Loen Kingdom, Backlund, Rose Street, Harvest Church
"Is there something special about that man standing next to the doll-loving fool?" Dominique's question made Abel tear his gaze away from the unassuming man as he answered.
"A person of significance." The Summoner simply said, much to his sister's annoyance.
"Are you sure you're a Seer and not a Monster? You're starting to sound more and more like Father and Antoine." The vampiress frowned, memories of the Earl's cryptic advice surfacing unbidden.
"Like a charlatan?"
"Like a charla—"
Dominique abruptly cut herself off, shooting Abel a withering look for nearly tricking her into mocking their father.
The Monster's lips curled with amusement. His eyes shifted toward the man beside the detective-looking fellow.
He appeared to be in his late twenties, clad in the traditional garb of the Harvest Church—a plain, muted, earth-brown cassock that fell to his ankles. His black hair was slicked back, and his most striking features were a handsome face and a pair of crimson eyes that practically radiated arrogance. Yet, despite it all, there was an undeniable elegance to the way he held himself.
As expected of a Sanguine.
"You might be surprised to learn that even Emlyn is someone of importance," Abel remarked, not the least bit shocked when the man in question turned toward them with a smug expression. They had been making their way to the two men, and were now only a few steps away.
"It seems that even if your sister is an artificial vampire, you—her brother—can at least recognize the greatness of us Sanguine." Emlyn White smiled with disdain as he looked toward Dominique.
Dominique's lips curled into a sneer, and she raised her chin slightly as she shot back, "Can you really speak of greatness when you kneel to the same deity as I do? Does it sicken you, being placed on the same footing as me—an artificial vampire? Don't worry. Soon enough, you won't be alone during mass. More 'great' Sanguines will see the light and begin praising the Earth right alongside you."
"You…!" Emlyn flushed with embarrassment, her words striking right where it hurt—but something else quickly caught his attention. "What do you mean more Sanguine will see the light!? What are you planning?"
The Vampiress chuckled darkly, "Oh, nothing much. I just didn't realize—until I became a vampire—that there are quite a few of your kind living in Backlund. I made a friend the other day who spoke to me about her devotion to the Moon and the glory of the Sanguine Ancestor, Lilith." Her smile widened, eyes glinting with a sadistic light. "I thought it only fair to tell her about the benevolent, loving Mother of All Things. Don't you agree?"
She tilted her head, adding as an afterthought, "In fact…wouldn't it be even better if you were the one to do the honours?"
Emlyn's eyes widened in horror. In his eyes, Dominique seemed to have sprouted horns and wings.
The man beside Emlyn sucked in a sharp breath at Dominique's words, prompting Abel to chuckle. "This sort of thing is normal between them. But even I have to admit, that one was brutal. The kind of jab I'd expect from a Provoker."
Then, as if remembering himself, he added, "Ah, where are my manners? Abel De Sade—and this is my sister, Dominique De Sade." The Summoner extended his hand toward The Fool, offering a cordial smile.
"It happens to the best of us," The Fool gave a good natured laugh, accepting his handshake, "Sherlock Moriarty, a detective trying his luck in Backlund."
You couldn't be more obvious, could you? Abel didn't even try to hide the recognition in his eyes—or the slight twitch at the corner of his lips—as he looked at Mr. Fool, who, for his part, showed no hint of embarrassment or shame.
"Did you say detective, Monsieur Sherlock?" At that moment, Dominique, who had been in the middle of verbally thrashing Emlyn, turned her attention toward them. "Detective Sherlock Moriarty, who made the biggest breakthrough in the serial killer case?"
Sherlock looked surprised at her recognition, "I didn't think my name had spread far enough to reach noble circles from this one case."
Abel could understand the sentiment behind Mr. Fool's words. After all, the victims in that case had been street girls—prostitutes, whether currently or formerly involved in the trade.
The very bottom rung of the social ladder. It wasn't exactly the kind of case nobles paid attention to.
But that was the thing, it hadn't been just another string of murders. It had been a ritual. A devil's ritual, at that.
