Amon chuckled lightly, his tone playful as ever.
"So, you've noticed the problem too? Want to consult me about it? I might be able to help you, you know."
Edward tapped his fingers a few times against the table, his tone flat and distant.
"Speak."
"Tsk, tsk…that doesn't sound like someone asking for advice at all."
"Then don't bother," Edward replied coolly. "In fact, I rather like this current state."
"Heh. I do hope you really mean that," Amon said, his monocle flashing with amusement. "You see, I used to worry about my own humanity growing too thin as well. So, I came up with a rather brilliant solution. I split myself into multiple clones and had them play a game of 'Catch the Thief'. Whoever got caught—would be devoured."
He gestured animatedly inside the cage, feathers ruffling in delight.
"As you can imagine, when death becomes the consequence, everyone starts running for their lives. Under that constant pressure, our human instincts—our fear, our cunning, our greed—become much stronger. Then I hunted them down one by one, devoured each of them, and absorbed all that humanity they'd accumulated. Simple, efficient, and fun, don't you think?"
Edward gave him a cold, indifferent smile. "Doesn't that just make you more afraid of death?"
Amon blinked. "And what's wrong with that? Better that than becoming a paranoid zealot—someone so obsessed with his 'tide of times,' so devoted to his 'noble ideals,' that he's unafraid of anything, even willing to sacrifice himself at any time!"
He bounced up and down in his confinement, wings fluttering excitedly.
"So, what do you think? Want to try my method?"
"I'm not a Beyonder of the Marauder pathway," Edward said flatly. "I can't divide myself into countless avatars like you."
"Ah, true," Amon sighed with exaggerated disappointment. "What a pity."
He leaned forward, pressing his wings against the cage as if resting both hands upon it. "In that case, there's only one solution left."
"Say it."
"Let me out." Amon's eyes curved into crescents behind his monocle. "Let me steal the ownership of the Sefirah Castle from you. I mean, come on, if something could cause this kind of problem so soon after your advancement, it must be this wretched Castle. Hand it over to me—it's far too treacherous a burden!"
He straightened up solemnly, as if making a righteous declaration.
"I'll take the responsibility!"
"No."
Edward's refusal was immediate and absolute.
After all that verbal fencing with Amon, he had already deduced the real cause of his condition. It wasn't the Sefirah Castle's doing—it stemmed from the fragmented memories he'd traversed during his advancement.
In those memories, even if he hadn't been an actual god, he had been something infinitely close to Sequence 0. Such beings inherently lacked humanity. Each time he crossed those memories, he'd been subtly shaped by the image of himself in others' perceptions and imaginations—and thus, his own humanity had eroded.
No wonder the Seven Gods later abolished specific divine statues, replacing them with sacred light and symbols.
Faith served not only as an anchor for a god—it also subtly changed them through the perceptions of their believers.
Edward was merely experiencing that transformation prematurely.
But now that he understood the cause, how was he supposed to fix it?
Closing his eyes, he sank into deep thought, his mind perfectly clear.
After a while, he raised a hand and materialised a paper effigy. With a casual flick, he tossed it toward himself.
A sharp snap! echoed through the air.
The paper effigy ignited in crimson flame, phantom feathers sprouting from its back. In the blink of an eye, it expanded into a magnificent angel with twelve pairs of black wings. The angel spread its arms and drew Edward into a tight embrace—then dissolved into gentle light, merging seamlessly into his body.
Yes—this was none other than the Angel's Embrace, the same paper construct Klein would one day use to bestow blessings upon the Tarot Club members.
Ordinarily, using an Angel's Embrace required the use of a Card of Blasphemy to draw upon the Sefirah Castle's power. But now that Edward had advanced to Sequence 3 and become the "Master" of the Castle, he could summon it effortlessly—no additional steps required.
"Useless."
Even before the angelic apparition fully vanished, Edward knew the attempt had failed.
"I've learned something new," Amon said cheerfully, nodding. "When I become the master of the Sefirah Castle, I'll play with paper angels too. I bet even the Zealot would have trouble breaking through one of my creations. But you know—your loss of humanity wasn't caused by any ability. That's why this won't help."
"You'd be better off listening to my advice."
Edward wordlessly waved a hand, erasing Amon's mouth from existence. Then, taking out a gold coin, he flipped it lightly.
"My loss of humanity is irreversible."
He caught the coin and opened his palm. The numbers faced upward—a negative answer.
"So, it is reversible."
His eyes flickered with mild surprise. He had been considering using "Madman to the Right" to forcibly reverse the condition, but perhaps that wouldn't be necessary just yet.
After a moment's thought, he materialised a sheet of parchment and quickly penned a divination statement:
"The method to restore my humanity."
He repeated the phrase seven times under his breath, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
Darkness engulfed his vision.
In the illusory world of dreams, he saw himself standing upon a barren island. The reflection of himself gazed back—ancient gears spinning in its eyes, as he raised his hand, activating [Regression]—
The target…was himself.
In an instant, silver-white lightning illuminated the darkened sky. Clouds thickened overhead, and bolts of thunder fell like divine judgment, striking him again and again.
Under the devastating storm conjured by a Sequence 2, the version of himself that had regressed to Sequence 5 barely struggled before being reduced to charred ash, then to fine dust—
Utterly annihilated.
He was dead beyond doubt.
At that instant, the dream shattered and dissolved.
Edward's body trembled as he jolted awake from the dreamscape.
