Chapter 15: Chapter 15: "Hanged Man"
Amon's plan was as simple as stuffing an elephant into a refrigerator: "You go to Mr. A's party, ask to buy the potion recipe from the 'Astrologer,' and they'll definitely let you join them!"
"Wait, hold on." Astella quickly interrupted. "We're talking about infiltrating a secret cult that serves an evil god here. Is it really that easy?"
I've read too few books to be fooled.
"Yes," Amon replied matter-of-factly. "They worship this 'Hanged Man.' Most of them are either fully insane or halfway there. As long as you act a little extreme, a little devout, they'll be eager to bring you in."
"There must be other safeguards, right? Otherwise, their organization would have crumbled by now..." Astella said, resigned. "They'll probably make me recite the name of this entity. Once I lose my mind and go half-mad, I'll really fit in with them."
"Correct," Amon clapped his hands. "That entity loves it when people chant its name. Those who do go mad. You're probably familiar with this, aren't you?"
"…" Damn it. The curse of being an Abraham descendant, tortured by whispers under every full moon.
"You promised to protect me, didn't you?" Astella asked. "How does it benefit you if I go crazy?"
"Yes, that's risk number one," Amon said. "I can help you steal its whispers, but you'll still attract its attention by speaking its name."
"…Thanks for the warning. You're surprisingly nice."
Astella sighed and half-heartedly asked, "Can't you steal an address to fake the chant, making it seem like someone else did it?"
"If only. That would tip it off. It's already wary of me," Amon said. "To be honest, I don't expect you to succeed anyway, but give it a try."
Astella didn't dwell on the fact that she was being used as expendable. It was obvious, and asking would only make her seem foolish.
"You want me to confirm its condition, right?" she asked.
"More or less," Amon replied casually.
"Do you hate it?" Astella asked offhandedly.
In truth, she knew that angels of this rank usually only had conflicts of interest, not personal grudges. But Amon's habit of calling the "True Creator" the "Hanged Man" made her curious.
"Yes, I do hate it," Amon's voice turned unexpectedly cold. "Almost to the point of loathing."
Astella froze.
She had expected some vague, joking answer, leaving her to guess the truth. Instead, she got a response filled with personal feelings, completely devoid of any hidden agenda. Though his tone remained casual, the sudden shift in atmosphere revealed that he really cared about this and didn't even bother to hide it from her.
What kind of deep grudge…? Was his homeland destroyed by this god? Father killed? Wife stolen? Astella quickly ran through the "three great grudges" in her mind, but didn't dare ask. After all, she was a "Trickmaster," not a "Provocateur."
The air was silent for a beat.
"You lost your composure," Astella remarked after a moment, her tone calm, with a hint of amused reflection. "In that case, I might use your conflict with the 'Hanged Man' to find some balance between the two of you."
"You're giving me advice now?" Amon chuckled. "Feel free to try."
"Sure," she sighed, "You two are both so terrible that just being near either of you could kill me a hundred times over."
…
Due to her weakness and Amon's overwhelming power, their interactions had become strangely harmonious. With the threat of death constantly looming, Astella still harbored caution but was no longer on edge. She even asked Amon about his name, hoping to learn more about this mischievous Fourth Epoch noble through it.
"Just call me Amon," he said. "Though, we do have slightly different personalities and ideas… In short, I'm a good Amon. If you meet any of the others, they might not enjoy watching your antics."
What nonsense. Astella shook her head slightly, giving up on questioning this trickster god. Of course, she still expressed her gratitude with a flat, rehearsed tone.
…
After beating up several pickpockets who tried to rob her, Astella finally found a decent inn on the outskirts of the Eastern District to spend the night. After a quick wash, she crawled under the covers and closed her eyes.
"Amon," she muttered after a while, opening her eyes. "I can't sleep."
She had gone through too much that day and wasn't used to the bed. The fact that she didn't cry herself to sleep under the gaze of this semi-god was already a show of dignity for her age.
Amon, who apparently didn't need sleep, immediately responded, "Didn't you say you'd tell me a story?"
"When did I…?" Astella began to retort, only to recall that she *had* said that.
…
"—Of course, if you need a toy, I can't offer much. But as weak and boring as I am, I can at least tell you a bedtime story every night…"
…
"Alright…" she sighed and began recalling the stories she had heard, speaking to herself as if telling a bedtime tale.
"Once upon a time, there was a cruel king. Every day, he married a new girl, only to kill her the next morning. One day, a minister's daughter volunteered to marry him to save these girls. Every night, she told him a story, stopping right when it got exciting, just as dawn broke. To hear the rest, the king spared her for another night. She kept telling stories for a thousand and one nights…"
…
"Ali Baba said, 'Open sesame,' and the great stone door opened, revealing a mountain of gold and treasures…"
…
"Ali Baba… Baba… Baa-baa… ba…"
Her voice gradually faded, growing quieter until it was incoherent. Soon after, her breathing slowed, steadying as she fell asleep. Her head, now buried in the pillow, let out soft, barely audible murmurs like the whispers of a dream.
"Marsha… When are Mom and Dad coming back…?"
In the unseen corners of her mind, Amon chuckled softly.
See, you're asleep now.
A faint ball of light appeared on the windowsill, stretching into the shadow of a person. Amon leaned back against the window, the crimson glow of the moon streaming through the panes. The girl curled up in bed, sleeping in a posture that betrayed her lack of safety, as if she wanted to retreat into the comfort of a mother's womb.
Sixteen years old—still practically a child.
"Hmm, that early maturity and fake composure—could it be something inherited?" Amon adjusted his monocle, seriously considering the thought. "Pity I have no descendants to verify such a theory."
"Haha, my old friend would probably be proud. Let me think… back in the day, they would usually…"
…
The next morning, Astella woke naturally and found it was only eight o'clock. She remembered that Mr. A's occult gathering was scheduled for the afternoon, so she decided to spend the morning finding a place to rent in the outskirts of the Eastern District.
Brushing her teeth, she mumbled, "Do you think I should get bangs that cover my eyebrows?"
"Hmm?"
"It would make me look more gloomy, dark, and eccentric—exactly what I imagine the Aurora Society members look like."
"…If you like."
Astella pondered for a moment. "Never mind, I'm afraid I won't be able to see the road. I'm clumsy enough to trip on flat ground. You might get shaken out of my head someday."
That would be quite a feat.
"Aren't you the 'Trickmaster?'" Amon teased.
Where did all your agility go?
"Well, I'm no 'Trickmaster'... Actually, I was even worse before taking the potion. I could barely walk without tripping over my own feet," she said calmly. "At school sports day, I tripped during a 200-meter race, lost a shoe, and had to carry it to the finish line. All the teachers laughed. My classmates asked why I didn't put the shoe back on, and I said, 'Oh, right. Why didn't I think of that?' I've always been kind of clueless… No idea why Marsha thought I was smart."
Amon, of course, had no comment. Sharing childhood stories with this guy felt pretty foolish. Astella quickly finished packing and left.
…
"Extra! Extra! Murder on Black Palm Street last night…"
The cry of a newspaper boy echoed through the streets, and Astella bought a paper as she walked, scanning its contents while munching on a piece of bread.
She muttered thoughtfully, "There's been a lot of mysterious disappearances in the Eastern District lately..."
Disappearances weren't uncommon in the area. The Eastern District was a poor, overcrowded slum where gangs thrived, and crime and disease were rampant. Lives were as fragile as straw, and corpses often went undiscovered for weeks. The police rarely cared. But the number of recent disappearances seemed unusually high.
Amon chuckled in her mind but offered no explanation.
Later, following ads and notices, Astella rented a small, clean, and comfortable one-room apartment with a private bathroom for ten pounds, staying for six months. It was about ten square meters, without a fireplace, but with two small windows to let in some fresh air.Unfortunately, refrigerators were not yet common, so Astella had to rely on her supernatural abilities, acting as a human ice maker to preserve her food.
…
"Sigh, I should think about making some money..."
She didn't have much cash on her, though it was enough to live for a while in the East District. But if she wanted to purchase any magical items, it would barely suffice—she might even have to sell some of her jewels.
She put on her mask and cloak, picked the lock on the door following the usual signal, and quietly sat in a corner, just like last week.
This time, she was alone.
Note: The three greatest grudges in life are: being enslaved after your nation is destroyed, having your father killed, and having your wife taken from you. All I can say is, well... who wouldn't hold a grudge? (Shifts gaze.)
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