And when it came to Devils—Abyss pathway Beyonders, also known as the Criminal pathway—the Church of the Earth Mother had few equals
The Bible of Life even contained teachings that delved into the nature of Good and Evil. With his abilities as a Loremaster, Abel could clearly recall a particular sermon once preached by Father Utravsky that had stuck with him ever since.
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There are two Abysses. One is material, and the entrance is somewhere in the real world. The other is spiritual, and the entrance is deep in everyone's hearts. Sometimes, these two Abysses are separated, but most of the time, they're one.
Good intentions and evil intentions come from the same source. It's inevitable for us to harbor evil thoughts like jealousy, hatred, destruction, greed, harm, and arrogance. This is normal, not sinful. However, if we act on jealousy, hatred, greed, and arrogance, killing someone—our souls will gradually sink into the Abyss.
When the time comes, one can only repent to the Mother, just like this. "Merciful Mother, I have fallen into the Abyss of evil…"
+
Compared to other Churches, the Earth Mother's followers were far more learned in such matters. And despite lacking an official Beyonder team recognized by the Loen Kingdom—thanks to their status as the faith of a rival nation—the Harvest Church still had its agents.
Dominique, as one of them, knew precisely what the serial killer case had truly been about. This was made obvious by the knowing smile that played on her lips as she looked at The Fool."A good friend of mine was involved in the investigation," she said, "and she told me about the detective whose deductive skills might even rival hers."
The Seer gave a modest smile. "Would that friend happen to be Detective Valencia?"
Dominique nodded, "That's right. Siesta was impressed with your abilities—so much so, she was even considering inviting you to the Church of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom." There was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes that she didn't bother hiding.
"I can see how you two might get along rather well," Mr. Fool replied, smiling as he traced a triangle across his chest, the prayer gesture of the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery.
"As expected of an artificial vampire," Emlyn interjected with a derisive snort, "even your friends are as wicked as you."
Dominique merely smirked, her gaze drifting to the towering figure who had just entered the prayer hall.
Clad in a worn brown clergyman's robe and a bishop's bonnet, the man was like a small mountain, his burly frame impossible to hide, even beneath the loose fabric. Deep lines marked the corners of his eyes and mouth, yet his expression was serene, almost tender, as though giving thanks for each breath.
Emlyn followed her gaze, his expression stiffening as he saw the figure.
"Father Utravsky, Priest Emlyn—"
Before Dominique could finish her sentence, the Sanguine vanished in a blur of motion, using his innate vampiric speed to appear before the Sacred Emblem of Life. He dropped to both knees with practiced grace, wearing an expression of devout reverence.
"—is a true believer in the Mother of All Things," Dominique continued smoothly, not missing a beat. "Undeniably pious—he even volunteered himself to spread the Earth Mother's teachings to his fellow Sanguine. In fact, thanks to his efforts, we should be expecting a new sister to join our weekly mass very soon."
The Sanguine, still kneeling with his back to them, stiffened again at her words. He clearly wanted to retort but didn't dare turn around under the weight of the giant bishop's gaze.
"The Mother's Church does not reject anyone," Father Utravsky said gently, his eyes kind. "She sees all our efforts and, in time, will ease the burdens we carry."
"Praise Earth. Praise the Mother of All Things," Dominique said devoutly, placing her clasped hands before her nose and lips in solemn prayer.
As if he didn't carry the corruption of the Earth Mother's ancient enemy—the Mother Goddess of Depravity —within him, Abel mimicked the gesture with a straight face.
No need to tempt fate by adding words I don't mean. Who knows if She might mistake it for me praising that Outer Goddess, Abel mused with faint amusement.
Finishing the prayer gesture, the Monster turned to The Fool, who was just preparing to leave, and said, "Detective Moriarty, might I have a word? It concerns your Fate."
"Monster Pathway Beyonder?" Sherlock asked, brows raising slightly in alarm. "Is something wrong with my Fate?"
Abel just smiled at his flawless act, "Would you prefer we continue this conversation here, or somewhere more private?"
The detective hesitated for a moment, an expected response from a wild Beyonder.
Sensing his uncertainty, Father Utravsky offered gentle reassurance. "The De Sades are among the most devout followers of the Mother in this kingdom. Thanks to them, several smaller cathedrals have been established across Loen."
