Alphard wasted no time raising a new question about the mechanics of the dimensional circus; still, aware of the danger of exposing the nature of his power or drawing attention to the dimension he controlled, he chose his words with care:
"Mr. Antonie... I once read in a certain volume that there are people capable of visualizing mystical keys, and that through them, they end up projecting themselves onto another plane. Essentially, onto the spiritual plane."
Antonie studied him with a touch of confusion, scratching his chin, though his face showed no trace of suspicion. To Alphard's relief, the old man hadn't connected any dots to his actual situation.
"No, I've never heard of anything like that," Antonie answered, shrugging. "It might be some experience induced by an outside entity... Has something like that happened to you?"
"No, not at all," Alphard denied at once, keeping his tone easy. "Like I said, I only read it in a text and wanted to check if there was any real basis to it."
Antonie accepted the answer with a calm smile. Still, just as he was about to turn to look for another object, his gaze settled squarely on the cane Alphard carried.
"By the way... did you know that cane of yours is actually a sacred artifact?" he remarked casually.
Alphard froze on the spot. His mouth hung half-open, unable to form a single word for a few seconds.
"No... I didn't know that," he finally admitted, lifting the wooden piece to examine it with a whole new level of attention. "What properties does it have?"
"That cane belonged to your great-grandfather, Marcus. According to several historians' records, it allows you to carry out rituals directly, skipping the need to draw symbols or diagrams on the ground; all that's required is reciting the corresponding ceremonial prayer. Though, of course, it doesn't work for rituals tied to the Doors," he explained, laughing.
"And what kind of rituals could I learn with it?" Alphard asked, feeling a spark of excitement.
"There's quite an extensive repertoire. I should teach you a few next time we've got some time to spare."
While Alphard took in the news, Antonie walked toward a specific section and waited for the automaton to lower a new container. Taking the object off the inspection table, he weighed it carefully in his hands.
It was a stylized rod, similar in shape to Alphard's own, but capped at its end with a transparent circle. At the center of that sphere floated a small orb alongside a needle turning in a perpetual rotation.
"Looks like a clock..." Alphard observed, stepping closer.
"It's a Category 3 artifact: Whisper, equivalent to a relic or object of Key 4 grade," Antonie revealed with solemnity. "It's known as the Staff of Eternity. It carries the ability to send the consciousness of whoever wields it back into the past for a couple of seconds; however, it only allows them to witness events as a spectator, with no possibility whatsoever of interacting with or altering what happened."
Alphard fixed his eyes on the artifact with a barely concealed longing; grasping the scope of such an ability stirred in him a dangerous fascination.
Within seconds, though, the ambition on his face twisted into a bitter grimace of frustration, crushed by the certainty that a piece of that caliber lay far out of reach for someone of his rank.
Antonie, attuned to the young man's micro-expressions, broke into a peculiar smile as a spark of rebellion crossed his tired eyes.
"Should I give it to you?" the old man asked, raising an eyebrow with a tempting tone.
"No, Mr. Antonie, I—" Alphard tried to decline, struggling to hold his composure.
"Take it," Antonie ordered abruptly, holding the rod out to him without hesitation.
"Won't boss scold us if she notices it's missing?"
"Nothing's going to happen. And if, for some reason, she ever finds out, we'll just blame it on Didier... though you'll be the one who has to face her and tell her yourself."
"Why me?!" Alphard exclaimed, somewhere between indignant and thrown off.
"Because I'm far too old to sit through her lectures," Antonie answered, letting out a hearty laugh as he started walking toward the imposing stone gate. "Besides, it could prove genuinely useful to you in the future... or well, I suppose I should say, in the past."
Alphard studied the object in his hands, weighed the risks for a brief moment, and, tucking it away carefully, quickened his pace to follow the veteran out of the storeroom.
Without lingering in the depths of the vault, they boarded the elevator back up to the underground level and walked straight to Antonie's office.
