Chapter 218: Chapter 218

The Special Task Force was the Samael Empire’s independent intelligence agency.

Kai, an agent of this division, had temporarily suspended his mission to eliminate Eslow and instead shifted to a deep investigation of the Four Lords of the Lillian Kingdom. He judged the empire’s information on them insufficient and set out to correct it.

While gathering intelligence in the north, he received an urgent transmission from Unit Three, the homunculus now known as Decameron. Since homunculi were forbidden from contacting him unless the matter was ranked level-one or higher in importance, Kai immediately drew out his glass communicator, but he didn’t speak first. He waited for Decameron to do so.

—Secret friend, can you hear me?

Yet the voice that came through was not Decameron’s. It was Keter: the scoundrel of Sefira, the Bow of the South, the Liqueurian who had escaped, a member of the secret organization Arcana, and his so-called “friend.”

“I hear you. State your business.” Thɪs chapter is updated by novel※fire.net

Brief and to the point: that was the standard of the Special Task Force, and Keter was no different.

—Introduce me to the Syndicate.

Keter didn’t give any long explanation or mince his words; he said exactly what he wanted. And Kai’s response came without even a tenth of a second’s hesitation.

“Understood. I’ll send you the meeting location through Decameron.”

The transmission ended. There were no pleasantries, no talk of well-being or whereabouts—just business. Neither explained their reasons, nor demanded explanations from the other.

Even when asked to arrange contact with the Syndicate, a secretive, mysterious organization, Kai didn’t refuse or find it difficult at all; he agreed instantly. It was proof of the Special Task Force’s power and intelligence, worthy of their reputation as the Samael Empire’s independent intelligence agency.

“As expected of the Special Task Force. They live up to their name.”

Keter was satisfied with their level of influence. By using an influential third party, he could establish contact with the Syndicate and form a cooperative relationship with them. This was how he was going to obtain Orphe’s Mask while probing the Syndicate from the inside.

Still, there was the question of how to secure Orphe’s Mask and forge an alliance with the Syndicate.

“They won’t be able to refuse my offer.”

Keter knew his value well: a rising star of a master family, someone who could make requests of the Special Task Force, and a member of the so-called secret society, Arcana. And above all...

Hans won’t be able to ignore someone who makes contact right after this incident.

Some ordinary person tried to take an artifact that only regressors would know of, and because of this, the Syndicate’s trap was revealed. If someone from Sefira approached them through the Special Task Force in a situation , the Syndicate would suspect him, even without clear evidence. And this was precisely what Keter wanted.

If I’m going to be suspected anyway, I’ll make sure I’m the one to provide the suspicious behavior myself.

He was trying to turn a negative into a plus by adding yet another positive. It was a dangerous gamble—one slip of the tongue, one careless move, and he would be admitting he was a regressor—but Keter trusted himself.

“Lord Keter, we’ve received the meeting place from Agent Kai. Shall we depart immediately?”

Without asking where or why, Keter moved at once, showing his boldness.

In a bathtub brimming with a pink-coloured elixir, a young boy was sitting inside, expressing his frustration.

“You idiots! I’m telling you, the regressor is testing us right now! Why don’t you believe me?!”

Glass panes stood all around him. On each pane, many different scenes appeared: high and low places, varied landscapes and settings. Yet they all had one thing in common: every image was shown from a human’s point of view.

The boy looked grotesque; he had an abnormally small body with a face aged beyond his years. He was so thin that it was a miracle he was still alive, and he was covered all over with black blotches.

“Cough, cough! Damn it...”

Just raising his voice made him spit blood in agony. His eyes glared at one particular pane: the one showing the general store in Gurude, a small village in the Lillian Kingdom, where his avatar, Hans, had been placed.

“If not a regressor, no one could possibly know about Orphe’s Mask... my magic isn’t flawed,” the boy muttered, biting down on his finger.

His name was Ivan, one of the Syndicate’s members most obsessed with finding regressors.

“It is a regressor. It definitely is. He must have sensed something off and sent someone first to test us. Or... could this world already be in its second cycle? Did he fall for the trap once before? No, impossible! Why would anyone test it again if they had already been caught in a past round?” Ivan babbled like a madman.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. This has to be the first cycle. If I don’t recruit a regressor in this world, then nothing else matters!”

Grand mages who had reached seven-circle all knew of the multiverse theory.

“I don’t care what happens to the ‘me’ in the next world. As long as the current ‘me’ can escape this cursed fate...!”

Blood tears trickled from his eyes. They weren’t from rage or joy, but simply because his frail body was breaking apart under the surge of his emotions, even as he soaked in a tub of pure elixir.

Ivan was weak—so weak that he couldn’t survive outside of this bathtub. Not only that, this room was built entirely for him. Outside, he couldn’t breathe properly, and sunlight scorched his skin like a lowly vampire’s burn. Yet he was no vampire; he was human with a blessing: near-infinite mana and a vast, ocean-like mental strength.

However, his blessing was too great and had become a curse. It was all useless because his body was rotting away. His avatars wandered the world in his place, indistinguishable from real people, but they were only fakes. Ivan longed to walk the world himself, smell the grass, and feel gravel crunch beneath his feet. He tried every remedy, every art, every cure, but nothing worked. Only one solution remained: a regressor.

