The next day.

  Javon wore formal attire and a top hat, hailed a carriage, and had it stop before a pretty little villa on Plane Tree Street. He pressed the doorbell. It wasn’t long before a footman opened from within.

  “I am Javon Yuggs. I have an appointment to visit Mr. Darth.” Javon straightened his collar as he spoke.

  “Please come in. Sir is expecting you.”

  Since the visit had been arranged in advance, the footman opened the door at once, led Javon through the garden into the sitting room, and served him South Indenis red tea and soufflé scones. Before long, Clark Darth—the scholar with the pipe—entered the room.

  “Welcome, my friend! I received the message you hid.” He winked at Javon, then instructed the servants to leave and shut the door. A faint smile rose on his face. “A young practitioner…”

  Javon had, in fact, asked the newly purified Sylvia to set the appointment precisely as a gesture—and a test. It was also a form of candor.

  Javon let a little nervousness show, along with a little anticipation. “I… I only obtained some incomplete notes left by my ancestors… I learned that the occult world exists, but I lack common knowledge. I need a guide. And I believe that guide is you.”

  “The world of mystery is vast—and dangerous. A newcomer does indeed need a teacher.” Clark Darth smiled; even the lines on his face seemed to ease.

  “But you are still far too impulsive, lacking caution. That will place you in danger, young sir of unclear origin. Revealing our identities rashly is a very dangerous thing.”

  “You investigated me?” Javon deliberately showed surprise, tinged with anger.

  “Yes. I had to confirm you weren’t bait cast by the Bureau of Occult Affairs.” Clark Darth said. “Though I’m fairly sure you are not—official Transcendent do not proactively discuss occult knowledge in public. Relax. Let us enjoy some red tea from South Indenis.” He settled into the sofa with the air of a man who had everything under control.

  “I also inquired after Mr. Darth.” Javon’s tightly clenched hands finally began to loosen. He gave a bitter smile. “You’ve taught for many years and are a gentleman of reputation. You should not be one of those Occult Constabulary, either.”

  “The Occult Constabulary hunt all unaffiliated Transcendent like hyenas chasing prey. Being marked by them is no good thing.” Clark Darth sighed. “Though in a sense, they are doing the right thing. The path to mystery is too dangerous. Ordinary people are easily tempted, driven mad, and led into terrible acts. For the sake of public safety, sealing away the occult is necessary—but the Bureau of Occult Affairs goes too far.”

  “The Bureau of Occult Affairs?”

  “A secret institution of Inves. It has many official Transcendent, and it exists to strike at people like us—whether or not we’ve committed any crime. So exposing one’s identity is extremely dangerous.”

  Clark Darth took a sip of tea. “I am an Transcendent of the Secret Path. Secret is the symbol of history and keeping secrets.”

  “I…” Javon hesitated, then said slowly, “I walk the Forged Light Path…”

  “Forged Light—the symbol of brilliance and forging. One day, you may become a fine artisan.” Clark Darth smiled.

  Brilliance and forging? Javon’s brow tightened. It’s clearly the symbol of radiance and creation. Forging and creation are nearly two different domains. Is Clark’s occult knowledge flawed—or…?

  Coldness spread through him as a possibility surfaced.

  Knowledge about the Forged Light Path may have been castrated. And the only beings capable of doing that… must be those at the source of mystery itself.

  Clark had no idea that Javon, from a single line of description, had already inferred so much. At this moment, he simply enjoyed his soufflé scones, smiling at Javon.

  “Knowledge has value.” Javon seemed to have “woken up” at last. He asked respectfully, “What must I offer to receive your instruction?”

  “When I first met you, I felt the weight and weathering of history on you.” Clark Darth’s eyes glimmered faintly. “As a Transcendent of the Secret Path, I am very sensitive to that—and interested. You should be carrying items steeped in historical sediment.”

  “You mean these?” Javon thought for a moment, then took several coins from his pocket. “Ancient coins passed down by my ancestors.”

  “So it is that.” Clark Darth nodded, then drew a gold coin from his own pocket. “No wonder it felt so familiar. The same as the ancient coin I purchased from old Morgan.”

  Javon recognized it. It was the very coin he had pawned before.

  “This is a true ancient coin. It carries the fragrance of history—intoxicating. It is sufficient as payment.”

  Clark Darth counted the coins one by one. “What do you wish to ask?”

  “Everything. In truth, I know nothing of that world.” Javon answered candidly.

  “Nothing at all? A complete novice.” Clark Darth tapped his brow. “Let me think… where to begin.”

  “Mm… mystery, Essence, Ethal… all these Transcendent manifestations—by my research, they should have first arisen a thousand years ago, around the time the Fabri Dynasty was newly established.”

  “From that time onward, certain gifted people could enter another world in their dreams. It is mysterious and vast, filled with knowledge—and, of course, extremely dangerous.”

  “We name it the Ethereal Realm, the Dreamworld, the Light Realm, or the Inner World. In truth, they all refer to the same place.”

