"Lord, we'll take our leave." Ouroboros led Hermes out, leaving only Truman and the Ancient Sun God in the church.
It was a gathering of fellow outsiders.
Like when Truman learned the Goddess's identity, there was a sense of recognition, yet an invisible barrier lingered due to this world's essence.
"Fancy a drink?" Truman asked suddenly. "Vodka! Pure and authentic!"
Truman opened the Book of Dreams, pulling out two bottles of vodka.
Wishes fulfilled, dreams descending into reality.
"A welcome gift." Truman handed the bottles over.
"…Thanks." The Ancient Sun God stared at Truman for a moment before accepting, his expression odd, tinged with regret and reminiscence.
"A distant memory indeed."
He twisted off the cap and downed half a bottle. "Familiar taste!"
"Eastern customs call for a return gift, I believe." The Ancient Sun God's gaze fell on the divine badge at Truman's chest.
"Got it!" He pinched the air, as if condensing a sun in his hand, forming a badge nearly identical to Truman's, imbued with solar power.
Truman's eyes lit up, sensing its effect—Everday.
Its primary functions were exorcism and purification, but it could also awaken slumbering beings.
"Thanks!" Truman took it, placing it beside the badge of sleepless night divinity. Dreamlike phosphorescence flared, merging the two badges into one.
The divine badge now bore two patterns: solar and stellar forces surged, stabilizing Truman's state.
"Sleeplessness and Everday—I might never sleep again." For Truman, this was a boon.
He chuckled, an unexpected gain.
"What do you and that lady want with me?" The Ancient Sun God had clearly met the Goddess before!
"Cooperation, naturally." Truman's expression grew serious. The Sea of Chaos and dreamlike phosphorescence enveloped the church.
"How so?" The Ancient Sun God gripped his cross, asking calmly, serenely.
In this moment, he was more god than man.
"The ancient god alliance, Lilith, and the Annihilation Demonic Wolf." Truman offered these keywords.
The Ancient Sun God's face remained impassive, his eyes clear, unmoved by the names.
Yet Truman knew an authority called omniscience stirred within the Chaos Sea.
Though the Ancient Sun God hadn't reclaimed the Spectator or White Tower pathways, he could indirectly wield omniscience through the Chaos Sea.
He was deducing, using boundless knowledge to unravel the era's threads!
Lacking fate's authority, his Writer-like abilities were no less potent.
"Lilith…" His gaze settled on Truman, thoughtful. "You've already persuaded her?"
"No one wants to lose themselves." Truman didn't answer directly, his words pointed.
"Good." The Ancient Sun God nodded lightly, aligning with the era's tide. "For specifics, find Sasrir."
Then, he walked to the massive cross, closed his eyes, and began praying to himself.
Feels like this god's slacking off…
Truman blinked, obediently exiting the church to find Ouroboros and Hermes.
"Hello, Ouroboros. Sorry about earlier." Truman looked at Ouroboros.
The Chaos Sea's outburst had nearly overwhelmed him.
"Hm?" Ouroboros lifted his eyes from his stone tablet, pausing before responding. "It's fine. You didn't harm me, and you're the Lord's friend."
He noticed the badge on Truman's chest, its familiar power.
"The Lord's oracle bids me take you to Sasrir." Ouroboros extended a hand.
"Alright, let's go." Truman, with his tagalong Hermes, followed Ouroboros through the Sun God's divine kingdom.
"The people here!" Hermes was awestruck. They saw a grand sacrificial procession, majestic hymns praising the god who brought sunlight to this land.
Such events occurred in other human city-states, but what shook Hermes was the mystical power surging in some humans.
Crucially, they showed no mutations, their spirituality stable, their mental states in an unprecedented calm!
"O Sun, you grant us light and dew, food and holy water…"
Hymns rang out, led by priests, their grandeur stirring true divine power.
"What's happening?!" Hermes asked, dazed.
"They're Bards," Ouroboros, also praising the sun, turned to answer.
"Bard?" Hermes's confusion grew, a barrier blocking his understanding.
"Sequence 9, Bard," Truman clarified.
"Sequence 9?!" Hermes's eyes lit up, everything clicking.
"You know sequences?" A voice approached, and a figure appeared before them.
The man wore a deep black robe, shoulder-length black hair, his face resembling the Ancient Sun God but more striking, with dark eyes hinting at heavy shadows.
His attire was meticulous, adorned with silver threads, intricate patterns, and ornate accessories.
"Sasrir, why are you here?" Ouroboros blinked, puzzled. "Is the Lord's divine city finished?"
Sasrir's face darkened, coughing lightly. "I'm here to receive guests."
"Oh." Ouroboros nodded, returning to his tablet, sketching, lost in his own world.
"Ahem, friend, get me two bottles of vodka!" Sasrir, the Dark Angel, stepped closer, whispering.
"…" Truman opened the Book of Dreams, producing one bottle.
Sasrir struck him as odd. The Ancient Sun God was dominated by divinity, showing human emotion only when recalling distant memories, much like Adam in Truman's mind.
But Sasrir, the King of Angels, exuded rich humanity, surpassing even Ouroboros.
Perhaps this was his created purpose…
Clearly, Truman preferred dealing with him.
"Hiss! Good stuff!" Sasrir gulped down the bottle. "Bayehali!"
Truman grabbed a handful of dreamlike phosphorescence from the Book of Dreams, tossing it into Sasrir's bottle. The phosphorescence swirled, refilling the liquor.
"Such a handy ability!" Sasrir marveled. Until the phosphorescence faded, the liquor wouldn't run dry.
"Can't let him take it." Sasrir took another swig, then carefully stored the bottle.
The Sun God might procure such old-world items, but they wouldn't neutralize madness.
Truman was showcasing his value.
(End of Chapter)
---
Do You Know:
"Hiss! Good stuff!" Sasrir gulped down the bottle. "Bayehali!"
"Bayehali!" isn't a real‐world word in Hindi or any modern language; it's a little piece of world-building in that story. Judging by the context (he's just sampled a drink and immediately exclaims it), it works like an in-world equivalent of:
"Delicious!"
"Amazing!"
"That's terrific!"
or even a to-your-health "Cheers!"
So when Sasrir cries out "Bayehali!" he's essentially praising the taste or effect of whatever he's just drunk—think of it as his own culture's way of saying "This is fantastic!"