Conston City, in a detached house on Hyacinth Street No. 9. Valentin sat hunched at his desk, reading a psychology treatise while occasionally jotting down notes. He was not yet thirty, with neat black hair and calm brown eyes. His face lacked any memorable features, yet his presence was quietly striking—one of those people you somehow couldn’t forget once you’d met them. Just three years ago, he had been an ordinary public school teacher, living a modest and predictable life. But by a stroke of chance, he joined an organization known as the Psychological Alchemy Workshop, and now he not only owned the kind of standalone house he’d once dreamed of but had also advanced to Sequence 7. At this stage, he was considered a mid-ranked Beyonder—a position of respect even within the organization’s branch in Conston. His rapid promotion was largely due to the favor of a certain "superior," who had rewarded him with rare Beyonder materials. Of course, his own meticulous logic and talent for deduction also played a part—he had independently deduced the "acting method" within half a year. Recently, at an organizational gathering, he had accepted a mission from that superior: to make a local factory owner and his business partner—a merchant involved in international trade—turn against each other. After investigating, Valentin discovered that the two men were not only close friends but that the factory owner’s only daughter was engaged to the merchant’s eldest son. In other words, if nothing went wrong, their families would soon merge completely. To complete the task, Valentin exploited the weakness of youthful inexperience. He lured the merchant’s son into falling for a socialite, then arranged for the factory owner’s daughter to catch them in the act. Afterward, he used his Beyonder ability to "guide" the girl into despair, leading her to take her own life by jumping into the river—a death that would appear tragic yet believable. With his only daughter dead, the factory owner’s grief and rage would inevitably drive him to sever ties with his former friend. Valentin had also arranged several contingencies to ensure events unfolded exactly as he intended. "I truly am beginning to enjoy this feeling—having others in the palm of my hand, manipulating their fates at will." Valentin sighed contentedly, without the slightest trace of guilt. In his mind, the strong controlling the weak was perfectly natural—just as when he was a teacher, he had never bothered to stop the bullying among students. But just then, there came a knock at the door. Thinking it might be "good news," Valentin leisurely sipped his coffee before calling, "Come in." A man entered, a portable camera hanging from his neck. "How did it go? Did you get the shot?" Valentin asked casually, setting down his cup. "That photo might be tomorrow’s headline—and boost our paper’s sales." Indeed, Mr. Valentin was now the owner of a small newspaper. After subtly "suggesting" the girl’s suicide, he had ordered one of his reporters to "happen" to capture the moment she jumped. Of course, afterward, he intended to erase the man’s memory so he would simply believe it had been a coincidence. "Boss... that lady hesitated for a long time, but in the end, she didn’t jump," the reporter said helplessly. "What?" Valentin’s head snapped up, shock flashing across his features for the first time. He fixed his subordinate with an intense gaze. "Did something happen nearby? Tell me exactly what you saw—every detail." Startled by his boss’s tone, the reporter recounted everything. According to him, the lady had simply leaned on the railing, stared at the river for a while, then turned away and left. How is that possible? How did she break free of my suggestion? Valentin’s frown deepened as he listened. At last, he asked, "Where is she now?" "She went to the Lante Club... probably to vent her emotions through tennis or other activities," the reporter guessed—he couldn’t actually enter such an upscale establishment. "That’s fine... I’ll have to see for myself what’s going on." Valentin wiped the man’s memory with his ability, put on his coat, and prepared to head for the Lante Club. Unlike his reporters, he was a member there. Yet just as he stepped outside, he spotted several policemen in the distance pointing toward him, speaking to a man wearing red gloves. Red Gloves from the Church of the Evernight? Have I been discovered? Impossible! I’ve been so careful—always ensuring everything developed logically and naturally. Even those degenerates in the organization who hypnotize entire families and steal their identities haven’t been caught. How could it be me? But as the Red Glove turned his gaze toward him, Valentin dared not hesitate. He quickly drew the protective charm bestowed upon him by his superior and recited a phrase in ancient Hermes: "Teleport." The next instant, he appeared inside a dimly lit building, face-to-face with a man wearing a mask. Seeing him, Valentin bowed slightly, ready to report that he had been exposed—but before he could speak, the masked "superior" removed his disguise, revealing a young, handsome face. "It seems you don’t actually know who your ’superior’ is," the man said softly. "You don’t even know where this building stands, do you? You were always brought here blindfolded, weren’t you?" The young man sighed and snapped his fingers. In the blink of an eye, Valentin found himself back in his office, coat still in hand—as if the whole thing had been a dream. Except this time, instead of his reporter, a man and a woman stood before him. The woman was beautiful, with a languid air; the man—handsome and composed—was the very same "superior" who had just removed his mask. Though arrogant, Valentin wasn’t stupid. Realizing the situation, he quickly understood: this pair must be powerful Beyonders who had drawn him into a dream to uncover secrets about his organization and his supposed patron. Before he could act, the man put on a monocle and began speaking, half to himself: "Limited information, but still... quite a bit gained. "You really thought you were chosen for your talent, didn’t you? Ha! And this so-called ’acting method’—he went to great lengths to make you believe you’d discovered it yourself, setting up countless hints and scenarios. Even so, you useless fool still took half a year to grasp it. "The truth is, he only nurtured you so you’d reach Sequence 5 quickly—then he’d ’eat’ you, to absorb certain characteristics hidden in your bloodline. "The only reason he favored you... was because of your ancestry. "So that’s it. The ’Sealed Artifact’ the Dragon of Imagination mentioned must have the ability to devour flesh and soul alike, inheriting the ’traits’ of the victim’s ancestors. "But its prey can’t be too weak—at least Sequence 5 or above. "Silica’s half-soul, perhaps, was devoured by this very artifact. As a descendant of Death, her bloodline’s power would have been considerable. ’Gluttony’... seems quite the fitting name indeed. "Yet the artifact’s nature doesn’t belong to any of the twenty-two pathways..." That was the last thing Valentin heard before his consciousness faded completely. The handsome man, naturally, was Ebner. After using "Amon’s Monocle" to decrypt what he’d learned, he removed it and turned to Fors. Chapters fırst released on 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩⟡𝘧𝙞𝙧𝙚⟡𝘯𝘦𝘵 "The Psychological Alchemy Workshop’s gathering in Conston City will be held next week," he said. "By then, using this Mr. Valentin’s identity, we can get close enough to ’Gluttony’ to uncover the truth." Fors blinked in confusion, thinking, What does that have to do with me? Why are you telling me this? Outside a nameless deserted island—aboard the Golden Dream. After exchanging a few pleasantries with "Vice Admiral of Iceberg" and "Pale Admiral," Klein listened as the woman whom his own "Miss Messenger" had described as "bearing the resentment of a demon" said: "I’ve confirmed that Senor went to Blue Mountain Island to hunt Helmosuin. We’ll be surrounding and killing him next Tuesday. "Would you like to join us?"