The Fool's expression eased. He gave a respectful nod to the bishop, then turned to Abel.
Abel responded with a slight incline of his head before turning to Dominique. "Speak with Father Utravsky about the reason we came."
The Vampiress' demeanor shifted, becoming more serious. She gave a firm nod. "I will."
Abel turned back to Sherlock. "Shall we?"
Without waiting for a reply, he began walking down the side aisle, boots echoing softly against the worn marble. Sherlock followed, his footfalls almost silent in comparison.
_____________________________________________
"I didn't expect to find another countryman in this world besides Roselle. And what are the odds," Sherlock said, his voice low and calm, "that like me, you too have been chosen to serve the Lord?"
Abel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. For a fleeting second, he seriously considered calling him out right then and there—but decided against it. No, this was far more interesting. He wanted to see how far this would go.
This entire Fool persona reeked of "main character."
A transmigrator with a divine-level artifact and a god slowly reviving within him. His goal? To return to his world, all while failing to realize this is his world—just thousands of years into the future. And with every arc, he gathers powerful allies, builds an inner circle called the Tarot Club, and in the end, defeats the final calamity… through the power of friendship.
Abel nearly snorted aloud at the mental image as he replied, "You could say that, Lord Blessed."
"Oh? You realised?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, pride and reverence written clearly across his face. "And you don't seem happy about being chosen by my Lord?" he added, frowning.
…How is your skin so thick? Is it a Chinese thing? The young nobleman was burning with a mix of curiosity and second-hand embarrassment. "It's not that I'm not happy…"
The Fool narrowed his eyes beneath his glasses, a subtle but clear warning, as if daring Abel to utter something blasphemous against their Lord and Savior.
"Ugh. Simply put… I fucked up, bro."
The detective blinked—once, twice, three times—staring at Abel in silence, caught off guard by the sudden drop in noble decorum.
Abel, for his part, didn't care. He continued like a stressed-out corporate slave spiraling mid-breakdown, hands massaging his temples as he felt his Characteristic digesting.
"I recited Mr. Fool's Honorific Name 'cause I thought he was a fellow countryman! I still think he is, otherwise the dude—cough!—Mr. Fool might've straight-up smited me like his name was Zeus—"
"Are you Acting like a Monster?" The Seer interrupted his rant as he looked at him pointedly.
Abel simply smiled, "Is that a question from Mr. Fool?"
A tense silence hung between them for a few seconds.
"…No." Sherlock eventually answered, his expression not showing any of the turmoil he was surely feeling.
And as if he hadn't just tossed out a loaded question that almost had The Fool wondering if he'd been exposed, Abel carried on smoothly.
"Then there's no need to answer, right? As The Lover of The Fool, I serve Him first and foremost. Everything else is secondary." He said without shame—no, with pride—and savored the way Sherlock's lips almost twitched before he wrestled his expression back under control.
A sigh escaped Sherlock as he asked, "If I ask you how you… messedup, will you answer?"
Feeling he'd trolled The Fool enough for one day, Abel gave a properly vague answer. "Let's just say that—even if Mr. Fool is a fellow countryman—one should believe in a god's might, not Their benevolence." He shrugged. "Well, Mr. Fool did let me off easily… so He might be the exception?"
The Monster didn't miss the guilt that flickered in the detective's eyes. It overpowered his usual self-control, if only for a moment—mere seconds, really—but enough to earn Abel's praise. He wondered if this emotional discipline was a trait unique to Seer Pathway Beyonders.
Sherlock composed himself quickly and smiled approvingly. "It's as you say. Unlike other hidden existences, Mr. Fool doesn't accept bloody sacrifices. In fact, Evil Gods like the True Creator are His enemies."
Abel nodded thoughtfully, his head tilting in curiosity. "Then… is the Earth Mother His ally?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't seem concerned about us talking about Mr. Fool here, and I'd assume a true deity would know everything happening in Their own church. The fact that we're alive and unbranded heretics must mean something, no?"
It was subtle, innocent reminder to Mr. Fool that the Earth Mother knew that he had a connection to The Fool. Given what he could feel through Sixth Sense, Abel was sure of this. Mr. Fool deserved to know this much after the teasing earlier.
