The city stood silent under the artificial night of Amanises' concealment. It was a masterpiece of reality-warping, a metropolis wished into existence. The streets were paved with smooth gray stone, the gas lamps stood in neat rows waiting for a flame, and the libraries were stocked with books generated by the Genie's reality-warping wish.
But it was a ghost town. Ten thousand homes. Zero heartbeats.
"It is a nice set," Kim Dokja commented, kicking a perfectly formed stone bench. "But it's missing the NPCs. Are we going to kidnap people from Moon City?"
"No," Klein Moretti shook his head, standing in the center of the square. He adjusted his monocle, the lens reflecting the empty, perfect buildings. "Kidnapping introduces variables. Fear, resistance, conflicting fates... those attract unnecessary attention. I need absolute control. I need actors who will never break character. I need a stage where I am the scriptwriter, the director, and the lead actor."
"So?" The Secretive Plotter leaned against a fountain that was gushing crystal-clear water. "Where do you find ten thousand loyal actors in the middle of a God's domain?"
"I don't find them," Klein said. He tapped his chest. "I make them."
He raised his hand and clicked fingers.
His body blurred. It didn't split into two or three. It shattered. Countless translucent, writhing maggots—Worms of Spirit—erupted from his body. They swirled around him like a blizzard of spirituality, a terrifying storm of fragmented consciousness.
Dokja took a step back, his face paling. "That is... disgusting."
"It is necessary," Klein's voice echoed from everywhere at once, layered and distorted.
The worms flew into the empty houses, the shops, the police stations, the post office. Inside the buildings, they merged with the environment, gathering dust, spirituality, and the reality of the Genie's wish to form bodies.
A moment later, doors opened. People walked out. A baker with flour on his apron. A police officer adjusting his cap. A farmer giant with a big hoe. A lady in a silk dress holding a parasol. A street urchin chasing a hoop.
They all had different faces. Different ages. Different heights. But if one looked closely into their eyes, they would see a deep, brown indifference that belonged to only one entity.
They were all Klein Moretti.
"Five thousand residents," Klein said, his main body reforming in the square, looking visibly paler and spiritually drained. "Each one is a marionette. Each one is a Worm of Spirit. I have written a script for every single one of them. Their names, their pasts, their relationships, their secrets."
He tapped his temple. "I am the city."
"You are crazy," Dokja muttered, looking at the eerie, perfect simulation of life. "This is... this is a massive dissociation hazard. You're splitting your mind five thousand ways?"
"I have the [Neurotech Chip]," Klein tapped his wrist. "It helps manage the threads. It treats the sensory input as data streams rather than raw experience. Without it, I would have gone mad instantly."
He looked at his companions. "But a city needs visitors. It needs traffic. The ritual requires interaction with the outside world to anchor the 'History' of this place."
He pointed to the road leading out of the valley. "I need you two to be my heralds. Go to the nearby settlements—Moon City, the human villages, the Sanguine outposts. Spread the word. Tell them of a new city. A city of opportunity. A city of safety."
"Advertising?" The Secretive Plotter looked offended. "I am a King of Outer Gods. I do not hand out flyers."
Dokja nudged the Plotter. Klein offered a polite, encouraging smile.
"Fine. I will... inform them."
"I'll handle the PR," Dokja grinned, his inner scammer awakening. "I'll make this place sound like the promised land."
While his companions left to spread the rumor, Klein entered the cathedral. He went straight to the underground archives.
He clasped his hands. "Goddess."
The shadows in the corner deepened. Amanises stepped out, holding a stack of books that towered over her head. "You asked for reading material?"
"Yes," Klein said, taking the books. "To make the marionettes real, I need knowledge. I need to know how to brew wine in this era. How to repair castles. How to preach the Creator's bible. How to be a lawyer, a doctor, a beggar."
"You're thorough," Amanises noted, watching him. "Here. I raided the libraries of the Kingdom of Silver. History, science, theology, even fashion magazines."
"Thank you."
Klein took the books. He didn't read them. He sacrificed them. He opened a portal to the Gray Fog and threw the books in.
Then, he sat down. His consciousness ascended. Above the Gray Fog, inside Sefirah Castle, hundreds of avatars of Klein sat around the junk pile. They picked up the sacrificed books and began to read. Simultaneously.
One avatar studied "The Art of Brewing." Another studied "Construction for Beginners." Another memorized "The Book of Light" (the bible of the Creator). Another held a book of laws and police reports.
The knowledge flowed back into the main body, and from there, it was distributed to the marionettes in the city. The baker suddenly knew the perfect ratio of yeast. The engineer understood the pressure valves. The priest memorized the verses.
In the real world, Klein opened his eyes. "It is done. The actors are ready."
He looked at Amanises. "Lift the concealment."
Amanises nodded. She snapped her fingers. The veil of darkness that hid the valley dissolved. The sun of the Third Epoch shone down on the new city. Utopia was open for business.
[One Month Later]
The rumor started as a whisper in the taverns of Moon City.
"Have you heard? A new city appeared in the east."
"They say the bread there is soft as clouds.""
They say the police actually catch thieves."
"They say... miracles happen there."
