Chapter 67: Conspiracies Everywhere

  Seweryn looked calmly at Cardinal Jean.

  "It is merely a classification. A minor spectacle, like the end of any pilgrimage, and then we go home."

  His companion smiled kindly at the remark. Gazing at the candles slowly burning down in the inn, he looked very old. His melodramatic flair, however, did not sit right with the nobleman.

  "You seem to know something more?"

  The devil shook his head. "Perhaps I’ve become oversensitive with age."

  "Oversensitivity doesn't spring from nowhere."

  Jean couldn't help but laugh at that. His old acquaintance's directness, even after so many years, was disarming. When he finally composed himself, determination flashed in his eyes—a vigor that had rarely shown itself that evening.

  "Very well. I will tell you what troubles me, but in return, you must agree to answer one question of mine."

  Justinian furrowed his brow. "That depends on the question."

  The old man nodded, seemingly finding this approach sensible. "I seek no forbidden secrets. I am simply curious: what message did you receive from your Voivode when you decided to join this excursion?"

  The two guests exchanged a quick glance. Seeing no issue with the request, they readily agreed.

  Jean, satisfied with their decisiveness, bowed slightly. Then, as if fearing eavesdroppers, his voice dropped to the edge of an inaudible whisper.

  "Rumor has it that this year, the full formal ceremony will take place."

  Seweryn was the one who replied. "Does that mean there will be observers?"

  "That is the rumor."

  The nobleman’s face twisted into a grimace, though Justinian understood little of the implication. Seeing his companion’s confusion, Seweryn surmised the situation was deviating from expectations.

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means our two weeks of holiday will likely last much longer."

  Silence slowly descended upon the room, broken only by the sputtering of candle flames. This was not good news.

  Justinian, having spent enough time in this world, knew to press for details. "And these observers?"

  Jean took a sip of his favorite cognac and his gaze grew distant. Finally, as if the memories were particularly heavy, he began his explanation.

  "It is an old custom from times when the categorization of dimensions was much more brutal, and a deficiency in devilishness carried terrible consequences."

  "Deficiency in devilishness?"

  The old Cardinal looked gently at the young man. "Back then, the ceremony was a prelude to bloody conflicts, resulting in dimensions growing in power or falling forever. Power did not tolerate stagnation, and if one did not meet the high standards of diabolism set by the King of Names and Symbols, one could suffer a punishment far worse than death."

  The inn, previously well-warmed by the spirit of alcohol and candles, suddenly felt distinctly colder. Justinian went significantly pale without realizing it. All his existing knowledge of the Ruler of Hell told him this was no empty threat.

  Drops of sweat trickled down Seweryn’s temples. Seeing this, Jean stared into his drink, weighing how much more he should reveal.

  In the prevailing silence, even the indifferent darkness of Septima’s eyes—hidden beyond the threshold, eavesdropping for some time—seemed to deepen.

  Finally, Jean smiled again—though it looked rather forced—and offered comfort.

  "You needn't worry, however. Since you have the knowledge, you can act. You will surely succeed at the ceremony."

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  Then, unprompted, he revealed what he knew of these ancient customs. As it turned out, demonstrating the devilishness of one's cultivation and deeds had been paramount from the very beginning. The common assumption was that the closer one aligned with the Devilish Virtues, the better the result.

  Justinian did not know how much of this Jean realized, but it was hard to imagine worse news. The entire representation of the dimension was supposed to participate, yet absolutely none of them had anything to do with these "Virtues."

  In reality, it felt no different than an executioner's axe hovering above a convict's neck.

  "There also remains the matter of your information."

  Seweryn and the young man nodded, hiding nothing. Justinian, recalling the meeting with Boruta, repeated the Voivode's words regarding the potential destruction of their dimension.

  Jean received this news with a pallor that accentuated the deep wrinkles of his face.

  Under these heavy conditions, the gathering slowly came to an end. The guests thanked him for his hospitality, but just as they were about to leave, they noticed Jean hesitating.

  Only after a long deliberation did the devil reveal one last shred of information.

  "Apparently, the observers of the ceremony will be very particular this time."

  Thirty minutes later, "Cardinal" Jean was climbing the stairs of a grand, yet grime-covered mansion.

