Lord of the Mysteries: Yao Guang

Chapter 645 The Meaning
Esther emerged more easily than usual. She sat happily among the fine threads, letting the shimmering orb of light carry her reshaped body through the unstable chaotic currents.

She suddenly felt a strange sense of emotion—the original was still the best fit, and the updated power source was also very stable.

This time it won't be too horribly bad...

Esther quickly kicked those words out of her mind.

She opened her palm and looked at the spirit that had been "decomposed" from the extraordinary characteristics. It still retained the original "spider" shape, but it was only the size of a fingernail.

Her original body had been swallowed up by the power that dissolved into her essence, and Esther and her extraordinary characteristics merged due to a stronger attraction.

Its original form before it fully became a member of the family has long been completely forgotten by this little guy.

So now all that's left is a gnawed-clean fruit pit.

The pit could certainly be eaten, but Esther resisted; she didn't like doing so—to her right now, French fries or carrot cake tasted far more appealing.

The chaotic shadows were slowed by the restraints and were quickly left behind by the light that passed through them. When the gold reappeared before her eyes, the threads beside Esther broke off inch by inch, turning into dancing specks of light that disappeared into her hair.

Actually, there's no need for that anymore. She can capture scattered spirituality from the spirit world at any time and combine the faint consciousness with the power of fate. It's just that Esther has gotten used to keeping them by her side.

After breaking free from the "Thief," Esther knew she had to relearn her abilities, but because of the inherent compatibility, she was actually in a more comfortable state than before.

The rushing river of fate almost brushed against her outstretched fingertips; the leaping waves no longer resisted or rejected, and the fragmented past and future were clearly visible.

Esther simply sighed softly, and as she flew out of the golden sea, she revealed a carefree smile—at least for this moment, she wasn't thinking about anything, having cast aside anything that bound her to her.

She simply felt everything, from the destiny rooted in her soul to the false sunlight, and the swirling sea breeze...

The force of the surge from the deep sea still acted on Esther, causing her body to leap high from the surface and then plummet towards the only nearby landing point, as if she had decided on her goal long ago.

Amon watched the jubilant light and heard her cheerful laughter, and instinctively reached out his hand towards the rapidly approaching figure—

Then his hat suddenly tilted backward, almost being flipped over.

Hibari lowered his head and glanced at Amon's outstretched arm: "What about the extraordinary trait of 'deceiving the mentor'? I specifically taught it to you back then!"

Amon withdrew his hands and said matter-of-factly, "That's all, we ate it."

Lark was squawking loudly and stomping on his soft-brimmed hat, while Amon simply straightened his hat brim, his sly smile tinged with helplessness.

“I can’t possibly keep it for you; that’s a special characteristic of a ‘thief’.”

Moreover, Amon didn't feel there was anything wrong with it. After all, Esther gave it to him, which was a voluntary gift. Once something was in his hands, he almost never returned it.

"Can't I get along well with it and develop feelings for it?!" Lark's claws tore at the edge of the pointed hat. "I could make an extraordinary weapon out of it!"

Amon tolerated the lark's hopping for a while longer, then reached out to catch the noisy little bird, but his movements missed. A ball of light flew down and unfolded into Esther's figure.

Esther's frustration finally subsided. Her original purpose wasn't the extraordinary talent, but judging from Amon's performance, she probably wouldn't get her handbag back.

There were still many things she cherished inside—but even if they were useless to Amon, Amon would never return them to her.

Amon stared intently at Esther, scrutinizing her closely, before quickly revealing a hint of disappointment: "You look... the same."

There is still nothing in common with Zoya.

Esther instantly understood what Amon was thinking and nodded naturally: "You think I seem too human? Well, I can only say it's a unique kind of good luck, hehe, when it comes to good luck—"

Amon interrupted Esther before she could finish her boast, saying, "You're even quite lucid."

Esther paused for a moment, then glanced at the sea beneath her feet: "Yes, I'm still perfectly conscious. I'm neither destroyed nor insane, and there's not even any residual consciousness in my extraordinary characteristics..."

Then she looked up and said with a smile, "That's because I have things to do. He needs me to be the stone that holds the two worlds together. They also need a stable anchor that maintains their self-awareness."

Amon then stopped discussing the matter, ceasing to ponder its original state and its impact on Esther. Even the strongest curiosity needs restraint; He needed to distinguish what He shouldn't know.

Because Esther's second half of her sentence was also a small warning; she wasn't confident she could defeat Amon, but Amon couldn't really "tear her apart."

Esther flexed her fingers, and a shimmering light flashed and disappeared: "Have I been gone for a long time?"

"It wasn't long, just a week. There's one more thing I haven't reached an agreement with Adam on—anyway, I'm more used to calling Him that now."

A week isn't a long time, but it felt too long for Esther. She didn't know how Klein was doing, and could only hope that Norns would use the remaining power in the gray fog to help him avoid conflict with the "Old Mysteries"...

