Mystery: Starting from the Shadow World

Chapter 46 The Gods' "Response"

As night fell, Philip, who had parted ways with Old Neil, returned home with the materials he had bought and the ingredients from Iron Cross Street, preparing to try carving the talisman from his memory after dinner.

On the dining table, the lunch that Philip had originally left for Admitso was gone, and the door to the bedroom on the second floor closest to the stairwell was also tightly closed.

He went to the kitchen to cook, reading a book while reviewing the information about making talismans in his mind. Meanwhile, Admirsol, who was in the bedroom, came out after hearing the noise.

These days he has gotten used to living in this house with his eyes closed and his head wrapped in cloth strips. In fact, you could say that as long as Philip asks, he can close his eyes and do any housework in the room, just like a male servant doing odd jobs.

It seems the Tarot meeting is tomorrow. I wonder if Mr. "The Hanged Man" has any good news. Philip swallowed a piece of white radish, hesitated for a moment, but still didn't bring it up with the other person, to avoid creating a long period of unfulfilled expectations.

That feeling definitely wouldn't be pleasant.

After finishing dinner, Philip was about to go back to his room, but then he seemed to remember something and turned to Admitso, who was bending over to clear the table, and said, "No matter what noise you hear later, don't pay any attention to it."

He wasn't sure what would happen if he asked a deity for power to create a talisman. Even a low-level talisman that didn't require ritual magic would teach him a lesson if the great being he was praying to harbored ill intentions.

Philip returned to his room, took four silver pieces from his pocket, opened his bedside table, took out a silver knife, set up a spiritual wall in the room, and began to carve.

Low-level talismans are not difficult or too dangerous. Essentially, they are simply using a container to pray for power from a higher being, and then maintaining that power through incantations and symbolic symbols.

Even ritual magic is not necessary.

In this situation, even if someone were to act as a double agent, such as a follower of the Goddess of Night creating a talisman for the Eternal Sun, it wouldn't be a big problem. After all, if the gods were to attend to such matters, they would be far too busy.

Even so, Philip remained vigilant, focusing his gaze and attention entirely on the knife and silver piece in his hand. A steady stream of spiritual energy flowed from the tip of the knife, carving a string of incantations onto the surface of the silver piece:

"The Bound God".

This refers to the deity worshipped by the Temperance School of the Rose School, the Bound God.

As for the other person's name, no one remembers it.

Philip's parents once told him that, at some point, the state of the bound god became different from that of other gods. Even his name had to be avoided in his mind, as it would come at a terrible price.

Over time, even members of the Temperance faction forgot His name.

Yes, it's also related to the fact that people are almost all killed.

Philip was also cautious about this, and he was not really willing to take the risk, but now he had to seek as much hope as possible, to find a way to get out of his precarious situation and live in peace.

If he were to actually encounter a Sequence 5 from that indulgent faction, or another mid-sequence powerhouse, the only one who might be able to save his life would be Mr. Fool, who hasn't even revealed his name yet and can't even ask for help. The risk is too great.

Moreover, he didn't dare to completely trust the other party.

According to the ideologies of the temperance and indulgence factions, the former's belief in the "bound god" and the latter's belief in the "mother tree of desire" are not exactly enemies, but their relationship is certainly not friendly either. It is worth trying to win them over.

Even if there really is a problem, such a small action without any ritual or magic will certainly not have fatal consequences. In any case, they can hold on until Monday to seek the Fool's help.

As the carving of symbols and incantations was nearing completion, Philip closed his eyes, exhaled, and then reopened them. His spiritual energy surged forth, projecting onto the tip of the silver knife, where he made the final stroke.

In that instant of spiritual connection, Philip suddenly felt a strange and unfathomable mysterious power surging in the room. The familiar feeling deep in his memory made him want to relax, but in an instant, this power underwent a complete transformation.

Resentment, madness, anger.

These mixed negative emotions, imbued with a terrifying power, surged forth from the shattered silver medal, seeped into his forehead, and relentlessly assaulted his mind.

Philip's breathing stopped, his eyelids gradually closed, and he didn't even realize that the silver knife in his hand had fallen and hit his knee. He fell straight backward.

At the end of the boundless shadows, it seemed as if two invisible hands were desperately reaching out towards that almost negligible ember, trying to touch something, trying to obtain something, but ultimately it all came to nothing.

An angry and frantic murmur rang out.

In the scorched area illuminated by the embers, Philip stopped struggling and forced himself to stand up. To suppress his mental agitation, he dug his fingernails into his palms, drawing blood from the resulting wounds.

He raised his head and silently looked at the gradually calming undercurrent in the distance. Suddenly, he smiled with a sense of relief, a slight, bright smile, but without any real joy.

Just seconds later, Philip stopped his fake and forced smile.

Not a single mistake, not a single poem, not a single post, not a single piece of content, not a single look!

He opened his palm, looked down at the wound on his hand, then took a deep breath, opened his bright sapphire blue eyes, stared intently at the direction where the shadow had disappeared, and mocked without hesitation, "You bastard, is that all you've got?"

"Whoever you are, I'm telling you, if you have the guts, descend upon my doorstep right now, or I'll curse you every time I see you, until I'm completely dead!"

Philip unleashed all the emotions he had been holding in, shouting recklessly until his expression froze, his body standing firmly in place, ready to face whatever was to come.

However, more than twenty seconds passed without any further movement from the endless shadows.

Seeing this, he exhaled, turned around and disappeared into the flames behind him, which seemed to flicker and become unstable again in the darkness, and left the place.

As the warmth brushed against his cheek, bringing a moment of relief to his mind, the boy in the room propped himself up from the floor and saw the spiritual knife in front of him, along with the shattered pieces of silver.

Philip's eyes flickered as he slumped there, staring for over ten seconds before finally suppressing his emotions. He simply kicked the shards around, scattering them everywhere.

He pulled himself up onto the mattress, rolled over, and stretched towards the ceiling. The whole process was unusually calm. Then, expressionless, he muttered to himself, "This is really... damn it."

Wait, that's not right.

Philip, still lost in his own emotions, frowned and asked softly with some confusion, "How come so much of the potion was suddenly digested?"

(End of this chapter)