Crimson, wearing a hood, strolled down Cork Street. He had always liked crowded places like this. These ordinary people, like a flock of sheep, were great at hiding him.
The lingering taste of the "Time Reversion" potion still clung to his tongue that not even a strong drink could wash it away.
The Eternal Priest said it was a special edition, and he didn't know if the regular version was just as bad. According to the old man, the special edition helped him maintain his "original form", making it a rare item within the Eternal Church.
He just needed to go back to the Immortal Church before it was burned down and check the records for the prophecy of the "Chosen One". He could choose the time, so Crimson deliberately chose the week before the church's destruction.
Honestly, how could he miss out on such a big spectacle?
It was said that the burning of this church remains an unsolved mystery. Crimson couldn't understand why. Couldn't someone from the higher-ups just drink the "Time Reversion" and take a look? Who knows what those heretics were thinking.
Crimson stopped at a pastry stall and casually threw down some large coins.
The baked pastries had a crisp crust and were generously filled with lean pork and chopped onions, perfect for eating on the go. As he got the hot pastry, Crimson leisurely turned around. Before he could stabilize himself, a dirty child bumped into him. With a soft sound, Crimson's pastry fell onto the muddy ground.
…Damn little bastard.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sir. It's all my fault."
The frail boy bent over apologizing repeatedly, his voice mixed with an obvious nervousness. "I wasn't watching where I was going, sir…"
As the boy apologized, he curled up like a scared mouse. He bent so much that his head almost touched the floor. It was hard to say if he was expressing remorse or bracing for a beating.
'Perhaps I should kill this insignificant beggar and use it to divine today's weather,' Crimson thought, adjusting his askew hood.
In that moment, he suddenly felt a sense of weightlessness, as if he had plunged into an icy abyss on a frozen river. The air around him grew cold and heavy, compressing against him. Crimson couldn't move, struggling even to breathe.
Is this it?
Is this the so-called "untouchable target"?
Crimson lowered his head to get a better look at the boy's face, but the child had vanished, as had the pastry that had fallen.
Well, eating was still the most important. Shrugging, Crimson ordered another one.
"It worked!" Piel held up his pastry, happily exclaiming. "He didn't hit me."
"Good job." On his left shoulder, the Mad Monk approved.
"I could have suggested other ways…" Nol whispered from his right shoulder.
However, Piel didn't really hear Nol's murmurs. They couldn't accompany him for long, so it was better not to interfere recklessly.
"Stay safe," was all Nol could finally advise, even though he felt it was cliché.
"Don't worry, I've never seen that man around here… He looks rich. These types don't like to make a scene. He wouldn't act out of line," Piel whispered as he nestled into the alley, taking a careful bite of the hot pastry.
In less than a minute, the pastry was in Piel's stomach. After savoring every last bit, Piel asked, "Mr. Fairies, can we call it a day with sweet cheese?"
Teest replied, "Yes, your reward is a piece of sweet cheese."
As he spoke, Teest leisurely sucked on pomegranate seeds. The Mad Monk didn't have much food in his bag and wasn't inclined to share. Fortunately, this offer was generous enough.
Given Nol's understanding of Teest, this was already the utmost kindness the Mad Monk could offer.
"Sweet cheese!" Piel's face lit up. "I'll take you all over the market! Are you looking for medicinal herbs for wounds? I know the shop mercenaries frequent the most."
He firmly believed Teest's story about "fairy wings being plucked off" and was concerned about their non-existent injuries.
Unfortunately, Piel's good luck seemed to have run out.
The crowd was bustling, and Little Piel moved through it like a mouse. The pastry had filled his stomach, making him a bit sluggish. As he hurriedly crossed a narrow path, he stepped on the edge of a somewhat clean boot.
"I'm sor—" The boy reflexively stopped to apologize.
The moment Nol sensed malice, Little Piel flew out like a leaf.
