Chapter Text
Subtitle: Sequence 5 Guaranteed Drop Rate? Klein's Sealed Artifact "Gacha" Appears in a Different Context
Timeline: Roughly before anything happened, when Klein was Sequence 9.
When Klein shakily poked the sealed artifact, "Corridor of Life," this two-meter-tall mirror suddenly went into berserk mode-code flew wildly, the mirror itself danced wildly, and golden light exploded like a guaranteed pull in a gacha pull! Amidst the chaos of Lord Cesimir's failed attempt to rescue him and Dunn, Frye's emergency intervention, Klein, seemingly out of control, touched it again, and the mirror exploded with golden light, guaranteeing a gold item! The mirror's surface resembled a gacha animation glitch, with countless alternate accounts (alt accounts?) rapidly appearing amidst the gray mist, leaving everyone present completely bewildered. The final image froze a cold and aloof figure in a black suit, seemingly born to hide in the shadows, the "Sequence Five Marionettist." Klein roared inwardly:
"Can you really create alternate accounts in Extraordinary World? My unlucky draw resulted in a cold-faced god?!"
(Please give this post a recommendation and a like to help the old man catch Amon)
(OOC warning) (I haven't read COI, so this is a work only for Lord of the mysteries)
The late autumn morning light in Tingen sparingly pierced through the thick clouds, leaving only a few thin rays that barely touched the heavy oak door of the Blackthorn Security Company at 36 Zotland Street. The air was filled with a damp, cold smell of water vapor and soot, and every breath carried a chill that seemed to seep into one's bones.
Klein Moretti tightened his slightly faded coat, his knuckles lingering briefly on the cold doorknob before pressing down hard. A familiar, somber scent, a mixture of old paper, dust, and cheap coffee beans, wafted in, enveloping him with the meager warmth of the room.
He habitually glanced up at the slightly messy reception desk against the wall. Rozanne wasn't engrossed in her newspaper as usual; instead, she seemed like a bird bursting with barely suppressed excitement, almost leaping off her bar stool. Her light-colored curly hair appeared even more tousled with her excitement, her cheeks flushed, and her light brown eyes shone brightly, fixed intently on Klein as he entered.
"Klein!" Rozanne's voice rose several octaves higher than usual, carrying an eagerness to share a shocking secret, and sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet foyer.
"You've finally arrived! Guess who's here today? What big thing happened?"
Klein was slightly taken aback by her unusual enthusiasm. He removed his half-high silk hat, brushed off the tiny water droplets that had fallen from some withered leaf onto his shoulder, and walked to the front desk, his face naturally showing the curiosity befitting an ordinary office worker:
"Rozanne? You seem so happy, has some big shot graced our little branch with their presence?" He deliberately emphasized the word "little," with a touch of gentle teasing.
"A big shot? An absolute big shot!" Rozanne nodded vigorously, leaning forward and placing her hands on the table. Her voice was low, but she couldn't suppress the trembling excitement.
"'The Goddess's Sword'! Lord Cesimir has come in person!" When she uttered the name, awe and excitement were intertwined, as if just saying those few syllables could bring immense glory.
Klein's heart skipped a beat. Cesimir, the powerful figure codenamed "Sword of the Goddess" within the Nighthwaks?
For him, a newcomer still hovering around the threshold of Sequence 9 "Seer", the weight of that name was like a towering mountain. He instinctively straightened his back, his curiosity instantly turning into genuine seriousness:
"Lord Cesimir? He's come to Tingen? Is... something significant happening?"
"It's not just him!" Rozanne wagged her index finger mysteriously, her eyes widening even more, gleaming with the light of sharing core secrets. "He also brought a sealed artifact! A... grade 1 sealed artifact!"
"Grade one?!" Klein blurted out, the calm he had been trying to maintain vanished, leaving only pure astonishment and an instinctive chill.
A grade One Sealed Artifact! These five words alone represent a very high level of danger, contamination, and uncontrollability. They are often associated with unimaginable terrifying power or bizarre properties, and each use requires extremely strict conditions and a huge price.
How could something like this appear in a small town like Tingen? A chilling numbness instantly shot up from his tailbone, spreading rapidly along his spine to his scalp, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as if invisible ice needles were pricking him.
Almost subconsciously, he glanced towards the direction leading to the inner porch, as if a ferocious beast lurked behind that door, ready to devour him.
"Calm down! Klein, calm down!" Rozanne was clearly startled by Klein's sudden deathly pale face and tense posture.