  “All Essence returns to the Dreamworld; all occult knowledge originates from the Dreamworld! That is the consensus of all.”

  “This is the origin of mystery. In the doctrines of my school, it is called the awakening of Essence, or the revival of the occult—marked by the rise of the Earl of Verdant City! Yes, the ‘Green Devil’ you’ve heard about. I can tell you with great responsibility: based on secret diaries of certain Kagash nobles and examinations of their tombs, that Green Devil absolutely possessed mysterious power—he may even have been the world’s first Transcendent, nearly destroying a kingdom alone! And before that, all myths, primitive worship, sacrifices, and so-called witchcraft had no true transcendent power at all!”

  Clark Darth seemed to love history, or to have studied that era in depth. He spoke at length. “The Sothos family, at the time, was certainly a family that held mysterious power. And that Earl Javon Sothos—beyond his public titles—was also recognized within the occult world as the founder of mysticism.”

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  “The manuscripts he left behind included not only scientific inventions, but several precious occult treatises. They created the glory of the Fabri Dynasty. In the dynasty’s decline, they were snatched up in a frenzy by Transcendent, scattering across the land, giving rise to different schools and paths—some of which still endure today.”

  “Even now, there are many esoteric cults and hidden societies that worship that Earl of Verdant City, believing he merely vanished and did not die. In my view, that is nonsense. Mysticism advances. A thousand years ago, the Earl may have been formidable, but he would not have surpassed the level of the Fourth Sephiroth. Yet now, the strongest in the kingdom have likely opened the Sixth Sephiroth. Even so, none of them could live through a thousand years of time.” Clark Darth sighed. “The acquisition of Essence is always accompanied by danger. Transcendent keep company with madness at every moment. Few who tread this path reach a natural end—let alone surpassing the limits of lifespan!”

  “Wait—Sephiroth?” Javon seized on the term at once.

  “Transcendent have different ranks; different schools describe them differently. But what is common now is still the doctrine of the Kabbalah school.” Clark Darth explained. “They believe that within every human being is a Tree of Life with ten nodes. Each time a Transcendent advances one step, one Sephiroth is opened. There are ten in total. When all ten Sephiroth are opened, the mortal becomes a god!”

  “Ordinary people can awaken Essence by various methods, but at most they are half a Transcendent. Only when Essence first advances, lighting the first Sephiroth, does one truly step onto the transcendent path. First-stage Transcendent are called—Foundation!”

  “In ancient times, even opening the First Sephiroth was rare. In the dark chaotic age after the Fabri Dynasty ended, such people could even become local lords, tyrannizing others at will. Unfortunately, once firearms were widely used, everything changed. Even Transcendent who had opened the Second or Third Sephiroth had a high chance of dying if a pistol struck a vital point. Only those who opened the Fourth Sephiroth—Vitality—might survive a vital hit from a firearm. Because their life force has been greatly strengthened; some even transform their life form. But if struck directly by cannon fire, or caught at the center of an explosion, it remains extremely dangerous.”

  “Even within the Occult Constabulary, many are ordinary people, but the number of Transcendent who have died to their gunfire is not small. Do not underestimate the progress of technology!” Clark spoke as if warning him. Javon, meanwhile, recalled the ‘Black Umbral Beast’ formed by the High Priest’s transformation, and understood that even among Transcendent, the fourth stage was an important watershed.

  “No exceptions?” Javon frowned. “In a note I read, its author once encountered someone of the Sanguis Path—a Transcendent equivalent to opening the Second Sephiroth—who possessed the ability to turn their body into blood and did not fear firearms.”

  “The Sanguis Path…” Disgust surfaced on Clark’s face. “After opening the First Sephiroth, they are called Blood Drinker. When the Second Sephiroth opens, they often gain abilities such as stimulating blood vitality and comprehensively enhancing physical attributes. But if a vital point is struck by gunfire, they still die. To become blood and gain immunity to physical attacks, one must open at least the Fourth Sephiroth. Your notes contain misconceptions, but that’s normal—perhaps the author’s mental state was already unstable when recording it.”

  “I see.” Javon nodded, realizing that Lynn’s Blood-Spiller seemed to be a hidden class after all. After all, her knowledge came directly from the moon.

  “Where were we?” Clark Darth patted his forehead. “Ah—ranks and Sephiroth.”

  “In this kingdom, even the strongest Transcendent have only opened the Sixth Sephiroth. The Seventh Sephiroth and above exist only in theory. But the Kabbalah school names the Seventh Sephiroth—Immortal! They believe a Transcendent who opens it can truly obtain imperishable life. In the Alchemical school, it is called the ‘Philosopher’s Stone.’ These are theoretical things—take them as you will. But many schools believe that, as mysticism continues to develop, perhaps in this era a true Immortal can be born!”

  “Or perhaps Immortals have already been born—only we do not know it.”

  “I have a fair grasp of ranks and Sephiroth now,” Javon said. “I want to know more about the Dreamworld. How does one enter it? By dreaming?”