His abdomen was brutally kicked, and his back slammed into the wall. Stone debris clattered to the ground. The slender body slid down the wall, violently twitching. Little Piel seemed like he wanted to vomit but forcibly held back. Apparently, he wasn't willing to throw up the pastry he had just eaten.
I want to heal this child.
Nol glared at the mercenary who had kicked the boy, thinking seriously, 'I want to stop this atrocity.'
This time, he didn't feel the terror of looking down from the edge of the abyss.
It seemed that this minor incident was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things—the difference probably lay in Little Piel's level of pain, a detail fate seemed to not care about.
Nol quickly placed his hands on Piel's body, quietly casting a healing spell. As the magic flowed into him, Piel's tense body soon relaxed, but he still lay against the wall, motionless.
"Smart kid." Teest, having finished eating the pomegranate seed, commented in amusement. "Playing dead is right. Those who bully the weak love tormenting those who resist."
Nol, on the other hand, glared fiercely at the approaching mercenary—it was hard to say whether the man was muscular or fat. His head was pockmarked, looking like a potato sack with a big beard.
'I want to beat him up,' Nol thought. Again, there was no warning from fate. This man's destiny seemed as inconsequential as his appearance.
"Is he dead?" The mercenary kicked Piel with the tip of his boot, while Nol raised his staff—
Clang!
Someone "coincidentally" walked in front of Piel, taking the mercenary's kick to the shin. The issue was, this person happened to be a knight—he was elegantly built, his entire body encased in bone-like, silvery white armor with not an inch of skin visible.
Nol hadn't seen such armor before, but he felt an obvious oppressive aura from it, and he was sure it was of high value.
The white knight, having been kicked, halted. He stood with his back to Piel, turned to face the fat mercenary, and just stood there silently.
"Sir, I apologize." The fat mercenary swallowed hard. "I was just trying to teach that street rat a lesson. I didn't mean to offend you."
The knight remained silent. Standing there, he looked like a breathing statue.
Nol noticed that the knight didn't carry a sword or shield. Unfortunately, the fat mercenary realized this too. His hand reached for his battle ax and his tone grew increasingly aggressive.
"I've already apologized, and I didn't damage your armor! It's my right to discipline misbehaving brats!"
The mercenary spat, his voice growing louder. "If you have a problem, say it. Who are you trying to intimidate?"
The white knight certainly stood out. The standoff between the mercenary and the knight was far more interesting than the mercenary kicking a child. A few bystanders stopped to watch with interest.
Piel, no longer lying down, sat up, leaning against the wall, studying the back of the knight.
The knight still said nothing, standing relaxed, unshaken. The fat mercenary's hand tightened and loosened around his ax, sweat forming on his forehead. A few minutes later, he cursed "lunatic" and grumpily left, pushing through the crowd.
"Wow…" Piel's eyes nearly shone as he scrambled up. "Thank you, Sir Knight!"
The white knight nodded towards Little Piel and disappeared into the crowd. Nol felt a fleeting sense of oddity. By the time he tried to grasp it, the knight had vanished.
"There's really all kinds of people that exist in this world." Teest handed Nol a pomegranate seed. "Tsk, tsk. Such a perfect knight—I wonder what he's doing in such a shabby place."
"I want to be a knight." Piel wiped the dirt from his face, muttering, "He didn't even carry a sword. Did you see? He didn't have a sword! But the fat guy was scared away."
"Knighthood is expensive." Teest poured cold water on Piel's enthusiasm without a hint of sympathy. "And you need a lord to swear your loyalty to. That's a troublesome matter."
'Are you the right person to say that, Sir Death Knight? Your sworn lord is right here,' Nol thought, biting into the pomegranate seed.
Teest's equipment was indeed shabby… The "Betrayer" was his constant, but apart from it and that wolf fang pendant, his knighthood lacked noteworthy items.
Recently, Nol had been busy reshaping his worldview, while Teest was still wearing rags. Damn, he wasn't a good boss. The pomegranate juice in Nol's mouth turned a little sour.