She quickly waved her hands as if shooing away an annoying fly. "It's not that scary! Really! Let me finish!"
She glanced around warily again, making sure there was no one else in the
lobby besides Klein;
even the air seemed to freeze. Then, like a little mouse
about to steal oil, she cautiously leaned her upper body over the counter and
whispered in Klein's ear. The faint scent of ink and the sweet fragrance of
some cheap cologne wafted into Klein's nostrils.
"I overheard the captain and Old Neil whispering," Rosanne's voice was extremely low, almost a whisper, carrying the tense excitement of sharing top-secret information,
"This sealed artifact, its number seems to be '1-78,' and its danger rating is indeed grade 1, but from what they said, its actual.. uh, 'activity hazard' might only be about the same as a grade 2 sealed artifact! The reason it was rated grade 1 seems to be mainly because its ability... is too special, too rare! The assessment committee felt that the potential risk model was too difficult to create, so they just gave it grade 1 to save trouble!"
"Ability?" Klein forcibly suppressed the surging fear in his heart, keenly grasping the key word. For a grade One sealed artifact to be ranked grade One simply because of its "special ability" indicated something unpredictable and difficult to categorize.
He slightly turned his head, his gaze returning to the tightly closed inner door. A genuine curiosity, like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, rippled across the wary surface. He temporarily suppressed the urge to immediately go in and find Captain Dunn, choosing instead to first extract more information from Rozanne, his "intelligence source."
"What exactly is the ability? Rozanne, did you hear me?"
Rozanne's brows furrowed, as if she were struggling to recall and repeat the technical and difficult-to-understand terms. She twirled a strand of her hair with her fingers in frustration.
"Specifically... well, they say that once this seal is activated, it seems to... well... allow the user... uh... to 'see' how many more times they can 'level up' in the future?"
"'How many times?'" Klein repeated, the expression so vague and slangy that
he didn't immediately understand.
"Oh dear, it's about sequence advancement!" Rozanne said hastily, waving her hand. "It shows which sequence the user can advance to! Understand?"
Klein suddenly realized, so it was about predicting future promotions? This ability sounded... more like an extremely accurate, but potentially mentally shocking, form of divination? If that was all, it didn't seem enough to qualify it as a grade 1. His doubts only deepened, not resolved.
"That's not all!" Rozanne, clearly seeing the confusion in his eyes, immediately added, her voice rising slightly with excitement, before quickly covering her mouth warily.
"The key point is what comes next! They say that at the moment of use... yes, the moment of activation, the user can... can...summon 'themself at a certain sequence stage'!"
"Summoning...my future self?" Klein's pupils contracted sharply. This description was completely beyond his comprehension. Summoning a projection of himself from the future, at a different stage of the sequence? This was a direct challenge to the concepts of time and self-existence! Countless chaotic thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant:
different stages of himself appearing simultaneously? How is its power defined? Is it consciousness independent? The mystical rules and potential paradoxes involved were enough to send chills down his spine just thinking about them. The bizarre nature of a grade One Sealed Artifact was only just beginning to emerge at this moment.
He was about to press for details-such as whether the summoned "self" was controllable, how long it could stay, and whether it possessed independent consciousness—these questions churned in his mind like boiling bubbles.
In that instant when thoughts were racing, and curiosity and vigilance were locked in a fierce battle-
A hand, with a sudden force, slammed into Klein's left shoulder without warning.
"Smack!"
The feeling was like being suddenly struck with a cold branding iron in the dark. or like being tightened by an invisible rope! Klein was like a startled cat, all the muscles in his body suddenly tensing and contracting! A chilling current exploded from the shoulder that was struck, rushing wildly along the nerve endings to every part of his body.
His heart felt like it was being gripped tightly by an invisible hand. All the blood seemed to rush to his head, leaving a cold, numb sensation. He could even feel the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand on end with that slap!
"Whoa!" A short, uncontrollable cry of surprise escaped his throat, accompanied by a noticeable change in tone.
He jolted violently, his body twisting to the side almost like a catapult, staggering half a step before regaining his balance, his silk hat nearly slipping from his grasp. In his wide, startled brown eyes, the figure of the culprit was clearly reflected.
Leonard Mitchell.
This night watchman, with his poetic melancholy and dark green eyes, was leaning against the wall next to the front desk, a mischievous and playful smile playing on his lips.