Once there, Alphard asked to use the small adjoining room set aside for rituals; Antonie agreed without objection, entirely unaware of the request's real purpose.
Crossing the threshold and enveloped in the small chamber's darkness, Alphard channeled his energy to summon the circus's presence.
His consciousness detached from its earthly vessel and emerged instantly within his private dimension.
Drawing a deep breath to steady his pulse, he retrieved the stored stone blocks and, racing against the clock with pen and paper, transcribed every symbol and arcane carving onto several loose sheets with surgical precision.
Once the copy was complete, he slipped back into his physical form and left the room with brisk movements.
"Mr. Antonie, here are the texts," Alphard said, holding out the freshly handwritten stack of pages.
Antonie took them cautiously and began flipping through them. As his eyes traced the strokes and the complexity of the inscriptions, disbelief and astonishment swept away any trace of severity from his face.
"How in the world did you manage this?" he asked, lifting his gaze to the young man.
"While we were still staying at the hotel, I went back to the ruins on my own," Alphard explained with total composure, sticking to his cover story. "This was all before the creature woke up and the dragon escaped, so I took the time I needed to copy every carving."
Antonie let out a smile of open fascination, clutching the documents in his hands as though he held some priceless treasure.
"Thank you, Alphard," Antonie said, smiling.
Without lingering any further, Alphard said his goodbyes to Antonie and set off toward the exit. But boarding the iron elevator, the gate slid shut, and the cramped space put him face to face with Philip, who was headed up to the main floor to fetch some documents.
"Hey, Alphard," Philip said. His face carried an icy stare, capped off with a crooked smile, empty of any human warmth.
"Hey..." Alphard answered, measuring the tone of his own voice.
The silence inside the wooden cubicle grew thick, nearly suffocating. Philip kept that same unshaken expression through the entire ride, turning his neck slowly and repeatedly to fix his eyes on him.
A bead of cold sweat began sliding down the back of Alphard's neck as a chill raised the hair on his skin; even so, Alphard clenched his jaw, kept his back rigid, and forced his gaze to stay fixed straight ahead, refusing to show even a flicker of weakness.
"Already gotten over your first kill?" Philip asked, a faint venomous mockery in his tone.
"Still working through it, but I'm not going to stay still because of it," Alphard answered, holding onto his composure by sheer force.
"I remember my own first kill clearly," Philip added, with an unsettling calm. "Their cries still echo in my memory to this day... that's what keeps driving me forward."
The elevator's click announced its arrival at the desired floor.
The ordeal seemed to have ended, but just before the two of them went their separate ways, Philip stepped into his path, blocking it for an instant.
"I'll be the son of God someday. I love creation," he declared with a dark conviction before walking past him.
Watching that unsettling figure disappear, Alphard let out a deep breath of relief that had been lodged in his throat. With his hand still somewhat stiff from the tension, he pulled a small handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped away the cold sweat soaking his brow.
Alphard left the building at almost a brisk pace, driven by the need to fill his lungs with fresh air to dissolve the heaviness weighing on his chest. The moment his feet touched the sidewalk, the breeze restored his calm.
How strange... why would Philip say something like that? Could he be a follower of the Church of the Lord of the Sun?
A memory surfaced of the doctrinal volumes he'd flipped through some time ago: that very declaration appeared as a celebrated dogma in their writings, repeated endlessly by believers through the spread of its gospel.
He decided to set aside Philip's unsettling religious devotion and boarded a carriage for hire, headed toward the Bercy district.
Stepping off the vehicle, he walked home at an easy pace. The absolute silence the moment he crossed the threshold confirmed the house stood completely empty.
Without delay, he went straight up to his room, determined to stow the Staff of Eternity somewhere safe. To do that, he had to manifest the circus's seal once more and detach his consciousness from its earthly vessel in order to deposit the object within his private plane.
Isn't there some method to transfer belongings over here without having to leave my physical body behind entirely? Well, either way... the undeniable upside is that I can write my personal notes in Japanese and keep them under an absolute veil of security.