted anyone who inhaled the air here.
The atmosphere was filled with the sound of people conversing with each other, making it quite noisy for any listener within.
I immediately walked towards a corner of the room, near the area filled with glasses, and tried to carefully observe every person in attendance, because I needed to recognize them in case there were characters from the novel here.
To be honest, I didn't remember many names of noble characters from the novel. I only remembered a few, like Audrey, the Hall family, the royal family, Viscount Glaint, and... well, I guess that's it.
Actually, I knew a few other names, but those were entirely based on the original John's memories, so they had absolutely no relation to novel characters, and I didn't need to avoid them.
I tried to observe everyone currently in the room. I saw women wearing very beautiful gowns in various colors, and men dressed in black with designs that were imposing and luxurious.
But... what did Viscount Glaint, members of the royal family, or members of the Hall family besides Audrey look like? I had completely forgotten their appearances.
No. Actually, distinguishing the royal family should be easy enough because they would be the center of attention, and besides, I knew the appearances of some of them through John's memories. But for nobles like Viscount Glaint, it was very difficult to distinguish them from other nobles, though generally the appearance of nobles and industrialists was quite different. Nobles tended to choose colorful attire, while industrialists leaned towards black.
"Would you like a drink, sir?" an attendant suddenly approached me and offered a beverage.
"Yes, of course," I answered briefly to the attendant.
The attendant immediately handed me a beautiful, clear crystal glass filled with a drink.
Then, the attendant promptly left to offer drinks to others, finally leaving me alone.
Suddenly, the bustling room fell silent, and all faces turned towards the entrance. There, a man with an upright posture, black hair, black eyes, and wearing a blue-purple tuxedo entered the room.
"That's Prince Edessak!" I instantly recognized the entering man thanks to the original John's memories which knew the prince's face.
Shortly after Prince Edessak entered, another group appeared behind him. A slender man in his fifties, almost bald with a sharp gaze, emerged. He wore black clothing and a black hat and followed behind the prince.
Who was that? Judging by the order of arrival, I was sure he was an important Loen official. Could it be the Prime Minister? If my guess was correct, he was Aguesid Negan. Would I interact with him later?
After them, several others appeared together. They were likely Loen's ministers. After the ministers and officials appeared, I saw a man with sagging skin and a clearly protruding belly. However, he seemed quite handsome in his youth. His eyes were blue and he had a neatly trimmed mustache, which made him look respectable.
Could one of them be Audrey's father? If so, I must avoid them as much as possible.
I see
Honestly,another part of me felt strangely happy seeing those people. I didn't know why; perhaps because Audrey, the Jewel of Backlund, my favorite character, and one of the kindest people in the Tarot Club, could be born from one of them. Heh, how foolish.
After that, two blond-haired men appeared and walked quickly towards Prince Edessak. They were probably the prince's Beyonder bodyguards. I didn't know.
The party was in full swing, a symphony of opulence and ambition confined within the four marble walls of the Backlund Palace. The sound of hushed conversations, restrained laughter, and the precise clinking of crystal created a constant backdrop, a sonic veneer that should have been soothing but only heightened the tension in my nerves. The giant crystal chandelier reflected the light of a thousand candles, illuminating smiling faces and expensive attire, creating the illusion that everyone here was a star in a beautiful performance.
I myself had chosen to be part of the background. Stationed in a corner of the room, near the thick velvet curtains that concealed the tall windows, I had become an observer. My nearly untouched glass of wine felt cold between my fingers. My eyes, which I hoped looked bored and indifferent like John Lynch's at tedious parties, were in fact actively scanning every face, every group, every interaction. I compared what I saw with fragments of John's memories of previous events, with images I conjured from the novel, with every gnawing fear inside me.
Don't stand out. Don't draw attention. Don't approach anyone who might, by any remote chance, be connected to the main plot. That was the mantra. Every breath, every movement, measured against that rule. I saw an old man with a sweeping white mustache—like an illustration of a nobleman from a history book. Not. A young woman with blonde hair and exceedingly bright blue eyes—my heart paused for a moment before I realized her posture was too erect, her expression too sharp to be the still-adolescent Audrey. Not. A man with Feysacian features, speaking in a loud voice—not. I took a shallow breath of relief, sipping the wine that tasted like dust on my tongue.
But then, another thought surfaced, piercing through the fog of paranoia like a cold, clear ray of sunlight.
Wait? If I did this—simply stood here like a well-kept statue—the Lynch family wouldn't gain any connections. Charles wanted influence. Eleanor wanted social advancement. Viola… Viola expected me to make use of this opportunity, to become a competent heir. I would disappoint them all. I would disappoint Viola.
An unwanted, sharp, and irritating sense of guilt seeped into my chest. It wasn't my guilt—I was an intruder, an impostor. But this body, the memories stored within it, reacted. There was a desire not to disappoint that girl, the girl whose intelligent eyes had helped me avoid an arranged marriage. There was a vague sense of responsibility towards the Lynch name, which was now technically mine as well.