Kim Dokja, disguised as a wandering bard, spun tales of a city where the nights were safe and the food was plentiful. He used his skills to weave a narrative of hope. The Secretive Plotter simply walked into bandit camps, decimated them, and left a map to Utopia on the corpses. The message was clear: Order exists.
People began to come. First, the desperate. Then, the curious. Finally, the merchants.
Utopia exploded. In just one month, it transformed from a ghost town into the bustling economic hub of the western region. The streets were filled with giants, humans, and mixed-bloods. The air smelled of fresh bread, coal smoke, and Riso.
The city was so successful that it drew the attention of the powers that be. The Church of the Creator sent an official bishop. The King of Angels, Medici, sent a garrison of Red Priests to establish a military outpost. The Wisdom Angel sent scholars to study the sudden architectural marvel.
They all found a perfectly functioning city. The mayor was efficient. The police were incorruptible. The citizens were happy. And they were all Klein.
In the center of the city, the municipal square was dominated by a grand cathedral. It wasn't dedicated to the Evernight Goddess (that would be heresy). It was dedicated to the Creator. But the name of the cathedral... was Saint Hajin Cathedral.
"Saint Hajin..." A Red Priest soldier scratched his head, looking at the sign. "Who is Saint Hajin? I don't remember him in the bible."
"A hidden saint," the priest standing at the door explained with a beatific smile. "The patron saint of... unexpected gifts and long-range support."
The soldier shrugged.
The cathedral was peaceful. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass, painting the pews in hues of gold and crimson.
A young clerk named Adam was arranging candles on the altar.
He looked about twenty-five, with ordinary brown hair and a warm, welcoming smile.
He was a local favorite.
He was kind, patient, and always had a candy for the children.
He had a wife (a marionette named Sarah) and two children (marionettes named Bob and Alice). He lived in a small house on 221B Baker Street.
He loved his job.
He loved his family.
He was happy.
Or at least, the script said he was.
"Adam," the head priest (also a marionette) called out. "The candles are low."
"I'm on it, Father," Adam replied cheerfully. He hummed a tune as he worked. '
Today is a good day,' Adam thought. 'Alice has a piano recital. Sarah is making stew. I need to buy flowers on the way home.'
His thoughts were seamless.
There was no seam between "Adam" and "Klein".
Klein was Adam.
He felt the love for his fake children.
He felt the peace of the sanctuary.
The [Neurotech Chip] managed the dissociation, keeping Adam's personality compartmentalized yet authentic.
Creak.
The heavy oak doors of the cathedral opened. The afternoon light spilled in, silhouetting a figure standing in the threshold.
Adam looked up, wiping his hands on his robe.
"Welcome," he called out, his voice practiced and warm. "The Creator's light shines upon you."
The visitor stepped inside. The heavy doors closed behind him, cutting off the noise of the city.
He was a tall man.
He wore a simple, unadorned white robe that seemed to be woven from light itself.
He had long, golden hair that flowed like a river of sunbeams, and his face... His face was a blur.
It wasn't that he had no features. It was that his features were so perfect, so absolute, that the human mind couldn't retain them. It was like looking at the sun; you remembered the brilliance, but not the shape. A simple silver cross hung from his neck.
Adam blinked.
His script told him this was a high-ranking noble or perhaps a visiting Bishop.
"Sir?" Adam walked down the aisle, his posture respectful. "Are you here for confession? Or perhaps a prayer?"
The man didn't answer.
He walked forward, his steps silent.
As he passed the pews, the light in the cathedral seemed to change.
The stained glass windows stopped depicting the myths of the Creator. The images shifted. They showed a giant traversing a chaotic sea. They showed a cross dripping with golden blood. They showed a tower reaching the heavens.
Adam stopped. A flicker of confusion disrupted his script.
The man stopped in front of the altar.
He looked up at the statue of the Creator and clasped his hands in a silent prayer.
His voice was soft, melodic, yet it carried a weight that made the very air vibrate. The man begun to laugh so loudly if soon filled the whole cathedral.
Adam frowned. "Sir? That is the Lord. It is blasphemy to—"
The man turned.
He looked at Adam.
His eyes were gold.
Pure, molten, omniscient gold.
They didn't contain anger.
They didn't contain malice.
They contained... recognition.
And a profound, terrifying familiarity.
The man smiled. It was a smile that shattered the reality of the cathedral. The walls fell away. The pews vanished. They were standing in a void of pure light.
"You have built a fine city," the man said. "Utopia. A place that exists nowhere. How ironic."
Adam's smile faltered. The "Adam" persona began to crack. Deep inside, the consciousness of Klein Moretti screamed. 'WHO IS THIS?'
The man took a step closer. "You hide well. You act well. You have learned the essence of humanity."
He reached out and touched Adam's forehead. His finger was warm.
"But I know you," the man whispered.
The golden eyes locked onto Adam's soul, piercing through the marionette shell, through the Spirit Body threads, straight to the gray fog hiding in the void.
"We meet again..."
The man's face cleared. Klein saw it.
"...Mysteries."
Klein jolted. The connection snapped. The "Adam" marionette collapsed, its strings cut by the sheer weight of the name.
In the basement of the cathedral, Klein's main body gasped, his eyes flying open.
He fell out of his chair, clutching his chest. The name echoed in his soul, bypassing all seals, all concealments.
"Mysteries."