  “Ordinary dreaming won’t do. Though occasionally there are cases of ordinary people contacting the Dreamworld through dreams—such as that famous little girl named Alice.”

  “To enter the Dreamworld now, we can only do so in the form of a spirit body. Perhaps after opening higher Sephiroth, one could enter physically. To enter in a spirit body requires a simple rite and a single incantation. It is called the Key of Dreams. This is quite common knowledge; I can teach it to you for free. Of course, the language used is the Spirit Language—also called the ‘Esoteric Language.’ It is a language with transcendent power. Many occult works are written in it, and learning it costs extra.” Then Clark spoke a spell aloud.

  Javon’s cheek twitched. He recognized it—it was the common tongue used in the Dreamworld a thousand years ago.

  “Thank you. I’ll consider it. Please continue!”

  Clark’s expression turned unusually solemn. “The Dreamworld is extremely dangerous—utterly unlike the waking world. Chaotic rules of time and space, dangerous beings of the Dreamworld, and forbidden knowledge. Yes—within the Dreamworld, even knowledge is dangerous. It can corrupt you, drag you down, drive you mad, twist you into monstrosity. And yet, scholars still surge forward one after another in pursuit of those taboos. They are the pioneers of mystery—the thieves of fire!”

  Perhaps feeling the subject had grown too heavy, Clark smiled. “Of course, some knowledge in the Dreamworld is not so dangerous—technological knowledge, for example.”

  “Master Isaac once brought back a work that allowed the invention of railways and trains, and he even left designs for ironclad warships. But at that time, the Bureau of Occult Affairs’s blackcoats were persecuting other Transcendent with manic zeal. Everyone had to keep a low profile, so he borrowed the name ‘Javon Sothos,’ claiming he had discovered it from fragments of that man’s scientific manuscripts.”

  “The dangers of the Dreamworld exceed your imagination. And the most dangerous of all are the Twelve Velthyr who stand at its summit!”

  Clark shifted posture; fervor and reverence mingled in his expression. “They are the wellspring of mystery, the end of the paths, the ultimate embodiment of truth. Mortals call them Velthyr, gods beyond the world, dominators. But remember—these are only codenames. If you recite their true names, those who sit high above the Dreamworld will cast a glance down. That gaze is enough to destroy any Transcendent—bringing terrible calamity!”

  As if recalling something, Clark said with solemn weight, “Remember: do not speak a god’s true name!”

  “The Velthyr sit high above the Dreamworld, governing time and the months—yet they also take a keen interest in the mortal world. Some mad cultists, seeking advancement or the Velthyr’s favor, create bloody and horrific sacrifices. Some even draw down a brief descent of Velthyr power, resulting in disasters that wipe out entire cities. Therefore, in every nation, the chief duties of official Transcendent are to keep secrets, conceal the truth, hunt unaffiliated Transcendent, and strike hidden societies. That is quite reasonable.”

  “The Velthyr?” Javon frowned slightly. After thinking, he said, “I seem to have heard an older honorific—Velthrex.”

  “Velthrex? That is extremely obscure knowledge. Even in the Dreamworld, only a few ruins preserve such records. But fortunately, I do know…” Clark smiled. “According to the ancient records of the Ethereal Sect, long ago the Velthyr called themselves Velthrex—meaning the gods who govern the fate of all beings and the world—but they suffered a backlash from fate. Thus the great ones no longer called themselves Velthrex, and instead took the title Velthyr. They no longer dared covet fate, turning instead to order and time. I suspect this historical record is questionable. It may simply be the Ethereal Sect boasting—because they claim that the being they worship governs fate!”

  “The Ethereal Sect?” Javon felt a strange familiarity.

  “It was once widespread,” Clark said. “They worshiped a hidden entity whose existence could not be proven—and naturally they declined, because the being they believed in never once responded.” He continued, “Back to the Velthyr. They govern one month of the year each. For example, the ruler of July is called the Lady of the Greenwood. She also bears two images—the Stone-Hearted Crone and the Warm-Hearted Maiden—and is considered a god of unpredictable temper. If you want to know the Velthyr of other months, that is very advanced knowledge. I myself possess only fragmentary parts.”

  “Alright. I believe this knowledge is enough for you to digest for a long time.” Clark Darth ended his lecture and gathered the ancient coins away one by one. Clearly, he felt what he had shared was more than sufficient to offset the coins’ value.

  Javon nodded. Though this man’s depth in mysticism was lacking, his breadth was acceptable—precisely the “common knowledge” Javon lacked. As for true esoteric transmission, without joining Clark’s school and being vetted, there was no chance of receiving it.

  “There is one more thing I’d like to ask your help with.” Javon smiled slightly and produced another silver coin. “I need some Extraordinary materials.”

  He had noticed that Clark did not care about the gold or silver content of the coins themselves. What the old professor truly cared about was the historical sediment upon them—the breath of years. Thus, in Clark’s eyes, the gold and silver coins in Javon’s hand might well have been worth the same.