No… why am I even thinking about this? I frowned, almost angry with myself. Hah… perhaps unconsciously, I was genuinely trying to be John and thinking like him. Contamination. That's what it was. Living in his skin, accessing his memories, even temporarily playing his role… it was beginning to blur the lines. My own need for survival was becoming entwined with John Lynch's success. That was dangerous. It was very, very dangerous.
But… disappointing the family, and especially Viola, would be very bad. It would create tension, questions, perhaps even investigations. It could draw unwanted attention. From a purely survival standpoint, being an incompetent John Lynch could be just as noisy as being a John Lynch who attracted the attention of novel characters.
So, perhaps… perhaps I had to balance it. I think I should genuinely try to socialize. Just a little. Just enough to meet expectations, to quell suspicion. After all, I just needed to avoid the novel characters, right? I observed the room again. That should be easy enough. Maybe, I thought bitterly, considering I didn't know Viscount Glaint's face, or Earl Hall's, or anyone else's besides brief descriptions from the unfinished novel. But I could avoid people who looked too important, too central. I could seek out groups that seemed to consist of industrialists like myself, people who talked about ships and steel, not conspiracies and gods.
With a decision that felt like self-punishment, I placed my wine glass on the tray of a passing waiter. My feet felt heavy as I stepped away from the safe corner, skirting the edge of the crowd towards a small group near a large painting of a naval battle. There were three people—two middle-aged men and an older woman—dressed expensively but without the excessive glitter of nobility. They seemed engaged in a fairly intense conversation.
I approached, trying to mimic John's casual stride, the slightly curious blank expression. As I came within earshot, snippets of their conversation reached me.
"...our preparations have reached the final stage," said one of the men, his voice low and serious.
The elderly woman immediately cut in, her eyes sweeping around warily. "Quiet! This isn't the place. The walls have ears." She paused, then, in a calmer but equally serious tone, added, "But you're right, the sea will soon change color."
War. They were talking about war with Intis or Feysac. This was high-level, dangerous conversation. My instincts screamed to turn and walk away. But I was too close. They had become aware of my presence. Fleeing now would look suspicious.
Instead, I forced a thin smile, the faux-naïve expression of a rich young man not deeply involved in politics. "The atmosphere at tonight's party is truly lively, isn't it?" I interjected, my voice sounding too bright, too childish amidst their serious tones. "A rare experience to witness so many important figures of Loen gathered in one room."
They turned, three pairs of trained eyes assessing me. I bowed politely, a gesture I gleaned from John's memories. "Incidentally, what were you discussing just now? Your conversation sounded quite interesting."
There was a tense pause. Then, it was the older woman who smiled, an expression that didn't reach her cold eyes. "Ah, we were discussing Loen's politics lately," she said, a very generic and meaningless answer.
They allowed me to join. The conversation continued, now shifting to safer topics: trade conditions in Bansy, steel prices, congestion in Backlund's port. I nodded, occasionally contributing comments drawn from John's memories of economics. Nothing strange was happening right now. I even began to feel a little… confident. I thought I had fulfilled the original John's task. I had socialized. I had made contact. I hadn't disappointed anyone.
Unconsciously, I smiled a little, a genuine sense of relief. Everything was proceeding as it should. The clinking of glasses, the conversations, the light laughter. I began to view this party not as a minefield, but as a complex yet manageable social arena. Perhaps, just perhaps, I could get through this night without incident.
Until I saw him.
My gaze, which had been floating over the crowd, suddenly snagged. Across the room, near the buffet table laden with sumptuous dishes, stood an elderly man. He wore a black coat with simple gold embroidery, an expensive but not ostentatious cut. At first, he seemed like an ordinary guest—his face shadowed, wrinkled, with a thin smile displayed as he spoke with two others beside him. His expression even seemed friendly.
But something was wrong. Very wrong.
As I stared longer—and I couldn't help but stare—I realized: his eyes weren't blinking at all. The chandelier light reflected in his dark pupils, but his eyelids remained wide open, unmoving. It was a fixed stare, like the eyes of a dead fish on ice.
Uneasy, I tried to look away, forcing myself back to the boring conversation about export tariffs. But there was a dreadful allure to that figure, an unnatural magnetism that made my spine tingle. I shifted my gaze back.
He was still smiling, still moving his head as if listening, still seemingly conversing with the two people beside him. But now, I saw the dissonance. The movement of his mouth was no longer in sync with his voice. I could see his lips forming words, but the sound reaching my ears—a low, continuous, almost humming sound—came half a second earlier. As if I was hearing the voice from a source different from the moving mouth.
The people around him, the two men he was talking to, showed no reaction. They nodded, smiled back, as if everything was normal. Couldn't they see it? Or… were they also part of this?
Calm down, I chided myself, my hands beginning to sweat inside my gloves. Maybe it was just the effect of the crystal chandelier light. Or maybe the wine. But I had barely drunk any. And the dissonance was too specific, too strange.
Then, a young waiter, his face innocent and eager, passed by carrying a tray full of champagne glasses. The elderly man suddenly stopped talking. His head rotated, not with the natural movement of a neck, but with a smooth, mechanical turn, like a doll's head. His gaze fixed on the waiter.