He didn’t even know how a regressor could save him, but it was the Syndicate’s founder, the so-called Messiah, who had promised it. Anything the Messiah said could be trusted, as he could only tell the truth.

“Now that our trap has been exposed, a regressor would never approach us willingly. Damn... they didn’t hear everything we said, did they? That would be the worst.”

Ivan normally didn’t understand regret, but at this moment, he almost did. He had revealed too much: openly calling themselves the Syndicate, admitting it was a trap. He had grown careless, thinking the target must be a regressor.

“Wait, i-it’s not too late. The regressor might still be in Gurude! If we seal off the village, gather everyone in the square, and check them one by one...”

Gurude was small, but still housed thousands, and among the visitors were even nobles. It sounded absurd to try to detain them all, but not for the Syndicate. To be frank, Ivan could do it alone. Of course, the backlash would be immense. The Syndicate had always maintained a subtle presence in the world, but it was exceedingly rare for them to resort to overt displays of force.

“We don’t even have a minute—no, a second to waste. I’ll isolate Gurude and its surroundings at once.”

He pressed his palms together. He cast a seven-circle spell without any chanting and began forming his technique. Like Primes had their authorities, grand mages had their ultimate spells, magic powerful enough to warp the world itself.

Ivan’s ultimate spell was Three Thousand Worlds, which was similar to the Deep Dark Fantasy Ailos used in the Sword of the South Tournament with the Dark Pages. Like the Deep Dark Fantasy, it could also isolate people in another world. The Deep Dark Fantasy could evoke complete darkness within it, but not the Three Thousand Worlds.

However, the world isolation ability was far superior to Deep Dark Fantasy. No one could enter and leave the Three Thousand Worlds as they wished, even if they were one of the Four Lords. An ultimate spell with one singular purpose was incredibly powerful.

Mana surged between his palms that were pressed together. The spell was near completion. At that very moment, Keter was still on the hill overlooking Gurude, about to depart after receiving Kai’s message through Six. Had Ivan’s magic finished, Keter would have been trapped, missing escape by barely a second.

—Ivan, this is Killian. The Imperial Special Task Force has requested a meeting. Keter from Sefira wants to see us. Will you go?

Ivan canceled his spell instantly.

The Syndicate had no formal hierarchy; all were equal members. However, some were treated like executives, and Killian was one of them. Yet Ivan hadn’t canceled because it was Killian.

“Why now of all times?” Ivan muttered in suspicion.

He knew of the Special Task Force; they were an infuriatingly strong, troublesome group. He also knew Sefira, but not Keter. Hearing that name left him with a strange sense of dissonance.

“Keter from Sefira... It must mean he’s a direct descendant of Sefira. But how could someone from Sefira mobilize the Special Task Force?”

There were countless organizations on this continent, but only a few groups had the true power to affect the world directly. The Syndicate was one of them, and so was the Special Task Force. A master family of the Lillian Kingdom was nothing compared to the Syndicate or the Special Task Force. If they wished, they could destroy these master families at any time.

“A request for contact comes in right after a regressor supposedly tested us?”

The bucket-hatted man and the courtesan-like woman from earlier had dismissed it as Ivan’s blunder, but Ivan disagreed. To him, this had to be the regressor’s test.

Even if people say no, if I believe it, it’s true!

“Is Keter the regressor?!”

He wanted to shout it, but instead only gasped, eyes wide. However, he calmed down right after.

“But if so... why go through the Special Task Force? If he wanted contact, he could’ve done it through Hans directly. Why the detour?”

Even with his obsession clouding his thoughts, Ivan had to admit: the situation reeked of coincidence.

“Yet... can such a coincidence even exist?”

Had it happened a day later, Ivan might have just been curious about Keter: who he was and how he had gained the Special Task Force’s favor. But since it had happened right after his failed trap, suspicion naturally fell on Keter being the regressor.

“Coincidence... coincidence...” Ivan muttered the word again and again as endless possibilities cycled through his mind.

“Then let’s decide this way. Keter is the regressor. He sought Orphe’s Mask, sensed something was off, and tested us. I fell into that trap like an idiot. And I don’t know how he did it, but he overheard everything.

“If he were just a fool, he would walk away, but instead, he wants to talk to the Syndicate. But because of my coercive attitude, he’s wary. As such, he wants to talk to us with protection from the Special Task Force.”

Even Ivan knew he was forcing the pieces to fit. The biggest flaw was the Special Task Force. For them to back Keter, they would already have to know he was a regressor.

“But the Special Task Force shouldn’t know about the existence of regressors. Did Keter reveal it to them first for their cooperation?”

However, Ivan shook his head. If Keter truly was a regressor allied with the Special Task Force, the world itself would already be shifting.

“I can’t figure it out.”

All signs pointed to coincidence, yet the coincidence was too exact for Ivan to dismiss the suspicion that Keter was a regressor.

“...Then I’ll just meet him myself.”

At last, Ivan gave Killian his answer, “Understood. I’ll meet Keter.”