His green eyes, which seemed to hold starlight, were slightly curved, much like a black dog that had just successfully frightened its owner and was now wagging its tail triumphantly. He even casually raised his hands in a "surrender" gesture, but the mischievousness in his smile was unmistakable.
"Hey, relax, Klein! It's me." Leonard's voice carried its usual lazy tone,
drawing out the last syllable.
"Your reaction is a bit too exaggerated, isn't it? It seems the calm these past few days has made you forget your vigilance?" He teased, his gaze sweeping over Klein's still-shaken face and over Rozanne, who was equally startled and patting her chest beside him.
Klein took two quick breaths, forcibly suppressing his wildly beating heart and the lingering fear coursing through his body. He quickly regulated his breathing, trying to regain his composure, but the lingering anger and barely perceptible embarrassment in his eyes didn't dissipate so easily. He straightened his slightly askew top hat and glared at Leonard with
annoyance:
"Leonard! Couldn't you greet me a little differently next time? Like, just call me by my name normally?" He deliberately emphasized the word "normally."
"Okay, okay, I'll be more careful next time." Leonard nodded readily, but the "I was wrong, but I'll do it again" smile on his face remained unchanged. He straightened up, no longer leaning against the wall, and looked at Klein, his smile fading slightly and taking on a more businesslike tone.
"Let's get down to business," Leonard tilted his head toward the inner corridor, a barely perceptible, almost expectant glint in his dark green eyes.
"The captain is waiting for you behind the chanis gate, Klein. There are some arrangements I need to discuss with you regarding that new 'Corridor of Life'."
"The Corridor of Life"...
This name, imbued with a strange sense of destiny and poetry, was like a cold pebble thrown into Klein's heart, which had just begun to calm.
It precisely struck the fragmented information that Rozanne had just revealed- "seeing the number of advancements," "summoning different sequences of oneself"... These two key phrases were instantly linked together as if by invisible threads, outlining in his mind the chilling core ability of the sealed artifact "1-78."
Summoning different selves from different sequences? Allowing future selves, at different levels of power, to appear one by one, like visiting a corridor of life?
An indescribable chill, a mixture of intense unease and a bizarre absurdity. crept silently up Klein's spine. He subconsciously imagined the scene:
a Sequence 9 version of himself standing behind the Chanis Gate in that cold, oppressive space filled with spiritually sealing power, while beside him, perhaps, stood a Sequence 7 version of himself, a Sequence 5 version of himself, or even... a more distant, more powerful, and more incomprehensible "Klein"? They gazed at each other, sharing the same source yet possessing drastically different experiences and powers? The mental impact of this image was no less than facing those twisted evil spirits or indescribable monsters directly.
This is by no means a heartwarming "life review." The grade 1 sealed artifact's rating, Lord Cesimir's personal escort, and Rozanne's vague statement about it being "actually a grade 2 threat but possessing special abilities"... all the clues point to the same conclusion:
this "life corridor" ability is bound to be accompanied by unpredictable and enormous risks or
maddening side effects.
Leonard's green eyes, brimming with a mocking glint, were fixed on him, and there seemed to be a hint of... anticipation for a good show? Klein's stomach churned slightly. He remembered Rozanne's unfinished words--"It seems... there's some terrible price to pay?"
"Okay, Leonard." Klein heard his own voice, more steady than he had expected, though a slight dryness from shock lingered deep in his throat.
He forced himself to ignore the increasingly intense alarm bells in his mind, nodded to Leonard, and tried to maintain the calm expression befitting an ordinary office worker, "Klein Moretti," even though beneath that calm lay a turbulent undercurrent and a huge question mark.
"I'm coming right now," he said, his gaze sweeping once more over the inner portal leading to the Chanis Gate deep underground. That gate now seemed to have transformed into the throat of some unknown behemoth, radiating a silent, chilling attraction and oppressive aura.
The air behind the Chanis Gate seemed frozen for centuries. The dim light from the bronze wall lamps struggled to penetrate the heavy, spiritually oppressive atmosphere, casting flickering shadows on the ground.
Klein followed Leonard, each step feeling like walking on a sponge soaked in cold air, silent yet carrying a heavy echo. That stench, a mixture of ancient stone, cold metal, and some indescribable, decaying scent that seemed to emanate from the depths of historical dust, filled his nostrils more intensely than ever before, almost freezing his thoughts.
He saw Captain Dunn Smith. The leader of the Tingen Night Watch, still tall and silent in the relatively empty space in the center of the room, wore his worn black trench coat, which seemed never to be replaced. His gentle, deep gray eyes were now as deep as two dry wells, containing something Klein couldn't understand, yet instinctively felt a chill run down his spine.
An almost deathly calm enveloped him.
Frye stood slightly behind Dunn, like a silent shadow. His already pale face was now ashen, like a plaster mask just dug from a grave. His lips were pressed into a thin, pale line, and his jawline was taut. His eyelids were slightly lowered, his thick eyelashes casting even deeper shadows in his eye sockets. He exuded a silence colder than Chanis Gate itself, a silence that seemed to suck away all the light around him.
Klein keenly noticed that Frye's gloved hands, hanging at his sides, were trembling very slightly and uncontrollably. It wasn't fear; it was more like the violent spasm left after a part of one's soul had been forcibly torn apart.
On the other side of the room, near the enormous mirror, stood a figure with an overwhelming presence. His posture was as straight as a drawn sword, clad in an exquisitely tailored, pure black priest's robe adorned with subtle holy symbols, over which lay a long, equally black overcoat that seemed to devour light. Most striking was the badge hanging on his chest—a tapestry
of thorns, holy symbols, and faint sword-shaped patterns, radiating a restrained yet majestic silver glow in the dim light.
His face was deeply defined, his features as if sculpted by a knife, and his green eyes were now calmly fixed on the enormous mirror in the center of the room, his gaze so sharp it seemed to pierce the mirror itself. His mere presence imbued the surrounding air with a metallic, cold quality; an invisible spiritual pressure, like a tangible tide, rippled outwards, making it difficult for Klein to breathe.
Without a doubt, this was the "Sword of the Goddess"—Lord Cesimir. In his hand, the cover of an exquisite pocket watch, seemingly made of mithril, gently popped open, revealing the silent hands turning beneath, as if precisely measuring time.
Klein's gaze, inevitably filled with immense shock and a hint of indescribable fear, finally fell upon the legendary sealed artifact—the "Corridor of Life."
It was no ordinary dressing mirror. It was a massive standing mirror, two meters tall and about one meter wide, its frame cast from some heavy, dark, and dull black metal, its surface etched with dense, dizzving, twisted runes.
These runes were not in any lanquage Klein knew; they seemed to writhe, intertwine, and split slowly across the metal surface, emanating a nauseating sense of blasphemy and spiritual pollution. The mirror itself was even more bizarre; it was not clear and transparent, but rather possessed a chaotic, solidified gray mercury-like texture, its surface undulating slightly, as if countless struggling souls lurked beneath. It stood silently, like a vertical portal to an abyss, silently devouring the already sparse light around it, becoming the most unsettling core of this oppressive space behind the Chanis Gate.
"Captain, Lord Cesimir, Frye." Leonard's voice broke the silence, carrying a hint of deliberate ease, but sounding particularly abrupt in the atmosphere,
"Klein is here."
Dunn slowly turned around, his deep gray eyes sweeping over Klein. A complex emotion seemed to flash across his tired eyes, too quick to catch. He nodded, his voice low and hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time:
"Klein. You've come." He pointed to the huge mirror, like the entrance to an abyss, "This is '1-78,' the 'Corridor of Life.'"
Lord Cesimir’s gaze shifted as well, his green eyes lingering on Klein for a moment like cold probes.
Klein felt an invisible pressure descend upon him instantly, as if his very soul had been pierced through.
Cesimir merely nodded very slightly in response, then his gaze returned to the mirror, as if waiting for something.
"Before Leonard came to you," Dunn's voice carried a calm, recounting-the-past-the-years tone, yet it was tinged with an indescribable heaviness, "Frye and I... had already conducted an initial contact test." He paused, his gaze seemingly drifting briefly to the chaotic mirror before quickly returning to its original state. "Mine... didn't react."
Dunn's tone was as flat as if he were stating a fact unrelated to himself. "The mirror is blank, with no image displayed. This means..." He took a slight breath, the deep weariness hidden in his gray eyes seeming to deepen, "...this means that my future path may have reached its end. There is no
higher sequence to climb." He didn't use the word "death," but everyone in the room knew perfectly well what the blank mirror meant--Dunn Smith, the "Nightmare" of Sequence 7, his extraordinary path, in the foreseeable future, had come to an end.
Geniuses are few and far between. Advancement in the hierarchy is a brutal combination of talent, resources, opportunities, and even luck. Stagnation or even failure along the way is the norm.
Dunn showed no surprise, only a numb acceptance. He looked at Frye, his tone carrying a barely perceptible hint of apology and encouragement: "Frye, you... you saw it."
All eyes were on Frye. The "corpse collector" seemed even more stiff, staring intently at the chaotic mirror, as if trying to see through the gray mercury.
Just then, the once chaotic and lifeless mirror began to fluctuate violently without warning! Like a deep pool tossed with a boulder, the gray "mercury" spun, twisted, and boiled wildly! A blurry human figure struggled deep within the mirror, like a drowning person trying to break through the surface.
A few seconds later, the fluctuations suddenly subsided. The mirror became relatively "clear" again, but it didn't reflect the room. A person appeared in the mirror.
It's Frye.
But it's not Frye, the Sequence 9 "corpse collector" who's standing here right now.
The Frye in the mirror wore the same standard black trench coat for the Night Watchman, but a more fitted one, made of seemingly more refined material, with a cold sheen in the details. His facial features bore a striking resemblance to the real Frye, but the lines were more hard and sharp, and his complexion was equally pale.
What was striking was the dark circles under his eyes, as thick as ink, almost covering his entire lower eyelids and extending to above his cheekbones, making his eyes appear even more sunken, like two bottomless pools of ice. The Frye in the mirror exuded a chilling coldness and silence, a statue sculpted by death itself. He stood there, taller and thinner than the real Frye, like a bone blade tempered with ice, wrapped in black clothing.
Above Frye's head in the mirror, against the chaotic gray background, two Rune characters slowly emerged, formed from countless tiny, writhing black runes:
Sequence seven.
Deathly silence. Absolute silence enveloped the space behind the Chanis Gate, with only the faint, rhythmic, and cold ticking of the mithril pocket watch in Lord Cesimir’s hand precisely cutting through time.
In the mirror, Frye's lifeless pale blue eyes blinked slowly. His movements were stiff and sluggish, like a rusty machine. Then, as if propelled by some invisible force, he slowly, step by step, "walked" out from the depths of the mirror!
There was no shattering sound as if the mirror had broken; rather, it was as if the viscous gray "mercury" on the mirror's surface parted to make way for him. When his entire body was completely detached from the mirror and stood on the cold ground behind the Chanis door, an even denser and more tangible aura of coldness instantly spread out, even dimming the flame of
the bronze wall lamp.
He first turned his stiff neck, producing a faint, teeth-grinding "click," and his gray, lifeless eyes locked precisely onto the young, Sequence 9 Frye's true form standing a few steps away.
Two Fryes, one tall, one short, one strong, one weak, one as still as ice, one as silent as an abyss, stared at each other silently in the dim light. The original Frye's body trembled violently, his face ashen, his lips pressed so tightly they seemed about to bleed.
Then, in the mirror, Frener's stiff head slowly turned towards Lord Cesimir’s direction. His frozen facial muscles twitched with extreme difficulty. ultimately forming a rigid, emotionless expression of "respect." He bowed slightly, offering a deep bow to the "Sword of the Goddess." Though the movement was stiff, the profound revererence for the Church's nigher echelons and immense power emanating from the depths of his soul was clearly conveyed through his lifeless body. The "knowledge" granted by the sealed artifact allowed him to recognize the identity of the great figure before him.
Finally, he turned his attention to Dunn Smith.
This time, those lifeless, gray eyes were no longer filled with pure coldness and emptiness.
Klein clearly saw that deep within those eyes, as still as a frozen lake, a violent turmoil suddenly surged! Pain? Grief? Reminiscence? Countless complex and incomprehensible emotions surged and struggled wildly in those inhuman eyes, their gaze fixed on Dunn's face, as if trying to etch the captain's image into the deepest part of his soul, even if that soul was already as fragile as a candle in the wind.
Looking into Frye's eyes, brimming with complex emotions in the mirror, and comparing that to the blank, lifeless emptiness he felt when using a mirror himself... the experienced captain instantly understood. A slight twitch seemed to appear on his usually gentle face, and the weariness deep in his eyes intensified, almost materializing into a tangible sorrow. But he quickly regained his composure, simply nodding gently to Frye's reflection, even attempting a tiny, reassuring smile. His voice was low and calm, carrying a detached acceptance of fate:
"Hello, Frye."
In the mirror, Frye's Adam's apple bobbed with extreme difficulty, like rusty gears forcibly meshing. He also nodded slightly at Dunn, the movement still stiff, but carrying a heavy, silent response.
Standing to the side, Frye himself witnessed the entire scene. With his naturally perceptive mind, he combined this with his future self's attitude, the intense emotion hidden within that deathly silence, and Captain Dunn's instantaneous reaction... He almost immediately understood the meaning of Frye's eyes in the mirror, understood what might have happened, or had already happened, in that future.
His already pale face instantly lost all color, his body swayed, as if struck by an invisible hammer. He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say something to his future self, or to the captain, but only two extremely dry syllables escaped his throat with difficulty, like sandpaper scraping:
"...Captain..." The voice was as soft as a sigh, trembling uncontrollably.
Frye in the mirror heard the call. He whirled around, his lifeless pale blue eyes returning to his real self, then quickly sweeping over Dunn. His lips moved violently, as if a thousand words, a crucial warning, were stuck in his throat! The muscles in his face contorted, his rigid expression replaced by an urgent, anxious desire to break free from some constraint! He looked at Dunn again, his eyes filled with burning impatience, an urge to speak!
Dunn immediately noticed his unease. The captain took a small step forward, reached out, and gently patted Frve's cold, rock-hard shoulder in the mirror.
The gesture was so natural, carrying a familiarity and trust that transcended time, status, and even life and death.
"Alright, Frye," Dunn's voice remained calm, yet contained an undeniable reassuring power, as if telling the other: I know, I know everything, but there's no need to say it.
The intense struggle and anxiety reflected in the mirror seemed to be paused by Dunn's tap. The urgency and unspoken words in his eyes were gradually replaced by a deep, powerless sorrow. He stared intently at Dunn, his lips moving silently twice before closing tightly, returning to his rigid, cold expression. Only the deep sorrow in his blue eyes grew even more intense and unyielding.
Time flew by in the dead silence and silent communication.
"Five minutes." Lord Cesimir’s cold, emotionless voice suddenly rang out,
like a judge striking his gavel. The cover of his mithril pocket watch closed
silently.
As he spoke, Frye's body in the mirror seemed to tremble slightly. His blue eyes gazed at Dunn one last time, deeply, as if trying to imprint the captain's image forever into his soul. Then, he turned around very slowly and gave Lord Cesimir the same standard, rigid bow once more.
"The time has come." A cold, hoarse, flat voice, like two frozen stones rubbing together, came from Frye's mouth in the mirror. This was the first and only sentence he spoke after appearing.
Having said that, he looked away from everyone, including the complex emotions etched on Frye’s face. With stiff yet resolute steps, he retreated step by step towards the chaotic gray mirror. Like the receding tide, his figure disappeared back into the viscous, undulating gray "mercury." In the instant before completely vanishing, his gaze seemed to pierce through the mirror, looking back at Dunn Smith one last time.
Almost simultaneously, Dunn and Frye, in their true form, silently and gently waved their arms at the disappearing figure. It was a simple farewell gesture, yet it carried an indescribable weight.
The mirror surface rippled violently, like a boulder thrown into a murky swamp. The gray "mercury" spun and twisted wildly, eventually returning to a deathly, chaotic gray.
Frye in the mirror has completely disappeared.
Behind the Chanis Gate, only a suffocating silence remained. Dunn stood there, staring at the mirror, now deathly still, his back conveying a profound desolation. Frye, on the other hand, kept his head bowed, his body slightly hunched, as it all his strength had been drained away, leaving only his gloved hands trembling uncontrollably.
Lord Cesimir put away his pocket watch, his dark green gaze sweeping over Dunn and Frye, finally settling on Klein, who had just witnessed everything and whose face was also somewhat pale. His gaze was calm and unwavering, yet it carried an undeniable scrutiny.
"Klein Moretti," Cesimir’s voice broke the silence like an icicle falling to the ground, "get ready."
Lord Cesimir's icy voice tolled like a judgment bell in the deathly silence, causing Klein's heart to clench. Almost instinctively, he glanced at Captain Dunn, who gave him a barely perceptible nod, one that was both encouraging and reassuring. Frye remained silent, head bowed, his body taut like a bowstring, seemingly still reeling from the chilling impact of his future self. But he also turned his head slightly, his eyes, hidden in the shadows, giving Klein a silent warning:
Be careful.
Klein took a deep breath, the cold air from behind the Chanis gate, a mixture of decay and spiritual confinement, filling his lungs with a piercing chill. He forced himself to take a step towards the enormous mirror in the center of the room, like a bottomless abyss--the "Corridor of Life." Each step was incredibly heavy, as if he were walking not on cold stone bricks, but on a viscous swamp that could swallow him at any moment.
The mirror remained a chaotic, slightly rippling gray mercury, radiating an unsettling sense of spiritual pollution and blasphemy. Under Lord Cesimir’s green, soul-freezing gaze, Klein slowly raised his right hand. His fingertips trembled slightly with tension and coldness. He stared at the paleness of his fingertips, then at the deathly gray, and finally, with an almost suicidal resolve, gently touched his fingertips to the mirror.
touch!
It wasn't as cold or hard as I had imagined. Where my fingertips touched, the viscous gray "mercury" instantly sank in, like the surface of water where a pebble had been thrown in!
Buzz-!
A vibration far more intense and violent than during the Frye test suddenly swept across the entire mirror surface, centered on the point of contact! The chaotic gray matter was no longer ripples, but rather, like a boiling oil pan, It churned, roared, and exploded into countless dazzling vortexes and bubbles!
The writhing and twisting blasphemous runes on the frame suddenly lit up, emitting a dark and filthy red-black light, and emitting a piercing noise like the simultaneous hissing of billions of tiny insects!
The entire massive mirror began to sway violently from side to side! The heavy black metal frame scraped against the ground, making a teeth- grinding "creak" sound, as if the sealed object itself was about to break free of its restraints and topple over from its base!
'It wasn't me! It's a scam! It's definitely a scam!' Klein's pupils contracted sharply in horror, his mind screaming like a thousand shrill chickens croaking in his head. He jerked his finger back as if electrocuted, taking a step back, his face filled with innocence and panic, almost as if he were about to raise his hands and shout, 'It has nothing to do with me!'
However, the mirror's fury did not cease with his retreat. Within the distorted, boiling gray background, from the depths of the churning chaos, countless tiny symbols, shimmering with an eerie blue light, suddenly emerged! They were neither Rune script, nor ancient Hermes, nor the
blasphemous runes on the frame. They were densely packed, flowing, flashing, combining, and splitting rapidly downwards like a waterfall, forming constantly refreshing, dazzling...data streams?
Klein's breath caught in his throat.
He stared intently at the rapidly rolling "waterfall" of eerie blue symbols, his forehead twitching uncontrollably. That familiar combination, that arrangement imbued with a specific logic... it was code I It was binary or hexadecimal code from the computer world, code he had only encountered in his previous life as Zhou Mingrui!
'Roselle?! This thing really came from Roselle?! Just how much of his own stuff did he mix into the mysticism?!' A tremendous sense of absurdity and the bitter resentment of being betrayed by a fellow countryman instantly overwhelmed Klein. A sealed artifact left behind by a transmigrator predecessor, capable of summoning his future self, and even comes with a system error message?
This is just too bizarre!
"Anomaly!" Lord Cesimir’s icy voice rose instantly, carrying an unprecedented gravity. He moved with lightning speed, appearing beside the violently shaking mirror, one hand already reaching out towards Klein's collar—clearly, if the situation spiraled completely out of control, he was prepared to immediately throw this "jinx" who had caused such a massive upheaval away to a safe distance!
Dunn and Frye moved simultaneously. Dunn stepped to Klein's side, his grey eyes sharp as a hawk's, a nightmarish aura emanating from him that caused mental confusion. Frye, like a silent shadow, quietly retreated to Klein's other side, a cold spirituality seemingly gathering between his pale fingers.
The three formed a triangle, subtly protecting Klein at the center, but neither dared to step into the core area of the mirror's energy radiation.
Just as Cesimir’s hand was about to touch Klein's collar—
Mutation and regeneration!
Klein's body seemed to be suddenly gripped by an invisible, gigantic marionette hand! His limbs stiffened instantly, his muscles and bones creaking under the strain! He completely lost control of his body, like a real puppet, his posture forcibly twisted by that overwhelming and eerie force!
His right hand, which had just been withdrawn, was pulled by the invisible force, and with a faster, fiercer, and more decisive speed, it was once again slammed down onto the boiling, churning mirror!
"No--!" Klein's horror exploded in his heart, but he couldn't utter a sound.
puff!
He slammed his palm heavily onto the viscous gray mirror surface!
boom—!!!
This time, it wasn't a somber, boiling heat.
An indescribable, pure, and dazzling golden light, like a volcano suppressed for millions of years, suddenly erupted from the point where Klein's palm touched the mirror! The golden light instantly engulfed the entire space behind the Chanis Gate, completely annihilating the faint light of the bronze wall lamps, and tearing everyone's shadows into fragments, twisting and deforming them!
Sacred? No, that golden light contained an ancient, primal, and supreme majesty, like
the first ray of light at the beginning of time!
'Did I get a bad gacha pull?! I got a gold card on pity?! What the hell is this?!' Klein's mind was in chaos amidst the blinding golden light and the excruciating pain in his body (the feeling of being forcibly pulled), leaving only his absurd and unrestrained instinct to make sarcastic remarks.
The enormous mirror, struck by the burst of golden light, emitted a painful, metallic wail, shaking violently to its peak! However, the golden light came and went quickly, receding and subsiding like a tide.
When the blinding light dissipated, the mirror miraculously stopped shaking, standing firmly in place, as if the previous rage had never occurred.
The mirror surface became "clear" again.
But what is reflected is not the scene behind the Chanis Gate.
The first thing that caught everyone's eye was an endless, swirling gray fog. The fog was so thick it seemed almost tangible, carrying an ancient, unchanging vastness and mystery, like the chaotic backdrop of the beginning of the universe.
Against this backdrop of gray fog, countless blurry,
distorted, fleeting faces flashed by like a carousel! There were hooded shadows, silhouettes dressed in clothing from different eras, refined middle-aged men, and sharp-eyed youths... Each face was distinct, yet they all carried a subtle, inexplicable core similarity. They appeared and disappeared so quickly that no detail could be captured, leaving only a fleeting, eerie sense of wonder.
Lord Cesimir’s green pupils suddenly contracted to pinpoints. He stared intently at the gray mist and the flickering face, his brow furrowed, and for the first time, a clear expression of bewilderment appeared on his face. This was bevond his comprehension, and beyond the Church's records of the "Corridor of Life"! Dunn and Frye were even more unable to comprehend this bizarre sight. They exchanged a bewildered glance, their attention mostly focused on Klein--who remained standing stiffly, his palm still pressed against the mirror, his face as pale as paper, his body trembling slightly, clearly still recovering from the forced manipulation.
'Holy crap...no way...' Klein's eyes twitched wildly as he watched the "alt account" preview flash by in the mirror. A chill ran from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. 'Extraordinary World...can you really create alternate accounts? And wholesale of them?! What did my future self do?!'
The gray fog and flickering faces lasted for about two or three seconds, like some kind of glitch in the opening animation. Finally, the image abruptly froze!
All the gray fog and shadows vanished instantly, and the mirror clearly reflected the image of a man.
He appeared to be in his late twenties, with black hair and brown eyes, but his facial features were unusually sharp and defined, as if sculpted by a knife and axe. His nose was high and straight, and his lips were pressed into a tight line. This striking feature softened the ordinariness of his other features, giving him a natural, aloof, and cold air. He wore a perfectly tailored, completely unadorned black suit. The style was simple to the point of being rigid, so understated that he seemed to blend into the shadows.
He stood there, tall and straight, like a sharp blade sheathed in its sheath, radiating an indescribable aura that was both restrained and dangerous. It wasn't the deathly coldness of Frye, but a deeper, more unpredictable...sense of mystery.
Above the head of this aloof man, Loen script, formed from condensed gray mist, slowly emerged:
Sequence five.
Behind the Chanis Gate, a deathly silence fell once more, heavier than ever before. Lord Cesimir’s sharp gaze, like a searchlight, slowly moved from the cold, aloof "Sequence Five marionettist" reflected in the mirror to Klein Moretti, who still stood frozen before it, pale-faced, his eyes lingering with terror and a profound sense of absurdity. The probing and scrutinizing intent
in that gaze was almost tangible.
Author’s note
I feel like this is boring. I'll try to write something more interesting tomorrow.
The reason why Leonard hardly appears later in the film is that the old man sensed something was wrong with the mirror and told Leonard to mimize his presence and avoid touching it.
Quiz (no prize): Which period does Sequence 7 Frye belong to?
Of course, it's Frye after Leonard became an angel (applause). Although Frye was already a Sequence 7 when Leonard was Sequence 6, he said he wouldn't advance any further, so... The Easter egg is when the future Frye sees Leonard and accidentally calls him His Highness.