"The method to restore my humanity…is suicide?"
If he hadn't been inside the Sefirah Castle, he might've suspected that someone had tampered with his divination.
Could it be…Amon?
He cast a scrutinising glance toward the Marauder.
Amon instantly raised his wings, and his mouth—just restored—opened wide as he shouted indignantly, "Hey! What's with that look? I've been keeping my mouth shut like a good boy! Don't push your luck!"
No, Amon couldn't possibly be the culprit. Even if he hadn't been forcibly subdued by "Madman to the Right", the fact remained that Edward, now fully ascended to Sequence 3 and recognised by the Sefirah Castle, was its true master. Within this domain, not even a True God—let alone a King of Angels—could alter the outcome of his divinations.
So…the solution really was to die?
But what was the underlying principle behind that?
Murmuring to himself, Edward repeatedly flipped his gold coin, verifying every possible hypothesis he could think of. One after another, he eliminated them—until, all at once, a particular memory surfaced in his mind.
It was the information he had received upon advancing to Sequence 4, Spiritcaster.
[Sequence 4: Spiritcaster]
—also called Spirit Mage or Psychic Mage; can freely shift between spiritual and physical states.
Memory immortal. Spirit undying.
"I see…"
Those eight words were not merely a poetic description—they defined the very essence of the Spiritcaster's power.
As long as the memory of himself existed, even death could not erase him. He could resurrect within the memory of another.
A true and literal form of immortality.
"Then that leads to a new problem," Edward analysed calmly. "If I'm resurrected through someone else's memory, I'll inevitably be shaped by their perception of me. Their fixed impression could recreate me exactly as I am now—cold, detached, stripped of humanity…"
But no—wait.
Not everyone remembered him as that mysterious, godlike figure. Dubois didn't. Bernadette didn't either.
So maybe…not all memories would bring him back that way.
Still—was restoring humanity even necessary?
Did he really need that part of himself?
Wasn't cold, perfect rationality far more useful? A mind unclouded by hesitation or emotion—capable of seeing truth, acting decisively?
Was "humanity" truly that important?
The world was already perilous beyond measure—and after his repeated interference, it was no longer following the original trajectory of the "canon" at all. Even Adam had chosen death in order to fuse with the True Creator ahead of time. Didn't that imply some unforeseen cataclysm was coming, something even greater and more dangerous?
If survival itself couldn't be guaranteed, then what meaning did "humanity" still hold?
"…"
As these thoughts rippled through his mind, his desire to regain humanity faded further. Perhaps remaining as he was now—detached, calculating—was for the best.
Until his gaze happened to fall upon a small, worn elementary school textbook resting at the side of the desk.
After a brief moment of hesitation, he reached out and drew it toward him. He opened it gently.
He read through Lilith's childish handwriting, the simple notes scribbled in the margins, and saw the small, pressed red flower between the pages.
On the back of that flower was a line of neat, innocent handwriting:
"Miss Lilith is the smartest kitty!"
For a fleeting instant, something stirred deep within him.
Though he couldn't logically explain it, his spirituality whispered—no, insisted—that he should restore his humanity.
Edward closed the book softly. "Then so be it."
"Eh? You found the solution already?"
Amon, who had been watching him closely the whole time, couldn't suppress his curiosity—genuine curiosity this time.
"Mm." Edward nodded once—and vanished from the Sefirah Castle.
"…Huh? He just left?"
Amon pouted, clicking his tongue. "I liked the old him better. At least he was fun to talk to."
"Humanity, huh?"
He smirked faintly. "What a fascinating concept."
He couldn't help but wonder—just how had Edward managed to "inject" humanity into him earlier? And what would an Amon with humanity even be like?
Tilting his head, he imagined for a while—but came up empty.
As expected, no one could truly envision what they themselves didn't understand.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Amon transformed into a woodpecker again and resumed pecking rhythmically at the bars of his cage.
———
Returning to the physical world, Edward took a single step forward—his form blurred, then faded completely.
An instant later, he stood beneath a vast, starlit sky.
He had witnessed this sight before, many times, but each instance had been within the consciousness world of an ascension, no more than a symbolic illusion.
Now, for the first time, he was truly standing amidst the cosmos itself.
The feeling was vastly different—majestic and terrifying all at once.
Boundless. Infinite. Profound. Dark.
It inspired a visceral awareness of his own insignificance.
There was the biting cold of the vacuum…
The radiation, the drifting cosmic particles, the solar winds...
And, worst of all, the wave of overwhelming pollution that surged from all directions—emanating from the Outer Gods.
The natural dangers, he could handle. As a Wanderer, they posed no threat. But the contamination of the Outer Gods—that was another matter entirely.
He thought of it then: perhaps Emperor Roselle had been the second Beyonder in millennia, after "Mr. Door," to set foot in the cosmos.
And the only reason he had returned alive wasn't his own brilliance…
…but because the Mother Goddess of Depravity had deliberately kept him alive, intending to use him as a nail—an anchor—for Her infiltration of Earth.
"Rebuke."
Facing the tide of corruption rushing from all directions, Edward uttered the word coldly.
The next second, furious roars echoed through the void, as though sound itself were ripping across the vacuum toward him.
In the same moment, his body flickered and vanished.
When he reappeared, he was standing upon a deserted island deep within the Fog Sea.
Thus ended Edward's first true experience as a Wanderer.
———
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