Actually, Leonard didn't have a very direct impression of Amon. He only knew that Amon was the enemy his parasitic entity feared most—the "culprit" who had driven the powerful old man to his current state. As a result, his emotions quickly settled, and he lowered his voice to ask:
"What should we do now?"
The slightly aged voice in his mind echoed back after two or three seconds:
"What's coming shouldn't be Amon's true body, but rather one of His clones."
He... As expected, the "Blasphemer" Amon was an Angel, possibly even a Sequence 1 Angel. After all, the old man was also suspected to be a ground-level Angel... As Leonard absorbed this information and confirmed his conjectures, he continued listening to Pallez Zoroast speak:
"If Amon's true body dared to appear in Backlund, it would very likely trigger a divine descent."
Divine descent? How many years had it been since something like that had happened? Since the Fifth Epoch, such events existed only as legends in historical records, never publicly occurring! Did this mean that even among Sequence 1s, Amon was among the foremost existences? No wonder He was called the "Blasphemer"... In just a few sentences, Leonard came to realize even more deeply how terrifying the Angel named Amon truly was.
Standing before the mailbox, his thoughts surged, and suddenly an idea came to him. He hurriedly whispered:
"Since Amon is held in such regard by the gods, could we find a way to inform the Church of His appearance in Backlund..."
In Leonard's view, the two great Churches—the Church of the Goddess of the Night and the Church of the Lord of Storms—that had been born in earlier eras and had spanned the entire Fourth Epoch should have extensive experience dealing with Angels, making them the best candidates for handling Amon.
In his mind, Pallez Zoroast gave a cold laugh and said:
"Useless. This might even be exactly what Amon wants to achieve.
"For Him, losing a clone is merely a waste of some power—it causes no real harm whatsoever. And He can use the clone's death to observe the corresponding changes in fate, thereby locating the source of the disturbance—or the 'ripple'—that was created. While this can't directly pinpoint you and me, it can greatly narrow the range, creating conditions for a lethal strike from His true body.
"And you don't think Amon only has one clone in Backlund, do you?
"Given His habits and style, there's probably only one that makes no effort to conceal its existence. But in reality, surrounding this 'lighthouse,' there could be several, dozens, or even hundreds of clones.
"When we try to eliminate that conspicuous one, we'll very likely be watched from different angles by several, dozens, or even hundreds of Amons. He could be a passing pedestrian, a bird on a rooftop, an ant on the ground, or a worm in a piece of wood, a tiny organism in the air. Below the demigod level, even if His clones invaded your body, you wouldn't notice a thing..."
Listening to the old man's detailed description, Leonard felt his spine grow colder and colder. Suddenly, he had the sensation that countless Amons were lurking in the air around him.
"Scared?" Pallez Zoroast chuckled. "If you knew that Amon could also steal your destiny without any abnormality at all, you'd be even more terrified."
"What do you mean, steal destiny?" Leonard asked, both vigilant and confused.
Pallez's aged voice sighed:
"He'll follow you home, and then you'll find that your parents treat Him as their son, your wife treats Him as her husband, your children treat Him as their father, your friends—everyone you know—believes He is you, and you become a 'person without destiny,' severed from all connection with the real world, dying bit by bit."
"...Does this kind of theft last permanently?" Leonard couldn't help but draw in a sharp breath.
Pallez Zoroast gave a dark laugh:
"Would a thief voluntarily return what He's stolen before being caught?
"Unless... He's already had enough fun."
Leonard fell silent, feeling that an enemy of Amon's caliber was no longer something that could be measured by "can we fight Him," but rather "can we even imagine Him."
After a few seconds, he asked in a hoarse voice he couldn't suppress:
"Then what should we do?"
He no longer volunteered his own ideas, because they were most likely impractical.
Pallez Zoroast was silent for a moment, then said:
"We wait and see."
…………
Inside the "Brave Bar."
Maric had been waiting in Billiard Room No. 3 as agreed.
Since Sherlock Moriarty had agreed to help, discussing the details of their plan face to face was an essential step.
Such matters couldn't be properly conveyed through letters alone.
He took a swig of beer, then raised his hand to smooth back his hair. His pale face was devoid of any color, and the madness that used to faintly show through had diminished considerably compared to before.
Just then, he sensed a shift and looked to the side, watching a figure in a top hat and formal suit quickly take shape—it was indeed Sherlock Moriarty.
Teleportation? Maric's heart clenched, his gaze sharpened, and instinctively he heightened his vigilance.
This wasn't about distrust toward Sherlock Moriarty—it was simply the natural reaction of a creature facing a higher being on the food chain.
At the same time, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Sharon's doll-like figure appearing on the bar stool.
Klein tipped his hat, gave the two of them a bow, and then smiled: