Amidst the support of the church, the gifters of the Orthodox Church found it effortless to immerse themselves in their own spheres. However, as official personnel, accessing certain clandestine secrets remained a formidable challenge. Believers in false gods or those unwilling to register, despite scant support from the church, found solace in exchanging more with gifters from diverse churches and regions.
They spoke of a peculiar limitation on the abilities of a Gifter at level 0 — a trifling three. After stripping away the world gift and soul trait abilities, only one bubble should remain. Yet, Jasper discarded the one obtained from a mysterious liquid, revealing an unexpected surplus of three bubbles, bringing the tally to six — twice the norm.
The acquisition of abilities demanded intricate rituals and relentless practice. It wasn't merely about knowing the steps; it entailed possessing rare materials, a crucial element in these transactions.
"Okay, let's halt here for now."
Mr. Crane, as ever, declared the end. "Due to concerns about Mr. Dagger's identity, the time and place of the next gathering must change for safety. The question now, Mr. Candle, is whether you wish to attend?"
A momentary hesitation lingered before the response, conscious of the need to project an image of a Gifter from afar with an ambiguous strength.
"Yes."
"So, can we trust him?" Mr. Crane turned to the other four.
"Can."
"Abstain."
"Abstain."
"Can."
"Congratulations, Mr. Candle. Please consider it. Remember, the time and place of the next meeting hinge on the weather. On the first sunny day, check the next day's newspaper. The arrangement is determined by the last digit of the sunny day's sales volume. No sunny day next week? Wait for the following week. Keep an eye on the advertising section for details."
Bending down, Mr. Crane retrieved a piece of gravel and handed it to Mr. Wood. Silently, Mr. Wood extended a finger, causing a muffled explosion as the stone disintegrated upon contact.
Mr. Crane stooped, meticulously counting the fragments strewn about. With a discerning gaze, he addressed the assembly, "The 8th advertisement in the advertising section. Note down the numbers in the text. This time, our cipher is from the third volume of 'The Legend of the Detective Knight.' Reminder: I'm referring to the sixth volume from [Ven Publishing House], Second Printing. Please support the authentic version."
The seemingly intricate process was a safety measure, qualifying their gathering as "legal." Each participant echoed the instructions in sequence before departing.
To elude any potential pursuit, only one person could exit every five minutes, determined by a lottery with wooden picks fashioned on the spot. The longest pick dictated the first departure, and Jasper found himself second to last.
"Legal" gatherings required discretion.
Unfamiliar with the location, Jasper opted to head in the opposite direction of the previous departee when his turn arrived.
Navigating under the twin moons' glow for five minutes led him to what seemed like a slum. The narrow alleys crisscrossed, forcing Jasper to trust his instincts. Fortune favored him as the garbage diminished, and distant carriage bells hinted at a busier area.
Jasper followed the ritual, channeling cold air into his black robe, creating a simple illustration. Satisfied, a smile played on his lips, but exhaustion took hold. A mere three minutes later, he staggered back to the main road, bypassing a inebriated man retching against a wall. Fatigue enveloped him — ringing ears, aching muscles, dry, tired eyes.
His last conscious thought: "Supernatural powers require mental fortitude."
"Unfamiliar ceiling."
Upon awakening, his head throbbed, as if he'd endured three consecutive sleepless nights. The [Eye of Truth] had exacted its toll.
"Where am I?"
He rose from the bed, discovering neat rows of single beds resembling a hospital ward. A white porcelain cup adorned the bedside cabinet. In the sunlight, Jasper noticed the cup's handle bore the faint imprint of an open book symbol.
Gazing through the window, Jasper confirmed his location at the Church of Knowledge and Books, nestled in the heart of Lutetia City. Familiar memories flooded in; the original body's visits with family, and Jasper's childhood escapades behind the church.
"You're awake."
The door creaked open, revealing an elderly man in a white robe with a white beard and glasses. A smile adorned Bishop Dawkins' face as he approached Jasper's bedside.
"Long time no see, Bishop Dawkins."
Jasper swiftly arranged his clothes before offering a respectful greeting. This man was no stranger; he had been the one to receive Jasper and his father during their initial visit to the church. Time had transformed Jasper from "Naughty Jasper" to "Wild Boy Jasper," and Brother Dawkins had ascended to Bishop Dawkins.
"You don't come to church very often these days."
The old man's tone carried a hint of reproach, but his smile remained unchanged. Jasper sensed the awkwardness of his younger self when faced with elders and explained hesitantly:
"I was planning to come today."
Only then did he recall the events of the previous night. Fumbling for his pocket, he realized his clothes had been changed.
"Don't worry, all your belongings are safe. I'll return them shortly."
"Last night…"
Jasper inquired cautiously.
The old man smiled and shook his head. "In such a rush? The patrol scribe team discovered you last night, and we received word from Mr. Quentin at the Church of Shadowed Night and Covert almost simultaneously. My child, I didn't expect you to tread this path. I know you have many questions, but I can't answer them now. Can you be patient?"
Trusting the bishop, Jasper nodded slowly. Despite attending a "legal" gathering the night before, he hadn't anticipated the swift revelation of his identity to the Orthodox Church.
As the old man departed, the door swung open once again, this time admitting a middle-aged man. In stark contrast to Quentin's camaraderie, this man's expression was serious, his attire meticulous, and his chin devoid of any beard.
The man lingered at the doorway, nodding to Jasper. "Follow me," he instructed.
Jasper, feeling uneasy, promptly rose from the bed, donned his shoes, and followed, head bowed.
They traversed the cloister in the church's backyard, exchanging greetings with familiar faces, until they reached a nondescript three-story building unfamiliar to Jasper.
Silent still, the middle-aged man led Jasper inside. Seated near the entrance was a young man sipping tea.
"Good morning, Captain Ole. Is this the new recruit?"
The young man stood, offering a warm greeting, but the middle-aged man didn't pause. A nod, and they continued through the nearby corridor.
Jasper overheard complaints from behind, "Hey, with the new guy, can you adjust the roster? I've had my fill of guarding the gate!"
"Great work atmosphere," Jasper mused to himself.
Down the corridor they proceeded, walls peeling but thankfully spider-free. Their journey halted before a door marked [034]. The middle-aged man produced a sizable keyring, scrutinized it briefly, selected a key, and ushered Jasper inside.
A study room unfolded before them, neat but dim due to the absence of windows. Faint light seeping through the door crack revealed the man reaching for a book on the shelf. A subtle gear sound resonated, and the floor receded, unveiling a downward passage.
"Very traditional, right?" the man's monotonous voice addressed Jasper, who took a moment to register the query.
"Oh, yes, sir, just like the legends say."
"It's traditional, but it's necessary," the man remarked, facing away from Jasper, descending the stairs. Jasper followed, small hollows on the stone walls adorned with candles that lit up automatically as they advanced, the floor sealing itself behind them.
"There are no steam pipes here, for safety and confidentiality," explained the middle-aged man.
Jasper nodded knowingly; it made sense. Such a secretive enclave wouldn't likely attract a large construction crew with the conspicuous presence of steam pipes.
The descent down the stairs wasn't prolonged, two spirals bringing them to a broad corridor or tunnel beneath the ground. Solid large stones lined the floor and ceiling. On one side, the tunnel's wall; on the other, a row of rooms.
The tunnel seemed interminable, the underground light dim, preventing Jasper from glimpsing its end.
The first room next to the stairs opened effortlessly, and both the middle-aged man and Jasper entered.
The door sealed shut, and oil lamps on the wall instantly illuminated the room's three items: two folding chairs and a wooden table.
The middle-aged man gestured for Jasper to take the seat facing the door, while he occupied the opposite chair.
"If there's a slogan on the back saying [Leniency for confession, severity for resistance], then this might as well be a police station. Has the legal gathering exposed?" he cursed, though he complied and sat down.
"Let me introduce myself. My name is Stephen Ole. You can call me directly: Mr. Ole."
"Hello, Mr. Ole. I am Jasper Rhys, 20 years old, residing in Montrose Quater, Lutetia City..."
"Okay, that's enough."
Ole interrupted Jasper, who was reveling in his performance. He believed he had perfectly portrayed the image of an excited, overwhelmed, nervous, and slightly scared young man—typical expressions from Jasper's memories.
"I'll ask the questions."
"What kind of melons should be grown on what land? This question cannot bother me..."
Jasper mused internally, but outwardly, he nodded fervently.
"May I have your name?"
"Didn't I say that?"
He pondered but suddenly became alert.
'Could this be the legendary challenge transversers must face—lie detection?'
Pretending to adjust his hair, he tapped his temples, striving to connect with the sensation of opening the [Eye of Truth]. The process flowed seamlessly. Jasper immediately discerned nine colored light spots in front of the man, while three clusters of light spots gathered on the wall to his left.
"One-way mirror? Is there someone behind it?" Jasper discerned immediately, though these were clearly not the answers he sought.
Feigning a chuckle to buy time, Jasper finally spotted the golden glow emanating from Ole's hanging left hand.
"A supernatural item akin to a lie detector, indeed. Did those who wrote novels before transmigration truly journey back in time? How do they possess such knowledge?" Jasper mused, wearing a smile.
"My name is Jasper."
"Have you had any experience with the paranormal before last night?" inquired the stoic man.
"I can't help but laugh at this question!" Jasper internally readied himself.
"I swear, last night's encounter was my first with the supernatural. Goddess, it was incredible!"
'Yes, the transmigration also occurred last night, making it the first time.'
"Okay, last question, what is your belief?"
In Jasper's vision, the golden mass now glowed particularly bright.
Dropping the smile for a serious demeanor, he recalled everything belonging to Jenkin in his heart. Unfamiliar with the mechanics of the ongoing "lie detection," Jasper grappled with the challenge. Attempting to declare the Goddess [Mastermind] as his newfound belief, he found self-deception surprisingly challenging.
Given time to acclimate to his new world and identity, Jasper was confident he'd embrace a genuine "god" as his faith, even if only superficially. Yet, rushing this process proved more difficult.
"It's another gamble," he sighed inwardly, striving to maintain an unchanged expression.
"I believe in knowledge, revere teachers, and acknowledge books as mankind's greatest creation and a vital legacy. I hold that scholars and morally upright teachers are the greatest individuals. My faith lies in prioritizing knowledge and inheritance—a great ideal."