"I'm not privy to godly affairs," Sherlock started, "But if it's my Lord we're speaking of… then yes, it wouldn't be beyond His means to have one of the orthodox deities as His ally." The confident and reverent expression returned with full force.
I know you're hearing this Lady Goddess. Are you not going to disprove his words? Abel jokingly wondered, while also taking note to question the Goddess later about The Fool. Clearly she had plans of some sorts for him.
"I see…"
Sherlock rose from the chair. "Do you have anything else you want to ask?"
"I do actually," Abel thought for a moment, before deciding to see if Mr. Fool might have some clues, "It's related to why I'm here today." He recounted the dream, of East Borough drowning in the Great Smog, of tens of thousands dying, of the unnaturally beautiful woman, and his own deductions.
"…The Demoness Sect and a Demigod?" Sherlock's brow furrowed. His expression shifted as though recalling something. "An informant of mine mentioned that rumors have been spreading in East Borough—talk of a 'Creator' who offers redemption, promising followers they'll enter His divine kingdom after death."
Abel quickly guessed what he was thinking, "You think it's the Aurora Order? And that they might be working with the Demoness Sect to keep the Churches busy, giving them enough space to carry out the Smog incident?"
"It's possible," Mr. Fool said, though he didn't offer a definitive answer.
"How?"
Abel could understand two evil organizations working together. It wasn't rare. But—
"How could the Aurora Order distract all the Churches? We're talking about Demigod Archbishops. I'd get it if it were just one. Maybe two. But all three?" The white-haired Monster questioned aloud.
Observant was telling him that Sherlock was hiding something, so he left an opportunity he could capitalise on and explain.
Then, after a moment—
"Divine Descent." Sherlock finally said. "The only reason lunatics like the Aurora Order would ever cooperate with pagans is if it's to prepare for their Lord's return."
The Fool began pacing, hands clasped behind his back.
"What they are doing in East Borough—the preaching, the false hope—perhaps they plan to use the suffering poor as ritual fuel. Their deaths in the Smog would feed the descent of the True Creator. All that degeneration and despair…"
Abel didn't bother hiding his surprise. "You really live up to your name. And… you're familiar with their MO?"
"Unfortunately." Sherlock smiled grimly. "But the Demoness Sect and Aurora Order couldn't have done all this without slipping up somewhere."
Finally, this is what I wanted to hear! Abel's eyes narrowed as he looked at the Transmigrator, "There's a Mastermind, right?"
The Fool nodded. He opened his mouth—but hesitated.
"…Bro, why'd you pause?" Abel deadpanned. "Stop edging me and just finish. My spirituality is literally stirring."
The abrupt break in noble decorum startled Mr. Fool. Especially when Abel said something so…crude. For a second, he just… stared.
Then, he composed himself. "If the Mastermind is who I think, then they possess a Sealed Artifact, one that causes coincidences. Anything it writes becomes reality—"
"Spectator." Abel interrupted, his gold eyes staring into Mr. Fool's brown eyes, "Is it a Quill Sealed Artefact of the Spectator pathway?"
The Seer froze for a moment, before slowly asking, "…How do you know?"
"When I absorbed the Monster Characteristic," Abel explained slowly, "I had a vision. A blonde man in priest robes, blind in one eye, holding a quill that looked… ordinary."
Mr. Fool didn't comment on the fact that Abel had become a Beyonder without a potion. Instead, he asked the important questions:
"Did you see where he was? Any details about the surroundings? And… how did you know it belonged to the Spectator Pathway?"
Mr. Fool seems very personally invested in this…Abel made a mental note of this."My Father told me that in our Ancestor's notes, there's a warning: Beware of the Spectator."
"Beware of the Spectator…" Sherlock echoed his words.
Mr. Fool, if I told you that the Earl told me today, how paranoid would you be, wondering whether it was all a coincidence? Abel thought idly.
He knew that his own fate and luck couldn't be manipulated. But the people around? It was most certainly possible. No, the only reason Father brought it up was because of me, when I said the spectator pathway feels dangerous.