That gaze… I could feel it even from across the room. It was cold, devoid of any human emotion, yet pressingly heavy like a weight of metal, a tangible psychic pressure. The waiter, mid-step, froze in place. His entire body stiffened. The crystal glasses on his tray began to tremble, clinking against each other with a small, sharp sound, piercing the party's sonic veneer.
And then, the waiter smiled.
Not a polite waiter's smile. This was a smile too wide, stretching his lips to an unnatural point, revealing too many teeth. The muscles in his cheeks twitched, as if struggling against his own control. A raspy voice came out of his mouth, not his youthful one.
"Sir," he said, his voice like sandpaper, "your drink has gotten cold."
The elderly man did not answer. He just kept staring.
Then, the sound shattered. The sound of crystal glasses falling and breaking on the marble floor. Not because the tray fell—the waiter was still holding it rigidly—but as if the glasses had exploded on their own. And followed by… laughter.
It wasn't human laughter. It was flat, broken, and repeated with a terrifying mechanical precision. No joy, no humor, just the repetition of sound.
"Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha."
The sound came from the elderly man's mouth. He suddenly burst into laughter, his head thrown back, but the expression on his face remained the same—the flat smile, the unblinking eyes. The rhythm of his laughter was completely irregular and chaotic, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, like a broken record. Then, amidst the broken laughter, his head jerked back to its original position, and his face immediately locked its gaze onto mine.
He was staring at me. Across the crowd, through the light and sound, those two dark, unblinking eyes penetrated directly into me.
Now, people were noticing. They had to notice. The sound of breaking glass and the terrifying mechanical laughter had cut through the flow of the party. All heads turned. People near the man and the grinning waiter began to retreat, fear clearly written on their faces. Others tried to observe, whispering, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disgust. Palace staff slowly approached, their faces pale and anxious.
A senior waiter, trying to maintain professionalism, approached with unsteady steps. "Sir," he said, his voice trembling, "Are you all right?"
The elderly man ignored him completely. He was no longer staring at me. His head tilted upwards, gazing at the shimmering crystal chandelier above. Then, in a voice that suddenly became clear, melodious, and filled with unnatural power—a voice that sounded like a choir fused into one—he exclaimed:
"Praise be unto You, the Creator of all things. Praise be unto You, who bears the sins of the world."
"What… what the hell?" I unconsciously muttered, and the crowd around me immediately began talking about the strange man.
Suddenly, he punched the waiter with his fist and ran swiftly, attacking everyone in all directions. He ran while making praying gestures, moving his hands from below to above, then from right to left across his chest, resembling an inverted cross.
I happened to be within his reach, and he ran with a speed that was completely inhuman while continuously attacking the people around him.
He reached me, tackling me to the floor. I immediately tried to take the revolver I had tucked into my coat, the one I had jokingly named, but he immediately choked me with all his might and knocked the revolver from my hand.
I punched him with all my strength, trying to break free from the man's grip before my breath ran out.
"What the hell are you doing, you crazy bastard!" I shouted hoarsely, being choked by the man.
"Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Praise be to the True Creator, the Creator of all things, the bearer of the world's sins." He said to me with a wide smile no longer in sync with his voice.
"Damn! Damn! Damn! My breath is almost gone. I'm going to die. I'm going to be killed by this man. I haven't even done anything in this world yet. I haven't found a way home. I haven't accomplished anything." My thoughts were chaotic due to this situation; all the things I had carefully planned were ultimately destroyed by this single insane event. This was more terrifying than facing the more dangerous Mr. Hobert compared to this bastard.
"Damn." I uttered weakly; my breath was truly almost gone. I might die now. There was no logical or reasonable way for me to survive this.
My eyes were almost closing, while all I could see was the man's terrifying grin. I was really going to die now, making all my thoughts about the experience of the last few hours feel utterly pathetic.
What was this man, really? Why was he muttering crazy things while doing crazy things? And where were those useless guards? Deal with this immediately! You're Beyonders, right? My angry thoughts truly peaked because of this, but slowly I resigned myself.
Honestly, I actually hoped this was a long dream lasting a few hours and perhaps reaching its climax, and when I woke up, everything would be back to normal. I would return to Earth, without a lost family, without anything happening.
Unconsciously, while thinking that, I instead remembered the original John's family, which made me truly sad to have to leave them. Hah... I hadn't even kept my promise to Viola. I was a terrible older brother.
I finally closed my eyes; my strength was exhausted. I felt I could no longer hold on and would truly die. So, goodbye, world of LoTM.
At least I was in a novel world I loved before my death; that truly meant something. If there is a heaven, I want to always remember this in heaven later.
The world spun, then went dark. The last sensation I felt was the cold pressure on my neck and the shadow of the unnaturally wide grin imprinted behind my eyelids, like an indelible photographic negative.
Gasp! Gasp!
I awoke gasping, as if emerging from underwater. Rough breaths exploded from my lungs, followed by
a sharp pain in my throat that made me cough violently. My chest was pounding, its rhythm wild and irregular, filling my still-foggy consciousness.
I... was still alive?