  Despite their age, none of the steps creaked beneath him. Nothing disturbed the silence in which a group of young devils slept, drunk from their earlier feasting.

  'What useless fools.'

  The sight still irritated him, but he had grown used to it. As with his whole life, the task received from his master was far more important than temporary setbacks.

  Soon, he entered the upper level, reserved exclusively for one person. Like the rest, the occupant was consumed by a drunken sleep, during which he looked even stupider than usual.

  "Get up."

  Jean's voice, laced with power, tore Henri from his sleep. It took the young aristocrat no more than two seconds to transition from a dull expression to a visage full of terror.

  It was clear that despite the difference in status, the old man terrified him.

  "C-Cardinal! I just, um... the chase after the cyclist was tiring and that's why..."

  The old devil shook his head. "Keep that nonsense to yourself. I came to warn you against picking fights with our guests."

  Henri, though still groggy, furrowed his brow. "Are they not just some lowly devils with fewer resources than us? I saw they have de Deviliare's nephew with them, but..."

  "How strong is the strongest of your lackeys?"

  The aristocrat narrowed his eyes involuntarily. He evidently did not like his mignions being referred to as such. But under the Cardinal's sharp gaze, he dared not show insubordination.

  "I believe Rafaelle has reached the 3rd level of Foundation Stabilization?"

  Jean smiled, though this time it was far more honest than the smile he had worn at the inn.

  "Do you remember the devil who negotiated with us a few months ago?"

  Henri scratched his hair, which was curled in a strange fashion. "Well yes... hmm... Greedius? What of him?"

  "Even though he had significantly mastered the Virtue of Gluttony, he was killed by a single human. That Justinian, who at the time of the deed had barely reached Foundation Stabilization."

  The sleepy devil’s eyes bulged immediately. He shifted uneasily on the filthy couch, sweat breaking out on his temples. He opened his mouth, unable to find words.

  Even for someone like him, who held little interest in power dynamics, the implications of such an act were immense—especially considering Greedius himself had also been at the 3rd level of Foundation Stabilization.

  Seeing the reaction, Jean breathed a slight internal sigh of relief. He turned to look through the window at the inn standing nearby. Caution was paramount, especially after all the rumors and strange events he had heard recently while visiting the 66th Dimension.

  "For the next few days, you are not to even show yourselves in the vicinity of that inn."

  When Henri nodded, the Cardinal's thoughts were already drifting. Something didn't fit about the representation of that dimension.

  'If old Boruta knows the stakes of the ceremony, why does he send these youngsters there? Why hasn't he gathered an army to appear personally?'

  The old devil had the impression he was missing something vital.

  The next day, Justinian was running around the lake near the inn. The news had been disturbing enough to rob him of sleep. The longer he delved into the problem, the worse it seemed.

  'No one in our representation has power related to the Devilish Virtues.'

  Although he hadn't tested himself against them in combat, after his duel with Greedius, he was convinced he would recognize such foul power from afar. And now it turned out that this very hateful force was to decide not only his fate but also that of his friends?

  Bloody hell always brought trouble. Even now, when for months he had focused primarily on himself, it reached out its dirty tentacles toward him.

  'Expecting any of us to completely change our cultivation base in a few days is unrealistic...'

  He knew that change could be instantaneous; after all, he had experienced it himself.

  Just after the ritual, he had felt a Wrath so terrible engulf him that he could have burned everything on the path to his revenge and beyond. Back then, he stood at a crossroads, ultimately rejecting the filth of the Ruler of Hell.

  However, the conditions just after stabilizing his foundation were unique. He felt that achieving something similar now that he had reached the second level would be nigh impossible.

  These thoughts created a terrible mess in his head, offering no hope of a solution.

  'And time is running out...'

  He ran around almost the entire perimeter of the water, focusing on physical training unassisted by cultivator energy. After all, this warped fragment of the dimension was practically devoid of energy.

  Suddenly, he frowned, sensing a familiar presence ahead.

  'Hmm?'

  Standing in his path was the black-haired Septima, looking at him expectantly.

  "Hello?"

  Skipping the greeting, she cut straight to the heart of the matter.

  "We have to abandon some of your companions."