After tossing aside everything except his clothing, Ernest Boyar froze for a moment, then became fully sober.
What am I doing? What have I done? The vampire viscount finally recalled the things he had deliberately forgotten before — those clear, emerald-green eyes.
Psychological suggestion, no, hypnosis... Ernest Boyar looked left and right, half in resentment and half with an uncontrollable trace of fear, instinctively reassessing his situation.
His gaze then fell upon the mountain-like figure, where he saw Father Utrasvsky with his sparse, pale eyebrows.
In that instant, Ernest Boyar's thoughts twisted and turned, crashing against each other, rapidly coalescing into a single, powerful urge.
He offered no resistance and blurted out directly:
"I'll come here and do a month of volunteer work!"
—Emlyn White's ordeal had long since spread throughout Backlund's vampire circles. Ernest Boyar had known of Father Utrasvsky for a long time. He knew that even if he resisted, he could not escape the fate of doing volunteer work, so he might as well be decisive, surrender on his own initiative, and choose conditions more favorable to himself.
At the very least he couldn't be psychologically suggested, couldn't be made to convert to the "Earth Mother"... No sooner had this thought flashed through Ernest's mind than he noticed Father Utrasvsky holding a lantern in his hand, inside which sat a strange candle wrapped in human skin and studded with bumps.
In the dim, eerie glow of the candlelight, Ernest's pupils dilated once again, and only a single thought remained in his mind, echoing ceaselessly:
Psychological suggestion again...
In that moment, he felt the shadow within his heart was so deep and heavy.
"Good." Father Utrasvsky nodded, agreeing to Ernest Boyar's request.
Emlyn held back a smile that mingled smugness with delight, looking over the various items he had just caught, like a farmer who had reaped a bountiful harvest.
…………
Saint Hillan Square, on the third floor of a Severas-style restaurant, inside a private room — the light suddenly dimmed as a great swath of shadow appeared.
Tiny bats flew out from the darkness, quickly gathering together.
Smoke surged upward, and Count Mistral — with his pale silver hair and scarlet eyes — materialized where the swarm of bats had been. Everything around him returned to normal.
His servant, the middle-aged man in a dark formal suit, immediately stepped forward and asked with a bow:
"My Lord Count, shall we dine now?"
He could not tell from the Count's face whether things had gone smoothly or roughly, whether the final outcome was success or failure, but he did not dare to ask.
Mistral inclined his head slightly and said:
"We may."
He walked calmly to the dining table, removing the deep blue gemstone ring from his finger as he sat down, losing not a shred of his composure — as if he had merely stepped out to feed the pigeons.
.........
"The flavor is rich and peculiar, but not bad..." In the private box adjacent to Count Mistral's, Klein — wearing an ordinary-looking face — was savoring and evaluating a distinctly Sivilas-style dish: sheep stomach offal.
Although this punitive operation was a collaborative effort among several Tarot Club members, not requiring "The World" or even "Mr. Fool" to intervene, Klein had considered that "Justice" and "The Moon" Emlyn either lacked similar experience or simply didn't have enough of it, so he had quietly come to the vicinity as a final safeguard.
Earlier, he had his marionette pray to "Mr. Fool" by the dining table while he himself slipped into the private box's exclusive restroom, ascended to above the Gray Fog, and, through the corresponding light point, expanded his field of vision to encompass the entire plaza and its surroundings.
Meanwhile, he held the "Scepter of the Sea God" at all times, ready to immediately call down lightning from the heavens the moment something went wrong.
However, he ultimately didn't need to do a thing — the entire operation progressed even more smoothly than he had anticipated.
"The Star" Leonard, seasoned in combat, went without saying, but "Justice" — participating in this kind of thing for the first time — actually performed beyond his wildest expectations: not nervous in the slightest, with no signs of panic whatsoever!
Then again, a Sequence 6 of the "Spectator" Pathway would naturally surpass most mid- to low-Sequence Beyonders of other Pathways when it came to controlling one's own emotions. Even if there was any unease, it could be resolved with Beyonder powers before the operation even began... Klein nodded almost imperceptibly and continued sampling the other delicacies.
Outside the window, on Saint Sylvain's Square, the sounds of flutes, violins, accordions, and lyres intertwined and overlapped, drifting leisurely through the air.
.........
On Saint Sylvain's Square, a hired carriage slowly circled around from the edge.
Leonard Mitchell, who was about to return to the north bank of the Backlund Bridge, glanced at the white doves in the center of the plaza and suddenly lowered his voice:
"Old man, do you think this operation will succeed in the end?"
After dragging Ernest Boyar into the dream, he had been flipping through "Lemano's Travel Notes" to activate "Angel's Embrace" while riding in the carriage away from the scene, and had no idea whether the subsequent developments had gone smoothly.
Inside his mind, Pales Zoroaster answered grumpily:
"In the Fourth Era, there was a saying: 'Trust in the might of gods.'"
This was supposed to mean that since the matter had received "Mr. Fool's" tacit approval, it would definitely succeed? But the old man still didn't understand the Tarot Club well enough — "Mr. Fool" was for the most part merely a witness, and there was no such thing as tacit approval... Leonard grumbled inwardly a couple of times, then changed the subject:
"Why does this proverb feel like it's not finished?"
—He had not told Pales Zoroaster the specifics of the Tarot Club, only mentioned it in vague terms, and relayed only those things that "Mr. Fool" had consented to.
Pales gave a "heh" and said:
"Indeed, there's a second half: 'Do not trust in their mercy.'"
Trust in the might of gods, do not trust in their mercy... Leonard repeated the words silently several times, then lowered his gaze to the notebook in his hand — its cover hard and colored with a verdigris patina.
He then murmured with considerable emotion:
"This is truly comparable to a Grade '1' sealed artefact, and the method for resolving its negative effects is remarkably simple as well."