Once he found the Eclipse Shield, he would have to get Teest a full set of armor! As the Master of Paradise, he should also get himself a decent mage robe…
"Regardless of the challenges, I still want to be a knight," Piel insisted. "He was so cool! So cool—"
"What you admire is 'chivalry', Piel," Nol couldn't help but interject. "'Chivalry' doesn't cost money, and anyone can have it."
Teest peeked out from the other side of the boy, his face scrunched up obviously disapproving.
'Except for a murderous Death Knight,' Nol silently added.
"Really?" Piel turned to Nol.
"Yes, like helping others. It's about the heart." Nol couldn't help but smile. "In doing so, without pledging allegiance to anyone, you are, in essence, a knight."
"I'll remember that!" Piel declared earnestly.
"Piel is talking to the air again." Not far away, several street kids started whispering.
"Crazy Piel, Dirty Piel, grape skins stick to his eyeballs…"
Piel brushed off the dirt on his trousers, seemingly turning a deaf ear. He puffed out his chest proudly, as if he had just been knighted.
...
"So, you can't take me to the church," Crimson said.
By his side, an Eternalist had already fallen. His throat was slashed, and blood quickly spread across the floor.
"My Lord, My Lord. We know you are anxious—but-but we need to confirm with the priest. It's a mandatory procedure."
In the dim light, the only remaining Eternalist knelt on one knee, his voice trembling.
Twelve years ago, there were no Players in the world, and Player's earrings couldn't be used as absolute passes. If he wanted to investigate the data of this Immortal Church, he would have to go through the tedious processes of the Eternal Church.
Crimson clicked his tongue. If not for his intuition constantly alerting him, he would have loved to tell these people, "Idiots, your church is about to be done for."
Moreover, the only ones who could withstand his killing intent and came to see him were merely inconsequential specks of dust, unlikely to provide any useful information.
"Alright, alright, I'll wait," Crimson said, stepping out, leaving a trail of bloody footprints, and sat on the only armchair in the room. "What are you all so busy with? There's hardly anyone at the base."
"The most basic hunting, My Lord."
The only remaining Eternalist glanced at his deceased companion and replied formally, "There have been rumors that someone on Cork Street possesses the 'Eye of Truth'. This is valuable material."
The Eye of Truth? Crimson pondered for a while before finally matching it to a skill he knew of.
"With the 'Eye of Truth', isn't there a corresponding oracle?" Crimson frowned.
Being God's Chosen One, this wasn't a secret in any major religion.
Whether it was the Temple of Life or the Eternal Church, the highest-ranking individuals were the "Chosen Ones" named by oracles—like the Pope, the archbishops or high priests beneath them, and the leaders of various central knight orders.
They all possessed their own oracles and corresponding prophecies of fate.
Next in rank were the "God's Servants".
This group shared a single oracle. They didn't have specific fate prophecies—only vague identity indications.
These individuals were typically of above-average quality, like bulk purchases by God. They were commonly found in the middle ranks of religions and in the top ranks in remote areas.
The remaining followers were recruited by the major religions themselves, and they could climb to mid-rank positions at most, with almost none reaching higher ranks.
It was said that this oracle system had been in operation for thousands of years without any issues. The only widely known "error" was the apostate former Pope of the Temple of Life, Godfrey Painter.
The [Eye of Truth] was a pretty good skill. In Crimson's view, it should be considered at the level of God's Servants.
"Yes, the oracle descended later… We want to be prepared in advance," the Eternalist said, bowing his head deeply, resembling a black garbage bag filled with a corpse given his black robe.
You're adding wood to a burning house. Recruiting without giving warnings—your god is really cruel.
"If I help you find this Eye of Truth, can I see the priest sooner?" Crimson asked, eager to witness the spectacle.
"Certainly, My Lord. We are very grateful, My Lord. May everything be eternal—"
"That's settled then."
That night, Crimson followed the group of Eternalists out.
It seemed that they were looking for a dark-haired boy nicknamed "Piel"—the [Eye of Truth] had a deep purple hue, making it a very distinct feature. With just one gold wheel, the vagrants on the street would eagerly draw a portrait for them.
