Chapter 197: Return? A Fleeting Dream Beneath the Southern Bough
The Occult Research Club lay bathed in dim afternoon light, heavy with a strange quiet. At the heart of it stood Bai Yue, his gaze locked on a peculiar figure—a young woman with streaks of azure dye in her hair, her bangs casting shadows across her thoughtful brow.
Before her, suspended above the table, floated a radiant card—its glowing contours revealing an ominous iconography. A crow-headed angel riding a black wolf, blade gleaming in its grasp: the image of Andras, one of Solomon's seventy-two demons, whose duty was to sever discord from the world.
Around them, a scattering of girls lay unconscious, limbs sprawled in odd angles—as if caught mid-fall, their minds lost between worlds. But Bai Yue knew: they would wake soon. Their journey was ending, or perhaps beginning.
The incident had nudged his power one step closer to true mastery. The root of this world's myriad laws, the source of its metaphysical fabric—he had found it. Nestled at the farthest edge of dimensional rift-space.
Next came the intricate work of designing a stable connection sigil. No more reckless invocations, no more brute-force apertures. This time, the seventy-two demon pillars he summoned would shoulder the weight, distributing pressure as intended.
But then came the curious case of Xenovia.
Why had she become one of his pillars?
The answer lay in her own conviction. Though stationed not far from the club, she'd sensed something amiss and burst into the room without hesitation. The demon card had pulsed instantly—resonating with her.
From there, the pact was simple: he introduced himself as Solomon, then offered her the truth—if she wished to understand the deeper mysteries, she would have to join him.
And she did.
Without question.
Her swift assent wasn't just impulse. The demise of her faith—the death of her God—had left her shattered. Desperately, she sought a new anchor. Bai Yue's presence was decisive. His aura, purpose, and knowledge made him the perfect vessel for her displaced devotion.
Without him, she might have crumbled entirely. Her conversion was almost… a salvation.
It begged another question—if Koneko Toujou had fit the card, why not Rias's other two male retainers?
The system had an immutable law: only women could be converted into demon pillars.
That detail had never been disclosed. When first receiving the cards, the interface had blandly presented "male or female" options. No warnings. No verifications.
No "Are you sure?"
It had felt like uninstalling software only to discover the delete button meant delete permanently.
"Ugh, feels like I missed something," groaned a voice from the far end.
A twin-tailed redhead sat perched by the window—Rias's progenitor, Lady Gremory herself.
She had sensed the ripple in memory too late. Part of her own recollection was locked away now, unreachable. Yet Bai Yue, ever the anchor, had glimpsed hers in clarity.
As for the request she had entrusted to him—he now had several candidates marked as potential recruits. But transferring them immediately was impossible. Her survival as one of the original demons was no longer secret, and the revelation had shifted delicate balances.
With the Gremory line already boasting a Maou, its influence rivaled the best. The knowledge that even the First Devil remained alive painted a target on her lineage. Every move now carried risks—risks that could stir old animosities and wake sleeping giants.
"Hey! Hands off!" came a sharp rebuke from Lunaria as she swatted away Bai Yue's hand—fingers suspended in the air, halfway to her forehead.
"I thought you wanted to know what you missed," Bai Yue mused. His voice carried calm, but hinted at deeper meaning.
Because what she'd missed wasn't trivial.
From the moment Xenovia became a demon pillar, memory had begun to intertwine. Not just hers—but Bai Yue's, as Solomon.
And those granted the pact could witness his history.
"I said don't touch my head."
"Then forget it."
"Fine—I'll—wait, what is this?" Lunaria's protest faltered into confusion.
A scatterbrained voice sliced through the moment: Xenovia.
She blinked furiously, words jumbled. "Memory? Whose? Why am I seeing this battle…? That's... that's Solomon? At Ragnarok's sixth round? Why am I—why am I there? Watching?"
The room grew still.
"She saw his memories," Lunaria whispered. Her eyes wide. "Not from here... but... from there?"
Xenovia took a shaky breath and turned toward Bai Yue, her gaze intense and complex.
"You're not the Solomon of this world," she said slowly. "No… the Solomon here is only a shard of you."
"What—what did you say?" Lunaria's voice caught.
Then Bai Yue's hand pressed against her temple.
Her pupils dilated.
And she understood.
She had seen the other Solomon too—a fragment from a parallel realm, intersecting with Bai Yue during his journey three thousand years prior.
So this was why he didn't trust Michael.
Because the god on that side… wasn't who he claimed to be.
Just then, the unconscious girls began to stir.
"Nyah? Where are we?" Kuroka was first. Her voice groggy but alert.
"Did we… come back?" she asked, but her tone wasn't joyful—more annoyed.
They had been on the cusp of something grand—the sixth duel was moments from beginning.
And now… they were back?
"Back?" Rias repeated, waking next. "Ancestor, are you okay? I was afraid you'd been sent elsewhere… I didn't see you beside me."
"Sent? Elsewhere?" Lady Gremory looked mystified.
As Rias tried to explain, the others added snippets of their shared dream—of Zeus's entrance, the knightly challenger, the rising tension.
Xenovia and Lunaria stared, stunned.
And Bai Yue raised a contemplative brow.
Had they… merely dreamed?
He recalled letting his identity bleed into theirs—letting them glimpse his mind as Solomon. But a full-on journey?
He hadn't initiated that.
So what had happened?
A dream. That was plausible.
A dream with its own continuing plot. With vivid reality. With emotions sharper than steel.
He had already suspected Zeus would fight next. He'd even prepared the appropriate persona.
So perhaps… it had been their subconscious extrapolating, syncing to his latent design.
Or worse, a precognitive dream—one that reached forward and grasped truths yet to occur.
But no. If the dream had relied on his own memory, it shouldn't have granted such fluid perspective. It shouldn't have felt like a real traverse—like a soul had leapt into another place.
Then again… maybe they had. Not literally. But psychologically.
Wouldn't such memories attract outside eyes?
No need to worry. From this point forward, their bond with Bai Yue would resist such intrusion. Like antivirus shielding data against invaders, his mark would deny any attempt to breach.
"So it really was… our dream?" Rias murmured. Her tone lost.
But the dream felt too complete, too alive. They had seen events still unseen by the true Solomon—battles and warriors not yet entered into the grand narrative.
Especially since, by all accounts, Solomon perished in the second match. He shouldn't know anything of rounds three through six.
And yet... their dream matched what Bai Yue knew deep down.
"He faked his death," Revier recalled. "He returned after the fifth round."
"That's impossible. Dreams aren't supposed to feel so real," she added stubbornly. "They don't evolve like that. They don't let you move freely inside."
But Bai Yue had confirmed it—the sixth battle hadn't begun.
So had they…?
He hid something. That much was obvious.
Even now, his eyes shimmered with understanding he refused to share.
Then Xenovia's icy glare caught Aisha full-on.
It wasn't the first time. She had stared before—sharp, cruel, angry. But now… the emotion had intensified.
Fury.
Raw and electric.
Aisha recoiled slightly.
"W-why are you…?"
"It's nothing," Xenovia said.
"Nothing?" Revier laughed. "Come now—it's simple."
"What…?"
"She's jealous."
"Jealous?"
"Yes~" Revier smirked, placing a hand over her mouth in mock secrecy. "She's envious that you were the first to connect with Solomon."
Aisha blinked.
Of all the truths swirling in that room, that one hit hardest.
Because beneath every battle, dream, and memory—something more tender stirred.
Not just war, not just faith.
But longing.
For a place to belong. For someone who knew their soul.
And for a king whose name defied the limits of time.