Amon will not give up this shortcut.

Esther's eyes darted around: "What part didn't go well? Was it the way you address each other?"

Amon stared blankly at Esther.

Esther cleared her throat again, then broke the silence: "I was just saying it offhand, don't take it to heart..."

“I don’t like your choice regarding ‘mystery,’ and it is precisely because I know the consequences of the old world,” Amon’s eyes grew colder, “that I am even more convinced of this idea.”

Amon didn't mention the existence of another "Amon," and there was no need to tell Esther about the consensus reached between Amon and himself.

The decision was not unexpected, but Amon's unwavering and uncompromising attitude left Esther staring at him blankly for a few seconds.

Esther sensed that Amon was hiding something, and at just the right moment, she showed a puzzled expression: "This is really a reason I didn't expect."

This decision is not in Amon's character. The conflict with "Adam" is only one aspect; facing the mysteries of the Old World is fraught with many more unpredictable dangers, including those ancient entities that are still temporarily entrenched outside of Earth. Since Amon knew these inside stories, there was no need for him to take the risk. He could have stayed far away, even away from the struggle for the "mysteries," and preserved his own power.

"Will you help me?"

Hearing those words again, Esther no longer backed down. She simply looked at Amon, whose face was devoid of a smile, and gently shook her head.

“That’s right, it’s always the same answer, I’m tired of it.” Amon’s smile returned. “Whatever, let’s go.”

Esther hesitated for a moment: "You..."

Amon quickly cut Esther off, seemingly unconcerned about her wavering: "You promised me before that you could help me with other things. At least according to the development of the 'Old World,' we have to bring it back to the real world."

So Amon reached out his hand, and Esther did not hesitate. The moment she touched Amon's wrist, the two figures disappeared together on the golden sea.

Night fell slowly, and the dreamscape that permeated the ruins of the divine war seemed to awaken now, covering the cracks between heaven and earth.

A murky wave spewed out of the water, as if groping for the lingering sounds, but it did not linger for long before sinking silently into the depths under the soothing embrace of the night.

-

The atmosphere in Backlund is changing.

Anyone living in this city, whether walking through opulent halls or huddled in the shadows behind piles of garbage, has inexplicably felt this way. In fact, this subtle change is permeating various cities, and Backlund is not an isolated case.

The church-led relief efforts proceeded smoothly. Storm Church, which rarely participated in similar activities, set up more and more stalls this time with a stern face and a hint of impatience, preaching its doctrines while stuffing bread and fish soup into the hands of people with sorrowful faces.

Also reaching people are the related propaganda about "being wary of cults" and "being wary of abnormal individuals or objects."

In contrast, the Church of the Night appears to be more "approachable." They simply open up churches or church-affiliated buildings in various places, willing to take in anxious believers under their protection and slowly teach people about safety.

This is not something that can be accomplished in a short time; their actions seem hasty.

The real support behind the church was inseparable from the decisions of those people far away in Queens. They received certain information just as quickly as the church, and the news of what happened in Bayam had already spread.

Maintaining stability, delaying the war, and appeasing the people, the newly enthroned king quickly pushed aside the overwhelming aftermath of the war and began to confront the troubles brought about by this extraordinary present. Importantly, when the Church initially sent representatives, it did not intend to "discuss," but rather to issue a simple notification—or even a warning.

There was no room for negotiation on this matter, and this tough stance provoked a backlash from the aristocratic forces.

Soon, the Senate, which had been arguing about these "nonsense" things, received an urgent message from the border. A group of fully armed "warriors" appeared on the northern front. If they hadn't encountered the Church of the Night's direct resistance, they might have continued to advance into the heart of Rune.

Everyone—everyone who saw the group of "warriors" with their own eyes—witnessed the ferocity and savagery of the leader, the cyclops, and his inhuman features.

The curtain has been torn open by a corner.

As if to further irritate the fig leaf of this prosperous age, extraordinary accidents occur one after another within the country, and they all brazenly appear before the eyes of ordinary people, then present their terrifying forms: sometimes they are monsters that are neither human nor inhuman, sometimes they are illusions, and sometimes they are mad beasts.

The only thing they have in common is that they all go against common sense, which is another shock and upheaval for Rune right now.

Things that won't be published in newspapers spread rapidly from word to word.

The stalemate was quickly broken, and a bloody ritual was also performed in the West End. Given that members of the House of Lords had been brutally murdered, no one could sit still any longer.

After the overwhelming vote, both the happy and the unhappy nobles donated their wealth to help the people and agreed to help the two ancient orthodox churches of Rune to stabilize the extraordinary events in Backlund and even the entire country.

Correspondingly, the church will protect their property and lives. This is an agreement witnessed by God. Since they failed to create a new God's royal family, they remained silent on this matter and tacitly approved of the church's unilateral plan.

As for what the Aurora Club did behind the scenes—well, this time they didn't publish a statement saying they did it themselves, and no one came forward with evidence.