The only challenge was that Piel kept to himself, and no one knew where he lived.
Crimson tried using the [Blood Gnome's Bargain] for divination. This future-predicting spell seemed to conflict with the "past". Even offering a fresh corpse, the blood gnome didn't show its face.
How boring.
His current task from the present was to find information, and his task from the past was to find the boy. Couldn't there be something more thrilling? Crimson stopped in front of a closed-down pawnshop, briefly removed his hood, and impatiently stretched his neck and shoulders.
Separated by a pane of glass.
Nol was trying to make popcorn by roasting corn kernels with a toothpick. When he saw the blood-stained earring of a Player, he almost dropped the kernels into the fire due to shock.
A "Demon" Player from the Eternal Church.
The moment this person took off his hood, Nol immediately recognized the red hair—it was the "Demon" they had fought against in Whitebird City—Burly Jack's partner, Crimson from Country A, the serial killer.
…But how can there be a Player here?!
"How did this guy get here? He really is like a haunting ghost."
Teest was spreading butter on the corn kernels, marveling, "He can't possibly be after the shield too, can he?"
Nol watched Crimson walk away, feeling the letter opener on him. "Hard to say. But he's not from this era, so attacking him shouldn't be a problem."
They accidentally let him go before. They couldn't let him escape this time.
"Should we follow him?"
Teest sat on a corn cob, continuing to roast his kernels. Through the window, Crimson casually walked towards the street's end.
Nol glanced at the sleeping Piel inside the store, relaxing a bit. "No. Let Ben follow him. We'll discuss it after we leave this kid."
Ever since they found out that the kid had something to do with the world's situation, Nol had been on edge. If the Eternal Church retaliated and involved Little Piel, that would be bad. Plus, they still couldn't be sure why Crimson was here. He wasn't a true believer of the Eternal Son, so he might not go to the Immortal Church—getting trapped by him and missing the quest would be a big problem.
…Speaking of quests, ever since they returned to the past, the system had been unusually quiet. Grape Collar was a big city. They had been here a day and a half and hadn't triggered even half a system task.
It was as if the system didn't exist.
Thankfully, all their skills still worked. Nol glanced at the four moons in the night sky. Those weird things hadn't changed, such a pity.
The next morning, Piel woke up to the delicious aroma of buttered popcorn.
With the appearance of that cockroach Crimson, Teest and Nol spent the whole night by the window. With nothing else to do, they ended up with a mountain of caramel popcorn. Piel tasted one. The sweetness immediately brought a smile to his face.
"It's so delicious!" he exclaimed genuinely. "It's even better than yesterday's sweet cheese."
"Today's reward is this, plus a stick of butter, fair and square." Teest gave a big yawn, leaning against a slightly dehydrated blue rose. He took the promised reward—a whole salted butter stick—from his pocket and put it in the drawer.
"Yay!" Piel cheered.
'This is an advance payment,' Nol thought. Perhaps they would say goodbye today.
With Crimson nearby, could the Eternalists be far behind? Once they found a suitable tool from the Eternal Church, they would abandon their base and follow that person into the church.
He hoped that after they left, fate would be kind to this poor child.
Unfortunately, it turned out they wouldn't be parting soon—before lunchtime, Teest detected the presence of the Eternalists.
Seven Eternalists, plus Crimson, were approaching from different directions amidst the crowd.
'Strange,' Nol thought. He and Teest certainly hadn't exposed themselves. Could it be that these people were here for the Eye of Truth?
'We need to escape with the child,' he thought.
The next moment, Nol was once again bitten by the cold darkness.
"You can't," it roared.
This is his destiny.
The author has something to say:
Nol: ? I don't believe you.
Old Mad Monk: Loves explosions and blasts his enemies into the sky with a bang.
New Teest: He likes explosions and uses the "Betrayer" to bake popcorn all night long… Come to think of it, his color scheme is quite popcorn-like (…