"The Lord gave you a return gift, but I can't let it end there." Sasrir thought for a moment, then pulled out a stone tablet.
"I lack the Lord's power, but I'm temporarily in charge of this."
"I don't know how you know about sequences, but I can show you the true sequences."
Sasrir was generous. In this treacherous world, knowledge was akin to power.
In an era where sequences were yet to spread, such knowledge was even more precious.
"Perfect, I need this knowledge." Truman didn't refuse. Though of limited use to him, unable to follow sequence pathways, the Ancient Sun God likely knew this, allowing Sasrir to share the Blasphemy Slate.
"It's part of the plan," Sasrir said, and Truman nodded slightly.
Sasrir might intend to repay him, but this was tied to their cooperation.
Like the stars, moon, and adjacent pathways.
This was the Sun's bargaining chip to align with the other two parties.
"Oh…" Truman seemed to realize something, glancing at Hermes, sensing his boundless yearning. He nodded lightly. "How much you see depends on you."
"Thank you, both angels!" Hermes bowed deeply, nearly kneeling. Truman tossed another handful of dreamlike phosphorescence to Sasrir.
Sasrir blinked, nodding, unbothered.
"Begin." Sasrir fully unveiled the Blasphemy Slate, its shadowy veil dissipating, revealing a weathered, gray-white tablet.
Ancient and scarred by time, it bore peculiar text, instantly comprehensible.
"Sun Pathway: Sequence 9, Bard…"
Wearing the Sage Robe, Truman's capacity for recording knowledge was staggering, effortlessly decoding the entire slate.
"Sequence 0…" A rare thing that made Truman take it seriously.
"Say, I could make Blasphemy Cards now!"
A strange thought crossed Truman's mind, but he shook his head. He wasn't that emperor who'd even target witches—best not steal the spotlight.
Looking up, he saw Hermes still engrossed in decoding.
"Enough." At some point, the slate was shrouded in shadow again, and Sasrir stowed it.
"Phew!" Hermes snapped out of it, bowing to Sasrir and Truman in gratitude.
"A complete divine pathway, plus other pathways up to Sequence 4." Hermes, unlike Truman, couldn't absorb all the information in so little time.
He made a choice, securing his own pathway fully and others' knowledge up to Sequence 4.
"Knowledge must be spread cautiously," Truman advised Hermes.
"Yes!" Hermes recovered from the flood of occult knowledge.
"I, Hermes, swear to follow you to my death, Sir Angel! Your name will be etched in human history forever!"
Hermes knelt on one knee, pledging to Truman.
No virtual persona—this was the true Hermes.
Truman paused, then smiled and nodded. "You may also call me Dream."
"Yes!" Hermes committed the name to memory.
"Go. Your knowledge is enough to give humanity true self-defense." Truman said. Hermes was an excellent follower, but he belonged in human city-states now.
Using the Elder Glove, Truman sent Hermes back to where they first met.
"Sorry, I might've disrupted your plans," Truman said to Sasrir.
This knowledge was the Sun God's best tool to gather human believers.
"It's your due reward," Sasrir replied, unconcerned. "The Lord's might is enough to inspire faith."
Hermes gained such vast occult knowledge because of Truman. As he said, Truman's name would be etched in occult history, with countless humans as his faith anchors.
"But your abilities resemble a Miracle Invoker's." Sasrir glanced at the Elder Glove, then the Book of Dreams. "Be it fate or wishes."
So, they suspect I'm tied to that Lord of Mysteries… Truman realized.
The Ancient Sun God likely saw disharmony in Ouroboros's fate, deducing the Book of Dreams' effects, linking it to the fate beacon.
But Truman knew it wasn't related and merely smiled, neither confirming nor denying.
"Why not show me your divine kingdom?" Truman was eager to see the Sun God's realm, likely to encounter familiar faces.
Sasrir readily agreed, hosting a guest while slacking off.
"Yo, Sasrir, who's this? Almost as handsome as me!" They'd barely walked a few steps when a red-haired knight in black armor approached.
Young and dashing, his demeanor blazed like his fiery hair.
"Medici!" Sasrir chided. "He's a guest."
"Guest?" Medici raised an eyebrow, giving Truman a provocative glance, sparking an urge to punch him.
"Your acting is impeccable." Truman sensed a mystical provocation. If two Sequence 2 angels stood before him, the red one would be the priority target.
"It's not acting—it's his nature," Sasrir said helplessly.
Medici's expression shifted, noting Sasrir's regard for Truman.
Curious, he was about to speak when a terrifying storm interrupted.
Thunder, like a cataclysm, turned the sky silver-white, as if another world.
"Medici, stop right there!" A roar like a giant's bellow resounded. A figure wreathed in wind and lightning, a humanoid tempest, appeared on the horizon, deep blue hair dancing wildly in fury.
"Here we go, brother." Medici didn't flee but sidled closer to Sasrir, forcing him to deflect the lightning.
Can't let a guest get struck, right?
"Leodero, you've offended our divine kingdom's honored guest! Now sing a hymn to appease his anger!"
"You!" The burly Leodero's face twisted, teeth grinding, while Sasrir's cheek twitched.
"I believe it's his nature now," Truman remarked. From that roar, he gauged Leodero as a high-tier Sea Singer, whose voice could be lethal.
Medici's survival owed to his strength and the Ancient Sun God's backing.
(End of Chapter)
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Do You Know:
Blasphemy Cards creator is the pouncer of Demoness in later Epoch Roselle Gustav or should I call him Huang Tao?