The nobleman who had been involved with the so-called "Doomsday Society" was thus abandoned. Although he was not further investigated by the church or the royal family, it made those who had previously had business dealings with him break out in a cold sweat.

"This kind of thing can't be controlled."

The serious-looking boy huddled behind the unfolded newspaper, clutching the lens and trying to press it against his right eye socket, which he couldn't fit into, listening to the voice in his head chanting.

"On pages five and nine, those reminders were placed in an organized manner, occupying the same space that had been used for advertising in the past few years."

The boy nodded slightly, brushing aside a few strands of brown hair that had fallen with the back of his hand, and listened obediently to the voice. Something beyond him was rapidly prompting the boy to understand the words on the newspaper and the information buried beneath them.

"You see, 'reading' isn't as difficult as you initially thought. You can think of it as a puzzle, which will help you gain control after you encounter extraordinary properties," the voice in the boy's mind said.

The boy tucked his monocle into his breast pocket and slowly folded the newspaper: “She seemed to have said something… I remember, she didn’t seem to want me to become an extraordinary person too early.”

After losing its stable medium, the illusory voice became fainter, but it still lingered: "If you want to see her, you have to go a little further ahead."

“I know, and I’ve done what you asked me to do.”

Although I don't remember anything.

The boy rolled up the newspaper, but kept thinking back to what had happened a few days ago—of course, he couldn't recall it. His coherent memory was just a hollowed-out shadow, as if he had arranged to meet someone, but after that, he had no recollection whatsoever.

The voice in her mind laughed first, then said, "I've repeated myself, I'm not exactly the same as us. The memories of her were left to you by me."

Ribbit stood up from the bench. It was rare for a child to wander the streets alone during this tense time, but he looked resolute and didn't seem like he was lost from his family. Coupled with his slightly old and oversized coat, he looked more like an East Side kid wrapped in a robe, rushing to get his next meal.

Both Black and Brooke have been dropped from the surnames he has been accepted into, and now the boy's identity document bears the name "Jacob".

“If you use the surname ‘Pares’ or ‘Ammon’, believe me, other ‘thieves’ will soon catch you, either to verify your identity or to make you disappear from the city.”

Ribit shook his head. Although he couldn't shake off the voice, he could at least quiet the other person's sinister words for a moment.

He walked quickly, only slowing down when he saw a familiar face as he passed a small church in the eastern district.

A long line formed at the soup kitchen in front of the church. The residents waiting for relief looked anxious but were quite quiet. Two shorter children carried baskets and weaved through the crowd, handing out slices of bread while whispering to the people.

Ribitt recognized the two children and saw that his friends, who had suffered a disaster long ago, had found a place to stay, but he felt a little empty inside—because they no longer recognized him.

The completely forgotten boy stood there, as if looking at a fork in the road he had long since missed, only to find, upon turning back, that the road had vanished.

Perhaps because Ribitt lingered for a while, one of the girls noticed him as she was putting bread back into her basket.

Before Ribbit could even open his eyes, the thin little girl rushed over with astonishing speed and shoved a hard, black bread into Ribbit's arms.

She said, "Don't be shy about coming to collect it; we want to try our best to help more people."

The girl looked much better than Ribitt remembered. Wearing that black formal dress, she no longer had the weakness she used to feel, as if she were always so hungry she was about to faint.

Although he hadn't eaten anything all day from morning until noon, at this moment, Ribit didn't really want the bread in his hand:
"I'm not……"

"But you look lost. I've learned how to distinguish between people—anyway, if you have any troubles or fears, come and listen to the words of the goddess. We welcome all those who are lost in the night."

Her expression was resolute, and there was a glint in her eyes that Ribit couldn't quite make out, causing Ribit to pause slightly in his action of returning the bread.

He lowered his head: "I understand, thank you."

The girl then smiled and said, "If you know anyone else who needs help, please tell them to come to us!"

Strangely enough, Ribitt didn't recall ever having such a hopeful smile.

Ribitt slowly left the church, and only after the slightly burning gaze had disappeared around the street corner did he pick up the black bread in his hand, breaking off the edges bit by bit. The slightly smoky, burnt smell made his mouth water. The texture of the crumbs was familiar yet long-lost. Since he had some money, Ribitt hadn't eaten such authentic black bread in a long time.

Aside from feeling full, there wasn't much else to taste.

"Are you really not going to go to the church? She extended the invitation very sincerely, and you're tempted."

The voice in his mind asked with a laugh, not missing any of Ribit's emotional fluctuations.

“I don’t think that’s a good thing. What if I forget who I am again, and then you…” He paused, and crumbs of bread slipped from between his fingers and fell to the ground as he trembled. “I shouldn’t have gone there.”

"Don't be afraid, they won't be able to find us."

Ribitt just shook his head, bit hard into the piece of black bread, chewed the imperfectly toasted bread, and tried his best to swallow the throat-scratching food.