And since he couldn't be manipulated, it definitely wasn't the work of that—
"Is the Sealed Artefact Grade 0?"
Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts, nodding, "0-08."
There was a brief silence.
"…I plan to reduce, if not prevent, the casualties of the smog." Abel suddenly said, much to Mr. Fool's surprise.
"Do you need help?" At his questioning look, Sherlock explained. "As a noble, I don't think your family would be accepting of the idea to help thousands of vagrants, would they?"
"…You're right." Abel clicked his tongue, and then thought for a moment, before saying, "Given your experience with Aurora Order, do you think you can interfere with their plans? I'll handle the Demoness Demigod."
"…Do you plan to pray for Mr. Fool's help?"
Abel barely resisted the urge to laugh. Oh? Mr. Fool, worried about a measly Demigod? Is it too much for you?
With an affronted tone, The Summoner replied, "How could I bother Mr. Fool with a mere Demigod? He'll be busy confronting the True Creator, of course. A god's opponent can only be a god."
"Indeed," Sherlock said reverently. "A god can only contend against another god."
Abel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.
"Do you have any plans to subdue the Demigod?" The Seer changed the subject, something the Monster was very thankful for.
"I do have some ideas." Abel said vaguely. One included corrupting the Demigod via exposure to Outer God knowledge. Risky, sure—especially for any civilians nearby—but it was on the table.
Though, it would likely not be viable. At least not unless I get desperate.
"Then, the only crucial thing we're missing is the date," Sherlock mused. "Any idea?"
Abel shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. It could be tomorrow, or a week later. All I know is that it happens before ten in the morning. That's when the dream ended, right as the clock struck the hour."
Mr. Fool furrowed his brows at that.
Abel noticed, so he said, "For now, we need to gather more information. If anything new comes up, we can exchange it through my Messenger."
Sherlock blinked, "You have a Messenger?" There was an honest surprise in his voice.
I have you to thank to some extent, Mr. Fool. Abel smirked, "Of course I do. Don't I look like someone worthy of one?"
Sherlock didn't dignify that with a response, so Abel chuckled and recited:
"The Spirit roaming in the higher plane,
The friendly creature that accepts submission,
The messenger that belongs solely to Abel De Sade."
"That's the incantation for my Messenger, easy to remember, no?"
Mr. Fool nodded with a thoughtful expression, "And convenient." He added.
"I think it shouldn't be too hard for you to get one." Abel said, deciding to toss the man a bone—and maybe gently nudge him toward understanding one of Mystery's Domains.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, clearly interested.
"Remember how I said I messed up when I first met Mr. Fool?"
The Seer gave a slow nod, his frown returning. A reaction expected from a believer who feels their God has been disrespected.
"I ended up looking at Him, and heard things I shouldn't, and then the Gray Fog entered my Spirit Body." Abel explained.
"'Do not look at God,'" Mr. Fool quoted sternly. "You should be thankful He is a benevolent god."
Abel resisted the temptation of rolling his eyes and answered, "I am thankful."
Sherlock nodded slowly, "As a Blessed of Mr. Fool, I too have the Gray Fog within… and the Fog attracts Spirit World creatures?" he concluded, clearly using Abel's assumption.
"Indeed."
"Thank you for the information." The detective gave a thankful nod.
Abel waved it off. "No need to thank me." His lips curled into a smile, and he adopted the same reverent expression Sherlock had used earlier. He extended his hand solemnly. "Praise the Fool."
Mr. Fool's lips twitched—and without missing a beat, he shook Abel's hand and replied in the same pious tone, "Praise the Fool."
And thus began the jolly cooperation between The Fool and The Summoner.
Abel couldn't help the amused thought.
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A/N: Finally, it's done. It took a while to write this chapter cause I kept getting distracted, and I also procrastinated a bit about how Sherlock and Abel should communicate—stiff/guarded or friendly.
In the end I went with friendly cause with Abel's social perks, his status as a 'fellow countryman' in Mr. Fool's mind, and also the guilt Mr. Fool feels for 'corrupting' him, I would think it makes sense for Mr. Fool to be kinder and more tolerant/open/less guarded with him.